Life is like a box of chocolates

Brussels. The centre of European bureaucracy and, if you read the right newspapers, the enemy of our proud British traditions. Leaving the Euro debate alone for the moment, Brussels has been accused at various points in the last decade of trying to force UHT milk on us, dilute the purity of our pork pies and most controversially of all, trying to standardise the great British sausage into a straight, highly measured meat product not unlike those suspicious looking foreign sausages. Being a man of the world, I couldn’t care less whether my sausages are straight or bent, they all taste the same anyway. But this city has been a byword for homogenisation.

Brussels has been given a very bad press in my opinion. For a place which supposedly wants everything to be the same, it’s a glorious melting pot of styles, regions and traditions. The architecture is stunning, particularly around the Grand Place, many of the highly decorative buildings having been constructed in the 1600s with narrow twisting alleys spurring off at odd angles, packed from floor to ceiling with iced baskets of seafood. Amongst the many bistros serving mussels are wood fired ovens releasing aromatic clouds which linger in the air. Then around the next corner, Greek, Italian, Chinese and Japanese restaurants all cry for the attention of your palette before the most glorious smell on earth cancels out all else and draws you towards the small, artisan, chocolate makers.

Brussels Lunch

This should be banned under an EU law as the smell is so intense, so sensuous, that leaving the shop without having parted with huge amounts of money is impossible. Surely it must be illegal? Not in Brussels. Leaving the shop many Euro lighter, an even sweeter smell draws me down an alleyway which wouldn’t be out of place in JK Rowling’s imagination. There is an excitable throng of identically dressed kids, eyes on stalks, watching hot, sticky sweet waffles being produced and then being topped with strawberries and cream completely out of proportion with the size of the base. They are then given a hopelessly small plastic stick with which to eat it. Five minutes later and there are huge numbers of dirty faces and fingers being wiped, just the smiles remaining.

At the concert last night, I have never seen so many people in the theatre. With a packed stage, choir and audience, people appeared to be standing anywhere they could to watch the concert, in the aisles, behind the rows of seats – it was incredible and no doubt the health and safety people would have had a field day- but again, nobody seemed to mind. The temperature increased as we played the Szymanowski 3rd Symphony. If you don’t know it (I didn’t) it is the most glorious sound. When he was writing the piece, the influence of Ravel is obvious with some chordal progressions sounding like they were offcuts from Daphnis and Chloé but then the more central European tradition is lurking there too. When Steve Davislim declaims his vocal line from up high in the balcony, the rhythm of the speech, which is Polish, instantly changes the style of the music and Janácek springs to mind. There is one very strange flute solo which emerges from a dense orchestral and choral texture which quite clearly shows Syzmanowksi’s interest in Arabic music – there is a very high quota of accidentals and double sharps and flats in that solo!

The overall effect is very exotic and yet despite the may different influences, it sounds quite unique and coherent rather than a mix up. Eötvös lets the music ebb and flow between bars and when the climax at the end finally arrives, the sound of the orchestra, chorus and soloist at full tilt is overwhelming and intoxicating. In the musical box of chocolates that he produces, each delicately produced mouthful can be bitten into not knowing what will be found one the surface is broken. Our third performance of this piece will be next week in the Barbican and I’m still finding jewels in the texture which I hadn’t noticed before, in fact each different hall seems to highlight different aspects of the piece more than other repertoire.

Before today’s concert I wandered around the centre again and found another crowd of schoolchildren singing a song to an appreciative audience. As I got closer I realised they were gathered around that iconic symbol of Brussels, the Manneken Pis. The song they were singing would have amused my kids, I’m guessing its a well know song as people were joining in, but the chorus was … how can I put this … onomatopoeic. I had to laugh at the thought of this wonderful city supposedly the purveyor of red tape that has as its symbol a small statue of a small child, urinating into a fountain. As if that wasn’t enough, he is dressed up in different outfits to celebrate different festivals and celebrations. This week? It’s Gay Pride week. I have no idea who chose the outfit. Brussels. Brilliant!

