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Cerne Abbas is a pretty village nestled in “Thomas Hardy country” north of Dorchester (Hardy’s Casterbridge). It’s famous for its “rude giant”, carved into the side of a hill above the village, whose origins are unknown, and for the last 29 years, the village has been host to an annual music festival, founded and organised by the Gaudier Ensemble.

The festival was established in Cerne Abbas to provide musicians with an attractive place to perform and an opportunity for them to come together to play the music they wanted to play to the highest artistic standards. The festival has also forged important links with the local community and has created stimulation and inspiration for schoolchildren and young musicians. A generous programme of concerts is combined with open rehearsals and masterclasses for promising young musicians, and leading students from the Royal Academy regularly join the Gaudier Ensemble to perform in some of the concerts. The church of St Mary’s is an excellent venue for the concerts, with its fine acoustic and picturesque location.

I knew about the Cerne Abbas Music Festival from the pianist Susan Tomes (whom I’ve interviewed and subsequently met) who plays with the Gaudier Ensemble, but missed the festival last year due to my house move. This year, I was determined to attend; Cerne Abbas is a 45-minute drive from Portland through some of the most charming countryside, and my father’s visit was a good opportunity to enjoy a Sunday lunchtime recital of one our favourite works – Schubert’s ‘Trout’ Quintet.

The opening piece, a quartet by François Devienne for strings and bassoon, was unknown to us but with its idioms and character so redolent of Haydn and Mozart, it felt familiar, and the performance was witty and colourful – what I call “friendly music” which puts everyone in a good mood and receptive for the rest of the concert.

Schubert’s Trout was infused with a warm intimacy, the piano ringing out like a carillon, high-spirited and lively but never dominating, the strings carefree and lyrical. Relaxed and genial, it felt irresistibly spontaneous, with its transparent textures and infectious, memorable melodies. The perfect music for a warm, sunny day in Dorset.

This was a most enjoyable and committed performance, the audience attentive and enthusiastic, and proof once again that fine music making exits and thrives outside of the capital. Next year Cerne Abbas Music Festival celebrates its 30th anniversary: the dates are already in my diary.

Cerne Abbas Music Festival

Meet the Artist interview with Susan Tomes

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Who or what inspired you to take up conducting and pursue a career in music?

For my tenth birthday I was taken to London for the first time to see ‘Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat’ at the London Palladium, I loved the experience so much that in the programme I circled the name ‘Mike Reed – Musical Supervisor’ and ‘Mike Dixon – Musical Director’ and in my dodgy ten year old hand writing I wrote ‘this is what I want to be when I grow up’.

Cut to eight years later I was lucky enough to get a place at the Royal College of Music as a pianist, which was until that point my main passion in life. To support myself through college I got a job as a church organist in Chiswick, the first Sunday I played the Vicar said to me I like to introduce you to somebody who I think you might find useful, and in walked Mike Dixon. At that moment I thought it was the most incredible coincidence, until the following week once again after the church service the Vicar said to me there’s somebody else I’d like you to meet, and in walked Mike Reed. At that moment I realised coincidences wasn’t a part of this, the stars had aligned and I knew that as a ten year old child I had wished for something and it was going to come true.

Mike Dixon and Mike Reed were then generous enough over the next few years to introduce me to the world of musical theatre, and their inspiration is what turned me into the musician I am today.

Who or what are the most significant influences on your musical life?

Beside the two Mikes, I was lucky enough to work for many years with Russell Watson, who not only inspired me to bring classical music to a wider audience, but was also a guiding light on the complicated side of business in the music industry.

I’m a firm believer that music is something that grows deep inside and the earlier it can start the stronger the music is. I was also lucky to have this from an early age with my first music teacher at primary school, June Davenhill. Because of Mrs Davenhill’s approach to music education, I had a ‘duvet’ of music surrounding me from an early age, I strongly believe that was what sparked my musical journey, and without that education I’m sure that today I would simply be a business man.

What, for you, is the most challenging part of being a conductor? And the most fulfilling aspect?

