Moderato

by Frances Wilson, Interlude

Moderato (It.)
‘Moderate’, ‘restrained’, e.g. allegro moderato (‘a little slower than allegro ’).
adv. & adj. Music (Abbr. mod.)
In moderate tempo……. Used chiefly as a direction.

‘Moderato’ is one of those rather ambiguous musical terms, like andante (“at a walking pace”). Literally translated, it means “moderately” – but what does it really mean? At the most basic level, it is a tempo marking, slower than allegretto, but faster than andante. The modern metronome gives a marking of 96 to 100, a very narrow range (and I would always guard against assigning a specific metronome mark to a piece marked moderato, or allegro moderato, or molto moderato.) Like so much else in music, moderato is not just a tempo marking; it also suggests mood and character. It is personal feeling and sense of music, and one person’s moderato might be rather different from another’s, both in terms of tempo and character.

The opening movement of Schubert’s last sonata is marked molto moderato, literally “very moderately”. And taken literally, that could result in a very slow tempo, virtually alla breve (two beats in a bar), which can make the music appear to drag. Schubert also used the German term mässig, implying the calm flow of a considered allegro or “not rushing nor dragging”. There are many, many different interpretations of Schubert’s marking, resulting in some wildly varying lengths of the first movement. Sviatoslav Richter’s is almost self-indulgent at nearly 25 minutes – listening to it, you get the feeling he is thinking about every single note and where to place it; while Maria João Pires brings it in at 20 minutes, which feels both fluid and eloquent.

Of course, all these specific timings are rather meaningless: one would not notice the time passing at a good performance unless one was pedantic enough to sit there with a stopwatch! Creating a sense of the music and conveying mood, colour and shading is more important. When I listen to the piece, I always feel the opening movement suggests a great river broadening into its final course before reaching the sea: unhurried but with continual forward motion. There are moments of “other-wordliness” in this movement as well, which demand sensitive rubato playing and some very finely-controlled pianissimos. There are storms too, but these are short-lived, and do not disturb the overall almost hymn-like serenity of the movement.

In Chopin’s Ballade in G minor, a piece of fluctuating tempos and mercurial moods and textures, the first theme is also marked moderato. Here, I would read this marking as a slower tempo than in the Schubert sonata. The mood is very different too: the key is darker, and the off-beat quaver figures and the rather uncertain harmonies, with the prominent use of diminished and dominant seventh chords to add moments of tension which are not always resolved immediately, create a sense of hesitancy in the music, as if it is not quite sure where it is going. After the fioritura, the opening theme returns, slightly elaborated with a sighing quaver figure, but rather than increase the sense of forward motion, I feel the music becomes more suspended; thus when one reaches the direction agitato, there is a far greater sense of climax. This continues right through to the arpeggiated figures and onwards, in a section marked sempre piu mosso. After the great, memorable second theme is heard, the first theme returns, this time in A minor, and the music returns to the moderato tempo and mood of the opening. Here once again, uncertain harmonies are used to contrive a feeling of suspense, while the insistent repeated low E’s in the bass tether the music even more firmly in one place. This is a useful device for introducing another climax, which seems to suddenly free itself from the restraints of the moderato marking; the restatement of the second theme on a far grander scale than its first appearance.

So, one could argue here that the use of moderato at the opening of the piece, and its reappearance later on, is a very deliberate device which serves to create moments of great tension, suspense and climax.

WOMEN AND THE PIANO: A History in 50 Lives - Susan Tomes

by Frances Wilson, Interlude

Following on from her splendid ‘The Piano: A History in 100 Pieces’, celebrated pianist and writer Susan Tomes now turns her attention to that oft-neglected corner of classical music history – women pianists.

Susan Tomes

Focusing on 50 women pianists – some well-known (Louise Farrenc, Fanny Mendelssohn, Nadia Boulanger, Tatiana Nikolayeva, for example), others less so, or only recently discovered – Tomes traces the lives and music-making of these women across the piano’s history, from the development of the piano in the 18th century to the present day.

