In what would be a stylish, yet understated Pavel Kolesnikov & Samson Tsoy both joined forces for a wonderous evening at Wigmore Hall. In a celebration of composers and their musician-wives, two halves would feature this dynamic though each of these two players brought unity and prowess abound.
Nearly a hundred years old, György Kurtág, would often play with his late wife Márta. Mostly his takes on Bach, though the Játékok collection is a remarkable set of over fifty years of compostition. Kolesnikov and Tsoy play with this particular intimacy (they are in a relationship), the take on Bach’s clever writing and rooted in its era, though highly contemporary in scope.
Genuinely touching moments featured and Kurtág additional conjuring also features humour, voclasie and a general joy of music making. There are a lot of German names of these pieces and most of the review would be taken up with them. The evocative and distilled music of Kurtág paired very well with the Bach. It is a collabortion which spans centuries and is most splendid indeed.
Dress in the haute couture, both pianist had the blocking down to a beat with their musical chairs system in the Kurtág. Back and for, sharing one piano or island apart. Messiaen’s Visions de l’Amen would end the night in astounding ways. Musical satellites orbit above, primordial grumblings and feverish violence all feature heavily. I’m still chewing in if both these lads got the balance right in moments, they appear rather nimble. Their playing is compelling: a tennis match made in heaven for this celestial work. Themes and melodies which are heard early on come back to asault the sences. First heard in occupied Paris in 1943, Visions had lost little of its ultimate power.
A graceful encore: I want to say it was Ravel’s glaisandi rich finale to Mother Goose was our parting gift for a very special night.
Philharmonia are breaking out the party hats and having many slices of cake as they party their 80th year. With one of London’s leading orchestras, I would be hard stuck to think just how many of their gigs I’ve attended in the capitol and on tour. It was billed that Evgeny Kissin would be the soloist for this latest concert at the Southbank, in what would prove to be a blockbuster night of two pianos concertos and ballsy orchestra music all from Russia.
A Night on the Bare Mountain (as named in the programme) is one of Mussorgsky’s finest and most well known orchestral pieces. Yet this arrangement by Rimsky-Korsakov is the only way I could ever listen to the work. Mussorgskys gradual decline into alcohol would leave much work in reduced piano form or incomplete at his death. Most famous for devilish outing in Disney’s Fantasia, this is highly regarded as a great Russian work, one that is is instantly recognisable. It’s thrill and total menace lie in its varying backstories and it often makes a fine concert opener.
With. No Kissin to be had, Boris Giltburg is another Russian offering which is pleasing to audiences and critics. I recall his Rachmaninov in Cardiff which went down a storm pre-pandemic. His jump off would be Prokofiev’s 3rd Piano Concerto as the first of two of the night. Whilst not a furious or experimental as the previous concerto, the third is still fun. The composer’s often harsh, stunning tone is here, Giltburg gets to play often sweeping melodies, as the orchestra was bouts of intrigue and delusion. I saw not the keys of the piano in the hall, yet seeing Giltburg often has the wow factor, the tenacity and tenderness are key elements to his craft.
An all Rachmaninov second half saw The Rock as another orchestral spotlight. Not to be confused with his Isle of the Dead, this was standard fare, I would not say it gripped nor moved me in much of a way. This is early student days from him and it shows, the grandiose romantic adoration would come later in often deeply impactful ways. His 2nd Piano Concerto is known to British ears thanks to David Lean’s Brief Encounter, a classic that spans eras. With it’s heightened rhapsodic nature, mastery of pace, melody and emotional touch, its never boring. Giltburg really gets Rachmaninov, proven with many totalling, past performance. An unwavering presence on the piano, I doubt too many were irked Kissin was not playing tonight.
Luciano Berio remains an intriguing composer. Inventions and experimental forms were his game, often creating outrageous, yet very human pieces.
