![]() Norwegian violinist Bjarte Eike’s project is a moveable feast. But, as Charles I looked disapprovingly down at us from his panelled wall, there was something even more alien: that sense of spontaneous, unbuttoned, conversational music-making that we lost somewhere along the line when concert-goers morphed from individual listeners and companions to a passive, paying audience sat in silent rows. ![]() There were no dogs or hens (or napping, that I could see) at Bjarte Eike’s latest Alehouse Session at the handsome Middle Temple Hall.
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