The Ecstasy of Wifi

If an alien life form were to land unannounced backstage at a concert in 2012, they would make some basic assumptions about human behaviour which I once would have thought unfounded. Now I’m not so sure.

One of the many changes I have seen in my time on the world touring circuit is the ability to stay in contact with family back at home. When I joined the LSO in 2000, an extra terrestrial would have assumed that it was absolutely vital to human existence to form a snake like queue around the hotel foyers of Japan awaiting a turn to feed a pocketful of coins into the telephone on the wall. In many ways, being away from spouses and children, it was vital. However these days almost everybody has a smartphone of some description. As I walked through the door to the backstage area in Salle Pleyel in Paris, there was a sign stuck on it with the new holy grail for the touring musician – the free wifi access code. Much like the way cows low around feeding troughs in fields waiting for their next feed, orchestral musicians hover around wifi routers punching in the codes as quickly as possible to check emails, Twitter, Facebook and restaurant bookings before the system reaches capacity and prevents access. The site which would greet our visitor from outer space would be one of twenty humans dressed in retro clothes all seemingly controlled by a small glowing device in the palm of their hand which they occasionally jabbed at with an impatient digit, their faces illuminated with a deathly electronic pallor.

Yet today the wifi mistress is cruel and cold, she teases us with the magic numbers, we wait whilst her electronic doorman looks at our figures and then just as we are to feel her warm embrace, an exclamation mark drifts onto the screen, “Unable to connect to chosen network.” People stare at their screens in disbelief and then look around at everyone else, “Have you got on wifi?”

“No. You?”

One solitary player in the corner with nimble fingers has entered the codes faster than the rest and is enjoying the wifi connection. He smiles, we all look mildly depressed.

Honestly though, it’s difficult to feel down having left a sodden London to arrive in a beautifully sunny Paris in springtime on the May day public holiday. The streets are filled with gorgeous Parisians lounging in parks, playing boule in the street and dipping their toes into the canal. The atmosphere is uniquely French, relaxed, informal but determination to enjoy themselves, difficult to describe but as we say in England, the French just have a certain je ne sais quoi. Chi, Lorenzo, Chris and I drift over to the canal near the hotel and find a little bistro we often go to. It is typical of the kind of place you find here, good, cheap food with white table cloths, mismatched crockery and a waistline destroying choice of courses and a poet at the end of the bar seducing roll ups. The waitress is a dead ringer for the actress Kelly McDonald except has alarmingly large tattoos of daggers on the inside of both forearms. She is very friendly though, the food is great but we tip her generously just in case.

At times like these with a double dip recession in progress and belt tightening at full restriction, you may think that it would be a good idea to play safe, literally, and put bums on seats (buns, if you’re an American reader). We could churn out surefire hall fillers from the vast canon of Tchaikovsky and his friends. Instead, we find ourselves in London, Paris and Brussels over 10 days with composer/conductor Peter Eötvös (replacing the indisposed Pierre Boulez) with repertoire from Scriabin, Szymanowski, Debussy and Bartok. Mr Eötvös hasn’t changed any of Boulez’s repertoire and I am pleased to say that his brilliance at programming shines through despite his absence. The romantic shimmer of the Scriabin and Szymanowski combined with the angular muscularity of Bartók and the impressionistic Debussy together form an impressive display of the orchestral colour spectrum.

I am happy to say that the hall in Paris last night was filled to capacity too, with violinist Christian Tetzlaff being called upon to play an encore after his brilliant performance of the Szymanowski. If you heard it (Bartók solo sonata, 2^nd movt) in the Barbican last week, you’ll know just how pin droppingly quietly he played some of the phrases which cast an extraordinary spell over the audience and orchestra alike.

