Gertsamtkunstwerk

Echo der Stars

A short description of his achievements (in German) and then,Domingo sings Amor,vida de mi vida and gets a lifetime achievement award.

 

 

Or, if you just want to cut to the chase, here is Amor, vida di mi vida

(He is so seriously cute)

Echo Klassik

Premio "Echo Klassik" para Plácido Domingo

Roter Teppich für die Klassik: Echo-Preise in der Semperoper verliehen

Der eigentliche Star des Abends war Plácido Domingo. Der in Spanien geborene Tenor wurde für sein Lebenswerk geehrt. Das Publikum stand geschlossen auf, als die Opernlegende die Bühne betrat - zum ersten Mal die der Semperoper, wie der 68-Jährige später bekannte. Und er will wiederkommen. Nachher im Interview streute er auch ein paar Lebensweisheiten in die Runde: „Die Jugend ist das einzige Missverständnis im Leben, das mit zunehmenden Alter verschwindet.“

Placido Domingo honored for life's work with German Echo award

With Anne-Sophie Mutter

Echo Klassik Preise: Plácido Domingos Lebenswerk geehrt

(I drafted this post last week and was then taken away from the internet without time to publish it)

The Birgit Nilsson Prize

Thanks to White Rabbit, who left a comment with links some time ago (I'm in catch-up mode!)

Here's an interview with Plácido where he expounds on why opera is so important, and refuses to state what his favourite aria is. (He was sounding very husky when he recorded this!)

And here's an almost hour long video of the award ceremony

Get Flash to see this player.

More matters of interest at the site dedicated to the prize

The Katherine Jenkins Drinking Game

The Nation's Favourite Warbling Barbie Doll will be appearing on ITV tonight.



I suggest that to enhance your enjoyment, you find a bottle of your favourite spirit, and a glass. If you don't drink but happen to have a box of chocolates handy that will serve the purpose too. Or if you aren't a frumpy overweight opera singer, you can assemble a nice selection of cherry tomatoes, olives and pickled onions.



Every time the Plastic Popera one mentions any of the following subjects, you must take a mouthful of whiskey, chocolate or bitesize vegetation:



being an opera singer;

being a classical singer;

bringing classical music to ordinary people;

being too slim & beautiful to be an opera singer;

how she and her fellow opera singers get fat because they eat late;

her dear dead Dad;

being shot down in Iraq, Afghanistan whatever;

naturally having a blonde personality;

Wales.



Katherine Jenkins's new album is due out on Monday.



(Sorry if the formatting of this is rubbish; I'm doing this on my phone).

Your favourite opera singer

In a moment of madness I announced to Opera-L that I am conducting a poll of the favourite opera singers singing today, and, furthermore, I would promulgate this on blog and Twitter.

What I actually wrote was:

As an experiment/illustration, I will ask list members to nominate their favourite five singers currently singing. Post in the comments, or just send to me privately at [email protected]*. You have until 31 October - Samhain in the Northern Hemisphere. I will publish the top twenty by votes and provide a link to a list of more detailed breakdown of all votes cast (anonymised, of course). Hopefully, I will be able to process the results within a week or so after.

To kick things off, my current five favourites currently performing are Plácido Domingo, Iestyn Davies, Gerald Finley, Jonas Kaufmann, and Carolyn Sampson.

This list excludes people who are currently 'off sick' or I haven't heard for at least a couple of years, and it excludes singers who I like almost as much. I reserve the right to change my mind next week next month or next year! And I accept that I might end up not liking the final result!

The more people vote, the more 'valid' the results. Although, of course, the results will only illustrate who is the most popular from a self-selected electorate. Oh, and any entries that include 'Kathryn Jenkins', or 'Paul Potts' or anyone else who cannot claim to be a professional opera singer will be wholly disqualified.

* the sharp-eyed will notice a slight difference from the contact details on Opera-L

Indiscreet and unprofessional?

A few nights ago I took my seat in the opera house some ten minutes before the scheduled start. Next to me was a man, next to him was a woman. They were clearly together, as friends not life partners. They chatted, catching up on news. They certainly weren't loud but they were so near and the ambient noise was so low it was impossible not to overhear.

I learnt quite a lot. The man is from a city not far from London, home of one of the Universities collectively known as 'Oxbridge'. I assumed that he was an academic, because he said that his time is currently taken up with a particular student, helping and supporting her. He gave her full name. Neither of her names is unusual - certainly more common than mine - but in combination, unlikely to crop up more than once in a closely defined population.

She's 21 years old and 5'1" tall. I know what subject she is studying. He mentioned a name that I know to be the name of a college at that particular Oxbridge University.

He explained that he had thought at first that her psychological problems were a result of her anorexia but now realises that the anorexia is a result of her psychological problems. Part of her problem is that her family who keep pestering her, especially by text. And her family is a major cause of her psychological problems. Only two people in the world - my seatmate, and her tutor - know the precise problem.

He was asking his companion to intervene. They agreed that it was important for him merely to suggest the idea to the student, not to make her feel that he's instructing her. The companion agreed that he should mention his friend, who is going to be in _________ College on Tuesdays anyway.

I was really quite surprised by this breach of confidence, discussing some potentially very sensitive information in a public place. As it happens I don't know this young woman, but how do they know that? How do they know I'm not part of or friendly with her problematic family?

For all they know, I could use the information maliciously. Or perhaps, more likely, armed with this new knowledge I could decide to 'intervene' - or interfere - and create more problems for the daughter as a result of her revealing the great family secret to outsiders. Or that interference could cause even more pain for the family who are already struggling to cope with the very challenging behaviour of the brilliant but unstable daughter.

Or I could just be a cow and write her name, her subject, her college, her University on this blog. I am under no professional obligation to desist.

I can't actually believe that in this day and age, teachers still think they can discuss the very personal problems of a named and identifiable student in public, and that someone, who seems to be a counsellor, psychotherapist or such, did not challenge him so discussing. We confide our secrets to people we think we can trust, and we know that maybe they make an anonymised anecdote out of it. We don't expect them to discuss them openly in earshot of some random blogger.

I did wonder whether I should complain formally to the college in question.

Cattle troughs on the Common - 365/10

Jimmy thinks this is the best photo I took on Saturday

whereas I prefer this one

Mind you, I haven't yet edited the ones I took round the City!

These were taken on small exclave of Clapham Common, where the old-fashioned entrance to the Tube and the old public conveniences are situated.

More about the Metropolitan Drinking Fountain and Cattle Trough Association

It lives on as the Drinking Fountain Association, its work still relevant today.

(Tristan und) Isolde

Amongst all the operas I have never seen live, this is the one that I have most wanted to see. Hardly a rarity, nevertheless performances do not happen frequently. And on Friday, I achieved my ambition.

The new production opened nearly two weeks ago and has been dogged by controversy. I shall return to this controversy later.

The evening was an almost unqualified success, almost totally enjoyable. So many elements worked so well.

But I have to single out Ben Heppner as the one element that really did not work. I want so desperately to like Ben. He comes across so likeable in interviews (not important) and I believe that the basic voice is heroic.

He's an ungainly man, even 'slimmed down' he's seriously overweight. Nevertheless, he moves well around stage, and his body language is eloquent. His portrayal of Tristan 'the hero' was not strut and bombast, but a young emotionally vulnerable man.

All reports I had read suggested that in previous performances he had started well before audible deterioration. I thought his Act I vocal performance was impressive, despite isolated incidences of strain or lack of breath control. He started to fall apart in Act II. In the Love Duet (O sink herneider)  he strained, he missed the pitch of several notes, he wobbled precariously, he lost volume in alarming and random ways. He repeated this in his extended solo in the final scene of that act.