With a concert from Ensemble 360, Claire Booth would join them for songs in a third occupied hall at the Royal Welsh. His Quattro canzoni popolari is much more traditional in nature, yet still alluring. The last flutter tongued song ‘Ballo’ get later recycled into his iconic Folk Songs, whilst the rest of the set is lovely for its charms. Rebecca Clarke and her Prelude, Allergro and Pastorale was new to me and a great find. Subtle discovers and a understated scope was the pallet for the three players and was impressive all round.
Ravel: I can take or leave, but his Chansons Madécasses is a fine work, one I’d wished to have heard sooner. Madacasgan lore is the basis, extreme romantics mingles with anti-colonial sentiments in a set of three powerful songs. Booth plumed with her French, got the sinews just right, for me this was a high note. Kokopeli by Hoover was an exquisite solo for Juliette Bausor on flute. An evocation of a mischievous spirit (not dissimilar to Pan), I was taken with these uncluttered few minutes, awesome in its intamacy and unfurling aura.
Suite Populaire Espagnole by de Falla saw a focused Tim Hortom on piano and a unbridled cello solo from Gemma Rosefield, saw colour and light from Spain. I recognised some of the patterning dance delights, the Avant-Garde mingles with the traditional spirit of Iberia. Never played enough, de Falla is often a joy. On viola, Rachel Roberts opened Berio’s Folk Songs with the exquiste American song ‘Black is the Colour’.
Booth glided across the globe with many nations as tribute from France, Italy, Azerbaijan (this song has made up words) and more. Clarinetist Robert Plane, very well known to Cardiff crowds get brief moments of cheer here. Seeing him play again after many times is touching. These songs never wain in their complete delight, a gateway for those keen to discover Berio for themselves.
Bethan Tanner worked on Still Pushing Pineapples through the Ffilm Cymru Trainee Producer scheme. She currently works as a Production Manager overseeing post-production for commercials, and is developing her own slate of short films.
To say that Wales has a connection to music would be an understatement. Music is woven into the history and culture of the Land of Song, from the tradition of choral singing, to the Eisteddfod; to arguably our most famous export, Tom Jones. This influence made its impact on me from the earliest age: we didn’t recite the Lord’s prayer at primary school, we sang it.
When I moved to Sheffield for university, I was struck by the feeling that South Wales and Yorkshire were kindred spirits: both full of towns and cities reimagining themselves in the shadow of 20th-century industrialisation; both regions shaped by a working-class resilience, intertwined with creative energy. With a 2022 study finding that there are now half as many professional creatives from working-class backgrounds in the UK than there were during the 60s and 70s however, it is clear significant inequalities still exist in terms of turning that artistic energy into sustainable careers.
Director Kim Hopkins touches upon some of these themes in her new documentary, Still Pushing Pineapples, a film that will resonate with anyone who has spent time in a Welsh working man’s club or a rundown Blackpool ballroom. The film opens on a dark stage; at its centre, a man dressed as a pineapple. It’s an absurd, oddly melancholic image which acts as the perfect precursor to the sweet, funny, poignant film that follows. The distant voice of a Tops of the Pops presenter echoes through the film, “… have you ever wondered who’s in that fruit?”
The man ‘forever trapped’ inside that pineapple is Dene Michael, one of the former lead vocalists of Black Lace, famous for their 80s novelty records, all of which take second billing to their greatest hit Agadoo (“Push pineapple, shake the tree”), (in)famously dubbed “the worst record of all time.” Now, forty years from the song’s release, Dene finds himself at a perpetual fork in the road: to keep the money coming in from nostalgic club nights where audiences pay to hear him sing the song he’s reported to have sung 45,000 times; or to follow his heart and break free of his legacy, creating a new audience for his own music.
The film is an odyssey of nostalgia; a journey through the sweeping cultural changes that have taken place over four decades, as Dene ferries himself, his 89-year-old mother Anne and his new love Hayley, from once-grand nightclubs in fading seaside towns, to Benidorm, home-away-from-home for many of his life-long fans.
