Maria Włoszczowska’s laidback approach to the combined roles of soloist and conductor gave mixed results, but the splendour of Beethoven’s Violin Concerto remained largely intact. It was Bartók’s lively Divertimento that saw the RNS at their most dynamic and engaging.

No venue makes me feel special quite the way Sage Gateshead does. An enormous, glistening bubble of curved glass on the south bank of the Tyne, my approach in the early evening sunlight on this Friday night took me over the equally impressive Tyne Bridge, which provides fantastic views not only downriver but down to the busy, historic streets below. The view from directly above the rooftops was so remarkable I almost lost control of my bike as I attempted to peer over the edge whilst riding by. Inside, the Sage feels just as special. I was greeted by a plush cafe well stocked with fluffy muffins and a range of non-alcoholic drinks that far outdoes the usual gig venue offering Coke and possibly J20. Inside the main concert hall the walls are lined with glossy wood and the balconies accented with a tasteful dash of blue lights to give the room a strikingly futuristic, sleek feel. Just like the last time I attended a classical concert, I felt unusually out of place when it came to demography – there were only a handful of faces that looked under 50. I took a second glance of my ticket to confirm the astounding prices; my bargain £5 rate was not just for students, but anyone under 30. It’s a fantastic idea – and necessary when considering the alarming long term prospects of a place like the Sage – but tonight it seemed disappointingly few youngsters had taken the opportunity.

The twenty-somethings with something better to do missed out on witnessing a violinist on the up in Warsaw native Maria Włoszczowska, who is indeed young enough to qualify for the concession tickets herself. She led an engaging and concise evening that may have convinced the handful of the classical-curious in the crowd (Undertone included) that the genre need not be slow, boring or mystifying. That said, the pared-back and solemn quartet opener Cavatina made for a strangely slow-paced start, although perhaps its early inclusion shrewdly avoided a snore-inducing rendition later in the evening. The tempo may have felt glacial, but once the four musicians had settled into the piece, Beethoven’s deep melancholy materialised beautifully. Amongst the final compositions of his life, Włoszczowska introduced the piece as “one of Beethoven’s most personal and emotional works,” and the quartet lived up to the challenge of recreating that strong feeling with sweeping dynamic movement and gently weeping vibrato. Every note rang out with such synchronised expression from the four players that at times they sounded like a single accordion, contracting and expanding with every stroke of the bow, the music breathing in synchrony. Beethoven’s Cavatina is an unflashy piece – even Włoszczowska’s score would do little to stretch the abilities an intermediate violinist – but this quartet revealed a depth and mastery of sound that requires much more creative expression than the dots and lines on a piece of paper could provide.

At times, the quartet sounded like a single accordion, contracting and expanding with every stroke of the bow.

At seven minutes, though, the Cavatina was only the night’s starter. The show began in earnest with an assured rendition of Bartók’s Divertimento, a muscular suite for string orchestra that felt every bit a main course. Perhaps tired of waiting through the Cavatina, the lower strings launched into the chugging opening notes with so much gusto that their strings slapped loudly against their fingerboards for several bars, producing an inadvertent element of percussion that was as distracting and ugly as it was genuinely exciting. Here, Włoszczowska took a relatively low profile role as principal violinist, with the emphasis instead placed on the spectacle of seeing two dozen musicians respond to one another in real time, impossibly producing one coherent work of art in the process. The tightly intertwining call and response sections were a highlight, with lead second violinist Eva Aronian proving every bit Włoszczowska’s match in playfully answering all her musical questions. The Divertimento was also an excellent choice to show off the RNS’s electrifying dynamism: one particularly discordant crescendo tumbled like a waterfall before landing on a single, decisive chord. At other moments, the razor-sharp edges of Bartók’s crunchy staccato chords landed like a bolt from the blue. It was a shame that the visceral feeling of togetherness couldn’t quite last the course, and a fiddly violin pizzicato passage towards the end was so poorly coordinated that Włoszczowska let out a rueful smile.

Tackling Divertimento, a piece written for string orchestra, without a conductor is one thing, but undertaking a full blown concerto with woodwind and percussion would be Włoszczowska’s primary self-imposed challenge for the night. She began the evening with a mission statement, arguing that it was not only possible to convert any piece into conductor-less chamber music, but that there was something to be gained from a more free-flowing, collective performance. In the end, rather than backing up her claims, this showing of Beethoven’s renowned Violin Concerto left a sense that Włoszczowska had merely got away with the gamble. Returning after the interval in a shimmering silver kimono so dazzling it wouldn’t have looked out of place at the following night’s Eurovision final, Włoszczowska was clearly there to lead the troops, although her style of leadership turned out to be surprisingly laissez-faire. Instrument sections embarking on a new phrase were largely left to cue themselves, often including Włoszczowska’s own violin section. Even in the long periods of rest from her solo violin part, Włoszczowska somewhat awkwardly just turned around and watched her colleagues do their thing, letting the group dictate the entire direction of the piece.