Before the start of Act III there was an on-stage announcement from a member of staff that 'Mr Heppner has an allergic reaction and will continue to sing but begs your indulgence blah blah blah'.

I really wish he hadn't. I am generally forgiving of singers who try to carry on despite indisposition, but I'm afraid I don't buy it this time. I have now heard Ben Heppner as Otello and Tristan and on each occasion he has gone into vocal meltdown. These are not isolated incidents, judging by reports from the current run and from appearances elsewhere. I paid what I consider to be a lot of money to hear Tristan und Isolde and I don't believe I got what I paid for. Fool me once, etc. I simply can't afford to have Ben Heppner ruin yet another much-loved tenor role.

Thankfully we had an Isolde to die for! Nina Stemme was superb. Simply to get through that role without any hint of wobble,  strain or screech is commendable in itself. She did so with a strong steely voice which projected well and did not rely simply on being stentorian; even better.

That voice is gorgeous to listen to, and expressive in colour and use of emphasis. She  sounds like she fully understands what she's singing (and I don't just mean the literal translation of the words). She looks good on stage, she moves well, she responds to her fellow actors. I hesitate to use the word 'perfect' if it means 'cannot be improved upon', but if it means 'flawless and thoroughly satisfying', I will use it. 

I spent some time at the weekend listening to the version of Tristan und Isolde I have on CD; sadly, the soprano on this set simply cannot match the sheer utter stupendous of Nina Stemme's live performance - the soprano on disc being Nina Stemme, recorded five years ago, at least a couple of years too early perhaps! (Still, the tenor's worth a listen, and, sensibly, declined ever to do the role live because of the damage it would inflict on his voice).

Sophie Koch was splendid as Brangäne, a role I have never really paid much attention to either on DVD or CD. She has a rich creamy tone at the bottom of her range and a very impressive top that many sopranos would love. Her sound penetrated through the orchestra. She brought the character to life, no doubt aided by the production. She, too, looked good and moved well.

I was a bit disappointed, though, that they stuck a ginger wig on her. They obviously decided that Nina Stemme's shade of blonde is sufficiently red not to need to be ginged-up, even though the colour is nothing like Irish ginger, but it's way too much of a cliché to portray Irish people as ginger. Think of Irish people and, surely, you think of Liam Neeson, me and Roy Keane, with our dark hair. Admittedly Tristan und Isolde predates the Spanish Armada but it is nevertheless a sort of lazy racism that assumes that all Irish people are ginges.

 
Sophie came across as a developed and convincing character but never dominated and always complemented the principals. At first I considered Michael Volle as Kurwenal to be too dominant, and, to be honest, a little bit full of bombast. But after a dubious opening he settled down into a convincing dramatic and splendid vocal portrayal.

All the other roles were satisfactory. I can't say I care for King Marke's part - it's one of those bass roles that just doesn't do it for me. However, I have no fault with Matti Salminen, who looked majestically Ustinov-like and used his walking stick to add regality to his role. It was not until the curtain call that I realised that the stick was for real as he walked with a limp and needed assistance in crossing the step/gap to the back of the stage, which is why John Tomlinson had substituted for earlier performances.

 I thought highly of the orchestra under Maestro Pappano. My biggest criticism of the CD set is the massive difference in dynamics which makes listening difficult in a small semi (And even more difficult on headphones however good quality). This flaw wasn't apparent in this hearing, and despite one or two slightly strange notes coming from the brass, it was on the whole a strong rendition. A neighbour remarked that she thought that the orchestra were being reined in to mitigate Heppner's woe, and I thought that quite possible.

I could go on at length about phrases and passages that thrilled me with delight, but, apparently it's bad form to discuss an actual opera too much in a report on a performance.The write assumes that you the reader knows the work intimately. You do not need to be told of the difficulties I had in staying still and not reacting physically to the orgasmic writing. Nor do you need to be told the synopsis or philosophy behind the opera, or be reminded that Richard Wagner was a genius.

There was controversy about the sets and the physical production. Some complaints that it is non-traditional - for example, Act 1 lacks a ship with full rigging and legions of galley slaves; that Tristan and his men are not dressed like the knights who say 'ni'; and the Ladies don't wear 3-foot-tall conical hats. I have little patience with people who demand a visually literal interpretation of an opera, even if it obscures the story or the characters.

I was more concerned by the reports that much of the action is simply not visible from seats on the left of the house (that is, seats that face directly opposite seats on the right, rather than those merely at an obtuse angle).

For me that is simply unacceptable. People buy those seats knowing they are 'restricted view' and they will miss some of the action. Nevertheless, I feel strongly that house management have a responsibility to ensure that the loss of view is proportionate.

I have seen too many productions where entire scenes, or crucial action within a scene, happen at the extremes of the stage for example Macbeth and Don Carlo. I understand that directors do not want to be forced to stage everything dead centre, but I have seen other productions - Cyrano de Bergerac, Carmen, Fleigende Hollander, where I have missed a little bit of action on the side of the stage but have considered it a fair compromise for a cheaper seat.

I had a seat that was fairly central - on the left, but on the front row just by the aisle, so these issues did not affect me. A significant aspect of the production was a curtain halfway down the stage which was often closed but sometimes opened partly or wholly to reveal the gentlemen of the chorus participating in a dinner party, quite separate in time and space to the main action down stage. Often they were shown motionless, as if in freeze-frame.

Subsequent to the performance, a friend explained that this represented a different psychological space. I can't say that had occurred to me, but it's an explanation I can accept. I suppose I thought it represented that the love affair between the two eponymous characters took place - induced by love potion - occurred quite separately to reality, that they were oblivious to the world around them, except when the supporting characters - Brangäne, Kurwenal, King Marke etc - moved from the world backstage to the world of T&I. I loved the bloody and gory ending, too.

I think I was particularly enthused by the set, large, white, light and airy. I cannot identify the period of the architecture, but it reminded me of a restaurant I visited by the beach in Valencia which itself reminded me of these vast white buildings with large windows in Old Havana. I suppose from the 20s or 30s. The costumes were understated elegance; indeed it was a very beautiful production to see. And with the chorus largely confined to the rear of the stage, it gave a lot of room for the main characters to inhabit.

As the seconds counted down to the grand finale, the Liebestod, I heard a door bang from across the auditorium. I hope it was an usher following the musical cue to open the doors and prepare for prompt departures. There are some operas you can get away with leaving early if train timetables permit - such as Don Carlo last week, I thought. But it is absolutely horrendous to leave Tristan early. You are left with an unresolved chord, and, surely, that must be as bad as sexual frustration.

Overall an excellent night. Together with Don Carlo, it gives the ROH 2/2 so far this season, whereas for ENO I've had one miss and one okayish (but of course ENO gave us Dr Atomic and Peter Grimes earlier in the calendar year). If only we had had a tenor who could get through the role unscathed!

NB I bought my ticket with my own money. I did not receive it - or anything else - free from ROH or anyone associated with them.

Lib Dems Lies & Opportunism on the doorstep

Please bear in mind that this only applies to the Liberal Democrats in Streatham Constituency or even only Brixton Hill. You might have Liberal Democrats in your area but it is unlikely that anything they promise will have any connection to the promises in my area.

