Gertsamtkunstwerk

Fidelio Prom

Last week's key word was Freude*, Joy, this week, Freiheit, Freedom, both of them redolent of Enlightenment idealism.

It does not require the presence of the West-Eastern Divan orchestra under Daniel Barenboim, nor a performance with a narration written by the late Edward Said (the orchestra's co-founder) to underline the universal relevance of the message.

For those that don't know, 'Fidelio' is the name Leonore adopts to work under-cover in a prison where she believes her husband Florestan is held as a political prisoner. The prison governor, his political enemy, wishes Florestan killed. Leonore finds him deep in the dungeon and they are reunited, however briefly; the King's Minister arrives and orders the release of the political prisoners.

Reading Twitter after the event, the use of the narrative, delivered by Waltraud Meier, was not popular. I liked that it was succinct, and, in the absence of any staging, it made a lot of sense to do away with the dialogue, which, even when fully staged, detracts from my appreciation of the work. There was criticism that while the opera was sung in German, the narration was spoken in English. Although I sympathise with those who find this inconsistent, again, for me, it worked

This performance had been a hot tip/hot ticket for this year's season. I was eager to hear Waltraud Meier who does not appear often in London - the last time  heard her here was in Die Walküre four years ago; I did also her as Sieglinde in Barcelona last year. This was the first time I have heard her live as anything but Sieglinde.

It took me a long time to become a Fidelio fan, although not for want of trying, but I think the effort has been worthwhile. I first saw it many years ago, as an Opera North production in Nottingham. I have a CD, conducted by Daniel Barenboim, and with Waltraud Meier too, but despite an extraordinarily strong cast, this has never really caught my imagination. A splendid concert performance at the Barbican three years ago, under Colin Davis (not Haitink as I stated to several people on Saturday evening) really brought it to life for me; a lacklustre performance at ROH did not diminish my enthusiasm, and, as I wrote at length a while back, there are some decent complete performances available.

I do not think that Saturday's performance will erase my memories of the Davis/LSO, also available on CD, but it was a glorious, enjoyable and worthwhile night. I could find little fault with the orchestra and was pleasantly surprised by Barenboim's shaping of the piece. The chorus was excellent - the combined BBC Singers and Geoffrey Mitchell Choir -although insufficiently large to fill the Albert Hall in the way that the LSO Chorus and ROH superb men's chorus had filled their respective venues in the key choral moments. But the Prisoners' Chorus was nevertheless a highlight

Waltraud Meier did not disappoint. Her spoken narration was precise in enunciation and warm in tone, and her singing was exquisite. Not the loudest of voices, I struggled sometimes to hear her above the orchestra, but that may have been a result of having the fifth seat in a four seat box ie located behind the curtain. She is compelling on stage and she was particularly impressive in her great aria and in duet with Adriana Kučerová  as Marzelline. However, overall I did not find her Leonore to be the match of her Sieglinde, a role in which she reigns supreme.

Adriana aside - she sang with a brilliant and clear voice - the lesser roles were at best functional, and largely uninspiring. Which leaves the two other stand out performers as John Tomlinson and Simon O'Neill. I know several people who actively dislike Sir John, even calling him Shouting John Tom. I can understand why, but the lack of lyricism in his voice is more than compensated by his dramatic interpretation. In a concert performance this is largely dependent on vocal drama and he did not disappoint. By and large I failed to get much sense of the actual characters of the protagonists but John's Rocco was convincingly a petty functionary who would trim and bow to the whims of whoever.

I was curious about Simon O'Neill because I have never heard him live, and I am not sure I have heard much recorded either, so I really didn't know what to expect. I enjoyed his answers provided in a Q&A.

Regular readers will know that, in general, most operas stand and fall on the tenor role. But Florestan is a curious role, in that he does not appear until the second half. But what a way to appear!

