This wasn’t a typical recital of Bach preludes or the usual organ repertoire. Instead, Anna had chosen something rarer — one of her favourite soundtracks, arranged for organ and orchestra for the first time. Her caption had teased it simply: “Hello yes I got to play one of my favourite soundtracks with orchestra for the first time yesterday 🥺🥺.” And the program confirmed it: film music re-imagined, the organ’s pipes breathing life into themes that once lived only on the screen.

As the orchestra launched into the opening bars, Anna’s hands settled into motion. The strings sighed, the woodwinds shimmered, the brass held a promise. Then came the organ: deep, resonant, yet intimate — a sound we rarely associate with cinematic scores, but one Anna has claimed as her own. She has spoken often of how film themes made her heart sing, how she would rewind DVDs and transcribe scores by Hans Zimmer, Alan Menken, Rachel Portman.

Tonight, the audience sensed the alchemy: the organ didn’t just accompany, it conversed. It echoed the orchestral palette, sometimes led it, sometimes followed, always alive. In the hall’s silent rapture, every chord felt like a breath held in someone’s chest, waiting to release.

Halfway through the piece, Anna allowed herself a small glance to the conductor. Their eyes met: a nod, a shared inner smile. Then came the pedal: long and low, a rumble like distant thunder, and the hall shivered. The orchestra responded. It felt as if they had all bent and caught their reflection in the same sound.

Afterwards, as the final chord faded, the audience didn’t rush to applaud. A small whisper of admiration grew, then a tide. It was not the usual thunderous ovation but a wave of genuine recognition — for risk, for beauty, for something unexpected. Anna rose, modestly, and the hall erupted.

But this was more than a performance. For Anna, this marked a turning-point. She has consistently challenged the traditional boundaries of organ music: from midnight sessions at the Royal Albert Hall to viral TikTok clips, from transcriptions of film soundtracks to choral experiments. Tonight’s concert crystallised that evolution.

In the backstage hush, she removed her glasses, exhaled. “I think I got the chills seven times,” she said quietly to a colleague. She mentioned that few organs have so thoroughly been used to render film scores, and fewer still have dared to bring such scores into the orchestral canon. Tonight they did. The hall’s historic pipes — once reserved for the classical mainstays — roared with cinematic familiarity, yet remained sacred.

For the audience, many of whom grew up with those soundtracks, something stirred. Memories of first cinemas, of late nights, of emotional leaps. The organ’s voice brought them into the present, but carried their past with it — nostalgia woven into sonic grandeur. Anna spoke earlier in an interview about how she wants to break barriers, make the organ vibrant to new ears. “I found myself rewinding DVDs… working out why they moved me,” she said.

And so tonight wasn’t just about an organist playing with an orchestra. It was about a bridge: between classical tradition and modern storytelling; between screen and stage; between musician and audience. Anna’s courage in saying: Yes, this instrument can do that, too echoed in every swell.

As the lights came back, the audience rose not just in applause but in acknowledgment. Many smiled at each other, still processing. Exit lights glowed, the grand organ pipes receded into shadow. Anna stood, her hands resting gently on the bench. She glanced upward, breathing in the moment.

In the taxi afterwards she reflected: “When you love something, you want to share it. And when the organ meets the cinema-score, we don’t just listen — we remember.” The night lingered in her voice, and it will in the hearts of those who heard it.

Because sometimes a performance doesn’t just entertain. It reminds us that soundtracks are memory, instruments are voices, and every note has the power to say: I’ve been waiting for this.