Two things occur to me, writing this blog. One is the need to explain why I am writing it, and the other is to put on record how much I love British arts and culture too. I am truly fortunate to live in the arty English town of Lewes, an hour away from London by train. I want to give you an idea of why I go to London and why I think it is still one of the great cities of the world. For me, it’s the place where I go most often to satisfy my life-long passion for music and art. In the one year I document here, I have been truly inspired by what I’ve seen and heard in good ol’ London Town.

Of course, also for the record, and for all this stuff about the wonders of Europe and, the UK’s foolishly severed relationship with it. I love London – scroll on to see some of my reasons for so doing.

One last thing – if I give the impression of being a bit of a globe-trotter, the truth is that mostly, as all writers, I spend most of my time in a small room here in the lovely town of Lewes in Sussex. In fact, friends tell me that I don’t. go out enough.

27th March 2025

Marie Lys, soprano, Elina Garanča, mezzo-soprano, Piotr Beczala, tenor, William Thomas, bass, Philharmonia Chorus, Philharmonia Orchestra, conducted by Riccardo Muti.

“Neil Fisher, chief music critic of The Times recently interviewed Riccardo Muti and aptly described him as the last of the ‘Big Beasts’. Tickets for this concert were like gold-dust, the hall was packed to the gunwales; there were people standing (with paid tickets) at the rear of the stalls. This was not simply another concert – it was a major musical event…It was not only a huge pleasure to attend this concert, but it was also a privilege and certainly one for the record books.” John Rhodes, Seen and Heard International.

27th March 2025

Petrarch’s rave review has it right. Conquering the heart is what Martini and other 14th-century painters from Siena do in the National Gallery’s devastatingly exact, epochal exhibition about the moment western art came alive. Simone’s painting of Laura is lost but you see why he was the artist for the job. He is so expressive, so tender, exploding any idea of medieval art as remote. Jonathan Jones, The Guardian.

29th April 2025

29TH APRIL 2025

Legions of keyboard fans know that Víkingur Ólafsson  does reflective like few others. Calmness, softness of touch and introspection are among the Icelandic pianist’s widely admired trademarks. It helps make him a perfect performer for the AirPod age……but how does Ólafsson respond to a full orchestra in a large-scale work such as Beethoven’s third piano concerto? The answer, in this opening concert of the Philharmonic Orchestra’s celebrationary 80th season, is that he does it with enviable ease. 

Before the concerto, Santtu-Matias Rouvali conducted the UK premiere of Gabriela Ortiz’s Si el Oxígeno Fuera Verde, which the orchestra had premiered in Amsterdam the previous day. Described by the composer as a fragile green murmur of life, the environmentally inspired work is delicately scored as a bubbling forest of gentle arpeggios and trills, which eventually coheres into an insistent dance with echoes of John Adams and the Stravinsky of The Rite of Spring.

Alongside Ólafsson, who stayed to listen to the second half of the concert, the evening’s star attraction was the Royal Festival Hall organ being played at full throttle. With Notre Dame cathedral’s Olivier Latry at the organ controls, and Rouvali neatly alive to the work’s overall architecture and colours, Saint-Saëns’s third symphony is a guaranteed crowd pleaser for a special occasion – and so it proved.  Martin Kettle, The Guardian

The result is a show that feels adventurous and fresh. Reconsidered by Tsang and Fuenteblanca, his art springs to life. And to top it all, in the show’s climax, we get The Three Dancers displayed on a pretend stage, lifted up in lights for us to examine properly and dramatically. The “dancers” are two women and a man, their figures twisted spikily into an edgy tango. The woman on the left is grimacing grotesquely. The man on the right is silhouetted mysteriously. The dancing nude at their centre seems to be the focus of their tension.

