City halls, Glasgow 10/11/25
BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra Martyn Brabbins (conductor), Stephanie Gonley (violin)
Link: https://www.bbc.co.uk/events/egwcd4
The third concert in the Glasgow Thursday Night Series of the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra’s 90th Anniversary Season is only the second of the Series to be reviewed by me, as my sojourn in the land of my birth for the Wexford Festival Opera meant I missed the second programme, which featured Sibelius’ Second Symphony. The headline work after the interval in the programme of 20th November was another Second, that of Sergey Rachmaninov, the most popular of his three because, to put it bluntly, it is utterly gorgeous. Three years ago, the orchestra gave an unforgettable performance of the work in spellbinding artistic partnership with Finnish conductor Hannu Lintu. A more familiar guest conductor with a well-documented artistic rapport with the BBCSSO is Martyn Brabbins, and he conducted the 2025 performance. Comparisons are inevitable. Historic links informed the rest of the programming. It was the BBCSSO who launched the international career of Sir James MacMillan when they premiered his ‘Confession of Isobel Gowdie’ at the Proms in 1990 I first heard it in the noughties with the RSNO (I think under Marin Alsop) and was looking forward to hearing it again, as a BBCSSO concert opener. One of the orchestra’s founder-conductors Ian Whyte was also a prolific composer, though many of his works remain unperformed. Before the interval, we heard the World Premiere of his late 1950s Violin Concerto, in a performing edition prepared by composer, arranger and musicologist Robin McEwan, with Stephanie Gonley as soloist. There was a huge turn-out for this programme, which was recorded for broadcast on Radio 3 on 26th November.
In 1662, Isobel Gowdie was a woman accused of witchcraft, brutally tortured into making an impossibly fictitious ‘confession’, then burned at the stake. MacMillan’s 26-minute symphonic poem candidly confronts the horror of this episode of Scotland’s dark intolerant past The piece ‘dawns’ with a scene of impassive nature with gently wavering winds, joined by strings whose polyphony becomes increasingly and almost unbearably radiant, incorporating the plainchant ‘Lux aeterna’. Then violence erupts with harsh crescendi and glissandi, followed by 13 savage hammer-blows. A rapid rhythmic demonic dance ensues, with marimba and vibraphone in the unearthly sound mix, leading to a wilder, more savage syncopated dance with all the brass and the timpani, After a huge crescendo, there is a sudden pianissimo. The threnodic epilogue reprises the string polyphony ‘Lux aeterna’ but joined by full otchestra with tubular bells in the mix and even richer and more poignant harmony. The final crescendo is intensified with a roll on the tam-tam and seems to cathartically express our collective rage. In recent years, audiences have become good at waiting for the conductor to lower the baton before applauding, so emotionally-charged pieces can ‘tell’. Unfortunately, one audience member was moved to applaud early, which broke the spell somewhat. Nevertheless, we heard a moving performance of a masterwork. The composer was present, although, as appears to be a new norm, in the balcony, so that Martyn Brabbins at first couldn’t locate him, he didn’t come to the stage, and the stalls couldn’t see him when he rose to acknowledge the enthusiastic applause. I don’t approve – let the Scottish concert-going public see their heroes.
Much of the familiar structure of the great Romantic violin concertos is found in Ian Whyte’s 3-movement piece. Stephanie Gonley played it from memory (in itself an impressive and persuasive act of advocacy). The brooding lyricism of most of the first movement put me in mind of Walton’s string concerti, but there were moments of reverie not a million miles from Delius, and hints of the playful phrase-shaping of Prokofiev. The contrapuntal double-stopping in the cadenza was delicious, complemented by some virtuosic runs and a natural unforced segue into a friskier coda. The slow movement was a more meditative nocturne, again suggestive of Walton, with some more stylish, lyrical double-stopping. A tender central interlude featured some lovely dialogue between the soloist and the orchestral strings, especially the violas, with hints of Prokofiev and Vaughan Williams. More than a hint of Korngold’s harmony shimmered in the harmonic resolution at the end of the movement. Prokofiev-style mischief dominated the quasi-rondo finale, the rondo theme a scampering dance, the episodes including a minuet-like melody appearing in different guises and a reprise of the nocturne theme from the second movement with a lovely melancholy cor anglais. The pace picks up for the final flourish of the rondo theme in the playful coda. A super piece. No way did it deserve 7 decades languishing in a drawer. Kudos and heartfelt thanks to Robin McEwan, the BBCSSO, Martyn Brabbins and Stephanie Gonley for bringing it into the light.
It is the also the BBC that I have to thank for my first encounter with Rachmaninov’s glorious Second Symphony, specifically in a series on BBC2 in the 1970s when André Previn with the LSO talked about great orchestral works, illustrating his talk from the podium, before delivering a performance. It blew me away then in my teens and has remained a firm favourite ever since, its modern popularity probably stemming from Previn’s ardent advocacy then and his resolute refusal to perform it with the cuts introduced by other (I would say lesser) conductors.
The E-minor Largo introduction grows from a desultory germ that ingeniously generates almost all the thematic material of the symphony, often transformed, but sometimes returning to be quoted directly. A climax shows that the theme can express tender passions, but the first theme of the Allegro Moderato seems to be still in the grips of Russian ennui. The second theme is sunnier in the major and the movement goes on to explore passions dark and light. From the off, it was obvious that the orchestra love this music and that Martyn Brabbins was going to let them show that to perfection. And so it was. The Allegro molto scherzo, with its tinkling glockenspiel comments and driven fugato central section, not to forget the wallowing romanticism of the slower interludes, was dramatic and playful and as delightful as it was mischievous. But it was the slow movement that was the most achingly beautiful. Yann Ghiro’s clarinet solo, with its haunting long-line melody with delayed cadences, was given the freedom to tease out every ounce of tenderness with subtle rubato and tenuto and was simply perfect, the best I have heard, and I include the LSO’s David Hamilton from the Previn TV lecture in the 70s that made me love this piece (and even the same orchestra under Hannu Lintu a year ago). Breathtakingly beautiful and unforgettable. That goes for the whole movement, with its quotations from the world-weary introduction, its passionate climax and its tender afterglow. Magical. The joyous Allegro vivace finale, with its carnival atmosphere but not without a passionate quintessentially Russian “grand tune”, and one of the best codas in all symphonic music, was delivered with life-affirming energy. Thoroughly excellent. Glasgow evidently agreed.
Another triumph for this great orchestra and their much-loved guest conductor. And next week we have Rachmaninov’s Third Piano Concerto with Isata Kanneh-Mason. Be still my beating heart.