Robert Atchison |
Robert Atchison - violin
Olga Dudnik - piano
David Jones - cello
Date - 29th November 2015
Venue - St John's Smith Square
Current Album - Oleg Komarnitsky
Olga Dudnik |
Next concert - 17th January 2016, St John's Smith Square
The cries of protestors echoed in the Whitehall streets just beyond the shadow cast by St John's Smith Square imposing bulk. There was a decadence, like Rome was burning outside and we sat there gorging ourselves on fine wine and good music.
A storm was being stoked, we could see the dark branches swaying through the leached glass.
Beethoven Piano Trio No.5 in D Op.70 No.1 'Ghost'.
(ii) Largo assai ed espressivo
Jagged spires and jagged light, long thin architectural glass. The piano of Olga Dudnik is the raindrops. It is a changing day, we think beyond the inconsequential passages in light and temperature, we are beyond this. The small cycles of life on earth are seen as though through glass, through the 'wrong' end of a telescope. We are the witnesses, we are the children of a higher being, with our pathetic stumbles and downcast eyes.
Olga Dudnik doesn't play by the same rules as us mortals. Robert Atchison and David Jones have the fineness and lightness of the panes we touch with our hands, we see through their eyes.
Robert Atchison |
(iii) Presto
Zipped up and down.
Thousands of shoppers in Oxford Street just a few metres away.
Closing and opening coats and jumpers, joy and folly. Wafts of perfume gush into the air, hanging ready for noses. A ballet of zips and wallets. Arms linked into arms, synchronising their collars up against the wind . Pennies spilling out from pockets.
It is some time since I had seen Mr Rich Rainlore and yet there he was as though nothing had changed. Mr Rainlore had taken me under his wing many years ago, he is still going strong despite there being no new entries to his website Rainlore's World.
David Jones |
(i) Adagio - Allegro vivace
Layers of pastry, fine filo. Mille feuille.
Indecision, neither one theme nor another. Robert Atchison's music is the beauty that flits through the party, moving from one face to another, never lingering long but always making an impression. Atchison chatters, to left, to the right, bubbling over.
AL.
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