Lucie Horsch joined Maxim Emelyanychev and the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra (RCO) for the world premiere of Lotta Wennäkoski’s Concerto for recorder and voice, Vents et lyres. Wearing a stunning platinum dress specially designed by her talented cousin, Flora van Egeraat who specialises in creating historical reconstructions, and with both her brother Caspar (violin) and father Gregor (principal cello) also on stage, this was truly a very family affair.
The programme
The world premiere
Much is made of Horsch’s ability to communicate across barriers and genres. Following her performance of Wennäkoski’s Zeng the previous evening in the Concertgebouw’s Kleine Zaal, tonight’s world premiere of Wennäkoski’s Vents et lyres saw Horsch take those skills to new heights, tapping into the natural rhythm of the Finnish language and convincing a perhaps sceptical audience of the merits of this new commission.
The concerto
An immediate flurry of birdsong declared that Orpheus – the hero of our tale, accompanied by his magical lyre – was dead. This was not the usual fare from the Netherlands’ favourite recorder player. Instead, high drama abounded and not just from the array of recorders cleverly deployed to periodically transform the mood. Wennäkoski’s pairing of the recorder’s acrobatics with particularly evocative vocal writing, punctured the narrative with Horch’s maternal-like vocals becoming a comfort blanket akin to a mother tenderly narrating a dystopian Nordic fairytale. In the same vein, the recorder’s child-like innocence conjured thoughts of the lyre’s revival, coughing and spluttering.
In interview, Horsch talks of her love of contemporary music and of how “good composers work beyond the limitations of the instruments,” creating their own language and surprising the audience. By definition, Wennäkoski’s concerto fits the bill perfectly, challenging audience and soloist alike as a vast array of sound effects (often echoed in the orchestral parts) flew all around: multiphonics, jazzy ‘wah-wahs’, harsh staccato tonguing effects on the tenor, and didgeridoo-like sounds… to name a few. The very warm response from the hall will perhaps ensure the fate of this valuable and technically challenging addition to the recorder canon.

As you can see, Lucie is wearing a microphone for slight amplification
© Veerle Bastiaanssen
The symphony
Attention turned to guest conductor, Maxim Emelyanychev for Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 6, described by the composer as an exploration of the essence of life: passion, trust, thirst for life, love, disappointment and ultimate death, all bound together in one heart-wrenching final gasp, completed shortly before his death.
After an emphatic opening characterized by soulful violas and a breathtakingly quiet clarinet, the Allegro danced along, full of extremes of mood and dynamic range. Moving swiftly into the waltz, the timpani’s mesmerizing metronomic pulse conjured images of Dostoevsky’s ballrooms brimming with ladies clad in beautiful gowns not dissimilar to that worn earlier by tonight’s soloist. However, at times the music struggled to find the line and with the double-basses’ positioned at the rear of the stage, the overall balance wavered, leaving the brass devoid of their usual cushion. All was not lost though, as a triumphant climax prompted the audience to burst into applause for the second time.
From the Finale’s first notes, the mood changed completely: the vagaries of death lay ahead – each cry, yet more urgent. Without a shadow of a doubt, this was the highlight of the evening as horns delved deep into dark recesses of Tchaikovsky’s mind, death’s veil hurtling ever closer. Emelyanychev built the tension majestically inviting rasping horns, yearning strings and a mournful lower brass choral to sound the pleas of yet more lost souls. I didn’t want the music to end.

This concert was reviewed in the Concertgebouw, Amsterdam on Wednesday 15th October, 2025
Storytelling from Lucie’s Instagram Feed
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