I’m enjoying working with Peter Eötvös. I hadn’t played for him before and he is a very nice man with more than a trace of the crystal clear Boulez beat. He has spent a long time clarifying textures and giving the music an ebb and flow. We were also joined by the lovely sirenes of the London Symphony Chorus (joined by the men this evening) who sat raised up behind the orchestra and floated their melody in the Debussy; always a treat playing this in Paris. The Poem of Ecstasy is an interesting piece for the second half, partly as it is only about 20 minutes long, but I must admit that at the end of a long day, and a long week ( I was in NYC last weekend and haven’t stopped since), I was grateful. I was sitting down the line playing third flute whilst Adam, making the most gorgeous sound in the opening was playing first. It’s a treat to hear such lovely playing at close quarters.

And then just as we reached the ecstatic heights, it was over for another evening. Packing my flute away and changing back into civilian clothes I went back up the stairs to give the wifi code one last go. I thought that as nobody else was up there I might have more success. I opened the door and saw at least ten people bathed in grey light all looking miserable. Still not working.

Miss Wifi is a fickle mistress. Ecstasy is also fleeting.

LSO Brass Quintet tour of Japan

Preparations had begun months ago, not the least of which was the commissioning of an interesting new work by rising star composer, Christian Mason. The Gamelan room at LSO St Luke’s is not a kind acoustic but Christian seemed pleased with our final run through of his Isolarian II. Our rehearsal room was strewn with the clutter of sheet music, mutes, flugel horns and valve oil. Everything had to be checked and double checked – there would be no wonderful LSO admin personnel to worry about missing items for us. It didn’t help that my new arrangement of a suite from Bach’s mesmerizing Goldberg Variations already ran into three final versions. The programme has been planned with more than half an eye on an upcoming concert in London at the historic Goldsmith’s Hall, as part of the city’s festival and with the LSO’s busy schedule, rehearsal time for extra curricular activities has to be carefully husbanded.

Taking a full symphony orchestra half way around the world is never easy but it is perhaps surprising to learn that winging five brass players to Japan is proportionally just as difficult. Ordinarily most of the LSO’s precious cargo of equipment is handled out-of-sight and out-of-mind by our dedicated stage staff and cargo handlers in specialised containers. For the LSO’s brass quintet it’s ‘make do.’ Airport baggage handling is not conducive to even sturdy brass instruments and they must travel in the plane’s cabin: any damage to deeply personal equipment could seriously imperil the success of the whole enterprise. Accepting that the Tuba will always need a seat of its own is one thing, but the airline insisted that horn and trombone must share another seat. Subsequently ground staff at Heathrow’s Terminal 3 ruled that this was unacceptable: would they charge separately for Tim Jones’ remarkably compact horn case? In the event, much to the confusion of the cabin staff, both trombone and horn snuggled comfortably in overhead lockers, as would be the case for all four flights. On arrival in Tokyo Narita for our connection to Hiroshima, we were informed that a smaller plane had been substituted for the flight and the Tuba would not be welcomed thereon. Thank goodness that our delightful and devastatingly efficient agent from Kajimoto Music – Asami Sate, who had just joined us – was able to smooth things over and organised for us to stay together with a bus to another airport an hour and a half away.

Brass players are totally dependent in the fickleness of their lips and ease of performance doesn’t mix well with sleep deprivation, pressurisation and dehydration associated with intercontinental travel. As the first warm-up sounds emanated from the five LSOBQ dressing rooms at Hiroshima’s 2000 seat Bunka Koryu Kaikkan concert hall, caution and apprehension gave way to slapstick as various impressions of elementary, naive playing styles relaxed the tension.

The remarkable modern bustling city of Hiroshima, its many rivers boarded by trees bursting forth their spring blossom, shows little sign of the devastation there visited 67 years ago by an event that changed the world forever. The memorial peace park is dedicated not only to the huge sacrifice this city made at the hands of a terrifying new technology but to the dream and encouragement of lasting peace and understanding.