What a fabulous aria. A couple of my favourite versions are on YouTube - Plácido (blimey, I've forgotten I uploaded that) and Jonas. It seems incredibly difficult to sing, but when the tenor ets it right, it sounds stupendous.

And I will give high marks to Simon O'Neill. What a voice! To my ears a real heldentenor, lots of colour at the bottom and rising to a (more-or-less) confident high; where there were sounds of strain, I believe that this was the intention of the composer to emphasise Florestan's torment in one of opera's great Mad Scenes.

He has a real steel to his voice and reaches out to the audience, even if he didn't characterise particularly well. And he looks somewhat awkward in the way he holds his head as he sings. I definitely want to hear him again. I have to be honest because he is inhabiting similar parts of the repertoire as Plácido and Jonas, he would not be my first choice in those roles. But hey, the more glorious heldentenors the better. Just a small note of trivia, he hails from the same small town in New Zealand as does my nephew!

The opera finished with a barnstormer of a finale, bringing an excellent and memorable evening almost to a close.

Fidelio

The other day I wrote a review of Fidelio that included a recommendation for one version that isn't available on commercial DVD.

It had already been uploaded to Operashare. But suddenly it occurred to me that that version was with French subtitles, so it was legitimate of me to upload my version with English subtitles.

And because it's my upload I can share the links on my blog, which is cool...!

File 1
File 2
File 3
File 4
File 5
File 6
File 7
File 8
File 9
File 10
File 11
File 12

If you have a Premium account you probably know what to do!

If you have a free account, you are only allowed one download per hour; however, I have read, but not tested, that this control can be circumvented by disconnecting from the internet and re-connecting.

When all the files have downloaded, rejoin with HJSplit . You will then have one avi file, which you can play on your PC if you have the correct codecs, or you can convert to a DVD. I use IMTOO. The free version leaves a water mark which plays throughout the DVD, the paid version has paid for itself over-and-again in expanding my DVD collection with jewels unimagined a year ago!

Fidelio

I've spent a few weeks contemplating Fidelio. I am not short of recordings, both complete and audio-only. I have concluded that Fidelio is a tricky opera, far bettered enjoyed live. I know that the same could be said for all operas. All music in fact, but while I can thoroughly enjoy a Beethoven symphony at home whilst being aware that the concert hall experience is unmatchable, I cannot get any recording that surpasses the

And they all lack the je ne sais quoi of  the rather indifferent performance at ROH last year. I also saw an Opera North version in Nottingham when I was a student but other than a visual memory of the Prisoners' Chorus I have very little memory of it, other than being enjoyable. And cheap. Considerably cheaper than the Evita which we saw at about the same time in the same venue.

Fidelio is a fascinating study of what might have been or what nearly was. I think all educated people acknowledge Beethoven as one of the pillars of Western Music, even when not really knowing why. For me, it is above all his symphonies, whilst also loving the concerti, chamber and solo works with which I am familiar (embarrassingly few). I find his Missa Solemnis a weakness, in a genre where I would automatically look to Mozart or Haydn. He only wrote one opera. There is a reasonably comprehensive article in wikipedia, I certainly can't add to that. Ultimately the only way to really familiarise oneself with an opera is repeated viewings and hearings of different versions. And also study of the score,  but I'm too much of a skinflint to buy scores. I shall make more of an effort to study scores when I hit forty.

Fidelio @ROH

I went into this with very low expectations because of the reports coming from previous performances: horns rubbish - allegedly drunk, Pappano a charlatan, Mattila over-parted, action all taking place on the side of the stage. Plus I had a physically painful walk all the way from work, which was not part of my agenda, and I was already not in 100% physical condition. Oh, and I was in a cheap seat in the Lower Slips, which has many advantages, but leaning over the hand rail in discomfort isn't one of them.

