Classical Explorations — November 2025

Darius Milhaud
Le Bœuf sur le toit, Op. 58
This wonderfully vivid, joy‑filled score from 1920s Paris has a very special place in my heart. As a young boy, my music teacher invited me to the Royal Festival Hall to hear The Philharmonia, and this was one of the first orchestral works I ever experienced live – what a piece to begin with! Milhaud himself described it as fifteen minutes of fast, exuberant music that could accompany any Charlie Chaplin silent film, and that is exactly how it felt in the hall. After two years in Brazil during the First World War, Milhaud returned to France with the sounds of carnival still ringing in his ears, and living in a bustling musicians’ house only added to the joyful cacophony that bursts through this score. The result is a riotous, high‑spirited piece: energetic, rhythmically inventive and constantly surprising. Watching Charles Dutoit and The Philharmonia unleash it was pure magic, each section contributing to a deliciously wayward tapestry that was both funny and spellbinding. The ingenious mix of polytonality and catchy popular idioms struck me then – and still does – as nothing short of brilliant. In that moment, sitting in the Royal Festival Hall, the decision quietly formed that I wanted to study music, to understand how something so wild and jubilant could be so perfectly put together.

Brassens: Les passantes
Alexandre Tharaud
French pianist Alexandre Tharaud has recently released an album called Pianosong, a heartfelt contemporary tribute to the great French singers and songwriters of the 20th century. Georges Brassens’ song Les Passantes is a poetic and melancholic tribute to women who pass fleetingly through a man's life – those he loves for brief, secret moments, those he barely knows, and those separated by fate or circumstance and never seen again. Throughout the album, there is an unmistakable sense of the French salon tradition – intimate, refined, and tinged with nostalgia. The orchestrations shimmer with colour and delicacy, evoking echoes of one of France’s most masterful orchestrators, Maurice Ravel. It’s a recording that celebrates not only the art of interpretation but also the enduring beauty of French musical lyricism.

Alexander Scriabin
Piano Concerto in F# Minor, Op.20
Scriabin was considered a pianist “of genius” by his contemporaries and taught at the Moscow Conservatory, known for performing his own works with remarkable individuality and artistry. While his technical approach, phrasing, and expressive rubato impressed many musicians and critics, demonstrating qualities deeply respected by fellow pianists, his playing style also divided people, sometimes criticised for insufficient tonal power and extreme personal interpretation. Whatever your feelings, Scriabin was a visionary who music evolved from Chopin-esc, late Romantic lyricism to a highly individual, harmonically advanced language. As time went along, his style became denser and more unusual. His reputation was long overshadowed by contemporaries like Rachmaninoff. This early piano work is full of beautiful interconnecting counterpoint and pretty ornamentation.

Rebecca Clarke
Sleep
Rebecca Clarke’s song Sleep exemplifies her gift for lyricism and subtle emotional colouring, weaving a delicate nocturne from poetic inspiration. Born in Harrow in 1886, Clarke was one of the first prominent female composer–instrumentalists of the early twentieth century, acclaimed as both a pioneering violist and a chamber musician. She entered the Royal Academy of Music in 1903, followed by studies at the Royal College of Music as Charles Stanford’s first female composition student. Clarke’s career and creative output were deeply shaped by the formidable struggles she faced as a woman composer. Raised by a strict, often abusive father, her education was disrupted when family approval was withdrawn following marriage proposals and her criticism of her father’s affairs. Forced to leave studies and support herself through performance, Clarke became one of the first women in the Queen’s Hall Orchestra in 1913 – a rare achievement in a male-dominated musical world. This recorded set of songs are beautifully performed, recorded and finished. Kitty Whately’s voice flows like honey in this recording – rich, sustained, and utterly captivating. 

Leoš Janáček
Mládí – iv. Con Moto
Janáček’s wind sextet Mládí (“youth”) was written in 1924 when Czech composer Leoš Janáček was 70, reflecting on his formative student days in Brno. A leading figure of Czech music, his highly individual style fused folk idioms with speech-like melodies. Mládí draws inspiration from Janáček’s youthful memories at the Augustinian monastery, combining joyful recollections with moments of nostalgia and loss. Scored for an unusual ensemble: flute (doubling piccolo), oboe, clarinet, bass clarinet, horn, and bassoon, the four-movement suite is considered both a technical and expressive milestone of wind chamber repertoire. Despite its inventiveness and charm, Mládí is not widely known, perhaps due to its unconventional instrumentation, which makes programming challenging for standard wind quintets.

