The Art of Storytelling – The Ugly Duckling

Music from Wyastone – Studio Concert Series

Want to view the full video?

You need to be an ESO Digital Supporter to view the full content. Please click here for more information, or sign in to your account below if you’re already registered.

Already a supporter? Click here to log in.


Kenneth Woods  The Ugly Duckling


English Symphony Orchestra
Conductor: Kenneth Woods
Narrator: Hugh Bonneville
Illustrator: Wanda Sobieska

Click here to view the Orchestra List

About this Concert

When an aging Hans Christian Andersen was asked “why have you not written an autobiography?” he answered simply, “I have. It is called The Ugly Duckling.” Andersen’s children’s novella is one of the great literary works of the 19th Century, a masterpiece which embraces the whole of the human journey through life from the most agonising moments of rejection and self-loathing to the euphoria of true self-acceptance. Listeners who have grown up with the charming song sung by Danny Kaye in the 1950’s Andersen biopic may be surprised to learn that Andersen’s story is different in dozens of ways, right down to the colour of the Duckling’s feathers, which are, in fact, grey rather than “stubby and brown.”

A new musical setting of Hans Christian Andersen’s masterpiece by Kenneth Woods is narrated by Hugh Bonneville, star of Downton Abbey, the Paddington films and W1A. Beautiful and evocative illustrations by Polish-American artist and musician, Wanda Sobieska, brings an additional level of emotion to this poignant melding of music, word and image.

ESO’s ‘Art of Storytelling’ project presents world premiere recordings and broadcasts of five exceptional works for narrator and orchestra. From the cheeky humour of the Brothers’ Grimm to the touching tale of Hans Christian Andersen’s Ugly Duckling, and from the Jewish humour of Lubin from Chelm to the ancient Egyptian tale of The Warrior Violinist, this is classic family entertainment for the modern age at its finest, a powerful synthesis of great literature and great music.

Discover More

About the Narrator - Hugh Bonneville

Hugh Bonneville

Hugh Bonneville’s film credits include Notting Hill, Iris, The Monuments Men, Viceroy’s House, the two Paddington movies, Downton Abbey and To Olivia. His television roles include Ian Fletcher in the BAFTA-winning Twenty Twelve and W1A (BBC) and Robert Crawley in ITV’s global hit, Downton Abbey, for which he received nominations for a Golden Globe, two Emmys and along with his fellow cast members won three SAG Awards for Outstanding Ensemble. Hugh’s stage career spans more than three decades and includes seasons with the National Theatre and the RSC. His most recent appearance was as C.S. Lewis in Shadowlands, at Chichester Festival Theatre. Hugh is a Deputy Lieutenant of West Sussex and is a patron of the National Youth Theatre of Great Britain, The National Youth Arts Trust, Scene & Heard, The Primary Shakespeare Company and the South Downs National Park Trust.

About the Illustrator - Wanda Sobieska

Wanda Sobieska is a violinist based in northeast Ohio, active as a solo, chamber, and orchestral musician. Her engagements include work for traditional concert settings, opera and musical theater pits, film scoring stages, church services, private events, and new music concert series, among others.

She is also a prolific arranger: her website,, has served musicians since 2009 and receives 1000 visitors a day from all over the world. Additionally, she is proficient as a composer and violist, and dedicated nearly a decade to directing a handbell choir.

Born in Warsaw, Poland, she is the fifth generation in a family of musicians and musicologists. She holds a B.M. in violin performance from the University of Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music.

About the Composer - Kenneth Woods

Kenneth Woods

ESO Artistic Director Kenneth Woods has had a lifelong interest in composition, songwriting and improvisation, and wrote his first pieces before his 10th birthday. He is also an accomplished arranger and orchestrator, whose recent projects include his orchestration of David Yang’s Lubin from Chelm and the Brahms Piano Quartet in A Major, which was chosen as one of the 10 Best Classical Recordings of 2018 by The Arts Desk.


Dear ESO friends and listeners-

I had asked Wanda to write a blog post about her wonderful illustrations for The Ugly Duckling in advance of this week’s premiere. She chose to do so in the form of this beautiful letter, which I am very happy to be able to share with you all.