As Tomes points out in her introduction, the piano is “an instrument that anyone can play, irrespective of gender”, yet until fairly recently, women pianists and composer-pianists were overlooked, under-represented in concert programmes and recordings, and generally consigned to the background in classical music history.

In some ways, the reasons for this are simple: women pianists lacked access to formal music training, were excluded from performance opportunities, and were even at a disadvantage to men due to the size of the instrument, the piano’s keys being designed for men’s typically larger hands. Additionally, women often had significant obligations to the home and family. And yet, despite these limitations, women continued to play, perform, and compose their own music. 

Pioneers, in a number of ways, women pianists carved their own paths within a male-dominated profession. They travelled independently and helped to shape the modern piano concert as we know it today, including playing from memory (Clara Schumann), performing cycles of complete works (Wanda Landoswka/Bach’s Goldberg Variations), premiering new works and reviving historical works, bringing lesser-known and rare repertoire into concert programmes and recordings, and commissioning new music. They were involved in recording, broadcasting, presenting TV programmes about music, creating educational initiatives, devising concert series….and much more – all against a background of, at best half-hearted support, at worst, antagonism, resentment, and open sexism. 

These enterprising women, 50 of whom are presented in this book, helped to expand and diversify the profession, gradually debunking the notion that the male approach to a career as a concert pianist was not the only way. These women were not imitators of male pianists but artists in their own right, with their own musical integrity, authority, and identity.

This highly readable, meticulously researched, and elegantly crafted book takes a chronological approach, beginning with French keyboard player Anne-Louise Boyvin d’Hardancourt Brillon de Jouy and ending with Nina Simone, jazz pianist, singer and civil rights activist. For each woman pianist featured, the author gives biographical details, notes their significant performances, recordings or compositions, and demonstrates how they have each contributed to the world of the piano.

The introductory chapters explore some of the reasons why women were sidelined, including social mores and prejudices, and how men became ascendent in the profession. The closing chapters examine where we are today with regard to female musicians, including the effect of equal rights legislation, the rise of piano competitions, shifting attitudes within the profession and audience perceptions, and the influence of teachers. For this section of the book, Susan Tomes spoke to a number of female pianists working today to reveal some surprising insights, and the barriers and limitations which women still face today in a highly competitive global profession. 

At a time when the current discourse in classical music – and indeed in society in general – is focused on equality and inclusion, this book is an important, valuable contribution to the debate and a rich celebration of the essential role of women in the history of classical music and the piano in particular.

Playlist: Water Games

by Frances Wilson, Interlude

‘Water games’ is one translation of Jeux d’eau by Maurice Ravel, others being Fountains and Playing Water.

Shipwreck

Each is equally apt: in this piece Ravel brilliantly evokes “the splashing of water and by the musical sounds of fountains, cascades and rivulets” (Ravel) through shimmering figurations, cascading arpeggios and other fluid textures. It’s a masterpiece of Impressionism and was the well-spring for other water-inspired piano music by Ravel, namely Une barque sur l’océan from Miroirs and Ondine from Gaspard de la Nuit. 

Fountain in Villa d’Este, Tivoli

But the forerunner of these pieces was undoubtedly Franz Liszt’s Les jeux d’eau à la Villa d’Este, which, like Jeux d’eau, evokes the sparkling play of fountains and the fluidity and brilliance of water. The Villa d’Este boasts an extraordinary system of fountains, with some fifty-one fountains and nymphaeums, 398 spouts, 364 water jets, 64 waterfalls, and 220 basins, fed by 875 metres of canals, channels and cascades, and all working entirely by the force of gravity, without pumps.

Reflections on water

Debussy was also a master of depicting water in music. Reflets dans l’eau (Reflections in the Water). Here Debussy imitates not just the sounds of water – droplets and burbles, splashes and raindrops – but also reflections, the pictures that float upon the surface.

n. The Lone Wreck, from The Tides by English composer William Baines, is a dramatic tone poem which paints a haunting picture of an abandoned ship deep in the ocean, complete with the calls of sea birds.