When not on the road, Dene lives a relatively modest existence. A small terraced home in Leeds with splashes of past glamour, most notably the Bentley parked outside. It is a stark reminder of how, for ordinary working-class people, there is no safety net or inheritance to help cushion the fall from stardom. Without that buffer, we see Dene’s constant slog. He tells Hayley he’s got “a little bit of money coming in”: a Christmas lights switch-on; three holiday-season gigs. At one point Hayley tells Dene she’s had no electricity all week. When Dene’s home-made single This Is The Moment fails to chart, it is easy to understand the allure Agadoo still has over him.
Nostalgia is a word synonymous with rosy-hued warmth. For Dene however, it’s a double-edged sword, offering him his livelihood but making re-invention almost impossible. What does it do to a person when you are forced to continually play your greatest hits, with nothing from the last thirty years of your life included? What does it mean to grow older and feel as though you still have so much to give but not the opportunities to give it? When Dene’s manager asks him to shave his beard off before a gig, Dene complies without question, frustrating Hayley who continually encourages him to be himself; to live in the present. A fresh-faced Dene Michael – the one they saw on TV in 1986 – is what the audience want however. At times it feels as though he has no choice.
It would be understandable that some bitterness might take hold but no matter what hard knocks Dene experiences, he approaches the world with charm, a sense of humour and a warmth that lights up the screen. Supported by the determined Hayley in what becomes a sweet love story, and his gorgeous mum Anne who has an infectiously joyful presence, they become a delightful trio to watch. As much as it may rain, their sunshine shines through.
Still Pushing Pineapples is a film about legacy and shaping your own destiny. It doesn’t shy away from the sometimes harsh realities of Dene’s life but it’s ultimately a hopeful story about resilience and a deep love of music. As much as he lacked control over his career, Dene has still experienced extraordinary highs. Agadoo may be the albatross around his neck, but it turns out, despite the diminishing returns, it is also the safety net that many working-class artists don’t have.
The highs and lows of Dene’s story highlights how vital it is that we continue to create opportunities to support young working-class artists. It is essential, not only to ensure long-lasting careers, but to ensure long-lasting careers on artists’ own terms.
Still Pushing Pineapples is coming to cinemas from November 28, 2025.
It received funding from Ffilm Cymru and was co-produced by Welsh producer Nan Davies at One Wave Films.
This article was commissioned by Film Hub Wales as part of its Made in Wales project, which celebrates films with Welsh connections, thanks to funding from Creative Wales and the National Lottery via the BFI.
I recall being highly impressed with the Kensington Symphony Orchestra, doing Peter Grimes a few years back at the Southbank. Speaking with people involved with the players, they spoke they were most, if not all amateur.
Heading to this Smith Square Hall gig, the sea-faring views would not settle. Doreen Carwithen is new to me, her Bishop Rock was note worthy. Vivid in its sight-specific vista, you felt the sea foam as well as calmer moments too. This along with the finale piece of the afternoon would be discoveries of women composers who might not have always gotten their due. Sir James MacMillion followed with a work which put him on the musical map: The Confrssion of Isobel Gowdie.
Conductor Russell Keable introduced it and gave insight to the Scotland’s awful history of witch hunting. Isobel Gowdie was one of many people convicted of witchcraft, she was tried, tortured, made to confess to nonsense accusations and then executed. This wreathed scenario would be the basis for MacMillion’s intense pallet.
Pounding, Stravinsky like chords, relentless dancing rhythms and an over all turbulent violence are what you discover. The orchestra had clearly rehearsed intently and they shone. Not shying away from such a subject rewards the listener with a very powerful composition, rightly giving him the reputation he has as a composer of great talent and innovation.