Because I was due at the Barbican this afternoon, I reneged on my promise to go canvassing this morning. At least it meant that I was in when there was a knock on the door. Turns out to be someone canvassing my vote for the multi-millionaire Liberal Democrat Parliamentary candidate.

I asked "Why should I vote Liberal Democrat? What have they ever done for this area?"

She told me that they had never had the opportunity to do anything. So I said  that they had run the council - badly - for four years. It didn't seem to be news to her that they had run the council (2002-2006) - despite her earlier statement - because she explained that they ran the council because when they took it over it was being run into the ground and the government was about to take over and put it in special measures.

I have to say that was completely news to me. I must have taken my eye off the ball in the years leading up to the 2002 election. I wasn't exactly in a good position to know what was going on in Lambeth Council at the time because I was busy...

Oh shucks damn, the 2002 election!

I was a member of Lambeth Council in the years leading up to the 2002 election.  As it happens from 2000-01 I worked for a department of a neighbouring authority which was in Special Measures, so I was fairly well-placed to know the difference between 'a lot done, a lot more to do' and 'about to go into special measures'. And I think the Lib Dems at the time knew that, too, otherwise it would have been a key plank of their election campaign*

I told her she had been fed a pile of bullshit, and she turned her attention to their candidate. I asked what he had ever done for the community. Her reply was that he does a lot - a LOT - of casework.

Me: Of course he does, he's the Parliamentary candidate. What  did he do before he decided to run for Parliament?

Her: People don't  work for the community unless they want to be elected for office.

Me: That's not true - there are lots of people 'round here' who work for the community without any desire to stand for office.

Lamely she said he was involved in lots of groups - churches and so on (churches, plural - don't most people pick a church and stick with it?).

I laughed and said he just wants to buy the constituency, with all the leaflets that he keeps paying to produce. She explained that he's not paying for it, it's Liberal Democrat money.

 "Oh," I said, "that's all right them; Lib Dem money scattered like fairy dust from the Lib Dem money fairy."

Shall I put you down as a Labour voter?" she asked, sounding a bit unsure.

"Oh I think so," I replied suitably patronisingly. I think I did quite well for a virgin - this was the first time I have ever been canvassed by a member of an opposition party!

A few months ago I was leafletted by another Lib Dem.

There were so many leaflets she had to knock on the door rather than use the letter box. I asked her to take them away, I didn't want them.

She tried to insist that I took them "They are Liberal Democrat leaflets personally addressed to you!"

What was sad is that this woman is a councillor. She was elected at the same time as me, indeed she was elected for the ward in which I then lived.

There were very few women councillors back then, so we tended to be quite friendly between the groups, even if only on a very superficial level - chatting about the weather as we touched up our lipstick in the Ladies rather than pulling glarey faces. She and I conversed at christenings and funerals and it wasn't unusual for us to sit together when we happened to get the same bus after meetings.

And yet, she had no clue whatsoever...

* Labour got the same number of seats as the Lib Dems - ironically with a greater proportion of the vote - but the Lib Dems went into alliance with the Tories so that they could play at being in power

A rainy murky day 365/7

This week I faced two entirely different challenges in my attempt to take a photo every day.

Wednesday was dreich. I had the bright idea of walking to the river and using the weather to my advantage. But as I left the office it started to rain, and by the time I had crossed the road there were big wet raindrops falling on me, and more importantly, my camera.

So I decided to take a shot of some of the twee cottages on the road that link Great Peter Street with Smith Square. I found my spot and waited for a pedestrian to pass. As it happens, this was someone who was once an adviser to Tony Blair and was dubbed by Dolly Draper as one of the 19 people that matter. From my experience he's a decent and pleasant bloke, but, nevertheless, it was quite amusing to watch his inability to manoeuvre an enormous golfing umbrella on a narrow pavement between a house frontage and a street-lamp. By the time he had passed the empty parking space that had afforded me a good view of the cottages had been taken by a British Gas van.

So I am afraid I only have a rather indifferent photo of the upper bits of St John's to share with you.

Thursday was a glorious day for photography and more. The quality of light was stupendous - blue skies during the morning, as the afternoon progressed a Canaletto-ish light across the neighbouring buildings. As I twittered, I caught the beginning and end of what appeared to a beautiful sunset. Unfortunately, the way my diary worked out , I didn't have time to choose a photo which might have proved to be memorable, and I didn't want to do a random point-and-shoot snap. I was due to go to a ward meeting in the evening and decided it might be a nice idea to take a photo of the community flat, to illustrate - as the meeting chair said - that politics isn't always glamorous! I did take a couple of photos but they were so unbelievably awful that I can't even publish them, even with a caveat and an acknowledgement of failure.

I took twenty photos at last night's Tristan und Isolde curtain call. Hopefully some at least will come out okay and I will publish them with my report.

Today I took half a dozen in my back garden, and another forty or so when wandering around near the Barbican.

How NOT to do PR

A couple of weeks ago I received an email from a PR Agency entitled Barbicanʼs Great Performers Season – Blogger exclusive event.

I'm normally very sceptical of anything free, and know full well that there are plenty of people in PR, marketing etc who have sussed out that if they flatter bloggers enough they can use them to promote events and products. The email did make me realise that I haven't addressed my booking needs for the Barbican yet this season, (other than Otello in December).

I decided to accept the invite; at the time I had no other engagements or commitments today, and I thought, well, if I get to meet some other bloggers, it will be worthwhile. Anyway, it's for a product I already endorse and, I suppose, promote.

The event was access to the rehearsal of Dido & Aeneas being performed twice this evening by Les Arts Florissants. I was instructed to report to the advance ticket desk and was given the name of a contact (who I now know is in marketing at the Barbican).

I reported to the advance ticket office but this was news to the man staffing it. He directed me to reception and the woman there was incredibly helpful with a clear desire to resolve problems. She rang around and rang around, and I even spoke to someone or other on the phone.

The name I had been given wasn't answering her phone (probably not even in the building) and it was complete news to the duty house manager. The woman on reception advised me to go in anyway, and if challenged, just explain the situation.

I thought that it would be quite good fun to blag my way in, even though I was actually feeling quite a lot of anger (and doing remarkably well to remain outwardly calm and polite).

There was still time remaining so I went out beside the lake for a cigarette, and I thought, no, I am not going to have my entire day ruined by the unprofessionalism of some PR person (I had sort of promised to go canvassing this morning but chickened out when I remembered I had this to go). And actually, after the ROH's rather dismal performance of Dido and Aeneas, I'm not even sure now I particularly like the opera.

I just thought I would write this because I feel angry and humiliated by being played for a fool by some inept bimbo. I was probably a fool even to accept the invite, knowing full well that there is no such thing as an obligation-free giveaway.

I don't like being beholden to anyone.  When I was a councillor, the law required all conflicts of interest to be declared, and with a few logical exceptions*, having a conflict of interest meant that we couldn't vote on the relevant matter. As a member of a chartered professional institute I abide by the code of ethics that states that any gifts or treats must be declared, and that a conflict of interest means that one should step away from the assignment.

I wish to apply the same ethical standards to any critical writing that appears on this blog. It is not saying that judgement is automatically clouded by receiving giveaways, but that the readers have a right to know if the writer is independent.

 I don't accept any 'write-a-review for free tickets' deal, because I then don't have to live in fear in endangering the cosy relationship by writing honestly. I have in the past, wrongly,  accepted free 'plus one' tickets.

