The Chimera Ensemble

Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, Friday, 1st May 2026

Chimera Ensemble

The evening’s concert was dominated by a performance of Julius Eastman’s 1974 work, Femenine which, given that it lasted one hour plus, is hardly surprising. Like the best of the minimalist music, I found the performance both hypnotic and radiant.

The opening could be likened that of a musical dawn: a simple rhythmic figure – semiquaver groupings coupled with a syncopated two-note motif – emerging on vibraphone, gradually inviting the other instruments to join in. There was a sense of freedom in the playing – when to come in, how long to repeat material –which created a fluid, floating quality. This distinguished the work from the stricter processes of Philip Glass or Steve Reich, both in feel and structure.

Julius Eastman, composer

That sensual quality may, in part, help explain Eastman’s choice of title, Femenine. As a Black and openly gay composer working outside the classical mainstream, questions of identity and expression inevitably shape how the work is heard.

In the opening section, the instruments don’t simply join in; they overlapped, blurring any clear dialogue, harmony or hierarchy. Yet there was drama – albeit one without a fixed direction. About halfway through, the music began to disintegrate. It became fragile, dislocated, vulnerable. As I didn’t see it coming, the effect was striking.

The return journey, though covering similar ground – the rhythmic heartbeat still anchoring the music – felt altered, transformed. Drama was further enhanced by the alignment of clear tonal (simple triads) interruptions, signalled by the pianists Catherine Laws and Felix Edwards-McStay. The locking-in of these tonal events gave the work moments of both clarity and radiance.

The ending – a gradual winding down, leaving only the vibraphone’s rhythmic heartbeat gently laid to rest – was quite exquisite.

It would be wrong to single out any of the individual performers – it just isn’t that sort of experience – but credit should go to performance director Catherine Laws, and to percussionists John Rousseau (vibraphone) and Peter Evans (marimba) for their stamina and utterly infectious enthusiasm.

Mercifully, the first half was a short affair, showcasing three works by the Music Department’s student composers.

Now then, back in the day – OK, my day – showcasing student compositions meant indecipherable programme notes explaining the unexplainable, accompanied by performances of extremely loud, piercingly dissonant sounds seemingly designed to shatter the listeners’ teeth.

I enjoyed Sidney Wood’s Interruptions for solo electric guitar. It opened in a melancholic, reflective mood, but one without a melody or songline to follow. The “interruptions” were sudden distorted attacks with feedback that not only undermined the flow but continually invited disorder and improvisation. To be sure, “harmonic saturation” enriched the sound world, and the interruptions added drama, but they also set-up an expectation of virtuosic release. Just to be clear, I wasn’t expecting the piece to go full Pete Townshend, but certain expectations come with it: electric guitar solo = rock music = (some sort of) rebellion. Still, as I said, I enjoyed it.

I also enjoyed Manlu Du’s Landscape – for a pianist and their friend, though I wasn’t entirely convinced. There were lovely moments: the opening exchange of gentle clusters between the two performers (Roy Watkins and Manlu Du), and a simple piano pattern delicately distorted by the second pianist – the “friend” – dampening the strings. However, the pianist’s movement around the space didn’t add anything meaningful, and the use of two pianos weakened the intended intimacy.

Now I’ve never heard of Brian Kernighan nor, mercifully, read his A Tutorial to the Language B, but I thought Danny Saleeb’s Hello World, inspired by the simple computer program, was genuinely inventive.

Arthur Elliott’s performance on solo viola gave the impression of an unfolding landscape. The opening texture was one of fragility, created through a range of extended string techniques: sul ponticello (bowing close to the bridge, creating a glassy, metallic quality), sul tasto (bowing over the fingerboard), harmonics and microtones – those shifting, unstable ‘out of tune’ inflections. Saleeb uses these to build layered, otherworldly textures.

At moments, I thought I heard traces of folksong and even Bach – arpeggiation, implied counterpoint – peeping through the surface.

This was a short but inventive and musically intelligent work, and technically demanding. Full credit to Arthur Elliott.

It was, for me, the standout work of the first half. Danny Saleeb is clearly a composer to watch.