Ivan Hovorun is a young pianist who played the first Beethoven Concerto with the Lvov Symphony Orchestra aged 11. It is indicative of the reputation and standard of Chichester Cathedral's free lunchtime concerts that such musicians come there and play but get there early if you can, like half and hour before the 1.10 pm start, because it soon fills up. I was in the third row but not on the side where you can see the keyboard. That might have been a blessing in disguise as I was thus on the side where the sound comes out and you can't get much closer to hearing it at its best than that.
In a change to the originally planned Beethoven, we had the big Brahms Sonata that doesn't suffer in comparison, whatever Brahms might have thought himself. Brahms is riding high in my estimation at present with the Rattle Symphonies, especially the lush fourth, never far from the turntable. This sonata ought soon to be following them there but, in an opportunist few words with Ivan, I found out that although he is intent on recording them, the project is a work in progress.
Perhaps the sonata is where Beethoven's music moves towards Tchaikovsky's but, as ever, it is entirely Brahms irrespective of comparisons and reference points. The first movement is a memorable tour de force, the second gentler and dreamier. I'm sure it wasn't just me but the whole audience who were more spellbound than is usual.
The theme of the finale is anthemic, possibly a hymn tune and sounds like what Rachmanninov would have been like if he had been any good. That is, of course, not fair, on Rachmanninov, the consummate late Romantic, but it's far too good a line to waste.The advantages of live music were amply demonstrated by hearing it as clear, bell-like and resonant, with Ivan's expressive performance to see as well as hear in a clean, well-aired, bright summer place. You can't get that on any CD player and the moment is valuable because it can't be preserved.
On a marvellous day, I took the liberty of asking Ivan to sign my programme and then sneaked off into a part of the cathedral ostensibly closed off to the public. I only really intended to be reacquainted with the Chagall window but I followed on round and there was an art exhibition being installed for the forthcoming Chichester Festival.
I looked at the lady installing the paintings, who I assumed to be a curator. And she looked at me, but without the same charge of recognition.
You're Frieda.
Yes.
.....slight pause, in which I hope I didn't stand and stare like a slack-jawed yokel for more than I should have. But I thought I did well in the circumstances,
I saw your dad in Cheltenham in about 1976.
Probably, in retrospect, something like what everybody says. It was, for those of you not ahead of me yet, Frieda Hughes, Ted and Sylvia's little girl from Full Moon and Little Frieda. But by now much more than the impetus that caused the poem and I reckon I'll be back there on Saturday to have a proper look at the paintings after some lunchtime Bach. I really need to be reminded of exactly how that first Cello Suite goes.
There were armed police on the streets on genteel Chichester, explaining to passers-by that they were a 'deterrent', on a glorious June lunchtime. I made a couple of choice purchases and had myself a wonderful day off. You simply can't buy days like that so thanks to everybody- Ivan, Brahms, Frieda, the police, the man in the Heart Foundation shop in Cosham who put a big Shakespeare volume aside for me to pick up in the afternoon and the statistically inevitable coincidence that when I was looking for Missing Fay by Adam Thorpe in Waterstones, I overheard someone asking for it at the counter so I intruded, as I am won't to do.
That's what I'm looking for as well.
It says here we have one copy in stock.
That's bad luck for Adam because they had three piles of Arundhati Roy.
But I said, No, that's fine. I only really want to look at it. To see if it will go through my letterbox. I'm only halfway through that one over there at the moment.