I now realise it this is unethical to accept giveaways for performances that are sold out, especially when my role was simply one of ligging greedily. Either the reviewer is there to work and could arguably justify a free ticket, but it's not normal to bring one's friends to work. Or else, they are there for a night out with a friend, in which case they should buy their own ticket. This is different from circumstances where promoters offer free tickets or goodies in competitions that are open to anyone and is diametrically different from advertised offers for heavily discounted tickets (often resulting from poor sales).

I have started adding a footnote to my performance reviews that state that I bought the ticket myself. There is a widespread erroneous assumption on the internet that anyone who regularly writes performance reviews needs to have free tickets to do so.

For example, on one newsgroup, someone wrote that the role of the newspaper critic is diminishing with the spread of newsgroups, blogs and bulletin boards - the average fan does not need to rely solely on the mainstream media to find opinions and reflections on the performances. Someone replied that that isn't true - internet reviewers have to prove their capability to the opera house before they get tickets. Which was a classic case of missing the point entirely. (The point being that anyone who attends a performance has an opinion; self-publishing on the internet has removed the logistical and cost barriers to disseminating that opinion).

I am not aware of any publication, whether mainstream media or  web-based fanzines that declare that they have received free tickets for their reviewer (and, often,  a plus one). I think they should, because they are not independent, even though I assume that many of their contributors have the intellectual rigour and moral integrity not to let their freebies cloud their judgement.

I just one to make it absolutely clear that I run this blog and the lifestyle that makes it possible at my own expense (admittedly, I'm really bad at saying 'it's my round') except for an occasional payment from Google ads or Amazon, which combined don't meet my blog-hosting costs.

* such as being a resident and council tax payer of the Borough (!); or being employed by a public body that worked in partnership with the council

Rigoletto Mafia-style

Jonathan Miller's classic production of Rigoletto is a perfect example of how to re-imagine an opera, change its setting and deliver a honest interpretation of the work.

Originally conceived in 1982, it retains its freshness with some small details altered to reflect that it is now the 21st century - smokers standing in the street outside the bar rather than indoors. I did not notice the absence of mobile phones and other modern gadgetry during the performance and was content that it retained its broadly 1950s setting.

The production ticks several boxes in how to do it correctly. The sets are pleasing without being the raison d'etre of the show. Each set was closely linked to the others. Act 1 Scene 1 and Act II took place in Ceprano's bar. In Act 1 Scene 2 took place outside Rigoletto's house, which was across the street from the frontage of that bar. The final act took place in Sparafucile's bar, clearly in another part of town, and quite different: Ceprano's was a glamorous town-centre meeting place, Sparafucile's a Spartan worn-out back street place that relied on casual passing traffic. But yet, one could see that they were inspired by the same fashions. All sets were in proportion to each other, and all sets filled the stage.

The composition of the crowd scenes was carefully calibrated to be just right. Just enough people so they are no longer individuals, not so many as to over-run and dominate to the detriment of the principles. I have no lasting memory of the costumes, which means, to me, that they served the action well, and were not intended to convey some spurious meaning.

Importantly, as far as I could tell, all the action took place where it was visible from all around. I had a good seat in the fourth row of the Upper Circle, next to one on the inner aisles. Nevertheless a small part of the front side of the stage was obscured, but that did not matter because nothing happened there. There was realistic interaction between all the characters. Although no singer gave a definitive interpretation of the role, the absence of hamminess and the ease of movement was welcome (except, of course, for Rigoletto the hunchback whose lameness was understated and better for not lapsing into caricature).

The orchestra under Stephen Lord delivered an adequate but somewhat routine and unenlightening performance. I did not notice any duff notes or perverse tempi, but I missed the caressing of phrases or the drawing out of significant passages I have enjoyed with more sensitive interpretations.

At times the orchestra was too loud, drowning out the singers or seeking to dominate in those ensemble numbers which are about the different vocal lines - the most obvious being Bella figlia dell'amore. In general, the playing failed to move me intensely compared say to the superb interpretation of Renato Palumbo at Covent Garden a couple of years back.

Anthony Michaels-Moore had flu and was replaced as Rigoletto by Charles Johnston. His biography says that he is a regular understudy for roles at ENO; it was clear that he was familiar and comfortable with the staging. Not a beautiful voice and one that lacks the dramatic colour and nuances that distinguishes a star. Nevertheless a rewarding performance and one of the best stand-ins I have heard this year.

I was perplexed at how his sung words (clearly enunciated) deviated so frequently from the text of the surtitles, never changing the meaning. I don't know whether this means that the text has undergone subtle but major re-writing and he had learned the old version, perhaps having understudied it before. I didn't see such deviation from the other singers.

Michael Fabiano was a fresh and pleasant voiced 'Duke', lyrical but perhaps lacking passion. I noticed an absence of characterisation in his interpretation, rendering the Duke as a two-dimensional cypher, a cad at worst, rather than a brutal rapist and user. After a hesitant start with some strain he settled down to sing the role decently.

Katherine Whyte was engaging as Gilda and again, save for one or two screeched higher notes and some audibility issues against the too heavy orchestra, turned in a pleasant engaging and convincing interpretation.

The ever-reliable Brindley Sherratt excelled as Sparafucile, and Iain Paterson nearly stole the show as Monterone, one of those small parts that is best done with a very good singer - it perplexes me that Iain doesn't get bigger parts because, oozing Stage Presence, he was in a different league from  his colleagues. Madeleine Shaw sounded wonderful in the small role of Maddalena and acted the slut convincingly.

Altogether an enjoyable night at the opera, although not an evening that will feature in my highlights of 2009. I would strongly recommend this to anyone who is relatively inexperienced with opera and is looking for an enjoyable night out. A colleague and his girlfriend seem to have enjoyed it as did another colleague who saw it last week. None of them is a 'newbie' but it's fair to say they aren't at operas week in week out like some people I could mention

NB I paid for my ticket myself. I did it not receive it, or anything else, from ENO or anyone associated with them

Plácido in Tampico, Mexico

Background on the orchestra who will accompany him:

Sinfónica de la UAT acompañara a placido domingo en el F.I.T.

What you get for Gold and Platinum tickets

Casi agotados los boletos de Plácido Domingo

Short news clip with interview excerpts (video)

Press Conference: Plácido Domingo lamenta que quienes salen de la crisis sean los que la causaron

El tenor español Plácido Domingo afirmó ayer en México que los que provocaron la crisis económica mundial "con su avaricia y corrupción" son los que están saliendo de ella, mientras que los que perdieron su trabajo, aún no ven la luz al final de túnel.

Plácido Domingo llega a Tamaulipas para festival

Desea Plácido grabar su segundo disco ranchero

Conquista Plácido Domingo Tamaulipas - a report on the concert which is basically a playlist interspersed with superlative adjectives and adverbs of praise!

Hipnotiza Plácido Domingo a público tamaulipeco

Plácido Domingo muestra su esencia y orgullo mexicano

Boy George's Big Gesture

And, of course, Gesture politics are tokenistic.

I noticed the headline about pay freezes for public sector workers above £18,000  - except for soldiers.

Now, interest declared, I am a member of the Public and Commercial Services union, so I have a personal interest in this. I don't want a pay freeze; I certainly don't want a pay freeze imposed on me for two years hence when who knows what inflation will be at that time.

But I'm no idiot. I don't see any political advantage in arguing for pay rises for faceless bureaucrats when employees of small and medium enterprises and the self-employed are hit by the consequences of the reckless greed of Osborne's city mates (did you know that pre-credit crunch his only economic advisers were hedgefund managers?).

As long as I can remember, public sector pay 'restraint' has been a blunt tool of policy. It has its uses, even though it has considerable disadvantages, too. But let's just for the sake of argument say it's a good thing, then it should be applied across the board.