The LSOBQ was hugely gratified by the near capacity crowd that welcomed us onto the large stage. As we launched into Jim Maynard’s Fanfare for Five the generous acoustics were a welcome contrast to our London rehearsal venue. Jet lag is not all about tiredness, and in the midst of a concentrated musical programme it can leap up and anesthetise the brain momentarily with alarming effect. No major harm was done however and the audience listened with rapt attention to a widely varied programme including the first performance of Isolarion II and Patrick Harrild’s (phonetically written by Asami) Japanese introductions.

Back in Tokyo there were performances at the British Embassy, an Elementary school and interviews with photo calls for various brass and band magazines. At the Embassy we gave a private concert (no need for Partick’s pheonetic Japanese here), renewed acquaintances and made new ones at a reception with many great friends and admirers of the LSO, who are looking forward enormously to the whole Orchestra’s visit with Bernard Haitink next year.

At the Ochiai Dalichi school we were impressed by the array of shining brass instruments laid out in anticipation of the school band’s performance for us. After a quick rehearsal we gave 200 10-12 year olds a short programme which included a ‘Fantasia – Harry Potter and Friends’ and some quick insights into our instruments. But we felt there was danger of selling ice to eskimos when their marvellous 26-piece brass band struck up with the shoe tapping Galaxy 999 without a shred of music in sight. It was the beautiful sweet sound of all two hundred voices that brought a tear to they eye as they sung their school song. Multi-talented Kathryn McDowell demonstrated her photographic skills of the event.

For our concert in the beautiful acoustics of Hamarikyu Asahi Hall, Phil Cobb (trumpet) and myself were delighted to make the reacquaintance of several members if the JSB who had visited the Royal Albert Hall last June, when they received a five-minute ovation before playing a note, as their capacity audience spontaneously rose to show their heartfelt support for the people of Japan in their deep trial and sorrow.

As we fly back to the UK on Saturday we shall leave with a sense of stronger bonds and a lasting friendships between the LSO and Japan, emphasizing the universality of music and the human spirit.

Dudley Bright 20/4/12
Principal Trombone LSO

The LSO Brass Quintet is:
Tim Jones horn
Philip Cobb trumpet
Niall Keatley trumpet
Dudley Bright trombone
Patrick Harrild tuba

It’s the tour blog 100 years late…

Hi Blogfans

Just in case you hadn’t seen it, today is the day exactly 100 years ago that the LSO left Euston station and went to America. They avoided going on the Titanic because of a change in schedule and spent weeks touring America and Canada. We were sent a diary which was written by Charles Turner who was the timp player in the orchestra at the time. It describes his adventures in the new world and the reaction of audiences to that groundbreaking trip. I have taken his diary and condensed the best bits into tweets just like we do now so that you can follow his progress around America in real time- 100 years later exactly.

The regular blog will be back soon when we start racing around Europe for your pleasure. Until then, have a look here

https://twitter.com/#!/lsoontour1912

See you soon

Gareth

Use the Force Valery

I remember walking down the Nanjing Road in Shanghai a couple of years ago and being offered goods aplenty. This week however it seems worse than ever. As I get further down the road, I can always see people suddenly step out from beside the shops and walk alongside me asking me if I’m shopping, do I want a watch, a bag, DVD, massage… I won’t carry on as the next things I’m offered aren’t suitable for this blog but are more lurid than I remember. A man walking on your own down the street can get predictably depressing. Maybe it’s the economic downturn, although I thought China was going the other way, or maybe I just look desperate – it is nearly the end of the tour after all. It is quite bizarre to see the shops in the main street stuffed with high end brands from across the world and in the side streets, shopkeepers selling cheap imitations of the same products which they will swear blind are the real thing, but just for me they will sell them cheaply. Just not quite sure why the cashmere sweater I’m being offered is giving me a static shock.