The most challenging part is the divide between the orchestral musicians and the conductor; due to its nature, a conductor has to lead, and as I started conducting when I was 18 years old, I found many of the older orchestra players had an attitude with a leader who was considerably younger than them. This is slowly easing as I get older, but it’s still one of the factors of my profession.

However, when I conduct wonderful orchestras, who also have wonderfully accepting players, these are easily the most fulfilling aspects of my career.

As a conductor, how do you communicate your ideas about a work to the orchestra?

Like all difficult things in life I find the key to being successful is in its preparation: if I’m well prepared and confident when I communicate this to the orchestra they tend to follow me very well.

How exactly do you see your role? Inspiring the players/singers? Conveying the vision of the composer?

For me music is all about energy, music played technically well but with boredom in the eyes of the players, equals a bad performance. I wouldn’t dare try to tell experienced players who are infinitely more capable of making music on their instrument than I am, how to improve their playing. I see my role as the source of the energy in the music, and I’m the ringmaster trying to combine all the talents in front of me to make a harmonious sound.

Of course the composer’s writing has a lot to do with that, but nobody wants to hear the same performance of Beethoven’s 9th again and again and again, therefore for me it’s more about the interpretation and creating a special performance which the audience will remember.

Is there one work which you would love to conduct?

As I’m still a pianist as well, I sometimes get the opportunity to conduct from the piano, one of the pieces I’ve always wanted to do this with but haven’t had the chance yet, is Rachmaninoff’s piano concerto No 2

Do you have a favourite concert venue to perform in?

I’m lucky enough that I’ve conducted in some of the great venues in the world, namely Sydney Opera House, Singapore Esplanade and all of the major venues in the UK. My favourite however is still a joint tie with the Birmingham Symphony Hall (this is where I grew up and the venue has a special place in my heart) and of course the awe inspiring Royal Albert Hall. Admittedly the acoustics at the RAH are possibly some of the worst in the world but the atmosphere is second to none.

Who are your favourite musicians/composers?

I love the piano playing of Stephen Hough, the conducting and outreach work of Esa-Pekka Salonen, and the music of Ravel, Rachmaninoff, Gershwin, Eric Whitacre and Fauré to name but a few.

As a musician, what is your definition of success?

This is the easiest question of all; players who are enjoying their work equals audiences who enjoy their playing

What do you consider to be the most important ideas and concepts to impart to aspiring musicians?

Always think big. Always trust your gut instinct. Work hard but not at the expense of gaining life experience. Dive into the deep end and learn on the job. Be gracious to everyone you meet. And above all, realise that if you’re not enjoying the thing you’re doing, the people you are trying to please will never be satisfied.

Where would you like to be in 10 years’ time?

For the past ten years I’ve been extremely grateful that I’ve never had a moment with no work, if I can say the same in ten years time I’ll be a happy man.

What is your idea of perfect happiness?

Being on a beach in Maldives whilst preparing some music for a concert, or composing/orchestrating for a forthcoming project (and probably with a g&t in my hand, with my wife next to me moaning I’m working, and my son tugging on me to play…!)

Robert Emery is a conductor, pianist, record producer and serial entrepreneur. He is lucky enough to travel the world; ranging from performances in London’s Royal Albert Hall, through to the Sydney Opera House. The Times called him ‘the eccentric barefooted maestro’ and the Mail quoted that ‘the assured baton was controlled by the rather energetic and brilliant conductor’.

Read more

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The marketing department at Phase Eight, a women’s fashion label which does a nice line in evening wear, clearly hadn’t done their research when they tweeted this:

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If you turn up at the Proms dressed like that, especially if you have a ticket to promenade (stand) in the arena, heads would turn, eyes would roll…. because the Proms is surely the most relaxed and casually attired of any classical music event. By all means don a scarlet evening dress to attend the opera at Glyndebourne or Grange Park, but maybe not for the Proms.

Perhaps someone in Phase Eight’s marketing department read that silly article in The Guardian last week which claims that classical music is for the elite, monied class, the “yachts and have yachts” and decided that classical music afficionados leave their yachts and Porsches and head for The Proms, dressed in full evening dress. Or perhaps they’ve confused The Proms with the school prom, that dreadful American import which has infiltrated our UK schools, where teenagers celebrate the end of term by dressing up to the nines and arriving at a local hotel in a stretch limo.

