Brahms the Traditionalist

Saturday, 1^st February 2025

I’ve been to most concerts given by the Society over many years but never before has anyone asked me to review one. I have no formal music training beyond Grade 5 theory so please excuse any technical mistakes.

I’d been looking forward to this one for a while because the soloists in the first item – Brahms’ Double Concerto for Violin and Cello – were the Orchestra’s leader, Leo Byrne, a very gifted amateur, and his son Nicholas, a professional musician. How proud each would be of the other, I thought, what a rare opportunity, how infinitely more sophisticated than me accompanying my children when they were young. What a joy. But also, probably, how nerve-wracking, each wanting to do their best for their beloved relative.

The orchestra came on. Leo, as usual, shifted attention away from himself to an audience member aged 100. And still attending concerts. Don’t we all wish and hope for that degree of energy and interest?

Leo and Nicholas sat almost facing one another though slightly angled towards the audience. Their expressions became focussed, they raised their bows, ready to begin. It’s not a piece I know so I waited, focussed.

The piece has three movements and in this first one most of the figures were led by the cello, a glorious rich sound, followed and embellished by the violin. The duet was a dance between the two, bouncing back and forth. Unusually, the orchestra has a much bigger role than in many concertos. Rather than being backup singers they had their own figures and their own initiatives in both melody and structure. Sometimes the dance was led by the violin and the cello’s depth and seriousness were expanded into soaring melodies right up to my favourite sounds on a violin, the harmonics which extend the range beyond the natural reach of the strings. At times orchestral string players used a technique which is particularly noticeable in this piece. It’s called pizzicato and it requires the string players to abandon their bows – it’s quite tricky, I imagine to hold them firmly while using the fingers independently - to pluck the strings, unleashing a whole different range of sound. Under conductor Stephen Pratt’s clear beat they were always in perfect time with one another.

The second movement, to me, brought broad, sweeping melodies reminiscent of folk music and highly descriptive. I saw lush meadows in a perfect pastoral setting with waving corn and wide, deep rivers sweeping through the landscape. The solos were expansive and majestic as were the melodies. This was a controlled environment where no part became dominant but all performed their proper roles in harmony.

The final movement opened with greater urgency. It seemed we now had 4 component parts: each solo, the duet and the orchestra, all swirling with determination like a room full of dancers following complicated patterns. The figures were repeated but not identically, like a series of concentric circles, each constructed from a different decorative style. Each string section made their own bow patterns, perfectly in agreement with each other and with Stephen’s lead. The brass – and what a group they were – became more prominent, sometimes glowing in the background and at others warming to prominence. Minor keys resolved back to major ones, growing and slowing until it was time for the build up to the climax. Hearts beat faster, as the sense of urgency grew with volume and speed right up to the final, consolidating chords.

The audience applauded strongly while father and son embraced, small smiles of satisfaction on both faces. Time to stand down for an interval.