One thing that is no imitation is tonight’s concert. Gergiev, Tchaikovsky, Prokofiev and Shostakovitch is about as authentic as it gets. At the side of the stage is a screen which helpfully tells the audience which movement we are playing, what piece we are playing and every now and then, that Valery will be signing CDs in the foyer after the concert. I spoke to a member of the audience who told me that he had never heard Shostakovich 5 before and found it overwhelming. It is quite refreshing to play a piece that we probably know by heart and yet many people at the concert are hearing for the first time. After the heart on sleeve angst of Romeo and Juliet, Denis Matsuev is again impressive in the Prokofiev and quite deservedly plays two encores, unlike many soloists, they are different from the two encores he has played every other night. It is unbelievable how much sound he manages to get out of the piano.

Speaking of encores, we have most nights ended up playing three encores after the symphony, quite often some of Prokofiev Romeo and Juliet, followed by a Chinese piece called Good news from Beijing and then another piece which sends the audience into a frenzy. When I interviewed Valery for Chinese TV before we left he told them that if we played well and they enjoyed what they heard we would play some extras, some Chinese music and also a piece that was out of this world. As authentic performances go, the LSO playing the main theme from Star Wars is the Real McCoy, even with Valery at the helm. I’ll be honest, he looked a little perplexed when we rehearsed it as it isn’t in his normal repertoire, but of course the orchestra know it fairly well. In a country in which classical music is still making inroads, the promoters will always look for the familiar and so although Star Wars wasn’t on the menu as such, someone thought it would be a good idea to ‘suggest’ that we might be playing it. They made a poster which you can see below which features the orchestra and a familiar looking Jedi, or Valery Vader, whichever you prefer. I think this may well be a copyright infringement, although Valery did see the funny side when we showed him the picture. It is also the first time he has used a baton as long as that for about 30 years.

During the applause a man from the audience got out of his seat and took flowers towards Valery. Before he had taken ten paces, the ushers had stopped him, one grabbing his arm and the other an arm around the neck. He looked rather upset and when the orchestra started to leave he was sat dazed in his seat. A couple of the bass players jumped down into the hall, picked him up and took him backstage to see the maestro. As they did so the entire audience clapped and shouted bravo. Nothing is ever quite what it seems here.

Home tomorrow. Thanks for listening.

The Gesticulating Tourist

Walking around Beijing, I find it hard to tell whether my lips are numb because of the cold, snow-laden wind blowing in my face, or the Szechuan peppers which were liberally sprinkled on my lunch. If you’ve never had them before, their effect on your mouth is an exciting combination of chilli hotness, aromatic pepper and extra strong mints. It is that odd combination of pain and pleasure. Just like Wagner.

One of the joys of having a group of international musicians to travel around with is that wherever we are in the world, somebody I work with has local knowledge or brilliant skills with a restaurant menu. As we are in China, Chi has become an even greater friend than normal, although this hardly seems possible. When normal people run out of their set phrases at a tube station when confronted with a bewildering choice of tickets, or resort to pointing at a dish on an adjacent table, Chi steps in and prevents us ordering sharks fins or frog uterus. I’m not making those up by the way. Lorenzo of course speaks English, Spanish and Italian fluently but not Chinese. This doesn’t stop him though as became evident walking around the beautiful Temple of Heaven yesterday. There was a group of women drawing pretty circles in the air with the long ribbons that gymnasts use. Being Italian, gestures are a huge part of his arsenal, especially when playing the bass clarinet, and so he approached them and waved his arms around.  

Within 30 seconds he too was painting florid patterns in the air, but then being a natural mover, I should hardly have been surprised. Lander wasn’t so successful. At lunch, Chi made the mistake of telling Lorenzo the phrase in Chinese to get the waiters’ attention. He now shouts it at every draining of the teapot, but we did have to admit that it was pretty successful. However nothing could have prepared me for Lorenzo the barterer. At the market this morning he insisted on helping me get a fantastic deal on some gifts for my kids with a gesticulation frenzy. We moved upstairs where he spied some dragon balm,

“Ah, I want one of these! ‘Ow much?”
“How many do you want?”
“My God, I only want one, I don’t want to export!”