But Oik* Osborne has declared that armed forces personnel should be exempt from this pay-freeze. I realise that there can be compelling reasons for carrying out a fundamental review of the salaries of one sector; if the evidence shows they are falling behind or not getting the fair rate for the job, that presents a strong case for bucking the trend.

The fact that they arbitrarily select the armed forces, without any evidence to support this,  gives a very strong indication about which areas of the public sector are the priorities of the Tories. They don't give damn about the NHS or about the state education system, and they probably haven't got the slightest clue about what Environmental Health Officers or Covert Security Officers do, and consider them to be of less value than soldiers.

It may be a peripheral issue, but again it illustrates something very telling about the Tory philosophy. The armed forces are disproportionately male, and, I would guess at >£18k pa, disproportionately from public school backgrounds. Whereas, I would hazard a guess that police tend, on the whole,  to come from a state education. And health and local government front-line services are disproportionately female - and, unlike the Armed Forces, at least proportionately from ethnic minority backgrounds.

So Gesture George - pay rises for posh white boys, freezes for the rest, including women and Black and Ethnic Minorities.

* the Bullingdon Boys call him that because he 'only' went to an expensive private school called 'St Paul's' not to superposh Eton.

Saturday Flowers 365/3

Jimmy brought these flowers home on Friday - I did ask him if he was having an affair or he was drunk, but it seemed that he just wanted to bring flowers home.

By Saturday they were moulting alarmingly - quite distracting as one sees another petal float down just at the margins of my peripheral vision.

It's Tuesday, and the hearth rug is snowed under. I suppose I shall have to clear up, but only when the flowers are finished

The Tories' Big Idea

Or at least, today's big idea, is to increase male retirement age to 66, from its current 65. It is difficult to oppose on principle, because any age-limited activity is arbitrary and pragmatic. The change will have an effect on most men but proportionately relatively small. No doubt there will be individual men who are disproportionately affected by this change; if the policy doesn't address this, that will be a serious failing.

As I heard the news last night, it was being trumpeted as 'raising the retirement age by one year to 66'. My immediate thought was 'three years'.

It seems that overnight, it has dawned on the Tories that their spinning was only partial. And this, to me, is of more significance than what is ultimately an administrative adjustment.

I do not know what properly sums up the Conservative Party's attitude to women. Is it that they don't think that women matter; is it that they believe that women should not bother their pretty little heads with complex matters of politics and finance.

Or is it that the fundamentals of Tory belief and policy making is that instinctively one size fits all. It's not that they ask themselves the question and actively decide that everyone is the same. It is that their instinct is to plough on assuming that what fits them must fit everybody else. It simply would not occur to them to consider the differential impact of a policy change on women. I was about to write that women are an afterthought, but they aren't.

It is pretty clear that the Tories do not intend to govern for women, if  by some dreadful occurrence they win the General Election. Announce what amounts to firm plans for men, and then, desperately back-heeling overnight, promise that they'll look into what it will mean for women, because we're marginal to their plans and effectively invisible.

Last night

We had this great idea, we'd go to our local Indian restaurant for a curry. Hardly novel, not really exciting, and certainly not glamorous. But we have spent many evenings there, good food and excellent service.

When we walked in, the only other customers were a party of a dozen or so. I noticed them but didn't think about them; large parties are nothing unusual.

Then as we munched our poppadoms and perused the menu, I realised who the other party was. And they hadn't even ordered their food, although they soon put in their order for their second round of drinks.

Loud and common. I told myself, ignore them. There's no crime in being common. When I say common, I don't mean a 'bit rough around the edges',  I mean 'rough all the way through'. The women cackled, the men struggled to string together words, let alone sentences, and did it loudly.

Worst of all, one by one, as they processed to the Gents, they said hello to Jimmy. And stopped and talked, about nothing.  Completely failing to notice that I was there, failing to acknowledge my existence even by a smile or a nod, let alone Hello, how are you, or excusing themselves for interrupting our active conversation.

Kim took our order, suggesting that if we ordered quickly he'd do ours before theirs. Meantime, Kim and our favourite waiter, whose name I forget, were giving us looks. Diplomatic looks of 'no, we're not looking forward to tonight either, we know there's going to be trouble, what on earth are you doing here, wouldn't you be better off going somewhere else?'

Having ordered, we popped out for a cigarette. One of the party called out "Going already?" So Jimmy explained that we were going for a cigarette. Someone from their table exclaimed "I'm dying for a fag!". No sooner are we out there, when half of them follow us.

They didn't know it's okay to pop out of a restaurant to get a quick smoke! Presumably because they've not been to a restaurant in all the time (two years plus) since the smoking ban. And it's not that they're poor, the couple who I know the best (that is, their names, and to say hello to her and glare at him) can spend a hundred pounds in the pub in one day.

We deliberately turn our backs on them and contrive a conversation with each other about the weather forecast. We're not in their company, don't want to be in their company, and are happy not to interfere in their evening.

Then Bill the Gypsy King himself comes out and squeezes the back of my neck. Remember, I purposely have my back to his party, I barely know him, and he's a disgusting dirty slob of a lump with snot constantly running from his nose,  and his vans and lorries littered all round Brixton/Streatham Hills parked often illegally and dangerously.

I snap at him to keep his hands to himself. He goes on about something or other. I say that he has just assaulted me. He tells Jimmy to keep me under control. His wife comes out and I address Bill - how dare you speak to me like that, who the hell do you think you are.

Margaret argues he was being friendly, I point out to her that she wasn't there so didn't know what happened, and maybe she should keep him under control. She protests that they know me from The Sultan.

I refrain from pointing out that I haven't been in The Sultan for years, literally. I refrain from pointing out that on that basis, I know thousands of people better than I know them. I refrain from suggesting she broadens her horizons a little beyond one back street pub (and Leysdown).

I simply retort something like 'you don't know me' (because anyone who does know me surely knows not to grope me). We settled up with Kim and I explained that I couldn't stand Bill. Both Kim and the waiter apologised, I stressed it wasn't anything for them to apologise for. And we went to the Taj Mahal, which is fine, but it isn't our Local.

Today Jimmy mentioned the incident to a friend of his. It turns out, her daughter was in the Sultan on Saturday and Bill did the exact same thing to her; she told him to fuck off. And someone else reminded Jimmy of when Bill had grabbed the breasts of the daughter of the ex-landlord of the Sultan.

Jimmy says that Bill is stupid, and has no common sense. If only it were that simple. He is one of those oafs (I won't dignify with the word 'man') whose instinct tells him - I won't flatter him by suggesting that he thinks - that he has dominion over women. Telling him to lay off makes no difference, because physical abuse is such an inherent part of his being. He cannot compute or imagine what is so objectionable about his behaviour.

A few weeks ago I was watching TV, a police show, almost certainly Waking the Dead. Some sociopathic male was being interviewed by a female professional (police, psychologist, I forget).

He parried her question with 'I see you're another of those man-hating women'. Being a professional, she deflected it and didn't rise to the bait.

It crossed my mind that the perfect riposte is along the lines of 'You encounter a lot of those, do you? Have you ever thought the man-hating is directed specifically at your loathsome self and not at men in general'. Although, of course, that would be woosh over the head of those oafs.

Some more holiday photos

I am slowly editing my holiday photos in my preferred unrandom-unsequential way.