— Ken

Kenneth Woods – Artistic Director

Wanda and Ken with conductor Bradley Thachuk at the Canadian premiere of The Ugly Duckling with the Niagara Symphony Orchestra in 2018

Hello Ken,

For some reason, I found it easier to present my thoughts in the form of a letter. I hope you find some meaning in there.

I am copying and pasting below.


November 23, 2020
Kent, Ohio

Dear Ken,

I can hardly believe that it has been five years already since the initial premiere of our “Ugly Duckling”. How time flies!

I write this letter at a curious moment in time: both looking forward to the upcoming performance with Hugh Bonneville and looking back over the initial process and the duckling’s many simple and sincere steps over the years. It feels like a moment that is a mirror, both looking into the future and reflecting the past.

I remember the very first illustration that I conceived for “The Ugly Duckling”. It was a picture of nothing at all. Literally, it was the blank white slide that is presented as the narrator relates the details of the duckling’s harrowing struggle to survive the winter.

The reason it is blank is because there is no music at that moment. When I first started to work on the project, I decided that what lay at the heart of it for me was not what I could create but how well I could listen. So I burned a CD with the audio track that you had sent, plopped it into the appropriate drive in my trusty 2003 Dodge Intrepid, and burned the tires off driving all over northeast Ohio while immersing myself in the text, the plot, and most of all the music of that recording.

My younger brother and sister used to joke that my beloved car of that era was like the Tardis: dark blue, capable of traveling at warp speeds through the space-time continuum, and bigger on the inside than on the outside. I found the Duckling to be equally magical.

And so I listened: sixty, eighty, one hundred times? I couldn’t really tell you how many. But I can tell you that I listened as many times as was necessary for the work to reach a sort of saturation point in my soul: a point where I had not only memorized it, but at which it had become internalized into the very reflexes of my being. And at that point, out of the haziness of some general outline appeared the blank white slide paired off with the struggles of winter.

The Duckling in the depths of winter

It falls at the lowest point of the story: the moment of complete hopelessness, greatest tragedy, and utter despair. When I listened, I heard a moment of such heart-wrenching grief that the music could not bear the task of accompanying it. And if the music could not support it, neither could my illustrations: they were so tied to your score. So I left that spot to speak for itself.

In a curious sort of inversion, the same effect is in use at the very beginning: the narrator speaks the opening line on a blank black slide. Then the first image fades in together with the music. As at the moment of greatest tragedy, the absence of music spells a dramatic death, so at the opening of the story, the music conjures in the illustrations because it is the source of life.

Before the music conjures life, there is nothing.

That blank black slide is in a sense echoed throughout the story in the occasional illustrations that rely on silhouetted characters against a colored background. And their polar opposites appear at the very end in the white shapes of the swans. After all, the most magnificent transfiguration can only be possible if sourced from the depths of despair.



The blank white slide is significant for another reason. Symbolically, it represents the absence of music, life, and hope. But on a physical level, it depicts snow, and that physical level is very real. It is perhaps the most distilled portrayal of a progression that seemed to accompany and complement the storyline proper as I listened: that of the four seasons.

Translated into more metaphysical terms, this is the progression of life, decay, death, and rebirth.

I found that with the coming of springtime and rebirth, the illustrations took on a more symbolic form. There was a very practical reason for this: at that point in the story, the duckling is already a swan, but I could not show him as such because it would spoil the dramatic effect.

But perhaps more importantly, I feel that this decision is justified in an aesthetic sense. Over the course of summer, autumn, and winter, all the basic building blocks of the story are put into place. With the arrival of springtime, that initial state is essentially reborn, but at a higher vibration. Since the audience at this point would be well-versed in the setting of the story and its key players, I felt compelled to augment this reality at a sort of higher frequency of existence through the use of the symbolic imagination. It is a mode of not only delivering to the audience what is expected but inviting them to openly participate in the process of creation.