Night gondola in Venice, Italy

The Barcarolle, or “boat song”, inspired by the songs of Venetian gondoliers, seeks to portray the rocking motion of the sea and the rise and fall of waves. Chopin’s Barcarolle is perhaps the most famous work in this genre. Mendelssohn’s Venetian Gondolier’s Song in f-sharp minor from his Songs Without Words is dark and atmospheric, suggesting nighttime on the Venetian lagoon.

Liszt was also adept at portraying the motion of the ocean. In his Legende No. 2, St. Francis of Paola walking on the waves, the waters roll and bubble beneath the saint’s feet as he crosses the Straits of Messina.

Meanwhile, Benjamin Britten transports us to more serene waters in Sailing from his Holiday Diary suite. The wind gets up in the middle section, tossing the boat about, before calm is restored.

Transcending Tunes of Light and Shade Handel: Messiah

by Frances Wilson, Interlude

During the opening measures of the famous chorus, members of the audience glanced around anxiously, checking to see who would be first to rise to their feet. Then someone in the balcony stood, and someone else, and suddenly the whole audience rose to its feet, as is traditional for the ‘Hallelujah’ Chorus.

George Frideric Handel © portlandhandelsociety.org

The reasons for this tradition are somewhat apocryphal: one version is that at the first London performance in 1743, the audience “together with the King”, were so moved by the ‘Hallelujah’ Chorus that they spontaneously rose to their feet. An alternative explanation is that King George II was so tone-deaf that he thought the performance had finished, and the orchestra was playing the National Anthem: once the King stood, everyone present was obliged to stand too. Whatever the reason, there is something really special about standing for such an uplifting and triumphant piece of music.

For me ‘Messiah’ will forever be associated with the beginning of the Christmas season. When I was at school, it formed an integral part of the concert which ended the Autumn term, along with the service of nine lessons and carols at the church next door to my school. I must have sung Handel’s ‘Messiah’ at least 10 times, for the tradition of performing it at Christmas continued when I joined my university choir.

Background

‘Messiah’ was composed in 1741, with a text compiled by Charles Jennens from the King James Bible and the version of the Psalms included with the Book of Common Prayer. It was first performed in Dublin on 13 April 1742 and received its London premiere nearly a year later. Initially it received a modest public reception, despite Handel’s established reputation in England, where he had lived since 1712, but gradually the oratorio gained in popularity and it is now one of the best-known, much-loved and most frequently performed choral works in Western music. 

The Story

The work is organised in three sections: Part 1 tells the story of the birth of Christ and includes all the familiar elements of the Christmas story. Part 2 is concerned with Christ’s passion and death, his resurrection and ascension, and ends with the joyous ‘Hallelujah’ chorus. It is this aspect of the work which makes it just as applicable for performance at Easter as well as at Christmas (in fact, its premiere in Dublin took place 19 days after Easter 1742). Part 3 returns to the theme of resurrection and represents the real core of the work as Christ’s resurrection is connected to our own redemption and sense of hope, beautifully affirmed in one of the work’s most famous arias, ‘I Know that My Redeemer Liveth’. And I suppose the best thing about ‘Messiah’ really is all the memorable ‘tunes’ – from ‘Ev’ry Valley Shall be Exalted’ to ‘The Trumpet Shall Sound’, ‘I Know My Redeemer Liveth’ to the charming duet between tenor and alto ‘O Death Where is Thy Sting’. Then there are the choruses: ‘And the Glory of the Lord’, ‘All We Like Sheep’, ‘For Unto Us a Child is Born, ‘Hallelujah’, and the wonderful fugue of the final chorus. In between all this are some beautiful solos, recitatives, which serve to move the narrative forward, and delightful orchestral interludes.

Handel brings the text to life with light and shade, storms and sunshine, fugue and counterpoint, and a huge variety of textures and “word painting”, the technique of having the melody mimic the literal meaning of the libretto. Because of the skilful way in which Handel organises the material, and the universal, redemptive message of the text, Messiah remains a work which is uplifting and life-affirming, regardless of how it is performed.