The end would come with Ruth Gipps and her 4th Symphony. Dedicated to Arthur Bliss, this symphony from 1972 would take years to get recognition. Like Bliss, there was a faithfulness to tonality, just some of the reasons both were shunned, as more experimental forms had become the status quo. Hearing it live, you get a feel for a serious love of the convention. I won’t say I was wowed by it, yet its formal feel still had drama, beauty and thrills. Again, the players gave it their all, in what is music from yet another female composer who needs more recognition.
I’ve followed New Palace Opera for around a year. I was very taken with their Walküre chunks last year and a Peter Grimes both proved great efforts made put into challenging work.
In a wintery London, a concert in Waterloo would see agony and tragedy in equal measure. George Templeton Strong and his At Sunset got its UK premiere on this night. Heavily owing a lot to Mahler, its unease and pain was the vein of the whole thing. Effective, if it felt a little ropey to start with. Then Mahler would arrive properly with his Totenfeier, or Funeral-Rites. No one does the dreary and existential like old Gustav. The mood never shifted from the negative, I guess its name would suggest the tone. Stirring in nature, the players and a Jonathan Finney as maestro, held the drama of this fleeting passage.
The stand out would end with Stravinsky and his cantata Oedipus Rex. A first hearing for me and one I’ve wanted to hear for decades, this was evocative and a natural drama from the Greek source material. It being sing in Latin doesn’t take away either. We had a solem Sophie Duval as narrator guide us through what would be a difficult following even with the story well known. The entire work excudes a faithful Greek musical palette for its hour length.
James Schouten was cast very well as the titular character who’s downfall is his own doing through pride, ignorance and a general stupidity. Vocally, as a piercing tenor he melded well into the role, it was a pleasure to hear him live. In the strong male support, this Greek chorus saw figures come and go singing solos to strange effect. I saw few blips throughout this Oedpius. I also found Mae Heydorn as Jocasta, wife of Oedipus, to be a another highlight. A mezzo which had a grounding, yet was still compelling to the ear.
Well done to all involved in hearing this rare Stravinsky classic.
Stepping into the Watermill Theatre for Charley’s Aunt feels like entering a world where Victorian farce collides with 21st century sensibility. This new adaptation of Brandon Thomas’s 1892 comedy, directed by Sophie Drake, transforms the classic tale of disguise and mistaken identity into a vibrant, contemporary experience. The production radiates with humour, warmth, and an unexpected emotional depth that makes it refreshingly present, blending animated performances, modern music, and bold visual storytelling, Rob Madge and Sophie Drake approach Charley’s Aunt with a goal: to breathe new life into an 1892 comedy and make it resonate with today’s audience. Through comical timing and musical interludes, they invite us to see cross-dressing not as a source of ridicule but as an act of self-expression and celebration. It is a fitting production for the Watermill Theatre, a company known for re-visioning classical works through inventive staging and an intimate, high-energy style that keeps its audiences fully engaged.
This new adaptation stands out by incorporating Rob Madge’s queer, theatrical perspective into the original structure, turning the play into both homage and commentary. In doing so, it aligns with a broader tradition of reinterpretations that use classical comedy to explore modern understandings of gender and performance.
Music underscores much of the action, sometimes ironically, sometimes atmospherically. Lauryn Redding’s composing and Russel Ditchfield’s sound design thread contemporary music through scene changes and moments of quick-witted inspiration, using sound as both rhythm and punchline. Alex Berry’s set and costume do an excellent job of tone-setting, the 19th century costumes are detailed and historically rooted. Kitty’s pale blue and yellow ruffled dress, Amy’s pink and green floral gown with a yellow bow, and Charley’s exaggerated scarlet bow tie all evoke the Victorian era’s charm.
The set is minimal and flexible; the use of the thrust stage and close audience proximity make the action immersive and engaging. Even the audience seated up on the balcony feel included in the chaos, creating an all-encompassing theatrical experience.
Babbs, the charismatic character at the heart of the adaptation, steals the show. Max Gill’s performance is nothing short of remarkable: flamboyant, physically expressive, and deeply human. Their portrayal celebrates queer identity with confidence and tenderness. It is both an enjoyable turn and a meaningful commentary on individuality. Babbs’s flamboyance is never empty spectacle, it is written and performed to suggest learning and acceptance.