The overture, so familiar began. It was a mess. The horns were a mess. The strings sounded just wrong. I think it was a tone thing. I wanted them to be period strings - is the sign of a period instrument fascist wanting Beethoven on old strings? But it's almost impossible to ruin Beethoven (well, I have a CD of this very opera, and despite some transcendent singing from some gorgeous singers, it is so much much less than the sum of its parts as to be as close to a dogs' dinner as possible. So I kind of knew that however bad the lovely Tony was, he could never reach the nadir that is Daniel Barenboim).

Two and three quarter hours later I came out of a pretty special experience that I think will be memorable. And why that is, I can't really explain.

To be honest, the orchestra never really fully got it together. They weren't too bad when accompanying the singers but in the purely instrumental bits they seemed out of time and sometimes a bit vague about pitch. Especially the brass, especially especially the horns.

The production was, for the most part, adequate if ultimately rather workaday. I found myself being far too critical of the sets, which were illogical and counter to my view. It was a production imported from the USA and I can't quite understand why. The prison cells were open cages, which presented dramaturgical problems because they faced into the courtyard and were fitted with electric lightbulbs (important for sleep deprivation, not so effective when it comes to the glorious hymn praising the sunlight). Also illogical because they were of a three-storey construction with no means to access or exit the upper two storeys. Then, when Rocco and "Fidelio" were going off to Florestan's cell, I did wonder why Rocco was carrying a light-sabre which even I know is straight out of Star Wars. Finally, the staging of the finale struck a mischord. All it lacked was ticker tape and a military band playing "When Jonny comes a marching home". Many of the crowd were disco dancing and I swore I saw some break into the Texas two step. And I was confused as to why there seemed to be an empty swimming pool outside the prison.

The personenregie was reasonably good and I think was helped by having a critical mass of impressive stage people. It took me a while to recognise Karita Mattila, who looked very fetching as a man, and was very convincing as Leonore-disguised-as-Fidelio. I didn't recognise Eric Halfvarson for all of the first half (and I've met him!). He gave a credible impersonation of a small minded lackey. Terje Stensvold was a towering tyrant, blessed with a passing resemblance to someone I used to know professionally who was/is also a tyrant. Endrik Wottrich was convincing in his suffering as Florestan although he didn't quite reach out far enough beyond the footlights to grab me. And Karita really inhabited the role.

The singing was at least as good as that one gets from the currently superior house down the road ;-). I don't think any of them excelled. When Karita was good she was very good, but I understand - although ultimately disagree with - the analysis of overparted: there was a lot of strain and an inconsistency in volume. Halfvarson gave a good solid if generic vocal performance, and Stensvold matched his dominating stage presence with a booming and almost attractive voice. Endrik Wottrich is a new name entirely to me and I really don't know what to make of his voice. I now understand the term counter heldentenor - it was as if he was singing the entire role in head voice but without the squawk of the seagullist. I veered between loving and hating his voice; regardless, it has a compelling ring to it.

So far I haven't mentioned Marzelline and Jaquino (Ailish Tynan and Robert Murray). They were fine in their relatively small roles, but, if the truth be told this opera-comique is a distraction from the main thrust of the main opera, and had the woman next to me confused into thinking the whole thing was a comedy (you pitifully sad creature). Hon mensh. must go to Haoyin Xue and Krzysztof Szumanski, both of them Jette Parker Young Artists, as First and Second Prisoners. Haoyin Xue seems to have a sweet gorgeous voice, so a slight crack was a shame.

I first became familiar with Fidelio at the same time that I was learning about tyrannical dictatorships in Latin America, particularly in Pinochet's Chile, so in my mind, regardless of accuracy (historical and dramaturgical), it is set in Pinochet's Chile. (It sets my teeth on edge when people start using the word 'relevant' about opera, but in this particular case it is synergetic with current events).