The Success in Failure

by Frances Wilson, Interlude

A new museum in Helsingborg, Sweden, celebrates failure. Yes, you read that correctly – it celebrates failure. The museum displays corporate products which flopped but which paved the way for greater innovation and extraordinary commercial success (for example, Apple’s Newton device was the forerunner of the iPhone and iPad), and prove that failure, and a willingness to learn from it, is a crucial part of success.

“Innovation requires failure. Learning is the only process that turns failure into success.”
– Dr Samuel West, creator of The Museum of Failure

Despite knowing that we can learn from our own mistakes, most of us fear failure, and fear the reactions to that failure – ridicule from family, friends, colleagues, embarrassment, personal disappointment and depression. As musicians, setbacks and failure can have a profound effect on how we approach our music making and professional career. If we perceive failure as humiliation, it can paralyse our ability to learn and develop, but if we can separate our ego from the failure or setback, we can use the experience positively as an informed learning process to shape our future approach, make us stronger and motivate us to work harder and smarter. Sadly for many of us, the “wrongness” of making mistakes is inculcated in us from a young age – by parents, teachers, and peers – and such prejudices combined with a constricted mindset leads us to blame and criticise ourselves for our failings.

The problem for many musicians is that our music and our instrument are crucially entwined with our identity and setbacks can therefore feel like a very personal attack. But if we are able to see what we do as ‘work’, and not allow it to define us as a person, we can take a more objective approach to mistakes and setbacks.

Failure is part of creativity and mastery. Without it we cannot learn, explore, experiment, expand our horizons, and, importantly, progress. By removing emotion and adopting a more positive mental attitude, we can turn failures into successes and become more creative and motivated to succeed. Neuroscientists have found that the parts of our brain responsible for self-monitoring are actually switched off when we are being creative. Thus, by being creative, negative feelings connected with failure can be turned down, allowing the brain to think clearly and spark new ideas and approaches.

My students don’t believe me when I tell them there is a book called The Perfect Wrong Note, which celebrates mistakes and what we can learn from them. In our day-to-day practise, mistakes should be regarded as opportunities for evaluation, reflection and refinement.

Mistakes show we are human, and fallible, that it’s ok to have an off day when your playing and practising may not go as well as usual. Giving ourselves permission to make mistakes allows us to be fulfilled by our music and to feel empowered about our practising. A willingness to make mistakes teaches us to be self-critical, but in a positive, productive way.

Mistakes and failures contain all the information needed for learning – if we are willing to use it – and as the Museum of Failure demonstrates, failure is a crucial part of innovation, creativity and progress.

There is no such thing as failure — failure is just life trying to move us in another direction……Learn from every mistake. Because every experience, encounter, and particularly your mistakes are there to teach you and force you into being more of who you are.
– Oprah Winfrey

22 Nocturnes for Chopin

by Frances Wilson, Interlude

This new anthology is a result of EVC Music’s #CallToWomenComposers worldwide search for talented but not yet published women composers and includes new piano works by twenty-two women composers inspired by Chopin’s Nocturnes.

The project was initiated by Rose McLachlan, talented daughter of Scottish pianist and pedagogue Murray McLachlan, as part of her Masters degree. Applications were open to women composers aged 14+ and EVC Music received over eighty pieces in a variety of styles from romantic to experimental. The pieces were selected blind: the selection committee was presented with ‘nameless’ scores, and sixteen pieces were chosen in addition to six pieces commissioned from established women composers.

Rose McLachlan, pianist

Chopin dedicated almost all of his piano works to a woman; for example, his Op25 Etudes are dedicated to Marie d’Agoult, and other works were dedicated to female friends or talented students. Thus, this new anthology of piano music by women composers completes the circle, as it were.

The featured composers are from the UK, Ukraine, Israel, Poland, Canada and the USA. Most have not been published before; some have contributed pieces to exam syllabuses; each brings their own authentic voice to their music, and the result is a varied collection of music of intermediate (cGrade 6) to advanced level (cGrade 8).

