I was surprised to read Paul Morley in The Observer last week announcing that classical music is 'cutting edge' and pop music is dull and derivative. I wasn't surprised by the point of view, some of our generation have been aware of that for 20 or 30 years, but it must have been a week short of items of interest to give quite so much space to the fact that the penny has dropped with Paul Morley.
Chichester Catheral was packed for its lunchtime concert of baroque chamber music today. Not all of the audience would have been familiar with Paul Morley's writing, for sure, as, approaching 55, I was easily among the younger quartile of them but it was lunchtime and term time. But what better evidence is there for our claim to being a civilized country that weekday lunchtime concerts are held in cathedrals up and down the land.
It's just that I thought it would go without saying that Johann Joachim Quantz (1697-1773) was of more interest than the tired posturings of Kasabian. To be a bit fairer to Morley, he means mostly Berio and Stockhausen but there was always Faust, Can and Henry Cow.
I for my part become more and more devoted to the baroque and am disappointed if the radio serves up too much Brahms, Schumann or Prokofiev, fine composers though they are. I like to think I can say that the French baroque is softer and more elegant, the Italian of Vivaldi and Corelli inevitably more sunlit, the German more robust and the English probably learnt from the others but that's stereotyping for you. Here Bach was in a French-sounding mood and then it was Couperin, Duport and Rameau.
The architecture of Chichester Cathedral might not lend itself to such delicate timbres as flute, cello and harpsichord. The musicians - Elizabeth Walker, Christopher Poffley and Michael Overbury- come with fine pedigrees, having played with John Eliot Gardiner, the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment and such like but the high ceiling and long, narrow space made me wonder, from my place reasonably near the front, quite how good the silvery tinkle of the harpsichord and the soft baroque flute would be appreciated at the back.
The Quantz Sonata in G Minor was perhaps the highlight even if one's ears hadn't quite adjusted to the sound early on. The cello, as is often the case for me, was the part to follow, the sensible structure, the astute phrasing. The harpsichord sprinkles its starlight and the flute floats expressively but the cello speaks warmly and with authority.
The Bach Sonata BWV 1032 demands, or seems to demand, some breathing technique from the flute as it spreads the melody over some long, lingering notes. It might not be Bach's most memorable music but the fact that there is as much as there is for flute, not very often heard, gives an idea of the great man's output.
The Couperin L' apotheose de Corelli is presumably making some aesthetic point but the Duport Etude in D, a little later than the other pieces here, was further evidence if it were needed beyond the Bach Suites that a cello is fine on its own, stately, sonorous and likely to be worthy of further investigation. And the ensemble ended with a lively little set by Rameau, from who we seem to be hearing a lot in recent weeks and no bad thing it is either.
By the end, one's ears were attuned to the acoustic but precious few would have had much of a view of anyone but the standing flautist. The popularity of these concerts is hardly the building's fault and its architects might not have envisaged this C21st use of their building when all they intended was somewhere to put a tomb for Philip Larkin to write about and another place for Chagall to put one of his stained glass windows but, if you do go, it is worth turning up a good half half or more before the start to make sure you get a good seat. But at the price, which is entirely down to you at the retiring collection, it is a beautiful thing.