The production delivers precisely what it sets cut to achieve: a sharp, high-spirited comedy with impeccable timing and visual flair. The physical performances are tightly choreographed, and the technical team uses music and lighting to accentuate moments of wit and surprise. What makes it truly impressive though, is its tonal balance. The humour lands effortlessly while quieter, more sincere moments are allowed to breathe. The modernisation never feels imposed; it grows naturally from the productions belief that performance itself can be an act of self-discovery. Critics have praised its approach as “bursting with energy” and “a fun, fresh, colourful glowup;” and it is easy to see why.
Those looking for a strictly period-perfect reimagining may find the contemporary style and musical composition to be a deviation from tradition. Yet, these choices feel intentional. The creative team clearly prioritise inclusivity, visibility, and emotional immediacy over strict historical accuracy.
Ultimately, this “Charley’s Aunt” is a success in both spirit and skill. Jonathan Case, Richard Earl, Elijah Ferreria, Max Gill, Mae Munuo, Yasemin Özdemir, Maggie Service and Benjamin Westerby make up a captivating ensemble, delivering performances that are dynamic and electric, while the atmosphere throughout the theatre is charged with exhilarating energy. The Watermill Theatre once again proves its strength as a producing theatre: crafting work that is entertaining, meaningful, and proudly alive for modern audiences.
The Watermill’s Charley Aunt is a candy-coloured farce with a queer heart: loud, lovely, and utterly alive.
James Ellis writes extensively in Wales and the UK for a variety of publications with a focus on classical, opera, music theatre and performance art. He is a multidisciplinary artist and founded the theatre company Weeping Tudor Productions. James’ performance channel can be foundhere.
The arts in Wales remain in a very tender predicament. With various difficulties after the pandemic, things are just not back to normal. Through the broad palette of artistic mediums today it would appear, rather shockingly, that only one new feature-length Welsh language film will be released in cinemas this year. This is Tanau’r Lloer or Fires of the Moon, directed by Chris Forster.
Filmed entirely in Wales, specifically Llangollen, Bethesda and Blaenau Ffestiniog, Fires of the Moon goes back to the real location which inspired Un Nos Ola Leuad, or Full Moon in English. Arguably the best novel written in Welsh, Caradog Pritchard’s story of a 1930s slate mining community in North Wales depicts a blistering, harsh world. Though Fires of the Moon is not entirely based on the novel, it heavily leans on it for dramatic and thematic punches.
Opera on film is a rare event. Most notably, the 1980s saw a golden era of La Traviata (1982), Parsifal (1982) and Carmen (1984), all getting defining cinematic offerings. Can it work as well as its over-four-hundred-year history on stage? Through this, I did wonder: is a black and white opera film in Welsh a hard sell?
My enthusiasm for the source material was evident thanks to a rather strong film version of Un Nos Ola Leuad, directed by Endaf Emlyn. From 1991, this was a gateway delight, the acting was well honed, with a noteworthy score by Mark Thomas, perfectly oozing with choirs and lush orchestration. I wish I’d read the novel in translation. It’s rare for me to see a work of media and want to seek out the source material. That must be Pritchard’s power.
With the orchestra of Welsh National Opera under the baton of Iwan Teifion Davies, Gareth Glyn’s Fires of the Moon opera is in good hands. The music, often subtle, doesn’t always have an edge to it, yet is seemingly romantic in tone. The percussion is fairly extensive and you can hear it throughout. The Welsh vocal line glides with the harmony of the orchestra, the words seemingly ironed into the score. The libretto by Iwan Teifion Davies and Patrick Young harkens back to the novel and is inflected with little moments of consideration and pondering. The mood of the novel never really feels evoked; however, the film creates its own ambience from within its illusive atmosphere.