Difficult to explain. These houses are built over-looking what appears to be a dried-up river bed. I assume it's long term dried up from my cursory examination of the ground. The houses seem to cling precariously to a crumbling cliff, with many cracks and much evidence of subsidence. Villajoyosa.

We didn't much like Alicante, although we enjoyed the castle and the panoramic views it afforded. Editing this photo inspired me to ask the question, on Twitter and Facebook:

Do any of you own yachts. Or dinghys. Or launches. Or any sea-going vessels?

People offered answers of 'lilo' 'blow up boat', 'score to HMS Pinafore' and 'that reminds me, I must check my lottery'. Oh, god, they're wits these people. One person did offer a father who has a yacht that he's pouring money into (tr. 'my inheritance').

The thing is, often when I go on holiday, away for a weekend, or just out for a day trip, I see lots and lots of boats. Many are working boats: for fishing, ferrying goods or people, dredging etc. Many more are commercial pleasure boats, for excursions, or for hire by the week.

But that doesn't go anyway to explain why there are so many sea-going boats that are apparently privately owned - and, by definition, not actually at sea. I recognise that there is a whole section of society outside my direct experience who are very seriously rich. But they are only a tiny number, and surely can't possibly own all the leisure boats in the world. I suppose the celebs who generally fall out of nightclubs, or the greedy city sharks who are ever-present at their desks could own some of them; their desire for ostentatious status symbols would explain why so many are tied up in docks.

But there are just too many boats around for that to be an explanation. I reckon there must be large numbers of people who are keen on sailing and have bought a boat -  a modest sized thing, with a small cabin, capable of being crewed by one or two people.

They don't have to be seriously rich, just comfortable/prosperous. I just don't know (hardly anyone) like this. I think of a friend-of-a-friend, a solicitor with no dependants, a modest flat, no car, no 'lifestyle' expenses. She had a yacht, and most summer weekends she took to sea, gradually sailing round the coast of Britain. I can understand that. But she is the only person of my enormous social 'circle' that I know who actually owns a yacht.

And another thing: I have just noticed that one building in that picture appears to have solar panels. It's only when it's pointed out starkly in that way that you suddenly realise that none of the others do. I have read that Spain generates a far greater proportion of power from the wind than Britain does, even though Britain is better situated to do so. So it's surprising that they aren't using more of what comes more naturally, the sun.

Plácido in China

Tenor Domingo hugs baby panda in Chengdu

Plácido, with Lang Lang

Placido Domingo's golden voice shines in Chengdu

On Tuesday night, thousands of people in Chengdu were immersed in the golden voice of Placido Domingo when the Spanish tenor was performing...

At the end of the concert, Domingo and song joined hands with 100 kids from the earthquake-affected areas in Sichuan to sing the Auld Lang Syne, one of most recognized songs worldwide, leading to the climax of the concert, and delivering a perfect ending.

Meanwhile, outside the gym, the scenes were spectacular with thousands of folks gathering together on the squares. They watched the live show via LEDs and sang the Auld Lang Syne with the singers and kids in the gym.

Grand Macabre

I didn't like this. I mean, I really didn't like it. I sat there for half an hour and looked at my watch and only five minutes had passed. After another hour I checked again; we were just ten minutes in. I decided to leave at the interval. But that was a long time away. Another 35 minutes.

I wanted to wee, even though I had been only ten minutes or so before the curtain. I told myself - you sat through 2½ hours of the Dutchman, including constantly dripping water, and that wasn't a problem. Just focus on the music. No. Can't do that. Focus on the action. No. Can't do that.

You've paid forty-odd quid for this ticket. Front row of the stalls. And it's short. 6.30 curtain. 7.15 interval. 8.40 finish. Michael-I-was-at-Primary-School-with* has a small part, but large enough to warrant a proper inclusion in the cast list. No one from your Primary School has ever achieved so much in opera (or any branch of entertainment, to my knowledge).

I decided that my time is worth more than my money. I could have sat there, bored out of my scull, and written a more insightful piece about why it was pants (technical term). But I thought, why bother?

I have read several reviews. Almost all of them focused on the spectacle. Not a lot to be said about the music. Apparently it was a comedy. The only laughs were at someone drawing attention to the fat stomach of a bloke with a fat stomach. Laugh! I barely started.

Apparently, the highlight was a giant figure on stage, which was the constant throughout the show. An enormous great big human figure with eyes that moved and a face that seemed almost alive. Well, I say 'almost', but you know, CGI is pretty old hat. It's a brilliant way of doing special effects, but, you know, an artistic creation is a fail when it's solely about special effects.

I have no complaints about the technical quality of the singing or orchestral playing.

But, and here is a big but. I simply didn't like the music. I got a horrific reminder of why I totally hated 'contemporary music' for very many years. (And, actually, if it dates from when I was still at Primary School, it seriously isn't contemporary).

I am conscious that if I dismiss it as a load of pretentious wank I will attract brickbats from the achingly trendy type of person who believes that the only valid music is 'contemporary' music ie music that has developed out of developments in the classical genre and is typified by absence of melody, atonality, general screeching and a great deal of noise. Note, I am a big percussion fan and enjoy very much the percussion writing of composers as diverse as Britten (died after I was born) and Reich (still active; I have almost met him).

Coupled with a surrealist story and the hammiest acting since I went to that theatre above a pub in Parsons Green, randomly selected from Time Out as horizon-widening, in 199-something, it really wasn't for me.

I refuse to take sides in the argument about pretentious wanky modern art. To some extent I fully acknowledge that because I am an amateur, I lack the knowledge and experience to appreciate the profundity of the artist. I also acknowledge that art is not synonymous with entertainment, although they overlap.

I do not consider instant accessibility to be the sine qua non of art, although I would argue that Great Art is both accessible at a superficial level and abounds in a wealth of deeper meanings that reward application and reflection (qv Don Carlo). If art fails to communicate with or alienates the non-professional/non-expert, its purpose is limited.

Hundreds of people have been to see this current run of Le Grand Macabre and enjoyed it. Some enjoyed it because they are free-thinking intellectuals who know that the only relevant music is that which doesn't contain pretty tunes and, preferably, dates from post WWII and even better post-1975. But many enjoyed it for its own sake.

I have pretty broad tastes in music. In the past year I have attended and enjoyed works by composers ranging from Henry Purcell to John Adams, and including Handel, Verdi, Wagner, Puccini, Alfano, & Britten. I am a big fan of a lot of 80s commercial pop music, and have an abiding love of several singer-song writers currently active. I have a lot of political and musical issues with Rap but every couple of years I find a Rap track that speaks to me and demonstrates that it can be an art form, that greatness can manifest through rap. Although I would identify my favourite pop genre as being folk-inspired (kd lang, Billy Bragg, Nanci Griffith, Leonard Cohen, Kathryn Williams), I also I have an abiding passion for punk/new-wave and Goth rock (Sisters of Mercy, Mission etc). Of course, none of this makes me an expert, but I do think I am a reasonably well-informed amateur.

But being a well-informed amateur or even a well-schooled expert does not mean that one's tastes and opinions are 'the truth'. Because someone else's taste or opinion is directly contradictory and is equally valid for them. I don't think that popularity is in itself a measure of greatness, but I do think that enduring popularity across several generations, amongst people of widely varying expertise is an important test - Beethoven's 9th being the standard work used to illustrate this point.

When I praise a work, or performance, or performer, I often use expressions such as 'reached out to the audience'; 'gripped the audience and held then in rapture'. By 'the audience' I actually mean 'me' because I cannot possibly second-guess the reaction of anyone else. No one has ever pulled me on this one. But if I state that this work, or at least Scene 1, failed to grip the audience I feel sure that someone will question my right - if only in their mind, not the comments -  to project my reaction onto others people.