It is impossible not to consider Leonore (Fidelio) as a real feminist hero. Unless one rejects the notion of sacrificing so much for one's husband as being too close to 'Surrendered Wife'. I don't. Not long after the time when Mozart's women were getting their fiancées confused with cunningly disguised Albanian soldiers, and Rossini's girls were fluttering their eyelashes at Counts on White Chargers, Beethoven's sister was doing it for herself, getting her hands dirty, yes for the husband she truly loved but also for Freiheit. Nothing encapsulates the Enlightenment ideal better than the Prisoners Chorus which when performed well is Beethoven at his peak. The male chorus is one of the greatest strengths of the Royal Opera House, and they excelled themselves. One seemed to pick me out as the random anonymous audience member on which to focus and I was moved by the look of desperation, a desperation echoed by the entire chorus accompanied by sublime music. It really is one of those amazing goose-pimple moments.

I am going again on Thursday, this time to the Lower Slips Right, and in my alphabetical-survey-of-operas-on-record, Fidelio will follow after Fanciulla, Faust and Fedora, so perhaps I will explore the 'Freiheit', the Enlightenment, and the gorgeousness of Beethoven in greater depth at greater length then.

...to the sublime

It seems wrong to categorise Beethoven under "Other Composers" but despite being arguably the greatest composer of all time, Ludwig only wrote the one opera, Fidelio.

On Thursday night I found myself at the Barbican for a concert performance of this: the massed ranks of the splendid London Symphony Orchestra and the possibly even more splendid London Symphony Chorus under the baton of the incomparable Sir Colin Davis.

On paper the soloists were not especially 'draws' and in an unrelenting diary I did question my judgement in having booked this, albeit a mid-price ticket.

But I was glad that I did. I am not as familiar with this opera as I ought to be. I saw it live staged many moons ago, by Opera North in Nottingham, and although I have it on my mp3 player, I feel I have listened to it on shuffle far more often than I have ever played the CD set from start to finish.

As soon as the band launched into the overture I had a feeling it was going to be a good night. Opening salvos from Marzelline (Sally Matthews) and Jaquino (Andrew Kennedy) only served to confirm that hunch. Sally's voice did not seem huge and struggled to be heard over the orchestra (an occupational hazard of concert opera when the orchestra are expose don stage rather than concealed in the pit) but it was a voice I could get to like a lot. I am still undecided about Andrew Kennedy - his strengths are noteworthy but I find him less than the finished article.

Part of my reason for booking was Christine Brewer. So many people rave about her but my previous experiences with her have left me unimpressed. This night was a different matter. That is some voice! And a voice I would pay good money to hear again, and again. My reservations are that I find her demeanour when not singing to be off-putting, and I am not sure how this translate into acting, and I did notice some signs of tiring, although this is no insignificant role.

Kristinn Sigmundsson, a late replacement as Rocco, was also pleasing to the ear. John Mac Master was Florestan. I do not think that he will ever rate amongst my favourite tenors and his voice does not hit my 'T'-spot, yet I found his performance to be satisfying, and that he got over well the torment of being held on starvation rations in solitary confinement both vocally and in body-language and facial expression. I found the remaining roles: Juha Uusitalo as Don Pizarro; Daniel Borowski as Don Fernando; and Andrew Tortise and Darren Jeffery as the Prisoners to be at least adequate.

But for me the stars were the London Symphony Chorus, who sang as well as I have heard them this season (and my previous outings - Gerontius and Beethoven 9 were laden with praise). One of the reviews I read suggested that the opera was well-served by being concert-only, because it allowed one to luxuriate in the glories of the orchestration and the orchestra playing. Which isn't wrong, except that...opera was intended to be staged.

The Prisoners Chorus is one of the great choruses of operas; and it gave me goosepimples. At the precise moment they exclaimed Freiheit, the hairs on my arm stood. Although my German is non-existent, Freiheit is one of those words that needs no surtitle, but I think the physical reaction was as much to the music, and I conclude that that was the work of sheer genius to make the music have that effect at that point. And the overwhelming message of Freedom, victory against oppression, triumph of the will and the determination of the human character is not a message to be taken lightly.