A fantastic array of Welsh talent make up the cast. Huw Ynyr as the leading character Hogyn is good, although may not be mature enough to play a man looking back on his life with so many mixed emotions. Annes Elwy is Jini, a sprite seductress of sexual awakening for Hogyn. Elin Pritchard as the Mam is great in this heartbreaking role, committed to an asylum by her own son. Gossip, shame and shunning all bleed out of the story and Mam is one of the worst to be affected by the deeply toxic community she lives in. While there are few stand out moments, Forster’s direction is solid and cinematography by Ben Chads is fittingly black and white, the monochrome textures adding to the dreamlike story. Imagery of the era’s trains, lakes, the moon (naturally) and woods are all pleasantly ethereal.
The overall result is original and fresh. Sometimes subtle where you wish it would go grand, Fires of the Moon will nonetheless be a milestone in Welsh film and opera. Perhaps unfortunately, there are elements of the film that modern audiences will have no trouble relating to: the film explores the original novel’s themes of loss and mental health, something that nearly 65 years after the novel was published, are still relevant today. There is thankfully more awareness around mental health in 2025, yet the effects of inadequacies across our current mental health provision are still felt across Wales. Perhaps the film’s message is ultimately one of hope; that artistic creation and self-expression might not be the answer to everything, but it can be a means to alleviate suffering.
This being the only new Welsh language cinematic release in 2025, I’d strongly encourage people to go out and find a screening near them. I’ve often encouraged and introduced people to opera and it is one of life’s best things. Seeing Fires of the Moon on the big screen could be a whole new discovery, in an iconic story that isn’t afraid to show another side of Wales. So take the plunge and go savour Tanau’r Lloer.
Fires of the Moon is coming to cinemas across Wales from November 14, 2025.
It was funded by S4C and Creative Wales and has various connections to Wales including producers Patrick Young, Ed Talfan and Emyr Afan, director Chris Forster, screenwriter Marc Evans, and a score performed by the Welsh National Opera orchestra.
Fires of the Moon was filmed in Dragon Studios (Bridgend) and Great Point Seren Studios (Cardiff) and on location in Bethesda, Llangollen and Blaenau Ffestiniog.
This article was commissioned by Film Hub Wales as part of its Made in Wales project, which celebrates films with Welsh connections, thanks to funding from Creative Wales and the National Lottery via the BFI.
You always know you’re in safe hands with a production originally forged at the Chichester Festival Theatre and I am beyond trilled to report that Top Hat is another phenomenal production. Based on the 1935 film, this production could feel ‘old hat’ rather than ‘Top Hat,’ but with a pacey storyline, a hugely gifted cast and ensemble, slick dance routines and slapstick that the Palladium Panto would be jealous of, the latest iteration of this classic musical tap danced straight into my heart and refused to budge.
The opening number of Putting on the Ritz really showed off the ensemble’s tight, energetic dancing prowess, and this remains throughout the entire performance. The tap dancing especially, had me spellbound; there’s nothing quite like a perfect line of tap dancers tapping in precise unison! The ensemble singing is also gorgeous, bringing the classic tunes to life and breathing fresh life into them.
The main drive behind this fantastic production, however, is the lead cast, and what a cast they are. Alex Gibson-Giorgio as Alberto Beddini is a joyous, riot of a character; his rendition of Latins Know How had the audience howling with laughter. His characterisation of the hapless Italian was endearing, hilarious and he delivered some of the wittiest puns of the show with excellent comic chops and timing. In an equally hilarious portrayal, James Clyde as Bates is a sight to behold. This was a masterclass in comedy, his costume changes, his accents, his ability to hold the audience in the palm of his hand…simply wonderful.
