RNS/Kanneh-Mason live at the Glasshouse review – epic Beethoven pushes RNS to the limits

Starry pianist Isata Kanneh-Mason’s Clara Schumann had crystalline clarity plus a stunning cello solo, but it was Dinis Sousa’s vigorous tackling of Beethoven’s most fabled symphony that had RNS operating at their genuinely world class best.

It’s 7 p.m. on an unseasonably mild February night outside the Glasshouse and a violinist is in a hurry. She dashes past me as I’m wrestling with my bike lock, already creating her own percussive rhythms through the frantic clip clop of high heels and the rattle of her violin case on her back. Her panic is understandable – tonight, of all nights, is not one to show up late for. Inside, the place is packed, with perhaps double the attendance of underrated Sunwook Kim‘s take on Brahms before Christmas. There are even – to my wide-eyed disbelief – a handful of fellow youngsters in attendance, apparently lured in by the youthful appeal of tonight’s 27-year-old pianist. The high turnout isn’t the only reason this concert feels special. The first person to walk out onstage is BBC Radio 3’s Linton Stephens, who opens with “Good evening everyone here in Gateshead, and good evening to everyone listening at home!” to the excited murmur of the audience, some of whom have already spotted the bulky camera taking up a cluster of seats at one side of the auditorium. The tardy violinist, thank goodness, is on stage with the rest of the Royal Northern Sinfonia, listening intently to Stephens’ preamble about the Schumanns whilst cradling her violin as if nothing untoward happened 30 minutes prior.

As Stephens made clear, big things were to come in the evening’s programme, but it started with a curiosity in Robert Schumann’s Zwickau symphony, a rarely performed piece. Schumann himself gave up on it as he was composing it, leaving behind two unpublished movements. The challenge for Dinis Sousa’s RNS was to justify playing such a work, especially since – as Sousa made sure to warn us at the start of the concert – it ends in such a blatantly unfinished way, the second movement’s subdued ellipsis begging for a lively and redemptive third movement. Soon the reasoning became clear: Sousa was simply having enormous fun, setting off rapid-fire melodies in various corners of the orchestra with a flick of a hand like a kid let loose on an air traffic control dashboard. When the symphony took a strikingly bleak turn in the second movement, Sousa went all in, conducting gut-punching fortissimo chords with a violent full-body thrust.

However, as in life, it was the subsequent Clara Schumann piano concerto (fittingly premiered by Clara alongside Zwickau in the 1835 concert where the two first met) that outshone her husband’s work. Quite possibly the greatest female composer of all time, in the 19th century Clara was acceptable as a high profile virtuoso pianist but not in the more firmly male-dominated world of composing. Today, the fact that this Piano Concerto – which she performed in Leipzig aged 16 – received little fanfare in its day is extraordinary. It is a remarkably fearless, ambitious piece overflowing with winning melodies that call for robust execution in some moments and careful nurturing in others. Melodic caretaker this evening is Isata Kanneh-Mason, a big name in British classical, the big names being the second and third in particular; the precocious Kanneh-Mason family have created a small dynasty in recent years, enshrining themselves in the mainstream when Isata’s cellist brother Sheku took a star turn at Prince Harry and Meghan Markle’s wedding in 2018. Isata hasn’t simply got tonight’s gig playing Clara Schumann on a whim, though. Her affinity for the composer runs deep and she has long championed Schumann as a figurehead of criminally underappreciated female composers over the centuries.

Kanneh-Mason’s star continues to rise, so it was a testament to her humility that tonight she turned the focus primarily onto Schumann rather than herself, delivering the virtuosic flourishes with little fanfare and devoting plenty of thought to the elementary passages that some of her circus-act contemporaries might dismiss as pointless fluff between all the flamboyant fast bits. Indeed, it was the second movement, a piece achievable for any intermediate piano student, which shone brightest in this rendition. Referred to by Schumann as a nocturne, the movement evokes Chopin at his airy, moonlit best, complete with a haunting melody played with limpid ease by Kanneh-Mason. She was to be bettered by cellist Eddie Pogossion, however, who contributed his own delectable solo, wringing out a lament from his strings with a pained, yearning vibrato. A clattering finale to the third movement, with Kanneh-Mason powering her way through some fiendish passagework, made for a satisfying finish to a recital that was something of a revelation for me.

I was so immersed by the high-octane finish to the piano concerto that it was a surprise when Stephens appeared on my row a few seats away from me, primed with a big microphone to give the link during the interval. There was plenty to say about what was coming up in the second half. A survey of conductors by BBC Magazine saw Beethoven’s Eroica to be voted the greatest symphony of all time, beating out his instantly recognisable Fifth (duh duh duh duhhhh), which didn’t even make the top ten. Often described as the symphony that sparked the new Romantic era in classic music, Beethoven’s Third is the epitome of a hero’s journey and a musical expression of the democratic surge sweeping across Europe at the time (it originally had a dedication to the revolutionary Napoleon Bonaparte, which Beethoven retracted when Napoleon turned out to have more dictatorial aims).

It should come as no surprise that Eroica is a highly demanding piece to play for every member of the orchestra, but Sousa was characteristically fearless, launching into those thrilling first two chords at a notably faster tempo than the versions I’d previously heard. He passed the almost constant main theme around the ensemble like a burning torch, sometimes letting it flicker to nothing, other times stoking a roaring inferno. It turned out Sousa’s preference was more towards the latter, urging his violins on towards the first movement’s denouement with such a burning intensity one front row violinist ended up with a broken string.

A lowly fourth violinist was obliged to exchange their working violin for the broken one and spent the second movement backstage fitting a new string, but the waltzing Adagio assai sounded no less full-blooded than the first movement, lazily drooping double basses providing a rich base for a tragic melody. The alarming stabs of brass were spectacular, but the most exciting sound was the flutter of Sousa’s coattails, audible from my prime perch just above the orchestra in the breathless moments before one of Beethoven’s numerous symphonic explosions. A sprightly shiver of strings propelled a comic relief solo from Peter Facer on oboe during the Scherzo, and the finale was replete with solos, each as flawless as the last, with Charlotte Ashton’s turn on flute a standout. One of my favourite things about classical music is the unambiguous, utterly unapologetic way they tend to end and Eroica is a particularly thrilling example, with its rocky crescendo that accelerates towards oblivion. Now with his entire ensemble back, Sousa looked like he had had a whale of a time as he took long applauses and directed various instrument sections to stand for their own applause. In keeping with the democratic ideals Beethoven was voicing support for, every single member of RNS had put in an almighty shift, and there was never the question of whether this lofty masterpiece would prove much for an ensemble from little old Newcastle.

A cellist has already emerged from the back of the Glasshouse by the time I’m unlocking my bike outside. He quietly accepts compliments from a few concertgoers before joining the queue for taxis. For him, this was just another day at the office. Seeing him is a reminder of just how easy it is to forget how extraordinary this whole affair is – the magnificent Glasshouse, the buzzing auditorium, my perfect balcony seat (only a fiver for under 30s!), the fact I can cycle home in minutes. All of it makes me feel incredibly lucky to live where I do, but tonight proved one further surprise: on their day, the RNS really can compete with the London and Berlin Philharmonics of this world. I hope to never take such a musical feast for granted.

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