The third movement’s jaunty little refrain sounded catchier than most pop songs.

To some extent, the added element of live musicianship did indeed give this Beethoven an exciting new edge. Rather than looking up to a commanding conductor, the musicians’ eyes were instead on each other, coordinating the specifics of rhythm and phrasing with a focussed glance or twitch of the bow the same way jazz musicians might communicate semi-telepathically. This borderline miraculous synchronicity was most obvious in the concerto’s smooth, layered passages, but the juxtaposing loud blocky chords of the first movement impressively kept their fierce tautness without the flick of a baton.

Where a conductor may have come in handy was in the more reserved second movement, which sagged without a driving force to propel the orchestra forward. This movement’s tiredness at least provided a good foil to the bubbly third movement, with its jaunty little refrain sounding catchier than most pop songs (indeed, I overheard numerous audience members cheerily humming it to themselves as we left the auditorium). After a programme somewhat heavy with intense emotions, this finale was a chance for the RNS to show their lighter side, and the refrain felt sweeter and more delightful with every repeat – and there were many repeats; I left convinced that Beethoven’s Violin Concerto would make a good classical starter for pop fans like me who can feel a bit lost in a piece of music without the guiding compass of a really solid hook.

It should go without saying that Włoszczowska – young but already with appearances at the BBC Proms and London’s prestigious Wigmore Hall under her belt – made for a consummate soloist. She was at her most astounding when recreating the entire orchestra on her four strings during the first movement’s breathless, devilishly difficult solos, even if she was occasionally tempted by a little too much destabilising rubato. An unlikely to-and-fro solo battle with the timpani (in which the violin narrowly came out as victor) was also one of the evening’s highlights, and earned timpanist Jude Carlton a deserved dedicated round of applause at the end.

For £5 – my cheapest gig out of the scores on this blog – the evening had been such good value that any criticism of the performance seems null and void. It had been a definite bargain, but whether Włoszczowska’s decision to go it alone had paid dividends – especially when it came to the bill-topping Beethoven concerto – was less easy to determine. Indeed, I left feeling that the potential in Beethoven’s score had not quite been milked for all its worth, and that this rendition was ultimately excellent in spite of, rather than because of, Włoszczowska’s input. Sometimes, though, the imperfect concerts are the best ones. This time, on crossing the Tyne Bridge I stopped and hopped off my bike to look down onto the streets still busy with double deckers busses and ant-sized students bound for the nightclub, the cast iron ceiling of the High Level Bridge hanging not far beyond the rooftops above them. I was quite happy to stand there for five minutes, watching the world go by. Musical imperfections aside, I had nothing to complain about.

Poorly served by a dodgy soundsystem and impatient crowd, Black Country, New Road never quite found their stride on a drab night in Newcastle. Lethargic and lackadaisical, the vibrance of their first three albums seemed a world away.

They say that sometimes history repeats itself. Last May I found myself picking through crowds of jubilant Leeds United fans to the back of a winding queue outside a sunny Brudenell Social Club, bursting with anticipation of a performance from Black Country, New Road, a prospect made all the more intriguing by the fact that the band’s frontman Isaac Wood had abruptly left just three months prior. Almost exactly a year later it’s the black and white striped shirts of Newcastle United that are flowing past me towards their stadium. This time just as before, I had more important matters to attend to than football; BC,NR were back in the north. The now six-piece band continue to be the talk of the British indie rock scene, largely off the back of their massively successful 2022 masterpiece Ants From Up There, which contains some of my most treasured pieces of music. Last time I attended the Newcastle University’s unappealing gigging venue for Cassia last October I arrived at peak times but nonetheless had to resort to the help of the Co-op security guard to locate the entrance. There were no such issues this time: the long line of young, mostly male students snaking around campus was testament to BC,NR’s ever-growing cult following. Me and friends Ewan and Ben weren’t particularly late, but the crowd inside NUSU was already dense as we queued up for Coke. We considered ourselves lucky with a spot to the extreme front left of the audience, even if it meant half of the band would be entirely hidden from view by a set of speakers.

To some extent, I knew exactly what I was in for as the concert started up. The band’s promising set of completely unreleased material last year in Leeds has since been tweaked and released as an enjoyable live album, and this performance promised repeat renditions of those nine songs. However, releasing an album changes it. This was immediately obvious in raucous, feel-good opening number Up Song. Where in Leeds the joy had been in the element of surprise and the spontaneous audience reactions (indeed, the screams of elation audible when the wall of sound first hit at the start of the song remains one of my most memorably exhilarating gigging experiences), in Newcastle we had an opportunity to sing along to the now familiar lyrics. In particular, the earnest, adorable line “Look at what we did together / BC,NR friends forever!” was aptly belted out by everyone in the room in a wonderful moment of togetherness. The sense of collective support for the band continued through cheers over Lewis Evans’ squeaky sax part, but I’ll admit I found myself missing Leeds’ element of surprise. The listening experience certainly wasn’t helped by worryingly lacklustre execution. Singing bassist Tyler Hyde looked particularly weary and unenthused, which was perhaps understandable after, crushingly, her microphone failed to work during the crucial first few lines of the song. Even as the song hit its heaviest patches of danceable rock, most band members kept their eyes steadily locked to the floor in front of them, seemingly wishing this whole affair to be over already. The ongoing tour to promote their live album does indeed seem rigorous (the drive to Newcastle from Leeds came via Dublin, and this week they head to Manchester via Glasgow), and in NUSU there was plenty of evidence that all the hard work is getting to them. Releasing an album changes the band, too.