Only appearing in Act Two might mean that a character leaves less of an impact on an audience, but this is not the case with Sally Ann Triplett’s portrayal of Madge Hardwick. She has some of the best one liners in the show, delivered with devastating, and hilarious precision and poise. She only needed to glance towards the audience to have us burst into laughter. She commanded the stage and was truly the matriarch of the Top Hat world. She is teamed with James Hume as poor, long suffering, Horace Hardwick. Horace seems to end up with the worst end of the stick every time and Hume gives us a performance which is so endearing but also full of comic genius. His hiding in the bridal suite during Wild About You and his incident with the steak on his black eye were exceptionally executed, proving slapstick, when executed well, still has a place in modern theatres.
Finally, Amara Okereke and Phillip Attmore bring Dale Tremont and Jerry Travers to life, respectively. Amara shows us a Dale who is fierce, strong, independent, yet childlike and eager in her discovery of love with Jerry. Her dancing is stunning, her voice like velvet. She holds her own against the love protestations of both Jerry and Alberto and brings a fresh side to a character who pirouetted across the silver screen in 1935. I particularly enjoyed her heartfelt, stunningly sung rendition of Better Luck Next Time.
Phillip Attmore brings a zest and charm to Jerry Travers which is truly joyous to behold. His dancing is so clean and precise, and he captures the essence of the original Jerry, Fred Astaire, whilst bringing his own evident charm and qualities to the role. He leans into the classic film but never makes you feel that he is plagiarising the original, he brings a voice, performance and dancing which is all his own. Whether in tap shoes or not, he is a joy to watch.
This is a slick, well designed production which doesn’t stop for even a moment and, as such, makes it a truly captivating watch. It’s revival productions like this with beautiful set, gorgeous costuming and an ensemble and cast to die for that prove that, even almost 100 years later, musicals like Top Hat still have a very well deserved place in our theatres and in our hearts.
‘Where the dreamers still belong’: ‘Carducci Caravan’
Matt Denton – violin, Michelle Fleming – violin, Eoin Schmidt-Martin – viola, Emma Denton – cello
‘They are expecting you,’ I overheard Andrea Jones, the head of undergraduate studies at the Royal Welsh College of Music & Drama (RWCMD), say to a visitor ahead of the much anticipated ‘Carducci Caravan’ concert. An unexpected phrase to hear before a concert, one could say, considering that ticketed entry has been a hallmark of public performances since their emergence in the eighteenth century. Laughter, and enthused quiet chatting followed, as I turned to see groups of primary school children, orderly lined up, walking towards the stage doors. Many had never attended a world-class concert venue before, and this may have been their first time hearing a string quartet live. While the students would have been introduced to the fame of the Carducci Quartet by their teachers, the novelty of the experience itself, combined with their dream-centred view of the world, may have overshadowed the factual biographical details they had been told. To college students as much as to older visitors, the ‘internationally acclaimed’ and ‘award-winning’ Carducci Quartet needed no introduction. The young special guests were to be the sincerest critics of the night.
It was not long after the Carducci Quartet took the stage that the audience, who had been expecting a normative concert format with a series of pieces played in turn, realised they were in for a treat. ‘No borders bound, no paths confined, a world of music we will find… so come abroad – no need to pack – the Carducci Caravan won’t look back’, Bella Cerely, one of the four RWCMD actors who joined the quartet for the evening, announced to begin the concert. The reassurance offered by the opening poem, titled ‘Wanderer’s Melody’, was soon to be subverted by the Carducci’s innate theatricality. Playfully misguiding the audience through the fourth movement of Haydn’s Joke quartet, they repeatedly encouraged the belief that the movement had ended ahead of time, although the young guests were particularly good at not being tricked from the second time round!
Following the distinct, gypsy-influenced tone pallets of Bartók’s Six Romanian Folk Dances, Clarissa Mondeh read a translated poem by Tao Yuanming. Portraying how that which makes a place feel like home is not determined by environmental features, but is guided by the heart, the soaring lines of Puccini’s Crisantemi continued the narrative of the poem. Matt Denton’s poignant solo alluded to the intangibility of seeking for the out of reach, while the quartet’s remorseful ends of phrases reflected the narrator’s dissolving, ‘fleeting truths’.