I felt the spoken dialogue was the weak link, but I'm not sure what the solution is. For a start, this is how it was written, so to meddle with it would be contrary to the composers intentions. My German is next to non-existent, so I do not gain anything from having the declamations in a language I don't understand. To have them in English would be perverse when the characters are singing in German, to sing it in English would be a mistake (notwithstanding my enjoyment of Opera North's 'in English' production - this was despite the translation).

An overwhelmingly youngish audience applauded loudly, even raucously, and it would be fair to say that the applause was richly deserved.

And in the interval, I met up with Raffe who had also survived and recovered from her Floral Street soaking.

The Guardian

Colin Davis's concert performance of Beethoven's Fidelio turned this operatic ode to freedom into a shattering celebration of the human spirit, and a revelation of the visionary qualities of this astonishing score.

Financial Times

Music OMH

FitCrit

I think they were all at the Tuesday performance, so their mileage may differ from mine.

Beethoven 1 and 9 again

I probably am quite mad going to the same concert two nights running. But it is an interesting experiment in a number of different factors.

The most obvious was that Saturday night was my first time hearing Beethoven's First, on Sunday I was coming at it like an old familiar

. I heard it quite differently on either night, and have to ponder whether it was because of this factor or because of the acoustical differences between Row G of the stalls and Row A of the balcony. They were really quite different. In the stalls I felt quite surrounded by this wall of sound, almost part of the experience; in the circle I was better able to distinguish the subtleties and differences in instrumental tone. Not that I have the vocabulary to describe them, just take my word for them. I had read of the Haydnesque influence  but had been unable to discern this on the Saturday, whereas they were very clear on the Sunday. Nevertheless I feel I would far rather listen to the cited Haydn 'London' Symphonies than Beethoven 1.

I had booked primarily for Beethoven's Ninth, and again it was interesting to hear the differences. I would say that the Saturday performance was better than the Sunday, but was it really? Or was it because it was ace to be part of that tremendous wall-of-sound, especially in the Choral Part of the Fourth movement (which I often think of the Fifth movement, because it's Track 5 on the CD and there is often actually quite a pause in live performances).

Or was it because of subjective factors. I was extremely excited on Saturday, whereas on Sunday I detected a hint of blase in my attitude, or perhaps a caution at not raising my hopes too high after the mindblowing experience the previous night.

Or perhaps there are indiscernible subjective factors. I think I felt pretty much the same physically on either occasion.

I felt that the first movement was a bit lacklustre in comparison to Saturday when it had taken me all of about twelve bars to think "Right, forget the rest, might as well start the standing ovation now..." I noticed a few hesitations or tremors in the strings in the second and third movements, but, let me stress, I only noticed because a) I am so familiar with the work and b) had heard it live in the same hall the previous evening.

I was more convinced than ever that the placing of the soloists was wrong. On Saturday I suspected I was overly influenced by the fact that I was in no position to ogle Gerald Finley as much as I would like to. But on Sunday I was absolutely certain that it was a gross error to place them behind the orchestra and yet on the same level, and in front of a seriously fuck-off bass drum and some massive cymbals.  No doubt there was a logic; the conductor was the really wonderful* Bernard Haitink, and he must know what he's doing by now. But there were times when I struggled to hear the soloists, especially John McMaster, over the orchestra.

As on Saturday night, the stand out soloist was Gerald. What can I say? I do so like his voice and I have yet to hear a less than splendid performance from him. Indeed, I have yet to hear a performance that doesn't make me sit up and think 'Wow!'. A committed and muscular yet lyric approach. And a certain something that I can't put into words, something that hits me in the heart.

Ninth is such a fabulous piece of music, sobering to think that Beethoven never heard it. I do not see much point in attempting to do any sort of analysis of it. It is difficult to think of any other mere symphony that has such an ability to affect so many different emotions. At some points I was wanting to dance along, indeed I was sort of, in my seat, in a very static way. And suddenly, it struck me in the finale...I always think of this as being triumph, outpouring of the emotion of a victory. This time I heard pure joy "Freude" rising from the music.