Most band members kept their eyes steadily locked to the floor in front of them, seemingly wishing this whole affair to be over already.

A limp Up Song set the tone for a distinctly disappointing evening, albeit largely for reasons out of BC,NR’s control. The greatest flaw was the sound design. I already knew NUSU was a poxy venue, but it was shocking just how completely an off night from the sound guy eliminated any hopes of getting lost in the music. The band must have experienced this before – the complex mix of violin, saxophone, flute and multiple lead vocal mics must be a headache for even the most capable audio engineer, and indeed their set in Leeds last year was not without its niggles – but this performance seemed exceptional. Some supporting instruments were rendered inaudible at some point in almost every song and crucial moments were blotted by ear-bleeding microphone feedback.

I Won’t Always Love You was one of the songs that suffered most. It had a promising start, with Hyde wisely swapping out a slightly tedious stop-start rubato intro for a searching tapestry of guitar plucking, but one expansive crescendo later and the mix had become muddier than a soggy afternoon at Glastonbury. Evans’ screaming sax lines, searing on the official live album, were amongst the several components lost to the din. It was a similar story for 10-minute epic and prior fan favourite Turbines/Pigs. May Kershaw’s graceful piano melodies remained spellbinding, but as the ambitious climax arrived, the NUSU speakers proved utterly incapable of handling Hyde’s sinister bowed bass guitar. For a song all about the patient build towards a gut-wrenching finale, this failing was one of the night’s most tragic.

Perhaps the poor sound quality was also to blame for a notably rowdy and disinterested crowd, even if the venue was undoubtedly sold out. Invariably, BC,NR’s quiet instrumental moments were rudely talked over. Evans was measured in his response, repeatedly offering gentle requests of “hush now, people of Newcastle,” before, a few songs later, giving a more exasperated “you’re too loud, Newcastle.” Tellingly, some of the more witless audience members only whooped back at him, assuming it was a compliment. Evans and his bandmates looked more defeated than vexed, and the passages of music not lost to soundsystem screeches were lost to a hubbub of chatter instead. Feeling ignored, it’s no wonder their performance sagged as a result.

Was that a dissonant note choice or simply a mistake? As a tepid applause rolled in, I decided it was probably the latter.

A few new songs thrown into the set list were essential to beef out the live album’s fleeting 47 minute runtime, but the fresh material turned out to be far more inconsistent than what BC,NR fans have become accustomed to. Early on, Evans led an unreleased song that felt clumpy and unsettled, and both the iffy tuning of Hyde’s guitar and questionable note choices from violinist Georgia Ellery warranted brows furrowed in suspicion. Was that a consciously dissonant note choice or simply a mistake borne out of mid-tour fatigue and unease? As the song reached a wimpering fade out and a tepid applause rolled in, I decided it was probably the latter. By far the best of the new songs came towards the end of the set and saw drummer Charlie Wayne thrillingly take hold of a banjo (and, even better, play it quite competently). The intricate, light-footed experimental folk tune that followed sounded uniquely vibrant, and gave a hint of the group’s outstanding musicianship that had been so apparent on the turbulent jazz cuts of their debut album. Ellery – the transfixing voice behind radical electronic duo Jockstrap – also provided strong lead vocals at one point, in a well-overdue first for BC,NR.

It was an indication of the band’s general tiredness that it was only as the gig’s finish line came into view that they finally found their stride. Up Song‘s new reprise was the biggest innovation on the band’s live material since their trip to the Brudenell, and attempted to wrap the neat bow of a cyclical narrative on the show’s disparate collection of jaded performances. Somehow, it worked. Hyde’s vocals sounded even more piercing and achingly vulnerable than usual, and Kershaw’s twinkling, pensive piano playing felt strangely moving after witnessing six people drag themselves through what must have been an unpleasant 80 minutes on stage. For a tantalising, undulating few minutes, we were gifted a glimpse of just how beautiful BC,NR’s music can be, given the right circumstances. The speaker feedback had stopped and the impolite crowd had been silenced, apparently in repect of this breathtaking flash of artistry. Minutes before they were to disappear unceremoniously backstage (an encore was out of the question), Black Country, New Road had rediscovered what makes them such special, singular talents. On a better night, this would be the time to let the tears roll and succumb to the urge to giddily bash out a five-star review the next morning. Tonight, it was a case of too little too late.