That mode, of course, is likewise employed at the aforementioned moments with blank slides and silhouettes, be they black or white. I also occasionally found myself inserting it into other illustrations by way of color, or rather an indeterminate form thereof. The illustrations were all drawn by hand, with graphic software used only for the simplest of purposes: the superimposition of character drawings over backgrounds and the incidental solid fill. As I worked my way through the pictures, I would by and by stop and reach for two very specific art markers. One was labeled “slate” and the other “shale”. The color of those nibs is truly not something that can be described: they are both a curious admixture with varying degrees of gray, brown, purple, and “je ne sais quoi”.

In the illustrations, they appear — one or both — in sporadic spots: tree bark, mountain slopes, shrubbery, fence posts, dirt. My goal, in those places, was not to devalue the importance of that subject matter but, rather than spelling out every detail, to leave certain bits of terrain somewhat “open” and to trust in the intelligence of the audience to imagine and to complete.


This approach questions the boundary between the artist and the audience and who it is that actually creates the work of art.

It is but one of the boundaries that I found myself questioning while working on “The Ugly Duckling”.

I wrote earlier that to me the storyline follows the sequence of the four seasons. In terms of this connected flow and the nature of your musical score, the whole forms one coherent unit. However, for me to wrap my mind around the project while at work, I found it necessary to subdivide it into scenes that could then fit back into that overarching unity. I suppose this ventures into the territory of what Samuel Taylor Coleridge termed as “distinguish but not divide”.

At any rate, while this involved a number of components and subcomponents, the biggest distinction for me exists between what I think of as the two “Acts” of the drama, the first consisting of summer; with autumn, winter, and spring comprising the second. The first act deals with the external world: the circumstances into which the duckling is brought. This is reflected by the general “business” of the pictures: the number of characters, the variety of backgrounds, and so forth.

In the second act, the focus shifts to the internal, immaterial realm. In a practical sense, there are far fewer “ingredients” in the pictures and a progression, as I wrote before, toward symbolism. The color purple, which has a somewhat mystical quality, predominates in many shades. And in the final autumnal slide, we see the night sky studded with stars. Among them is planted the constellation of the swan: headed downwards, it is setting at that time of year.

Cygnus the swan in the night sky

The celestial spheres serve as the abode of the spirits; and this internal world is the place of ultimate transformation.

Where does this story truly take place?

Another distinction that I found myself reconsidering was that of foreground and background. While in the beginning, the two are very clearly delineated, this state grew more hazy for me as the entire world of the duckling grew more magical. The whole affair comes to a head at the close of the first act with the illustration of the scarecrow, which (who?) at first appears to be a simple background picture but upon closer inspection proves to be the embodiment of the surroundings on the whole, saturated with a highly sceptical attitude toward our protagonist.

The inanimate becomes animate, and in a not very nice way. The setting can speak for the story just as much as the characters can.


On a personal note, not of my own, but of Hans Christian Andersen, a critic apparently once asked him, “Will you write an autobiography?” to which Andersen replied, “I already have: it is ‘The Ugly Duckling’.”

The seeds of the duckling’s magical transformation are present throughout the story. In terms of his appearance, what seems to be an ungraceful hump on his back unfurls into a long, noble neck; and the two black warts on his face turn out to be the handsome black knob above the beak that mute swans so proudly wear. And in terms of the setting, the purple hues of the first two illustrations foreshadow the mystical nature of the second act.

Purple foreshadowings

We know how the story of “The Ugly Duckling” concludes, but this makes me wonder: how many duckling tales are happening in the world as we speak? When one knows the ending of a story, it is easy to look back on it; but when embroiled in the midst of the action, that perspective may be beyond our grasp. I suppose this ties back to my thoughts that opened this letter, and how, in the present moment, I very distinctly sense both the future and the past.

The story of “The Ugly Duckling” is one of those rare masterpieces that speaks to humanity on a universal level. That potential for transformation exists in each and every one of us, and can — and will — transfigure the world into a better place.

