It was the sonically adventurous, shiveringly atmospheric cello piece by Latvian composer Preteris Vasks that proved to be the first showstopper of this enjoyably esoteric evening. Dutch cellist Hadewych van Gent began the pianissimo movement of Vasks’ Gramata Cellam by creating a build-up of whistling harmonic effects on the A string, followed by a yearning feather-light improvisation in the cello’s upper registers that suddenly plunged vertiginously bass-wards.
The rich, velvety chordal sequence that ensued was accompanied by Gent’s wordless soprano, as clear and piercing as a shaft of light hitting an icy lake. Then we were back into the ethereal upper registers once more, before a second vocal interlude took us towards the subtle as mist conclusion.
It was a perfect example of why the informal, intimate setting of the Through the Noise concerts (of which this was the 198th) works so well. Set up so that the small stage projected into the audience – most of whom were standing – it felt as if we were plugged directly into Vasks’ haunting sound world. After this Gent was joined by Brazilian guitarist Plínio Fernandes to play a piece from a work specially composed for them by Fernandes’ fellow Brazilian, Rafael Marino Arcaro. Jokingly called 4 noturnos para ninar cigarras – Lullabies for cicadas (to shut them up!), this first movement interspersed agitated, dissonant chords on the guitar with passages of rich, coffee-bitter melancholy on the cello, a recipe, it seemed, not so much for sleep as for petrified unease. 
Braimah Kanneh-Mason, the trio’s violinist, was the obvious draw for the evening, yet while his musicianship was never less than superb, what was equally impressive was the humility of his playing. The beautifully balanced opening number, for which the musicians sat facing each other in a triangle, was a transcription of Bach’s organ piece Largo from Trio Sonata in C major BWV 529. Kanneh-Mason’s violin sang out like a lark, while the warmly resonant cello accompaniment was underpinned by guitar playing that was simultaneously eloquent and astringent. In the more meditative moments, it felt as if we were eavesdropping on a quietly profound conversation that the musicians were conducting without any awareness of the eyes hungrily watching them.
An unexpected – and welcome – side effect of the Bach was the calming effect it had on a slightly inebriated member of the audience who had been irate that another audience member was standing in her line of view. Even by the concert’s informal standards, she had been starting to get quite vocal, but 30 seconds of JSB left her as quiet and compliant as a lamb. It was left to the music to liven things up as we moved into two of Manuel de Falla’s catchy, atmospheric Siete Canciones populares Españolas, Nana and Asturiana. In Nana especially, in which Gent’s cello and singing took the lead role while Kanneh-Mason elegantly shadowed her, the mood of the concert leaned further east as her voice channelled the Indian influence that underpins much Andalusian music.
A moment of high wire musical tension came with the first movement of Zoltan Kodaly’s Duo for Violin and Cello. Written in 1914, it is a resonant distillation of the unfettered angst that characterised this period. After the introduction of the first theme on the cello, Kanneh-Mason attacked his violin with simultaneous vigour and agonising sweetness while Gent provided an energised accompaniment. In the frenetic musical conversation that ensued, both demonstrated a riveting technical mastery of challenges that included eruptions of double-stopped triplets, frenzied bariolage and abrupt shifts in tone from fury to threadbare anguish. 
The mood calmed again with Marta (Monsoon) by the Dutch composer and Werner Herzog collaborator, Ernst Reijseger, which saw an improvisatory pizzicato passage on the cello give way to a gently swaggering duet with the violin that felt like a bohemian Sunday afternoon. Another light-hearted moment had come earlier when Fernandes nimbly executed Dilermando Reis’s jauntily playful Xodó da baiana. Though there were enjoyably challenging aspects to their repertoire, as an ensemble they never forgot that their prime aim for the evening was to beguile and entertain. The strong folk element continued after the Reijseger with the rhythmically complex Swedish song Krivo Polska followed by Harpleken from the Swedish folk band Väsen.
The dynamic trio brought the set to an elegant end with the last two movements of Paganini’s Caprice No. 4. The honey-sweet élan of Kanneh-Mason’s violin playing was buoyed up by the free-as-air wit of Gent’s cello and a gilded rainstorm of notes from Fernandes’ guitar (we were informed that Paganini was a guitarist as well as a violinist). For the encore, the Serbian folk song Adje jano had an exotic melodic lilt that reminded you that for many centuries Serbia was part of the Ottoman Empire. It was a suitably international finish to a stylish, dynamic evening that pushed both geographical and musical boundaries at the same time as it delighted.