Chi decided that he would like one as well and the woman suggested 500 yuan. Lorenzo jumped back in horror. “What?! I can buy this at airport for 200! No, no, I not buy”
“Ok, Ok, Maybe I do you a special deal. 400 for both.”
“No. 50 yuan.”
“Noooo. 50 yuan for two? Are you mad?”
“A little bit. 100 yuan final offer.”
“200.”
“150”
“Ok 150.”
“Great!” Lorenzo checked his wallet.” Oh I only have 100.” He winked.
“We said 150? OK? You are good at this!”
“Yes I know!”
We walked away smiling, undoubtedly having paid too much but happy all the same.

The concert hall where we are playing is called nicknamed The Egg for fairly obvious reasons. It’s a bit like the Sage in Gateshead, except much bigger, plus it has a couple of concert halls and an opera house and quite possiblly some more bits that I haven’t discovered. In short, it’s huge. The hall itself is great, nice and resonant and with labyrinthine backstage areas that are making me nervous about missing the second half of tonight’s show. I think Valery is quite big in China as when he walked out onto the stage last night, the reception he got was more akin to an audience in Daytona Beach. There was whooping and cheering before he had done anything, I noticed he was grinning to himself when he turned to face us as we started the Britten Four Sea Interludes. The reception afforded Sarah Chang was much the same as she swished onto the stage in a sequinned dress that made Maxine Kwok-Adams almost look under-dressed. I say almost, as technically this is impossible, but suffice it to say, stage right is very sparkly indeed this week.

The weather this week in the capital has been somewhat dull, and that combined with the pollution which seems to turn the moon orange at night is making me a bit wheezy when taking large breaths in the Shostakovich symphony. I managed to make it through without bursting into fits of coughing except between movements, however I will be glad to move on to Shanghai tomorrow. Gergiev gets a hero’s reception at the end of the show and seems pleased with the performance, the shouting and screaming that greets his entrances for bows rivals that of a rock star. We discuss this over dinner later in between Lorenzo shouting for the waiter every five minutes and telling him that it’s not the done thing to barter for the price of the meal you’ve already eaten. As we go down the staircase, there are hundreds of pictures of famous people who have eaten at the restaurant. Of course I don’t recognise any of them, being mainly Chinese film and music stars, except for Jackie Chan, and then we see a familiar face staring out at us surrounded by smiling waiters and chefs. It is Valery.

I bet he didn’t have to shout for the waiter though.

I’m a Seoul Man…

The cultural differences between nations are never more pronounced that when in transit. The British, being a nation of enthusiastic queuers, are left apoplectic with rage when confronted with a country full of people who do not understand this basic concept. I am told that visitors to Britain are often intolerant or confused by some of our national pastimes such as cricket and binge drinking. The differences I see are greatly exaggerated when coming to Asia, in fact there are times when it feels like a different planet which is always an interesting experience. We haven’t been to South Korea for a few years and it is a place with which I am unfamiliar, however, armed with an almost illegible tube map and a few hours before the rehearsal I descend into the Seoul subway system. Underground systems are essentially the same in every country I have visited, they all have the same kind of charging system, day tickets and kneecapping entrance gates. Seoul is no different to the Tokyo subway in that regard and London too, although all the escalators seem to work and it is very, very clean indeed. And there were no engineering works. It is completely different to the London Underground.