Frédéric Chopin © Hadi Karimi

Many of the pieces display the typical characteristics of Chopin’s Nocturnes (and indeed John Field’s before him), with flowing, arpeggiated accompaniments, songful, lyrical melodies embellished with ornaments, fiorituras, improvisatory or cadenza-like passages, and chromaticism. The harmonies are in general consonant, with some unexpected piquancies or key shifts which add interest and character to the music. Interestingly, almost all the pieces are scored in a minor key. Some feel very close to Chopin’s originals, and the uninitiated listener could be forgiven for thinking some of these pieces are actually by Chopin. This may be because some are directly inspired by specific Nocturnes (e.g. Nos. 8, 13, 19, 20), while others are influenced by other works by Chopin or by Bellini’s Bel Canto arias, which inspired Chopin himself (e.g. No. 12 Triste by Victoria Proudler). Some take their inspiration from literary or poetic sources and the natural world (e.g. No. 17 Waves Collide with the Precipice by Charlotte Botterill); a handful take a rather more leftfield approach, incorporating more ambiguous or atonal harmonies and rhythms inspired by ragtime and jazz (No. 22 by jazz pianist and composer Zoe Rahman). All are infused with the nostalgia, poignancy, and Zal of Chopin’s music.

A sample page from the piano anthology

This is an interesting and attractively produced anthology, with clear engraving on thick cream paper. A QR code links back to the publisher’s website with information about the composers and brief notes on each of their Nocturnes, plus audio links to listen to each one.

As an introduction to the Nocturne genre as well as an anthology of brand new piano music for intermediate to advanced students, this is a welcome addition to the repertoire and a useful resource for teachers and students who may wish to study attractive contemporary Nocturnes alongside Chopin’s originals.

Silence Is Golden – At Least at Classical Music Concerts!

 by Frances Wilson  

The 2023 edition of the Proms, “the world’s greatest classical music festival”, has just ended. As usual, this year’s two-month season of concerts was punctuated by conversations about audience noise and the now rather tedious rants about applause between movements. During this year’s Prom season, BBC Radio 3 broadcast an episode of its Music Matters series in which the presenter suggested that audiences should be more vocal; that they should chill, let it all hang out, and behave more akin to their rowdier 18th- and 19th- century concert-going predecessors. Or be more like audiences at jazz or even pop gigs where a great improv sequence or a particularly juicy guitar riff is met with applause, whistling, and more.

Classical music audience

The argument for more ‘audience participation’ (and noise) at classical concerts usually goes something like this: in Mozart’s day, people enjoyed food, drink, and gossip during performances. Often the musicians, and the performance, were almost secondary to the noisy socialising and carousing. The advocates for “noise at concerts” hint that we need to return to an 18th-century mode of behaviour when experiencing classical music and that this approach will attract that elusive “younger audience” and make classical music “more accessible”.

The tradition of listening to concerts in silence, in a special building designed for that purpose, developed during the middle of the 19th century and soon became the “proper” way to experience live classical music (Wagner was one of the first to advocate silence at concerts.). Most people who go to classical concerts today not only accept that listening in silence is an established part of concert etiquette, it also makes the concert experience more enjoyable for everyone.

In addition to the ‘social code’ of the classical concert – knowing when to keep quiet for the benefit of other people, including the performers – there are good, practical reasons for listening to classical music quietly.

Liszt concert by Ralph Steadman

Silence in the concert hall is a sign of respect for the performers. Classical musicians invest significant time and effort into perfecting their craft, and the concert stage is where they share their artistry with the audience. By maintaining silence, attendees show appreciation for the dedication and talent of the musicians, acknowledging their hard work and skill.