There were mikes present in the auditorium, so I presume it was being recorded for and will be released on the LSO live label. Pre-order me a copy, please!

Oh, and there were some photos, even if none backstage...

The first two show the soloists (from left to right): Twyla Robinson, Karen Cargill, John McMaster and Gerald Finley, with members of the London Symphony Orchestra and London Symphony Chorus; and the final one shows Bernard Haitink taking the enthusiastic applause.

Update Cunning Little Vixen was also in the audience

* and yes, famous

Beethoven's Ninth

Dominic in MusicOMH is quick off the mark with a review of last night's concert - Haitink's Beethoven: Symphony No 9 'Choral' - LSO @ Barbican Hall, London.

I cannot disagree with a word. It was stupendous.

I think it was the first time I have ever heard Beethoven's 1st. I have CDs of 2-8. After tonight I won't lose sleep if I never hear it again, although it's perfectly pleasant and enjoyable.

But the Ninth was something else. I wrote "I suspect a poll of the public would make Beethoven's Ninth the most popular Symphony of all" but then I checked the Classic FM Hall of Fame, and am surprised to find it's only the second most popular after Six (Pastoral). In fact, I would have predicted Beethoven 9, Beethoven 5, Mozart 41 and Dvorak 9, but the top ten symphonies are:

1. Beethoven 6
2. Beethoven 9
3. Rachmaninov 2
4. Saint-Saëns 3
5. Dvorak 9
6. Beethoven 5
7. Beethoven 7
8. Mahler 5
9. Tchaikovsky 6
10. Beethoven 3

The Rach and S-S are from out of left field as far as I'm concerned; what does surprise me, although on reflection shouldn't, is how much more popular are concertos than symphonies*.

Digression over, I can only echo MusicOMH's superlatives. I am particularly interested that Dominic mentions the timpani because on my way out, I exclaimed to Jimmy "The timpani were amazing!".

But let's be honest; the biggest single draw factor for Beethoven 9 is the singing. The massed ranks of the London Symphony chorus were stupendous. I think I have noticed something before with this particular choir. I don't know how it is achieved and certainly don't have the technical vocabulary to describe it. I don't like screechy sopranos. There is a fine line that when crossed makes sops sound screechy. The LSO Ladies push right up to this line but absolutely do not cross it; the result is a wonderful sound, possibly a high risk strategy. I was glorying in this amazing sound when I realised it was also being echoed in the violins. Again, I hate screechy strings

Throughout the first three movements I had wondered when the soloists would enter, and where they would sit. Obviously not at the front in the traditional soloist position, and being that I was in Row G, the final row before the auditorium starts to rise, I couldn't see over the orchestra to work out where they would be.

And suddenly this remarkable sound emerged from over on the far left behind the violins and I realised that the soloists had stood up, and, by dint of resting my head in my fiancé's lap, I was able to see as well as hear the wonderful Gerald Finley. And, just about, the other soloists: Twyla Robinson, Karen Cargill and John McMaster. They were well over on the far left behind the violins. I shall have a much better view from my seat in the Circle tonight.

I think of this, soloist-wise, as being predominantly a bass work, and if I say that my favourite baritone was singing the bass role, and he did not disappoint my high expectations, I trust that is sufficient!. And I have no criticisms of the other soloists. I was struck by how effectively they worked as an ensemble, at times the voices melting into one.

A truly memorable concert, and, shucks, I have to go through it all again tonight. It will be interesting to compare acoustically because from down in the stalls I felt enveloped by a tremendous wall of sound. At the end I just had to let out a scream and rise to my feet, and then, feeling a bit self-conscious I glanced around and about a third of the audience that I could see were also on their feet! I'm not being funny, but you know it's good when people are waxing enthusiastic in the loos and on the way out, rather than fretting about quotidian minutiae.