There’s also another tired old misconception at work here, that one must “dress up” to attend a classical music concert. The Proms in particular is very much a “come as you are” festival, and of course if you want to wear a full-length evening gown to a concert at the hot, airless, crowded Royal Albert Hall, by all means feel free to do so, but you’ll probably feel more comfortable in shorts and a tee-shirt!

Sadly, the kind of attire Phase Eight is promoting does rather perpetuate the tedious stereotype that classical music is somehow far grander than other artforms and that one must dress and behave in accordance with strict codes of conduct. This doesn’t really help those of us within the profession who are keen to promote classical music as something for everyone, and where everyone is welcome.

 

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Guest post by Beth Levin, concert pianist

Dear Bill,

The thing about this last concert was the pre-concert depression. I sunk really low and felt so incredibly sad. I don’t really know what that was about. I tend to get down beforehand but this felt suicidal. I was staying with friends in Baltimore and the night before the concert all of the mistakes of my life seemed to surround me and grip me. Everything felt wrong. So wrong! At home I would normally lie on the couch in invalid mode but I was with friends and had to come out of myself and act at least halfway normal. Haha – it all feels slightly ludicrous in retrospect. My friends (of the delicious crab cake recipe – I was told that crab cake on a Saltine was the way they grew up eating it) had a beautiful Steinway at their home and I got in some excellent practicing before the concert. Their piano was vintage and had a certain sweetness to the tone. The piano at the hall was “state of the art” – almost murmuring, “I dare you!”. No sweetness there, but power and one certainly could make music on it. Just so new, shining black and devoid of quirks. In ten years it will be a gem. The hall was beautiful – I remember that much. I don’t remember much about the recital itself. I take that as a good sign – not being haunted by it, but having it flow, happen and come to an end.

The people stood at the end – that was lovely for me. I made a mistake right at the beginning in a scale going up in the Handel – but after that I think I played with more mastery.

The Hammerklavier felt like playing a great role like King Lear. The piece really demanded everything – deepest emotion, color, reaction, assertiveness, richness, tenderness, extreme contrast in mood, the limit of technique – just to describe some of what that work asks from the performer. I played the first movement on the slow side but I think it worked – you could really hear what Beethoven was doing – and the phrasing is so gorgeous that way. The final movement may be the biggest challenge, at least technically – it verges on being unplayable I think. I know the singers felt that about his Missa Solemnis – not singable. I took the Adagio faster, and I think that worked well too. The Adagio feel was still there, but you could hear the long line and things held together… like a good crab cake! A good title: “The Hammerklavier on a Saltine!” The piece grabs you and puts you through your paces as they say from the opening chords – which had always cowed me in practicing – you have to truly Live that piece and portray it at the same time – which is why it feels like a dramatic role I think.

I honestly felt in the last few pages that I was almost home and feeling a slight relief at that – and then at the true end of the concert the audience reaction overtook me for several minutes – I ran backstage and ripped off my rather fancy dress in such a hurry and got into plain clothes. I don’t know why I did that. It is a week later now and I still feel a bit “off”. All of the depression is gone, but is there such a thing as post-Hammerklavier stress syndrome? Kidding, but you don’t play that work and stay the same.

It leaves you very tired and kind of nostalgic for the music and for everything in your life – lived and unlived. And it forces you to explore everything you’re made of at the piano – pure and simple. I’ve been practicing chamber music for a rehearsal next week – and my heart hasn’t been in it fully. I think the word “force” is so relevant to the Hammerklavier. The piece is a force of nature – like Beethoven – and it forces things from the performer – like a tough fight, one that you can’t exactly win, but can see end in a draw.

~Beth xxx

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Beth Levin at Earl & Darielle Linehan Concert Hall, Baltimore

Beethoven – Hammerklavier Sonata | programme note by Max Derrickson

Crab Cake Recipe

Meet the Artist – Beth Levin