Antonín Dvořák
Slavonic Dances No. 4 in F major (Sousedská)
Dvořák and the Czech Philharmonic are in each other’s DNA. Dvořák himself conducted the orchestra’s inaugural concert in 1896 in the Rudolfinum, even though he is said to have loathed the hall’s acoustic – ironic given that the building now bears his name! Subsequent renovations improved matters of course, and what followed was a long, fruitful relationship between composer, orchestra and place. This new Pentatone release with the Czech Philharmonic is recorded in that very residence, under the baton of their newly‑signed Principal Guest Conductor, Sir Simon Rattle. The playing is effortless, light, charming and imbued with a proud sense of national identity, the strings and winds dancing through Dvořák’s writing with an easy, conversational glow. It is hardly surprising that Dvořák conceived this set of pieces in the slipstream of Brahms’s wildly successful Hungarian Dances, filtering that same popular energy through a distinctly Czech lens.

Josef Suk
Elegy for violin, cello and piano, Op.23
Within the impressive Rudolfinum building in Prague which houses the Dvořák Hall, sits the more intimate Suk Hall. Named after Josef Suk, composer and violinist who married Dvořák’s daughter. His music evolved from Romanticism to profound, modern works shaped by personal tragedy – for losing his father-in-law in 1904 closely followed by his wife in 1905 unexpectedly due to heart failure at the young age of 27. This personal tragedy shaped his music, perhaps most notably in his Asrael Symphony. This wonderful poignant, single-movement chamber piece was written in 1902 as a tribute to the memory of eminent Czech poet and dramatist Julius Zeyer. True to Suk’s deeply lyrical style, the Elegy unfolds in gentle undulation between longing and consolation, revealing a distinctive blend of Dvořák’s influence and Suk’s own melodic individuality. The violin and cello weave expressive, sighing lines, echoing each other in bittersweet conversation above the piano’s sombre, chorale-like accompaniment. The result is a mood of reflective intimacy – music poised between mourning and peace, marked by transparent textures and tender lyricism, ideal for the mellow acoustics of a chamber space.

Douglas Knehans
Concerto for Flute (Tempest)
Douglas Knehans’s Concerto for Flute (Tempest) is a thrilling three-movement work that takes its inspiration from one of nature’s most powerful elements – wind. For Knehans, wind represents not only the lifeblood of flute playing but also an unstoppable natural force that shapes landscapes, atmospheres, and emotions. The concerto unfolds in a traditional fast–slow–fast structure, yet it moves beyond simple tone painting to explore deeper ideas of human experience, emotion, and psychology. Each movement captures a different kind of energy, from swirling turbulence to moments of quiet reflection, all painted in Knehans’s richly orchestrated and vividly coloured musical language. At the heart of Tempest is the extraordinary artistry of Gareth Davies, principal flute of the London Symphony Orchestra. His performance combines technical brilliance with heartfelt expression, capturing both the lyrical calm and the stormy intensity of the music. Through his playing, Knehans’s vision becomes fully realised – an exhilarating celebration of air, motion, and sound. More details about the score are available here>>

Ballabile con Variazioni nel ballo Ettore Fieramosca
Ernesto Cavallini
Ernesto Cavallini (1807–1874), hailed as the “Paganini of the clarinet”, was an Italian clarinettist and composer born in Milan. He studied at the Milan Conservatory and became principal clarinettist at La Scala. Renowned for his dazzling technique, even on a six-key clarinet considered outdated, Cavallini inspired great composers like Verdi, who wrote a clarinet solo for him in La forza del Destino. His compositions, including fantasies, caprices, and concertos remain popular amongst clarinettists. This piece, performed by Javier Llopis, showcases the piccolo clarinet with artful control. Llopis, based in Tenerife, is known for his expertise on the E-flat clarinet and his dedication to expanding its repertoire and profile worldwide. His album The Art of the Piccolo Clarinet highlights this instrument’s unusual range – often very high and shrill – but Llopis’s playing is beautifully balanced with a warm, exciting tone that’s worth hearing. Give it a listen to experience the piccolo clarinet’s charm beyond shrillness.

Concerto VII for violin, strings and continuo in D minor, Op. 8, RV 242
Antonio Vivaldi
Vivaldi, a Venetian virtuoso violinist and ordained priest, revolutionised the violin concerto form with his vigorous rhythmic drive and bold soloistic writing, which deeply influenced composers like Bach. Apart from his prolific output of nearly 500 concertos, Vivaldi was a pioneering music educator at the Ospedale della Pietà, a Venetian orphanage for girls, for whom many of his concertos were composed. The thrilling recording of this D Minor Concerto by La Serenissima captures the fiery energy and vibrant clarity that embody Vivaldi’s spirit – exactly how Vivaldi’s music should sound: fresh, exhilarating, and full of life. Their performance is a vivid testament to the timeless appeal and brilliance of Vivaldi’s genius.