We’re watching a tug of love. I was reminded immediately of Princess Diana’s lament about three in a marriage being a bit crowded. Picasso has cast the central figure in the Camilla Parker Bowles role.The man is clearly Picasso, reduced, typically, to a silhouette. The screaming woman on the left is, surely, his Russian wife Olga, whom he had begun to caricature nastily in his art. The dancing nude is a lover who has come between them.The Tate has other theories and we’ll never know for sure. But what’s excellent here is how excitingly the show has framed the possibilities. It’s been a long time — several years — since an event as stimulating as this opened at Tate Modern. If it were up to me I would leave these rooms exactly as they are for ever, as a thrilling tribute to Picasso. Waldemar Januszczak, Waldemar.tv

2nd November 2025

Is home a place, a feeling, or an idea? Suh asks timely questions about the enigma of home, identity and how we move through and inhabit the world around us. Tate Modern.

2nd November 2025

Kngwarray’s paintings might well remind you of a kind of gestural abstraction they have nothing to do with, and which the artist would never in any case have seen. The things we look at in Kngwarray’s art are about an entirely different order of experience to the similar kinds of brushstrokes driven this way and that around other, more familiar canvases we might also find in Tate Modern, where her retrospective has arrived from the National Gallery of Australia. But this similarity is also one of the reasons Kngwarray became famous in the first place. Adrian Searle, The Guardian.

2nd November 2025

Installation by Carlos Cruz-Diez, 2019.

‘When light comes into contact with an artwork, it changes it completely. My challenge is to reveal to the viewer a reality without a past or a future: my works exist in a perpetual present.’

2nd November 2025

‘Rather unusual for ‘contemporary’ composers, Christian Lindberg actually has his ‘own identity’ – a voice of his own – and not at all derivative of other composers, as tediously customary in ‘contemporary’ music. Lindberg’s Trombone Concert No.4, is a mesmerising masterpiece and was warmly received by an enthused audience.

The elegantly elfistical Santtu-Matias Rouvali conducted a completely flawless performance of Shostakovich’s Fifth Symphony (subtitled ‘A Soviet artist’s practical, creative reply to just criticism’) with all tempos correctly judged from beginning to end: accents, clarity, phrasing, and dynamic range were exceptionally well-judged eliciting a highly charged emotional intensity from his immaculately tuned world-class orchestra.’ Alexander Verney-Elliott, Seen and Heard International.

16th January 2025

Indeed, anyone not au fait with the story of Gesualdo’s colourful life would be perplexed by much they saw here, especially as his two wives appear to be played by the same actress. No help is given in terms of texts (they’re printed in the programme but there are no surtitles) or other factual information.

The show is better seen… as a theatrical representation of Gesualdo’s tortured psyche as reflected in his shockingly chromatic harmonies, rather than a representational biopic. On that level it’s powerful and engrossing, the music extending far beyond contemporary Mannerism to something more like 20th-century Expressionism, expressing deep psychological trauma. Barry Millingon, The Standard.

19th February 2025

The distinctions are so often invoked that some find it hard to believe these artists could have anything in common. Which is precisely the twist of this show. It wants us to look far more closely at these minds and hands at work, and to discover fundamental similarities when the two are brought together. In its originality and insight, its brilliant selection and compelling texts, this is one of the most exhilarating shows I’ve ever seen. Laura Cumming, the Observer.

19th February 2025

Bruckner Symphony No. 8, Philharmonia Orchestra conducted by Lawrence Renes 

A rare appearance in the UK by Sir Donald Runnicles, a longtime fixture of the German classical music scene, had prompted excitement among audiences in London. The proposition of hearing him conduct the Philharmonia in Bruckner’s Symphony no. 8 in C minor stirred the musical loins of Bruckner-lovers, and there was a palpable buzz at the Royal Festival Hall on the evening. Alas, Sir Donald was indisposed, but Lawrence Renes gamely stepped in at short notice to lead the orchestra in the Haas edition of the score.