As I get on the train, I notice how quiet it is and everybody who is standing up is facing the window. I decide to do the same to blend in although being the only westerner in my carriage I don’t do very well. The funny thing is that nobody bats an eyelid when I walk on, it’s just like in London, nobody makes eye contact at all looking either at smart phones, newspapers or the floor. As I pick my own piece of floor to stare at I begin to feel at home. That is until a man pushing a large blue shopping trolley appears shouting at the top of his voice. He parks his trolley in the gangway and continues shouting what sounds like a sales pitch. A few passengers look up and then look down again, although I can’t tell what he is saying, he repeats it over and over again and it appears to rhyme. It is a rhyme about gloves which have special properties. “Gosh Gareth your Korean must be good to understand that”, I hear you cry. Dear reader, I deduced all of this from the little mime he did with his rhyme. I won’t bore you with the details but they were special thin gloves with an exotic coating which made it possible to use a touch-screen without taking your gloves off. You can imagine the complexity of his miming. But not his rhyming. Anyway, just like in London, when he had finished his highly entertaining sales pitch, he walked up and down the coach thrusting gloves in people’s faces. Nobody bought. Nobody moved. He took his trolley and went off into the next carriage. I couldn’t help thinking that the experience was very similar to rush hour on the Northern Line.

As I came up from below ground, any similarities with London disappeared as I arrived at Namdaemun Market. At first glance it was a bit like Camden market before the developers developed it, but as soon as I found myself deep inside the narrow streets full of indecipherable t-shirt slogans and strange fruits there was no doubt I was back in Korea. It was a feast for the eyes as much as anything and apart from the Costabucks across the street, everything was completely alien to me. I passed a woman sat in the middle of the street with an upturned box upon which she had placed several bowls of small snacks. As I looked closer she smiled and gestured at the treats. There were various nuts, some almonds, some dried berries, and what looked to me like the main segments of wasps which had been fried. Maybe they were, I’m not entirely sure, but I decided against them for now as I still have a jet-lagged stomach and we do have to work this evening. As I turned to walk on through the crowds, all of a sudden they parted in front of me. In my slightly groggy state, having only just arrived, it took me a while to notice why they were moving until I was confronted with a motorbike carrying about 5 or 6 boxes on the back. It was driving at quite a rate towards me and obviously wasn’t going to move, so I did! I decided to walk along the pavement at the side until a beep behind me alerted me to the moped who was racing along the same pavement to avoid the crowds of pedestrians. But, nobody seemed to mind as the crowds of people wandered around looking at the garments and electronics as they narrowly avoided death as the cars and bikes and lorries picked their way down the streets. It’s the kind of concept local authorities spend a fortune on in Europe and then call it mixed use footfall areas or something and paint the road different colours and remove the kerb. They just get on with it here in Korea and it works just fine.

As I turn the corner my head is engulfed in a cloud of steam. There is a woman turning huge dumplings in gigantic silver colander with boiling water underneath. The smell of the steam is sweet and comforting and makes me feel a little sleepy, but there is nowhere to sit down and eat here, and I really need to sit down, so I go and find a bowl of noodles around the corner and watch the world go by for a while. My body tells me that it is 3.30 am. The warm noodles confirm this and I wander back to the hotel.

We had the first concert last night in Seoul. Tchaik Romeo, Prokofiev Piano Concerto and Shos 5. Having only arrived the day before, everyone’s ears and eyes were on full alert. It is very easy when you are tired, to be counting the 20 bars rest in the slow movement and suddenly wake up as you hear the harp playing your cue and realise that you are still counting but have reached 25. I come in at bar 26. I raised my flute as quickly as I could without looking like I was panicking (which I was) and tried not to knock my teeth out. Denis Matsuev had earlier given a magnificent performance of Prokofiev where I feared for the life of the piano, such was the power of his playing. By the time we finished the Shostakovich it appeared to have stopped quivering in the corner. The audience loved the concert and so did the man on the stage door. As we left, he held up his iPhone (other makes are available) and had a scrolling word app which said “Bravo!”

Bravo LSO!

By the time you read this, we will have finished the second concert in Korea and will be preparing to fly to Beijing. We are hoping to pick up some Olympic tips from them as I’m sure you must have heard by now, we will be recording the music for the ceremonies in London later this summer. I’ll let you know how we got on.