With best wishes as always,


About Musical Storytelling: Zoë Beyers in conversation with David Yang and Kenneth Woods

ESO Leader Zoë Beyers talks to Kenneth Woods and David Yang about the evolution of the Auricolae Music and Storytelling project which gave birth to many of the the storytelling works featured in our series.


The Music Room series is produced by Shropshire Music Trust and supported by Arts Council England.

Reviews - 31st December 2020

Richard Whitehouse

The English Symphony Orchestra certainly saw in the New Year with style in this attractive and enterprising programme centred on the prevalence but also the range of jazz idioms either side of the Atlantic throughout the 1920s. Its stylistic roots were acknowledged in the panache of Charleston Rag by the long-lived Eubie Blake, then the irresistible verve of Black Bottom Stomp by the lived-dangerously Jelly Roll Morton – both heard in distinctive arrangements by Gunther Schuller, whose own jazz innovations warrant revival as his centenary approaches.

Between these pieces, Erwin Schulhoff’s Suite for Chamber Orchestra was a reminder of this composer’s usage of jazz as part of a lifelong and tragically curtailed stylistic odyssey. While the faster numbers recall the wit of Poulenc’s early chamber music and irony of Stravinsky’s suites for theatre orchestra, the Valse Boston – its moody violin solos hauntingly rendered by David Juritz – and Tango admit of an introspection and pathos to the fore in those works from Schulhoff’s last years. Qualities which are here side-lined by the uproarious final Jazz.

It is almost 94 years since Ernst Krenek’s Jonny spielt auf took the German-speaking world by storm, and though its highly Viennese take on jazz lacks the satirical edge as achieved by Weill, the present Fantasie devised by Emil Bauer gives a fine overview of this opera in all its attendant strengths and weaknesses. Abetted by diaphanous orchestration (with its oddly hymnic role for harmonium), the slower sections conjure no mean expressive fervour, while the closing pages exude an affirmation which never feels brittle or forced in its demeanour.

Darius Milhaud had also fastened on to the exuberance of jazz, here with Brazilian overtones, in his ballet Le boeuf sur le toit – as heard in the rarely revived ‘cinéma-fantaisie’ version for violin and orchestra. Perhaps the often equivocal nature of the solo part has mitigated against wider acceptance, but Zoë Beyers took its technical demands confidently in her stride while remaining aware of its ‘first among equals’ status – notwithstanding the strategically placed cadenza (by no less than Arthur Honegger) that brings the soloist unashamedly centre-stage. Credit, too, to the members of the ESO (suitably attired throughout) for having rendered this music’s teasing rhythmic inflections with unfailing poise, and to Kenneth Woods for teasing the maximum finesse from out of Milhaud’s entertaining while not a little provocative score.

It was, indeed, a fine showing all round and would have been ideal before that ‘end of year’ party which circumstances have regrettably made impossible. This event was still a highly positive means of seeing out the old year and welcoming in a much to be anticipated 2021.

Adventures in Music - 2nd January 2021

Jari Kallio

A century ago, in the previous Twenties, the contemporary music world was set in an uproar by jazz. Composers from Stravinsky to Ravel and Copland to Antheil were enchanted by the sound-world of this New World vernacular and began incorporating its elements into their own music. 

These jazz-tinged works, although often quite superficial in their allusions, gave rise to the most prominent sonic image of the whole decade, resulting in the most imaginative stylistic fusions between various Old-World traditions and the sounds of the Americas. 

Celebrating the roaring spirit of the Twenties, the English Symphony Orchestra and their Principal Conductor Kenneth Woods, had put together an invigorating New Year’s online programme, featuring some of the most flamboyantly surreal scores from the era. 

Erwin Schulhoff’s six-movement Suite for Chamber Orchestra (1921) was first performed in Berlin in April 1922 by the musicians of the Staatsoper. Conceived in the manner of a baroque suite, Schulhoff’s score is built upon dance idioms of the era, as manifested in the matter-of-factly titles of the six movements; Ragtime, Valse Boston, Tango, Shimmy, Step and Jazz. 

