Georgian architecture and Jane Austen have, between them, fostered an idea of Bath as a historic centre of civility, which isn’t altogether true. During its heyday, circa 1800, it was England’s own Las Vegas: raunchy, racy, fast. That said, it seems pretty civilised nowadays – especially in November when the annual Bath Mozartfest fills its Assembly Rooms and other venues with the sound of music.
Everything about the Mozartfest speaks quality. Upfront at the opening weekend was the Schubert Ensemble, with a concert so exuberant it was almost danceable, despite the fact that their viola player was on crutches (having fallen off a tractor, as he told me afterwards: musicians these days lead portfolio careers). The danceability of Brahms’s 3rd Piano Quartet is admittedly disputable: Brahms said that he wrote it with a pistol to his head. But it was so immaculately played here that its melancholy smiled. And the accompanying pieces – Haydn, Dvořák – smiled too. Outside, Bath was grey and wet, but in that hall the sun was shining.
