The very flexibility of the Nash Ensemble enables it to put together some fascinating and wide-ranging concert programmes. String quartet? No problem. Voice and piano? But of course. Bring in a harpist, second flautist and extra clarinettist just for a ten-minute piece? Why not! For the last in its current Wigmore Hall series entitled The French Connection, all these configurations came into play, and more besides, as well as in the early-evening pre-concert in which some of the professionals were joined by students from the Royal Academy of Music (where the Nash was founded) for a complementary programme of Stravinsky and French wind music.
If there was a theme knitting these diverse elements together – apart from the obvious one of the series title – it was the idea of late-19th and early 20th-century Paris as a global melting pot, a place where foreign cultures were welcomed and indeed sought out. The main programme began with Saint-Saëns’ slight but characterful Caprice sur des airs Danois et Russes, written to pay tribute to the Danish-born Russian Empress and given a spirited performance by flautist Philippa Davies, oboist Gareth Hulse, clarinettist Richard Hosford and pianist Ian Brown. Brown indeed had his work cut out, playing in four of the six works in the main concert and conducting a fifth. He was next joined by soprano Rebecca Evans for two sets of folk song arrangements by Ravel, the Cinq mélodies populaires grecques and most of the survivors from a rarely heard entry the composer submitted to a Moscow competition in 1910 with elaborate settings of folk melodies from Spain, France, Italy and Scotland. Linguistically, Evans sounded least at home in the Burnsian Scots, but her lustrous sound, crisp diction and charismatic stage presentation were never less than communicative of the sense behind the words. She was at her best in Maurice Delage’s Quatre poèmes hindous for voice and ensemble (conducted by Brown) where, in the second song, the text dissolves into wordless and hummed melismas and she floated the phrases beautifully above the sitar-imitating pizzicatos of Adrian Brendel’s cello.