Concerto for Trumpet and Orchestra: I. Allegretto Capriccioso
Michelino Bisceglia
Michelino Bisceglia is a Belgian composer and pianist born in 1970 with Italian roots. He has built a versatile career across jazz, classical, and film music, working with acclaimed artists like Randy Brecker and Bob Mintzer. Bisceglia is also a noted composer for orchestras and films, having won awards such as the World Soundtrack Award Public Choice for his film score work. His music often blends jazz influences with classical traditions, making his style both accessible and sophisticated. His Concerto for Trumpet and Orchestra showcases this blend beautifully. The piece features expressive, lyrical trumpet passages supported by rich orchestral textures. It highlights the trumpet’s versatility, moving from bold and energetic to tender and reflective moments. Bisceglia’s skilful orchestration and melodic gift make this concerto a fresh and appealing addition to the trumpet repertoire, ideal for audiences who appreciate music that bridges classical and contemporary styles.

Cantata BWV127 'Herr Jesu Christ, wahr' Mensch und Gott'
J.S. Bach
Released this month is a remarkable track from a complete set of Bach chorale cantatas. The performance by soprano soloist Aleksandra Lewandowska and oboist Emmanuel Laporte is nothing short of outstanding. Their sound is exquisitely beautiful, combining a flawless tone, impeccable diction, and a masterful sense of counterpoint and ensemble playing. The interplay between voice and oboe captures the essence of the music with such clarity and expressiveness that it is truly captivating. This is absolutely gorgeous music – so enchanting that it could easily be played on repeat for hours. I am genuinely eager to explore the other releases in this series, as this track promises a consistently high standard of artistry and musicality throughout.

Non Fiction: iii. Misterioso & iv. Semplice
Hania Rani
A release this month that particularly caught my attention was Hania Rani’s Non Fiction – a four-movement piano concerto blending classical, ambient, experimental and film music styles. Almost by chance, I noticed the London premiere advertised at the Barbican on 25 November and impulsively bought a ticket, knowing very little about it. I’m so glad I did. From the moment I arrived, it was clear the concert was being presented more like a pop event than a traditional classical performance. The audience was full of young, fashionable fans, many of whom clearly had travelled from across Europe to see Rani. As the performance began, I quickly understood their enthusiasm. Rani was completely at ease on stage, surrounded by keyboards, click tracks and synthesisers, weaving effortlessly between them. The programme notes, written by Rani herself, were beautifully crafted and full of insight (drop me a line if you’d like to see them). Non Fiction draws inspiration from Josima Feldschuh, a young composer who perished in the Holocaust, and meditates on war and human suffering, with allusions to the current conflicts in Ukraine and Gaza. The score intertwines piano and orchestral textures to explore fear, loss and resilience, capturing the fragile coexistence of harmony and chaos in times of violence. I’ve featured the final two movements here: Misterioso, with its jarring openness and sense of vast space, and the closing movement, cinematic in scope – soft, shimmering, and to me, filled with hope. Rani’s scoring for the orchestra of nearly fifty is highly distinctive, featuring bass and alto flutes, a striking soprano saxophone line set apart from the ensemble, shimmering percussion and touches of tape machine. Yet despite these diverse forces, the sound remained remarkably cohesive – a single, luminous tapestry that Rani shaped with fluid grace. Watching her perform felt almost effortless; music poured from her. It was incredible to watch. The concentrated atmosphere in the hall drew me ever deeper into reflection on the emotional weight of conflict in what seems like such a troubled world. Rani clearly commands a devoted following, and after hearing Non Fiction live, it’s easy to see why. If further performances are announced, I’d wholeheartedly recommend going, particularly for anyone keen to explore something beyond the boundaries of the standard classical repertoire.

Organ Concerto
Francis Poulenc
Francis Poulenc's Organ Concerto, composed in 1938, stands as a profoundly emotive and complex work born out of a deeply charged period in the composer's life. The concerto was commissioned by Princess Edmond de Polignac, who initially desired an easy organ piece she could play herself. Poulenc, however, transcended this modest conception, creating a richly ambitious fantasia-like concerto in a single continuous movement that delves into light and shade, veering between minor and major tonalities. During its composition, Poulenc grappled with personal tragedy – the loss of close friend Pierre-Octave Ferroud – and a spiritual reawakening to his Catholic faith, themes which weave through the music’s sombre and joyful turns. The tense political atmosphere of Europe, with the looming threat of war and the rise of Nazism, further infused the work with introspection and gravity. Despite Poulenc’s reputation early in his career for composing what critics dismissed as "simplistic, pop-easy" music, this concerto boldly defies such reductive criticism. It is anything but simple; the work contains complex neo-Baroque figuration inspired by Bach, nuanced harmonic explorations, and rhythmic energy. Maurice Duruflé premiered the solo organ part and advised on the registrations, ensuring the sonority matched Poulenc’s vision. Duruflé's collaboration added an essential layer of depth and authenticity to the work. Including this concerto in my blog completes a full circle with my opening reflection on Milhaud’s exuberant, carnival-infused music from 1920s Paris. Poulenc’s Organ Concerto similarly channels that vibrant Parisian spirit, yet with profound emotional and spiritual weight. It inaugurates a journey into the complexity beneath surface simplicity, much like my early experience with orchestral music that ignited my passion to study and understand the intricate artistry behind such vivid compositions.