Ben Socrates in Chichester

 Ben Socrates, piano, Chichester Cathedral, Sept 14

There were a few concerts in Chichester in the summer but today was the day we had been waiting for with the return of regular Tuesday lunchtimes after 18 months of hiatus. If many of the audience are regulars, so is Ben who was making his fifth appearance there.

His programme was made up of six composers form six different countries from the C18th to the C20th, some of them not always sounding as one might think of them and sometimes reminding one of somebody else. 

Beginning subdued with Chopin's Ballade no. 3, the gift for melody was as readily apparent as usual in the pre-Rachmanninov style, the left hand never as ominous as it could have been and the music emerged from an unobtrusive opening to achieve brightness. Ben can do the firmness of a forte when required but this piece, and the overall effect of the set, was most memorable for his lightness of touch.

Even lighter, and more expressionist than inpressionist, was Oiseaux Tristes from Ravel's Miroirs. This sort of Ravel is almost too 'poetic' for me, being the sort of poet who doesn't like poetry that tries too hard. Spare, though, and atmospheric, the piece cast a spell with the crossed-hands repetition of a E flat (I think he said) on which note it finished. I was glad to have a seat with a view of the keyboard which always adds some extra interest.

While I've seen poets read from a tablet or other such gadget before, I've never seen a musician use one until today and from the Ravel onwards, that's how it was. It's not the least bit relevant to the performance but was a minor landmark in my concert-going history. The musical kindle must be able to hold any amount of music and save yards of shelf space once taken up by sheet music so it's not for me to say there's something about paper I like and something about technology I don't quite trust.

Domenico Scarlatti can't be accused of sounding like Mozart because he came first and if anything it must be Mozart who sounded like the Sonata in E major, K. 380. I remember in the 1970's Radio 3 often filling in a few minutes between programmes with these brilliantly inventive  miniatures. I think there are lots of them and today made me aware of the gap in my record collection caused by not having them so there's a shopping session to look forward to. It was very pretty what the right hand did. It's possible to think that Ben included a baroque piece among later work for variety but it's always laudible, and convincing, when a pianist who plays mostly 'Romantic' repertoire extends into the likes of Bach. This was possibly my favourite piece in a programme that made it hard to pick an outright 'best', becoming more compelling as either Ben warmed up, the music got deeper or, more likely, I was drawn in.

Schubert's Impromptu no.2, D. 899 went from sweetness through danger to a diabolical dance and back to sweetness as Ben said it would. It drove unrestingly from its lively start all the way to its end, the driving passing into the lower register in the middle before going back to the higher end. It was probably the piece that showed off Ben's talent to best advantage, the darkness not being that dark and the light that illuminates all of his playing always in evidence. It is Schubert's hard luck that, however great he is, he's never quite Beethoven but the question remains if he would have been the same Schubert without that influence. 

In another echo of somebody else, the Liszt Consolation no.3, in memory of Chopin, sounded to me to have traces of the Beethoven Moonlight Sonata in it. So much so that that once I thought so, more references showed up. There's nothing wrong with that. All art depends on the art that went before it and if not, well maybe it ought to. More likely, though, in the circumstances, is Ben's suggestion afterwards that it reminds him of a particular Chopin Ballade. But it's more gorgeous and restrained than one often gets from Liszt.

Ben's own favourite from his personal selection presented here was the first movement of the Prokofiev Sonata no.9, Op. 103, which took us further than the Ravel into the C20th and audible C20th doubt. Mostly subdued and thoughtful, we found ourselves taken elsewhere from the relative certainty of the earlier work and then left, rather than abandoned, there. Things have broken down further and our uncertainty has increased since the passing of Prokofiev but that was a fitting place to finish.

The hush of respectful listening was partly due to the reduced audience numbers with spacing and sensible precautions still wisely being observed but it was also due, I'm sure, to simply being glad to be back and nobody would have gone away anything but the gladder for it.

With Wincanton races lined up for October and a fine selection of Chichester Tuesday lunchtimes lined up, these days might finally being taking the shape imagined for them. As ever, thanks very much to Chichester and the artists involved for being there.