The next piece in the programme – Huang Ruo’s The Flag Project: String Quartet No. 2 – introduced a soundscape so close yet so far away from the unanimous timbral quality which has long been attributed to the string quartet genre. As the Carducci’s took turns to welcome Tibetan finger-cymbals to the ensemble, the pure, sonorous and resonant timbre of the percussion instrument complemented both the penetrative high registers of the violins and the depth of Emma Denton’s rich harmonies. A sound world shaped by Ruo’s vivid imagination and the artistry of the quartet unfolded to captivate the audience.
With the ‘Carducci Caravan’ symbolising one’s journey through life, the invincible upheavals that toy against humanity were depicted through an account titled ‘Chaos instead of Music’ (Pravda, 1936). Condemning and denouncing Shostakovich for the nature of his music, Alex Johnson read how it was conceived as ‘a wilderness of musical chaos… that may end very badly’. Paradoxically, the Carducci’s sinister tone evoked through the preceding Four for tango by Piazzolla was alleviated for the beginning of Shostakovich’s Wrong Note Polka. Their shimmering fast vibrato infused buoyancy to the theme which was first stated plucked before its bowed reprise at the end the movement. With the closing of the piece delayed by an interspersion of dissonant chords, the programme continued with a shift in mood from anger to desolation as Rory Stroud narrated ‘The Dark Hills’ by Edwin Arlington Robinson.
‘Dark hills at evening in the west… fade – as if the last days were fading, and all wars were done’ was remarked before the opening harmonies of Elgar’s Nimrod filled the room with an apologetic depth of feeling. The quartet’s carefully crafted phrasing and frequent returns to stillness rendered the optimism of the rising passages short-lasting, mirroring the narrator’s enduring difficulty in comprehending man-made destruction. A final utterance of the thematic material, which was inspired by one of Elgar’s close friends, seamlessly led onto a recent partnership formed between the Carducci Quartet and 18-year-old composer Sam Snook. Winner of the 2025 Carducci Young Composers Competition, Sam’s Bloom furthered the emotional landscape of Elgar’s Nimrod as frequent tremolo passages united members of the quartet and strength was born from the movement’s sorrowful melodies. In the time span of a few minutes, musical, metaphorical, and literal synergies had been ignited between the past and the present.
Having experienced feelings of reassurance, unease, heart ache, wonder, devastation and unity, ‘we end with fire, and full of light’ was exclaimed ahead of the quartet’s final piece. Composed by the Danish String Quartet, Shine you no more is inspired by John Dowland’s Flow my tears. Yet, it goes on to tell a story beyond that which the narrator of the song is capable of seeing. Contrasting to Dowland’s lament of intense sadness and misfortune, Shine you no more alludes to a detachment from the world’s unfathomable nature. Music guided the narrator to find brilliance and joy as the quartet’s palpable enthusiasm drew the concert to a close.
During the interval, audience members from all walks of life had gathered in the bustling RWCMD foyer, as champagne glasses adorned the circular tables and heads of departments hurried around to greet the many visitors from afar. While the young special guests were nowhere to be seen, it was assumed that the quartet were backstage preparing for the second half of their performance, as is customary at classical-music concerts. Little did many know that the Carducci Quartet had other plans for the interval. Moments after leaving the stage to place their instruments backstage, the quartet returned to the hall – this time off-stage – to meet, greet and thank their smiley, bright-eyed unexpected visitors. As the primary school children cheered and congratulated the quartet with a standing ovation at the end of the concert, it was clear that the Carducci Quartet had succeeded in inviting everyone present into their world. A world, as ‘The Lark’s Song’ by William Allingham noted during their performance, ‘where the dreamers still belong’.
Creating opportunities for a diverse range of people to experience and respond to sport, arts, culture and live events. / Lleisiau amrywiol o Gymru yn ymateb i'r celfyddydau a digwyddiadau byw
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