I am glad that ENO put on this work, and I am glad that I bought a ticket and attended. Perhaps I should have sat it out. But I found the music to be so irritating, and the proceedings on stage to be so pompous yet pointless, I really did not wish to be there.

I know people who make it a matter of honour never to walk out except on health grounds, however awful the proceedings. I am brutal. I go to opera, and other arts/entertainment to enjoy myself. That enjoyment may include being emotionally wrecked, or having some of my principles and pre-conceptions challenged. I don't just seek out warm cozy feel-good mental chewing gum. I like to apply my considerable intellect to proceedings; I also like to find music, especially beyond easy-to-hum tunes.

When I am bored stupid in the first ten minutes, and the next ten minutes until the end of the scene drags interminably, I know it is time to cut my losses. I don't need to be achingly trendy or demonstrate (falsely) that I am full of bullshit masquerading as intellectual profundity.

If one element had been worth my while, I might have stayed longer. But I doubt anything would have got me past the realisation that the 'music' was nothing more than sound effects, unconnected notes played in a random way that was displeasing.

It wasn't that it was unsettling - I can cope with unsettling - it was because somewhere it resembled real music but was as annoying as the bloke I heard 'singing' along to his iPod on the escalators at Clapham Common, or the toddler in my neighbourhood who has spent the summer practising their recorder in the garden.

The small child I am okay about, because I know that they will progress. Le Grand Macabre (Scene 1) had as much meaning to me as when someone spatters a canvas with drips of oil-paint and someone calls it genius. Noise is noise and spatters of paint remain spatters of paint. Which I know makes me sound like a reactionary. I'm not: I like innovation, creativity and looking at things from a fresh angle.

Just because something ticks all those boxes doesn't make it great, or even good - I know that from reading middle-brow fiction and from watching TV as well as from classical art forms. I also know from the numerous academic political journals and textbooks I have read over the years. They are written with multi-syllabic words and long sentences, often with dependent clauses. The high-falutin writing style masks but does not conceal that the writer says nothing of worth. As an accountant I have been trained to value substance over form.

I think in the long-term, attending this work, if only for Scene 1, will move my consciousness forward. Also, it will be another useful benchmark in the 'as bad as Pelleas & Melisande, or La Gioconda at Holland Park' League table. Considering the frequency I attend opera and related performances, I think I am due an 'unremittingly awful' about once a year!

Just for the record - Pelleas & Melisande is a dull opera with a ghastly static production which wasted three great singers giving, I think, great singing performances. La Gioconda is a trashy but tuneful opera with some poor quality singing in a so-bad-it's...no-it's-bad production. Le Grand Macabre pretty much wipes away P&M's use as a benchmark of bad, and like it, will probably win all the relevant awards!

NB I bought the ticket for this myself; I did not receive compliments of ENO or anyone associated with them. I took advantage of the discount for buying tickets for performances of several operas

* I was friendlier with his older brother, he was friendlier with my younger brother. My mother often chats with his parents, especially when I have spotted him in ROH or ENO chorus.

Anti-Boris

With Conference season drawing to a close, and Local and General Election only 7 months away, it really is time to return to the political roots of this blog.

Even though Boris is not up for election this time - just wait until 2012 - catching up with my backlog of blogs has caused me to find three posts published consecutively:

The boy Boris meets the man Bloomberg

cc London

A week in the life of the River Thames

Don Carlo - thoughts upon the opera

Don Carlo is Grand Opera in every sense. Verdi called it an opera of ideas. To do justice to these ideas he wrote big music. An opera which uses Leitmotifs to tell the story, to create atmosphere and to reflect the complexity of characters - and an opera that was first performed - in French, as Don Carlos - before Wagner released his Ring.

It is an opera that requires excellent singers in several roles, and a conductor who knows the overall arch of the masterful piece: not enough merely to accompany the singers in oompahpah. It is impossible to review succinctly without omitting so much that is important.

The production, by Nicholas Hytner of National Theatre fame. I saw it twice fifteen months ago; with the Dress Rehearsal and Thursday's performance, I have seen it twice more. When the cast is 'on' the production does not interfere too much. It is far too traditional for my liking but feel sure it will be regarded in New York, where it will eventually appear, as being too avant-garde.

It is easy to confuse 'production' with 'scenery' and 'costumes', and I have several criticisms of both. I hate the First Act (Fontainebleu) scenery, which consists of several unrealistic trees and two white walls perched on a white sheet. I don't advocate the dreadful - and dangerous - mound of snow from Francesca Zambello's Pikova Dama, but I think the Royal Opera House can manage a more convincing depiction of snow than what I would expect from a typical Primary School.

I also hate the infamous 'Lego' scenery where the Veil Song and subsequent exchanges take place. I can see the attempt to capture the colours and lights of a Moorish setting but it is too obvious and it fails.

I very much like the scenery for the crypt at St Juste, the focus on the tomb that holds Carlo V. It conveys a bigness, which is deliberately awe-inspiring. I like the spareness of the King's chamber, furnished only with a desk and chair, and a prie-dieu and gold monstrance; I am pleased they resisted the temptation to fill the vast space with bed, couches and other soft furnishings.

On the whole I dislike the costumes. I concede that setting it in the correct period historically* requires doublet-and-hose for the men. I can see why there was so much black, in order to provide a contrast with the sparse use of red. But, other than the young Elizabeth's Fontainebleau outfit, none of them was particularly attractive. This photo doesn't show that this is an ankle length coat over trousers in similar material. I was puzzled by the Queen's Ladies all wearing black - surely the colour of mourning, yet none of them covered their heads.

There was more personenregie than in 2008 and more of a sense of the singers responding to each other. There were delightful touches, such as when Posa and Carlo hugged as blood brothers, but rather than being manly hug (perhaps as exemplified by rugger buggers) it was as if Carlo, the weaker of the two, was putting his head on Posa's shoulder, despite the height differences.

The performance brought out well the very different relationships and emotional dependencies. It was not played as a doomed love affair between Carlo and Elizabetta;  that is the golden thread that dictates the linear narrative but it is not the subject of the work.

I think the most important relationship was that between Posa and Carlo, or perhaps between Posa and Flanders. I am searching my memory for some anecdote about some singer or critic enquiring 'what's all this with Flanders anyway?' along the lines of the tenor who was sacked from a recording of Otello for enquiring about the point of the handkerchief. Posa was obsessed by freedom for Flanders, and his love for Carlo led him misguidedly to believe that Carlo could become the leader of the movement for Emancipation. Carlo just wanted to escape Spain, his infatuation with his step-mother and his dysfunctional relationship with his father.

Posa was like a surrogate son to Philip, who could depend upon nobody, being the most powerful man in the world. And yet the King was also dependent upon the Church, personified as the Grand Inquisitor (leader of the Spanish Inquisition, with all that that entails). Verdi was evangelical in his anti-clericism, his dislike of Organised Religion, a theme no less potent today as it was at the time of writing. They may not burn heretics at the stake any more, but their need to meddle destructively in civic life to the detriment of the ordinary people, especially the most vulnerable is undiminished. But the 'Auto-da-fé scene, the climax of everything Verdi wanted to portray regarding the corruption of Church and absolute rule was ruined by extraneous detail. I can only hope that for the next revival they get the message that nobody likes the unscripted shouting during the music and they do away with it.