Silence creates an environment that encourages deep musical engagement and allows the myriad nuances of the music to be fully appreciated. Why? Because classical music often contains intricate melodies, harmonies, and subtle dynamics that demand attentive listening. Silence in the concert hall allows listeners to immerse themselves in the music without distraction, allowing them to experience the emotional depth and expressive or artistic intentions of the music. Unlike some other forms of entertainment, classical music’s beauty often emerges from its delicate interplay of soft and loud passages, intricate phrasing, and nuanced interpretations. The silence maintains an atmosphere that helps capture these subtleties.

© Unsplash

For many of us, myself included, the chief attraction of classical music concerts, apart from the music itself, of course, is the opportunity to escape into quiet introversion for a few hours. I love going to concerts with friends, listening with others, but ultimately, it’s a very personal, often introspective experience. In today’s fast-paced, frenetic, noisy world, I love the opportunity to be completely silent for a few hours, almost as a kind of retreat.

And the sense of collective listening in silence with 500 or more other people can be very potent. We have all been at concerts where the power of the music and performer encourages a really intense form of listening on the part of the audience. I experienced it when hearing Igor Levit play Beethoven’s last three piano sonatas at London’s Wigmore Hall some years ago when the audience listened, utterly transfixed, in complete silence, only to make a seemingly collective exhale some long moments after the music had faded into the silence. This kind of intense listening and the sense that one has been on a shared emotional journey is really powerful – quite rare in concerts, but it makes performances really memorable.

As concert presenters and performers strive to attract new audiences, especially younger audiences, the tradition of silence in classical music concerts is constantly being questioned. For some, it can feel unduly restrictive, unfriendly, or exclusionary. For others, it smacks of elitism (never mind that theatre etiquette requests that audiences remain silent as well…..). Today there is plenty of room for classical music to be presented differently – family concerts, relaxed concerts, open-air concerts, concerts in disused car parks (something I’ve experienced as part of previous Proms seasons), and other non-standard venues (bars, cafés, galleries and other ‘salon’ style settings). And yet often at such events, there is still a sense of ‘listening in silence’, or at least listening attentively on the part of the audience.

While there is room for evolving concert etiquette, the tradition of silence continues to be an integral aspect of classical music concerts, allowing audiences to deeply connect with the artistry and emotions conveyed through the music.

So, let’s let classical audiences remain silent. We show our appreciation in other ways – by applauding, cheering and bravo-ing at the end of the performance, and while these behaviours may seem antiquated, or even elitist (they’re not!) to some, to the regular concert-goer this is what comes out of silence.

Just like the music.

Musical Punctuation Marks

by Frances Wilson, Interlude

Imagine if you were listening to someone speak, perhaps reading out the news on television, or reciting a poem. The speaker’s voice sounds the same the entire time they are speaking, with no rise or fall in sound, no changes in rhythm or tempo (speed), and no indication that there are commas, full stops, or breaks for breath. Imagine how boring that would be to listen to! Writers include punctuation marks in text to help the reader or speaker understand and enjoy the text more, and to add interest and flow to the words.

© Learnfield GmbH

In just the same way, music has its own ‘punctuation marks’ to help the performer shape and communicate the music and the listener to better understand and enjoy the piece. The performer transmits all these punctuation marks to the listener by highlighting them in their playing. Without this, the music will be boring, monotone, lacking in colour, rhythmic vitality and interest. From the very beginning of the music, in fact, even before we play a single note, composers give very clear signals about how they would like the music to sound, and throughout the music there are signs and symbols to tell us how to “punctuate” or shape the music.

© chieyoshinaka.com

General tempo and descriptive markings

These are usually in Italian at the start of the score. For example, allegro (briskly), lento (slowly), cantabile (in a singing style), con fuoco (with fire). Composers may add other markings within the score to indicate specific effects – for example, ritardando (getting slower) or accelerando (speeding up).

© Music Theory Academy

Metronome mark

This gives an indication of suggested tempo (speed). Not all music includes a metronome mark on the core: music written before Beethoven‘s time does not because the metronome had not been invented. But metronome marks should not be taken as set in stone; rather, they are for guidance.