Schulhoff’s suite is, quite simply, an outrageously brilliant score. Scored for a salon-type ensemble of solo strings and winds, joined by two horns, trumpet, harp and no less than four percussionists playing twelve instruments, the twenty-minute suite is a feast of delicious tunes, sparkling colours and upbeat rhythms. 

For a spoken prologue, a somewhat surreal poem is printed in the score. Its nonsense lines appear in English translation in Woods’s brief introduction, aptly setting the mood for Schulhoff’s ingenious music.     

Out of his jazz materials, Schulhoff crafts a score of astounding invention, wholeheartedly endorsed by the wonderful ESO performance with Woods. Be it the riveting drive of the opening Rag or those splendidly nocturnal, moonlit textures of Boston, let alone the gorgeous Tango, Woods and the ESO musicians are ever attuned to the surreal beauty of the score, providing their online audiences with a wondrously dreamy take of the score.

The sheer joy of music-making is tangible in the superb Shimmy, followed by a percussion tour-de-force of Step. The whole ensemble is united again in the closing movement, a spirited Jazz, performed with vigor by Woods and the ESO. 

Like so many others of my generation, I first encountered the names of Schuhoff and Ernst Krenek in Decca’s extraordinary Entartete Musik series in the early Nineties. Devoted to composers suppressed by the nazi regime, one of the many gems of the series was the premiere recording of Krenek’s marvellous opera, the romantic comedy Jonny spielt auf (1925-26). 

Premiered in Leipzig in 1927, the opera was a huge success, with performances across 42 opera houses before being banned by the nazis. Revived by the 1993 recording, Krenek’s wonderful score has since found its way back to the repertoire, at least to some extent.

As a part of their New Year’s programme, Woods and the ESO gave a delightful outing to Krenek’s score in its Fantasie guise, adapted for chamber orchestra by Emil Bauer. Another lovely twenty-minute affair, the Fantasie revisits some of the most memorable passages of Krenek’s ravishing orchestral score, from the atmospheric opening bars to the spirited final scene.  

In the course of the Fantasie, diverse musical elements, some jazz-flavored others rooted in the Viennese operetta, are bought together into a quasi-cinematographic whole. Performed with inspiration and commitment, the Fantasie is pure joy, whetting the appetite for the complete opera.

Based on a variety of Brazilian melodies and rhythms, Darius Milhaud’s Le Boeuf sur le Toit, Op. 58b (1919) for violin and chamer orchestra is an absolute gem. Originally conceived as a score for a projected, Chaplinesquefilm, the music inspired Jean Cocteau to stage a surreal ballet around it. 

In addition to its stage life, the score makes a superb concertante item as well. Written in one continuous movement, the music travels through a myriad of keys and textures, resulting a fabulous cycle of musical events. With its Franco-Brazilian flavor, the score is a feast. 

The solo part is taken by the ESO Leader Zoë Beyers, whose performance is admirable on all accounts. With Woods, the ESO is the perfect partner, giving rise to top-class teamwork.  

Milhaud’s dazzling orchestration is well served by the nuanced performance, providing an excellent survey of the fine detail in Milhaud’s textures. Yet the wildness of the score is never understated. Instead, Beyers, the ESO and Woods are fully committed to the goofiness of the music, yielding to a sonic riot par excellence. 

A performance making Milhaud proud, Le Boeuf sur le Toit is the perfect finale for the rollicking evening.  

In addition to the three main pieces, Eubie Blake’s Charleston Rag (1899) and Jelly Roll Morton’s Black Bottom Stomp (1926) also appear in the programme, in witty chamber orchestra transcriptions by Gunther Schuller. Joyfully performed by Woods and the ESO, both pieces are veritable treats. 

A resplendent affair altogether, The Roaring 20s provided an apt way to welcome the 2021, a year, hopefully, of rediscovering the joys of live performance. In the days of lockdowns and solitude, online programmes as splendid as this one are simply priceless.

