Review

Maconchy’s Nocturne for Orchestra makes for a highly effective concert opener — an efficient and colourful piece that packs a range of ideas and textures into a short space of time. Ethereal strings, chamber-like vignettes, a dramatic theatrical high point, and a curiously ambiguous ending make this nighttime jaunt quite the adventure. There was sparkle, mystery, and drama from the LSO in a work that focused the mind well before the main events that followed.

Violinist Vilde Frang is a marvel to watch in the Korngold Violin Concerto. Up close, the sound combines a clear, sweet upper range with a resonant lower register. The bow seems never to leave the strings, giving the line a smooth, contained quality. Even when long expressive lyricism transitions into something more spirited or animated, there’s a clear sense this is all one uninterrupted thread of music delivered without distraction. Korngold draws each movement from one of his Hollywood film scores — Another Dawn (1937) for the first, Juarez(1939) for the second, and The Prince and the Pauper (1937) for the third — the concerto’s cinematic DNA evident from the outset.

Her articulation is tidy, cadences neatly “tucked in” — a compact technique that produces a big sound. She makes the opening motif in the first movement (Another Dawn) something akin to a satisfying stretch on a sunny morning. The smallest of pauses before embarking on a cadenza-style passage creates a moment of blissful stillness in the auditorium, secured earlier in the programme than perhaps anyone anticipated.

In the second movement (Juarez) Romance there’s Hollywood magic underscored with a vibraphone. That Frang big sound is evident even when she’s playing pianissimo, as in the heartfelt opening motif. The muted material sometimes gets a little lost in the folds of the LSO’s powerful sound. To end, a solitary descent precedes a resolute ascent to a shimmering peak, the solo violin reaching intuitively, step by step, Frang cueing exquisite theatre in this tender conclusion.

The frenetic finale, adapted from Korngold’s score for The Prince and the Pauper — starring Errol Flynn and set in Tudor England — becomes a glossy Hollywood potpourri, its quick-fire shifts and bounding rhythms carrying, to modern ears, an unmistakable air of Americana. It careers to a playful conclusion that subverts expectations as only a film composer who does playful can, prompting an immediate response from the audience and three returns to the stage for Frang — well deserved for a performer who has undoubtedly brought sunshine to the stage with a work that feels less like soloist versus orchestra and more like peers working together.

The second half brought Vaughan Williams’ A Sea Symphony — a large-scale work far removed from the pastoral image of The Lark Ascending or the Tallis Fantasia, demanding resources on a scale few composers dared. Here, the Edinburgh Festival Chorus were the undisputed force: fierce in stamina and commitment, responding to the work’s big calls and its moments of subdued consolation with reliability and consistency. Occasional lapses in diction and some end-of-work intonation strain in the sopranos were hardly surprising given the demands on this non-professional chorus — they had, after all, opened the Festival with Tavener’s eight-hour Vigil.

Drawing on four of Walt Whitman’s ocean-themed poems from Leaves of Grass, Vaughan Williams responds to the vivid imagery in the text with great effect. The score is magnificent, with bold, assertive statements and moments of profound reflection and consolation. Whilst Whitman’s text makes this a rich canvas, the overarching meaning can feel opaque.

Orchestral highlights included the brooding opening of the second movement, On the Beach at Night, Alone, basses grumbling with a distant hint of menace. The concluding orchestral tutti is a magical creation, holding the audience still in their seats. In the third-movement scherzo, “waves undulating waves” brought commanding, tempestuous swirls from the full ensemble.

The soloists didn’t always fare as well. Baritone Will Liverman was at times lost in the mix, diction slipping and presence lacking, particularly in early solo entries. Soprano Natalya Romaniw asserted more confidently, cutting through with a brighter profile. When the two sang together in the first movement, the balance was uneven; yet by the time of the final “Battle me, Oh God” their voices were better matched, and Liverman’s delivery — as in his later clarinet-accompanied passage — was more forward and engaging.

For all its sweep, scale, and moments of beauty, A Sea Symphony remains, arguably, a work easier to admire than to love. Its grand gestures and vivid tableaux impress, but the emotional connection feels elusive. Yet, this Sea Symphony, in the Festival’s hands, was a cracking demonstration of Vaughan Williams’ ambition — and a reminder of the stamina, precision, and sheer collective will such a piece demands.

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