‘The performance of the symphony (Bruckner’s 8th Symphony) was nothing short of glorious and much of that must be due to Renes’s muscular conducting. His grasp of the structure of the work was palpable, and he revelled in the frequent volcanic eruptions in the work. The Scherzo oozed rhythmic energy, the three harps glistened. The long Adagio started very slowly and I feared the conductor was going to ignore the composer’s express direction Feierlich langsam, aber nicht schleppend (Ceremonially slow but don’t drag); thankfully, Renes soon imposed a slightly faster tempo. He built up the many climaxes with great skill, and the Wagner tubas shone. Indeed, the orchestra played magnificently across all sections, blended woodwind, firm strident brass, thundering timpani (Simon Carrington), mellow horns (led by Lasse Mauritzen) and the percussionist enjoying his two cymbal clashes: and all held together by the lithe and energetic Leader, Zsolt-Tihamér Visontay.

I am now thinking of starting a new blog entitled ‘Bring back Renes’ – or even, ‘Where’s Renes? Perhaps the Philharmonia will invite him back in a coming season with, say, Bruckner’s Fourth? I live in hope; but also hope Sir Donald, restored to full health, will return to a London podium very soon.’ John Rhodes, Seen and Heard International

19th March 2026

What stands out from the outset is the shift in perspective. Rather than presenting modernism as a story that begins in Europe and spreads outward, the exhibition recognises Lagos, Zaria, Ibadan and Enugu as major centres of artistic innovation in their own right. This reframing will resonate strongly with Black British visitors familiar with how cultural histories can be sidelined in mainstream institutions. Here, Nigeria is not the supporting act — it is the focus.

Written by Black History Month UK. 18/11/2025

19th March 2026

There was a time when London’s walls were papered with Mahler 2s; certainly, in the 1980s, performances were regular occurrences with nary a month going by without one or other of the capital’s concert halls having its roof blown off by massed choirs belting out Klopstock.

The Mahler craze has quieted, but there is always space for the mighty sonic edifice of the Second. Fittingly, given the prominence of the brass in Mahler, this performance was dedicated to the memory of trumpeter John Wallace, former Principal Trumpet of the Philharmonia Orchestra….

…Kent Nagano’s Mahler is a known entity, and shares with his Wagner (his ongoing historically-informed Ring cycle in particular, closing with Götterdämmerung in Dresden in May) an x-ray awareness of detail. This was an individual interpretation of the highest rank, as Nagano manages to pair that sense of detail with an awareness of the big picture, allowing climaxes to really register (another commonality with his Wagner).

Nagano also has the ability to create just the right momentum, a trait important everywhere but maybe especially so in the symphony’s opening paragraphs. His conducting technique is near-infallible, too: of all the many Mahler 2’s I have heard, none contained such perfectly controlled Luftpausen as this. Nagano gave space for the contrasting themes; again, just the right amount. It is worth mentioning some individual contributions from the orchestra that stood out: first horn Laurence Davies, and cor anglais player Maxwell Spiers…

…A simply superb trombone solo from Matthew Lewis was another highlight of the evening, as was the velvety sound of trombones and tuba at the ‘Dies irae’ theme. The finale is a movement of extremes, and Mahler piles on the scoring in true late-Romantic fashion. Somehow, Nagano made sense of the thorniest passages like few before him, while honouring the Modernism of the score, more notably in those proto-Ivesian moments of thematic juxtaposition…

…The placing of the off-stage contributions was carefully and effectively thought-through. Jane Archibald was just as special a soloist as Bock, her soprano the perfect complement to Bock’s mezzo. But it was Nagano that choreographed the great choral climax so perfectly, the Philharmonia Chorus beautifully soft on entry, the male voices later creating an imposing wall of sound, Nagano extending the silent pause after ‘Bereite dich’ daringly, as if himself asking, ‘Prepare yourself for what?’. ‘To live,’ came the answer, and how beautifully Archibald crowned the chorus. The Philharmonia Chorus could only be described as fearsomely present in the work’s final stretch; and yet the brass crowned it all, perfectly. Good to hear the RFH organ at full tilt, too. Colin Clarke, Opera Today.

