The Milford Violin Concerto Revived, 28.11.13 by the Northern Lights Symphony Orchestra. Soloist James Dickenson.
The oddly-named St Sepulchre Church, on a chilly evening in late November, did not sound like a promising venue for the revivial of Robin Milford's long-forgotten violin concerto. Finding the church was the first challenge - it appeared to be a ruin. I wandered round a garden sporting abandoned gothic arches and windows and an impressive church tower but found no way indoors, except for a remnant of masonry occupied by a dentist's surgery. Having my teeth pulled was not part of the plan for the evening. I then spotted a board saying the original St Sepulchre had been bombed out during the war, rather like the concerto I suppose, directing me 200 yards further along the road.
The replacement church was an even older building, but thankfully unassaulted by Hitler, and had been formerly associated with my ancestor John Rogers, the first Protestant martyr in the reign of Queen Mary, I read. More death. Even the peal of ten bells had only been restored to twelve bells through the offices of "The Ancient Society for Modern Youth." Not a bad description of my piano teaching, I ruminated. We must encourage the young. Finally, the medieval St Sepulchre has been called the musician's church: was there a less than generous reference to classical music being dated and on the verge of extinction when the name was first chosen, I wondered? Does all music today have to be popular for a few weeks, generating a vast income, before being thrown on the scrap heap?
From the moment I entered, all my gloom was banished, and everything spoke of new life. For a start the building was uncharacteristically warm, and I found myself momentarily tempted to consider removing a layer. Most pleasant. The wooden chair was unforgiving to my frame, but this barely registered as the concert was so good. The sound was glorious, benfitting from the excellent acoustic, and almost overwhelming in the loud passages: I wondered whether sitting further back might have been wise. I had chosen the front row in order to be able to see well. The Britten and Delius were fun: then James Dickenson strode purposefully to the front, checked the tuning of his violin, and we all wondered what was coming.
Right from the opening solo violin statement, descending softly, I found the music thoughtful, contemplative, even soul-searching. There was nothing light-weight about the piece. Milford writes a good tune, recalling folk-song, but is equally at home in the fuller orchestral passages. The partnership betwen the violin and the orchestra worked well, to my mind. Adam Johnson's direction of the splendid Northern Lights Symphony Orchestra was more than sound. James made the violin sing, and the writing with its scalic runs and double stopping showed off the instrument well. My favourite moments were the opening of the slow movement, with the quirky questioning of the woodwind in thirds, and the final sombre minutes of the last movement, which ends softly, as the work had begun.
I found my mind reflecting on the grim realities of the second world war: the piece felt oddly prophetic. Writing just a year or two before its outbreak, was Milford somehow dimly aware of the trials and horrors to come?
My neighbour commented to me during the heartfelt applause that his ageing hands did not clap as well as they once did. I felt the same - my heart was full of praise and thankfulness for the performance we had just heard, and the resurrection of a lovely work. The clapping of hands seemed wholly inadequate. Let us hope that the interval before its next playing will be considerably less than the last.
The final symphony in the programme was also well worth hearing. In fact, the evening was summed up for me by the composer's name - All Win.
Most concerts are too long, I find, but this one was not: I was on the ten o' clock train home out of Waterloo. Many thanks for a great time!
David Pennant, Woking