Planet Hugill - 3rd January 2021

Robert Hugill

As readers of this blog may have gathered, I am a bit of an unbeliever when it comes to Johann Strauss’s waltzes and always give the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra’s New Year’s Day concert a miss, if I can. So it was a delight this year to be able to stream Kenneth Woods and the English Symphony Orchestra’s imaginative concert (released on New Year’s Eve) which juxtaposed music from the 1920s, both jazz and ragtime alongside music inspired by jazz from Erwin Schulhoff and Darius Milhaud. The orchestra seemed as if they were having fun, and it made an engaging and thoughtful programme.

Classical Music Daily - 4th January 2021

Alice McVeigh

Rather than just sitting around moaning about the serious COVID situation for orchestras everywhere, Kenneth Woods has busied himself with organising cleverly-designed concerts for smaller, socially-distanced forces. The scaled-down – well, ok, the percussion is scaled up!!! – English Symphony Orchestra absolutely scintillated in their New Year concert. Woods selected works from the irrepressibly glorious Jelly Roll Morton and Eubie Blake, as well as two neglected masterpieces – in this case Erwin Schulhoff’s sensational Suite for Chamber Orchestra and Krenek’s excellent Fantasie on his opera Jonny spielt auf. Even the – far from neglected – Le boeuf le Toit was here done in the rarely-attempted version for solo violin and orchestra, instead of its more familiar incarnation. Resurrecting neglected masterpieces is one of Woods’ trademarks, on both sides of the Atlantic – including recordings of the underrated Hans Gal, and the premiere of John Joubert’s operatic masterpiece Jane Eyre. (Strongly recommended!!)

Anyway, it was absolutely obvious that the twenty or so ESO players had a total blast from start to finish of this concert. Throughout, their clarity, balance and exuberance were remarkable. In the Schulhoff the textures can be very transparent – it is astonishingly well-orchestrated – and it was elegantly and above all characterfully dispatched by every single performer (shout out to guest leader David Juritz, but could have picked anybody!) Inspired by the dance crazes of the twenties, the first movement ranges from wistfulness to nostalgia, from the sinister to the sardonic. The slow movement has a tango-esque feel – the last is evocative, witty and, finally, gloriously bustling.

The English Symphony Orchestra playing Erwin Schulhoff’s Suite for Chamber Orchestra Op 37 at Wyastone

The Krenek was equally stylishly performed. (The ESO have recorded Krenek before, and Woods is a fan.) By turns cheeky, sensual, slinky, zany, unexpected, and original, it featured a deeply moving clarinet solo, some tastefully droll percussion work, an eloquent solo trombone – a heavily pompous section wittily undercut and – at times – playing from the entire group so precise as to sound improvised.

The Milhaud, by contrast, is very well-known, but this version was new to me. Woods, a conductor of understated authority, perfectly judged – throughout the entire concert, really – every nuance of mood, while never losing the irrepressible sense of dance. (His jazz was great, as well.)

As for Zoë Beyers – well, she was terrifyingly good. She squeezed every possible ounce of expression from every note; and was alert not only to Woods’ every subtlety but also to those of her fellow performers. She coloured her tone with such imagination! Her sound was always lustrous and unforced – her technique, no matter how many double-stops she was confronted with, immaculate. The rest of the orchestra (really, they had such a blast) served as her only audience at the end and burst into spontaneous applause.

Zoë Beyers playing Darius Milhaud’s Le Bœuf sur le toit at Wyastone

The whole event was a toe-tapping, heart-lifting, and admirably-judged delight – as have been all the COVID-cut-down-ESO concerts from Wyastone, to be fair – but this is the first one I’ve had time to write about yet. (Check out their intimate and wonderful Strauss’ Four Last Songs with April Fredrick – now, is my advice!!)

Bye for now – and bravo to all!!

Production Information

Recorded at Wyastone Concert Hall, Monmouth, on 31st July 2020

Orchestra Sessions
Orchestra Manager: Simon Brittlebank / The Music Agency
Stage Manager: Ed Hayes / The Music Agency
Producer & Editor: 
Tim Burton
Engineer & Editor: Matthew Swan
Voice-over Sessions
Producer & Editor: Tim Burton
Engineer: Richard Cottle

Pin It on Pinterest

Share This