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My first Sibelius festival was definitely a thrilling experience, much more thrilling than I’d expected. It was the perfect marriage of music, location and venue – the acoustically perfect and architecturally exciting Sibelius Hall (Sibeliustalo) situated on the banks of Lake Vesijärvi, and the performances of the Lahti Symphony Orchestra, under their then conductor, the dynamic firebrand, Dalia Stasevska. I was genuinely hooked after that first year. Over the following two Festivals, we had the chance to hear all of Sibelius’ symphonies in fine performances along with most of his major works. With Sibelius, the more you hear his music, the more you hear in his music.

Kullervo was one of the boyish heroes of Kalevala, a joyful extrovert , like Wagner’s Siegfried, who was immensely strong and brave but who was also fated to endure a sorrowful life and to die in despair, after discovering that he had had incestuous love with a woman who turned out to be his long-lost sister.

She wrote about Grieg and Sibelius in a memoir: ‘One particular person for whom I was also able to sing Sibelius was Edvard Grieg. This came about as I presented his Lieder with him on a concert tour to Warsaw. We were together ten days and each day I was supposed to sing Sibelius for him. “He will be one of the greatest men of the North,” Grieg once said to me. Grieg was so enthusiastic that he
promised to visit Finland soon, but several months after our trip he died.’

There was mutual respect between the two most famous Nordic composers even though they never actually met. Their songs are in the repertoire of the international opera star, the Finnish soprano Karita Mattila and she came to Lahti for the closing concert when she sang orchestral songs by both composers, Grieg’s songs from Peer Gynt and his well-known En Svane (A swan) and Vǎren (Spring). She closed with a selection of Sibelius’ songs, including the magnificent Svarta rosor (Black Roses). There were no apologies or excuses before she sang, but it became noticeable by the pauses between songs, and then a longer gap as she left the stage, that she was nursing her voice through some kind of infection. She made sure that she could deliver of her best by pacing herself through would could have been an ordeal. It was a masterclass of a great singer’s vocal technique. In Sibelius’ Svarta rosor, she had saved the most difficult and demanding song to the end and she delivered it real passion and drama.

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Lahti

I went back to Finland in late August, 2025, my fourth annual visit, call it a pilgrimage, to the Sibelius Festival that is held every year in the small city of Lahti on Lake Vesijärvi, in South Eastern Finland. My first trip was because of the great composer, Jean Sibelius (1865 – 1957), and his music has certainly brought me back to Finland as I get more and more involved in the great man’s work and his influence on contemporary classical music. Maybe I was always going to love Finland because I loved Sibelius, or was it the other way round, the two are now too intertwined to be unravelled. Both the composer and the country have many layers, but maybe at their heart is a still core that moves me and tells me to focus on the things in our lives that are often unspoken, but undemonstratively who we are. In Finland, I find myself questioning who I am, often silently celebrating the good things but also, searching for what I would like to become. As I am learning too who or what I’m not. Finland, increasingly, feels like my safe place.

When international politics is becoming more and more unstable, and when politics in so may countries has become bad-tempered and divisive, on news bulletins, I see Finland’s president, Alexander Stubb as the voice of reason, and when I visit the country, an apparently efficient working social democracy, Finland feels like a template for how the rest of us should be organising our lives.

Fairhair’s starter shield for two: Lingonberry-cured salmon, tarred Baltic herring, smoked duck, reindeer heart and beaver salami. Potato flatbread from Penttilä farm, sourdough bread, tarred lingonberries, game mousse and smoked perch mousse. Ash cheese from Jumo cheesery, salad with gooseberry vinaigrette, pickled cucumber, carrot chips and oat, tomato-basil salsa, herb- ­marinated beans and toasted pumpkin seeds.

You can have wine, but also, and probably better, either Harald’s strong beer, or mead.

I go once every year.