Eboli came over quite differently from how I have seen her before. For example, Grace Bumbry on DVD portrays her as haughty, but just that. This portrayal showed her to be desperate, verging on the cariacature of the woman who chases anything in doublet-and-hose, and revealing her inner insecurity. It is telling that when Elizabetta banishes her from court for betraying her (to exile or a convent), despite having been the King's mistress, despite having thought Carlo in love with her, despite having the hots for Posa, she exclaims that she will never see her Queen again. I've never seen any reference to this, except in the subtitles/libretto (translation).

Elizabetta's plight is the most pitiable. Even though she was brought up to expect it, and even though she had the partial compensation of living in material comfort, what can be more harrowing than to have leave the place and country of her birth and travel to live in a foreign land. No chance of visits back, no communication except letters. An arranged, or in effect, forced marriage to a 'much older man with grey hair' ** She was a very clear example of Double Standards, her supposed adultery with Carlo being driver of this story; his adultery with Eboli (and others) being accepted and unchallenged. I don't believe that she was really in love with Carlo, but as a teenager she was inevitably attracted to someone of her own age, who wasn't making sexual demands.

But the most chilling aspect was the role of the Grand Inquisitor. I have little sympathy for the King being dependent on him. Both of them were unelected and unaccountable usurpers of power of oppressors of people. But somewhere in the King was a glimpse of humanity; the Grand Inquisitor simply believed that anybody who stood in the way of his grand project should be liquidated. He declared that the King should have no confidant; he declared that Posa must die. Power crazy and merciless, his weapons had such diverse elements as fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency, an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope, and nice red uniforms***

What makes Don Carlo ultimately one of the greatest in the operatic canon is the music. This is where blogging - or any other form of writing falls down. Great music defies words. I can say which bits I like, and why; I can highlight where the use of leitmotifs reinforces the plot, especially in their repeat. The brass in particular were outstanding, in their playing of the G.I. motif, and when Posa's body is borne away, in a passage which surely influenced Wagner's writing for Gotterdammerung,  or the strings in Philip II's great great aria Ella giammai m'amò. There was also a passage where the flutes and piccolo made me catch my breath.

But those who know the work better than me don't need lectures from me; for those for whom the work is relatively unfamiliar, I would strongly advocate listening over and again. I am not a great fan of opera by radio, but I would advocate tuning into Radio 3 on Saturday 17 October (two weeks time) to listen in - check listings nearer the time, I have seen various start times eg 6pm, 7pm. The broadcast won't be of the performance I attended; if it were I would definitely say it was one to keep. Without wishing to dredge up perennial slanging matches, it is a great example of how opera isn't just about 'singing' as some would aver. This would be nothing without the orchestra, but the orchestra writing would never happened without the drama and the characters.

Greatness!

NB I bought my ticket for this performance myself. I did not receive it compliments of ROH or anyone associated with them.

* The historic Don Carlos was the son of Philip II of Spain whose second wife was Mary I of England. . This opera surrounds Phillip's marriage in 1559 to Elizabeth of Valois, the year after the death of Mary (and succession of Elizabeth I of England), when Carlos was 14 and Elizabeth deV 15.  Both Carlos and Elizabeth deV died quite separately in 1568, in their early/mid 20s. The opera, out of Schiller,  has no further historical accuracy.

** in actual fact a 32 year old, but never mind!

*** oh damn, I mentioned the Spanish Inquisition

Some holiday photos

 

Lifeguards' chairs

When the lifeguards were on duty they built a tent city out of umbrellas and stayed inside, possibly smoking ganja.

 

Boatyard

Benidorm station café

Last Rose of Autumn: 365/2

When I said that I would take up the challenge of 'Daily Photo', I did say I would not make many of them round the home.

But I am recovering from a very sever dose of man 'flu, and it seemed such a shame not to capture the last of the summer roses against the reddening of the Virginia Creeper.

Indeed, I don't see a problem with, every month or so, capturing the changing of the seasons in my garden!

Daily photo: 365/1

UPDATE: The Chair of Lambeth Planning, Cllr Toren Smith, has left me a comment on Facebook:

That is the Strata tower on the site of Castle House at the top end of Walworth Road at the Elephant and Castle. Its in Southwark. Its a residential tower and the tallest in south London until the Shard comes along.

Thanks Toz!

Taken on 1 October, although an evening out of course meant I could not upload it until today

This was taken on Horseferry Road, not far from my office, looking towards the roundabout that marks the approach to Lambeth Bridge over the River Thames. This large building is growing rapidly and is visible from various locations.

BUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT IS!

(here's where I'm hoping someone in Blogland can help me!)

Don Carlo - instant reaction

I am far too tired to write a proper report now, but I can't go to bed without saying just how wonderful tonight's Don Carlo was - the last in the run, but, for me, the real opening of the Royal Opera House season (I had been to the Insight Evening and Friends' Rehearsal, but they're 'fringe' events).

A really amazing cast of singers: it's difficult to believe that a finer cast has appeared. And difficult to decide which out of Jonas Kaufmann, Simon Keenlyside and Ferruccio Furlanetto was the best. All three inhabited their roles and sung them splendidly.

For the first two acts I was prepared to concede that Marina Poplavskaya was 'good' but 'good' alongside 'verging on greatness' is, well, ... Then she really got going and was a match for any of the men, not least in her wonderful Act V solo, which brought the house down and reduced me to tears.

Marianne Cornetti was a creditable Eboli. She was the least convincing physically, but she was more than satisfactory vocally - just, like many other people, I suspect she'd be better as an Ulrica or Azucena.

John Tomlinson was probably the weak link as The Grand Inquisitor, far too much wobble, but, as ever, he compensated for that with imposing stage presence, notwithstanding the Santa Claus resemblance. and Robert Lloyd was fine as the Monk/Carlos Quinto - not the best even of Robert Lloyd's 'Senior Artist' roles, but undoubtedly luxury casting.

What really made it work was the superb conducting of Semyon Bychkov. Very different from Tony Pappano's lush style and difficult to say which is preferable - an ideal world see frequent revivals of this (or a new production!) with them alternating.

Bychkov's spare and precise manner brought out some amazing nuances of detail. There was one occasion when the brass came out with a phrase that just knocked me back in my seat. And at other times, such as in the introduction (and accompaniment) to O Fontainebleu when I heard the pizzicato strings sound so much like guitars, a naive accompaniment when out in the woods. The only bit that didn't work for me was the Veil Song. The set designer has tried (and failed) to capture the quality of southern European light and Moorish colours in the notorious 'lego' set, and the music should be Moorish, hints of the Arabic scale, mixed with bursts of inflamed Flamenco. Perhaps it needs a Spanish conductor, but I can't actually think of any.

It was wonderful to hear the Royal Opera Orchestra at the peak of its game. I was surprised that one person decided to boo Bychkov as he entered for the final two acts, but that just encouraged everyone else to clap, bravo and cheer.

My only downside was that during O Fontainebleu, the people in front of me got annoyed that the people in front of them were leaning forward, obstructing their view, and kept waving their arms around to attract the attention of the usher to 'tell them'. I can sympathise with their annoyance (although it didn't stop them doing the same, and thus obstructing my view, later) but to have been so distracting during Jonas's big aria was just unforgivable: they really deserved a slapping.

I didn't go the stage door after, because I am just over the worst of a cold that has transformed (inevitably) into a cough, and I think we all know not to go near singers when in such a condition.

NB I bought my ticket for this performance myself. I did not receive it compliments of ROH or anyone associated with them.