Example of articulation marks. From left to right: staccato, staccatissimo,
marcato, accent, and tenuto. © study.com

Articulation markings

Articulations are signs which ask the performer to do something particular to a note, such as staccato (detached, bouncy), legato (smoothly), accented for greater emphasis. Articulation adds interest and character to specific notes or groups of notes.

© Hoffman Academy

Dynamic markings

These are signs or words which tell us how loudly or softly to play. For example: crescendo (getting louder gradually), subito piano (suddenly quiet), sforzando (with force), fortissimo (very loud/strong). Just as we use a raised voice or a whisper for specific emphasis in speech, so in music where dynamics are employed to create drama, suggest character or mood, or for declamatory statements, for example.

Phrase marks

Phrase marks

Phrase marks are curved lines which indicate that a group of notes form a musical ‘idea’ or sentence.

© PowerSchool Learning

Rests

Rests indicate where to be silent. Rests in music create drama, suspense, expectation or delayed gratification.

In his popular Fantasy in D minor, K 397, Mozart utilises all the above-mentioned features to create music of considerable drama and intensity, with rapidly contrasting moods and characters.

The Enchanting Power of Intimacy: Music in Small Venues

By Frances Wilson, Interlude

I will never forget a concert I attended in the mid-1980s in a tiny Medieval church in Zadar, a small seaside town in former Yugoslavia. Amidst the ancient stone pillars and arches, a string quartet played music by Beethoven and Schubert, lit only by the waning evening sun and, later, candles.

1901 Arts Club

In the realm of live music, small concert venues serve as magical spaces to create a unique connection between performers and audiences. While grand concert halls have their place, it is within the intimate confines of these smaller places that a profound and transformative musical and emotional experience unfolds.

Such places are often not purpose-built music venues but simply small spaces which lend themselves to a more intimate concert experience. They may be converted churches, a former schoolhouse (the 1901 Arts Club in London, for example), a café, a river barge, or even someone’s home. Music presented in such settings is also a reminder of how music was performed up until the mid-19th century, when performers like Franz Liszt and Clara Schumann transformed the intimate concert into the rather grander, large-scale affair which we understand today.

Steven Isserlis performing at Fidelio cafe

Small venues provide an unparalleled level of intimacy that is often absent in larger venues. The close proximity of the audience allows for a more immediate and personal connection between performers and listeners. Musicians can see and feel the energy of the listeners, creating a symbiotic relationship where the audience’s response fuels the performer’s passion. This intimate connection can foster a sense of vulnerability and authenticity, enhancing the overall experience for both parties. 

Treehouse Shoreditch

In smaller concert venues, performers have the freedom to express themselves authentically and with spontaneity. These venues often attract artists who prioritize creative exploration and experimentation over commercial success. Artists feel more comfortable taking risks and showcasing their true artistic vision, as they are performing for a receptive and engaged audience who appreciates the rawness of their craft. The absence of overwhelming production elements, such as special lighting or stage setting, encourages musicians to rely on their talents and ability to communicate which creates a genuine and organic musical experience.

For the audience, there is a heightened sense of engagement: they are not mere spectators but active participants in the unfolding narrative of the performance with more direct interaction with the musicians, a non-verbal ‘conversation’, as it were, which creates a sense of community and shared experience that is deeply gratifying for both performers and audiences alike. Audiences can get ‘up close and personal’ with music and musicians, watching the musicians interact with one another through eye contact and gestures, and actually witnessing music being created ‘in the moment’. 

Small concert venues can also act as breeding grounds for emerging artists and composers, and the discovery of new, lesser-known, or rarely-performed repertoire. These intimate spaces provide a platform for performers to showcase their talent and gain exposure. Audiences, in turn, have the opportunity to discover hidden gems and witness the growth of rising stars firsthand. The sense of discovery and being part of an artist’s journey adds an element of excitement and exclusivity that is often absent in larger or more commercial venues.

Above all, the atmosphere in a small venue can be truly memorable. The intimate setting creates a special ambiance of a shared, often transformative, or immersive experience that resonates long after the performance ends.