It was an inspiring time to be young, like Jean Sibelius in the fast developing world of Finnish classical music, and as it must have been for the young artists and architects like , Lars Sonck, who could run free in the brave new arts at the birth of a new nation.

The other windows were designed by the fourth of the young revolutionary artists who worked extensively on the cathedral, the Symbolist painter, Hugo Simberg (1873 – 1917), who based his designs on episodes from the Bible, such as the Holy Spirit descending as a dove at the baptism of Christ, and the Moses’ Burning Bush.

According to the Finnish artist, Jani Ruscica, his sculptural video installation Polynotknot (and they bloom) keeps changing its form, with its clips continuously and randomly shuffled into a new order. Within the imaginative fleshy shapes and masses one can discern a varying number of mouths, eyes and drawings on the skin. Subjectivities dissolve into a polyphonic rejection of linguistic expression and normative conceptions of the body, with the organically folding and piling figures remaining corporeally uncoded.’

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Arts ancient and modern, some sight-seeing and two great writers’ beds

I can’t claim to have been overwhelmed in the same way as Proust was, but I was flooded with memories of reading the whole of his wonderful novel, the longest ever written, at around 1.3 million words, one of my life ambitions fulfilled around ten years ago. Here’s that passage in French and English:

“And suddenly the memory revealed itself. The taste was that of the little piece of madeleine which on Sunday mornings at Combray… my aunt Léonie used to give me, dipping it first in her own cup of tea or tisane.

No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me.

And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory—this new sensation having had on me  the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me, it was me.”

Mais à l’instant même où la gorgée mêlée des miettes du gâteau toucha mon palais, un frisson me parcourut, attentif à ce qui se passait d’extraordinaire en moi.

Il m’avait aussitôt rendu les vicissitudes de la vie indifférentes, ses désastres inoffensifs, sa brièveté illusoire, de la même façon qu’opère l’amour, en me remplissant d’une essence précieuse : ou plutôt cette essence n’était pas en moi, elle était moi.”

Nadar’s son, Paul, accompanied his father to take this photograph and, in 1928, he gave this eye-witness report to the film-director Carlo Rim (1902 – 1989):

“Hugo laid out on his great big four-poster bed, his nightshirt and pillow all wrinkled, his hair on end, his rather large nose not yet emaciated by death. An old worker sleeping peacefully after an honest day’s work. My father had not wished to carry a lot of material. Victor Hugo’s deathbed photo was taken by nothing but daylight and lamplight… The last time his face was lit was by the sun… This shot, taken by my weeping father, may well be his masterpiece… ”

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1. Rigoletto

Verdi and Hugo had much in common, they were both considered artistic and political revolutionaries who used their work to challenge authority. I love them both, they still have a lot to teach us about our attitude to the arts. I wish that opera and drama could be seen once again, as they saw it, as the people’s art-forms.

I had a great time at the opera that night. The Claus Guth’s production and design was enjoyably stripped down, ( I had a few niggles, of course) but the cast was perfect, and you can’t say that often, from the three principals (George Gagnidze, a magnificent Rigoletto; Slávka Zámečnikova, superlative with all the right notes for this lovely role; and Dmitry Korchak, an excitingly lyrical Duke of Mantua) and the conductor, Andrea Battistoni, well, he is Italian, had the exactly right mix of Italianate legato, lilting rhythms and a true sense of drama. This was first class, in an impressive building with its spirit of democratic equality. A true reflection of the French and Giuseppe Verdi and Victor Hugo’s republican ideals.

The music of Un Ballo In Maschera still sounds like it was conceived with the plot in 18th century Europe, with its at times almost Mozartean lightness of touch contrasting with the dark, trombone-focused music of the tragic elements. It is the nearest Verdi got to writing comedy since his failed first opera Un giorno di Regno (A King for a Day) 1840, and before his final triumph, Falstaff in 1893. The singers are truly challenged by this style. the tenor, Riccardo has to combine lyrical grace with dramatic oomph. It was one of Luciano Pavarotti’s ideal parts. The lead soprano voice (Amelia) is one of Verdi’s earliest dramatic soprano roles, with phenomenal demands of range and power with strong low notes matched all the way up to the top of the voice and the need to also use pianissimo as well as fortissimo. It was one of Verdi’s most exciting inventions.

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Cathédrale Notre-Dame

His 1831 novel, Notre-Dame de Paris, known these days mostly as The Hunchback of Notre-Dame, was intended by the author as a manifesto and a plea for the preservation of Paris’ medieval architecture at a time when there were already plans to demolish whole parts of central Paris. After the book’s publication, he was annoyed that Quasimodo and his love for the beautiful Esmerelda, had stolen the limelight from 15th century Paris itself.

If you have the time, here’s a five minute clip of Lon Chaney’s iconic performance. https://youtu.be/KkB2DyoQakU?si=Qu3lYrDvg-IHeL3U

Victor Hugo deserves some credit for the preservation of Notre-Dame, but he lost most of the battles against Baron Haussmann’s virtual demolition of medieval Paris. I think he would have been thrilled by the new Notre-Dame, even though he grieved for many of Paris’ old buildings. If you are interested in his plea for medieval Paris, read the long first chapter of Notre-Dame de Paris. tHugo begins his novel without any of the characters from the story, instead it is a paean, an essay, to what we have lost. Bravo Victor!

Jean-Pierre Leguay is known as a master improviser, an art-form practised by many French organists and his style, as Messiaen’s pupil, isn’t immediately listener-friendly. The cathedral made the ideal listening studio for his pieces which deal in the less than obvious – gradual transformation, fractured sonorities, filigree textures and sudden almost violent sonic events. This is not typical “French organ grandeur” and some members of the audience obviously found it perplexing. His music could be described as sound architecture and, as such, it was definitely heard to its advantage in the very architecture that its composer has known so well for decades. I, for one, was happy to go on this architectural musical voyage in such an awe-inspiring piece if architecture.

Church organists here since then have included Camille Saint-Saëns (1835 – 1921) and Gabriel Fauré (1845 – 1924) and the church is often associated less with Napoleon’s glory but by the glory of its magnificent music. Here is an old recording of an 88 year-old Widor playing his famous Toccata on the organ of la Madeleine in 1932. https://youtu.be/gy0OZoAwkbc?si=nL9CTH62N6ZTLe60

The French tradition of organ music lives on today in, amongst other places, the great organ of Notre Dame Cathedral, where Cavaillé-Coll built the organ there in 1868. Here is a recording of the official blessing of the restored Notre Dame/Cavaillé-Coll organ, played by the cathedral’s current titular organist, Olivier Latry in a controversially avant-garde improvisation at the opening service for the new cathedral. https://youtu.be/F6DO7V6pQyA?si=A5L9huw88LG_ZV-N

French cathedral improvisation can be an acquired taste, as can a lot of avant-garde music, and of course, avant-garde anything. Here is Jean-Pierre Leguay in his improvisation on the same organ at Notre-Dame, but before the fire. https://youtu.be/nPagA6vNke0?si=Z53KZr8nCxXiKZhJ – it certainly shows the range of this magnificent and mercifully saved instrument.

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After the visit, I went for a hot shower, little lie-down and then a couple of drinks while I looked into space. So many work of genius, each one deserving at least a day to itself, but, that is what it is like to be living after at least a milenium of great paintings and in an age of so many magnificent and gigantic international art galleries. I was happy to have seen what i saw, but I know that I will have to return many times to fully appreciate the glory of La Louvre.

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Call me a creature of habit, but I’m unashamed of doing most of the same things here in February this year as I did last May. I enjoyed knowing where the mugs were kept, where was the best place for a coffee and where to go for my morning martial arts practice. There is a small park, a perfect dojo, on the corner of the street and a little café, La Petite Place, on the next corner. Why change if it works?

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