* I also think this list is a bit misleading: I think the rest of Dvorak's 9th is not nearly as well liked as the 'Hovis' movement, and it impossible to believe that the most highly ranked opera is Cavalleria Rusticana, feeling sure that must merely mean the Intermezzo, despite the listing - as opposed to the Pearlfishers' Duet which may surprise many Classic FM listeners to know that it is just one extract from a rarely performed (reportedly justifiably) opera. But then, what is the extract that lures people to vote for the Magic Flute above, for example, the Marriage of Figaro

Haitink and Beethoven

It was nearly two weeks ago. Bernard Haitink conducting the LSO at the Barbican in the first of his entire Beethoven Symphony cycle. Well, actually, technically, it was the second, a repeat from the previous evening.

The first half was okay, fine. Leonore #2 and Violin Concerto Frank Peter Zimmermann. They were enjoyable. Fine pieces of music, but neither in my top ten, even in my Beethoven Top 10. I don't like the violin concerto is sufficiently to add it to my collection, thus I don't know it well enough to really get to like it. the vicious circle of a Phillistine, so shoot me!

The Seventh was glorious. Well, almost! The horns were really quite dreadful on more than one occasion. This is not the first time this season, nor from the first orchestra, that I have heard some really quite dreadful horn playing. I think maybe Someone ought to set up an OffHorn to handle complaints about horn playing and remedy the situation. As I exited, I bumped into someone I know who said that basically Haitink had said "As a concession to HIP, pretend you have no valves on your horns." Still they almost redeemed with a glorious fanfare in the final movement. The trumpets were glorious; perhaps for the first time ever I truly understood squillo. And the timpani were superb. I am a big fan of Beethoven's timpani writing. Overall, horns apart, it was a splendid reading and performance, and I am looking forward to further episodes in the Spring, especially the Ninth.

As as an added bonus, as the Final Movement reached its glorious climax, 76-year-old Bernard Haitink leaped into the air. What is it with conductors? So many of them so appearing so splendidly fit and at the top of their game in advanced years? (We're off to see 80-year-old Sir Charles Mackerras on Saturday). Anybody wanting to discover the secret of longevity should study conductors. Although it's no great secret that simultaneously combining cerebral and physical activity in an occupation where expertise improves with experience, combined, typically, with a plentiful sex life is the secret of conductors.

Saturday Culture, continued

After we had been to Closer, we went to Clapham's finest Tapas restaurant, La Rueda. Jimmy reckons he has never been there. I am sure we have been there together, he says it was the other one. Perhpas I went there with an ex-boyfriend, or perhaps with my brother and his then girlfriend, now wife. Whatever. It's a damned fine restaurant, although I find the shrine in worship of Sevriano Ballesteros to be slightly scary.

I proceeded onto the Royal Festival Hall for the last episode of the London Philharmonic's Beethoven Cycle under Kurt Masur.

On the menu were the Eighth and Ninth Symphonies. The Eighth is one of his lesser symphonies, possibly the afternoon off of a genius. But it;s all relative isn't it? I am comparing it to the Fifth, sixth and seventh that preceded it, which are truly great and innovative works of art, and th eNinth which followed, which is sui generis, and I currently feel, is the greatest piece of music ever written.

The Eighth was highly enjoyable, a polished and flawless performance. Haydnesque, I would say. The young chap next to me was a tad confused and asked "Right, so, erm, that was the Eighth?" I agreed and explianed the Cycle concept. "But that's really just the warm-up?" I hesitated for a moment and firmly nodded with an emphatic yes.

There are not that many pieces to which Beethoven's Eighth could be considered a mere prelude.

But after the interval was Beethoven's Ninth. It is obligatory to mention the soloists - Christine Brewer, Carolin Masur, Thomas Studebaker and Alaistair Miles - but I do not feel it is especially a 'soloists'' piece. The four singers are essential as an ansemble. A poor, or even mediocre bass could mar a performance, and a superb soprano is required for a glorious soar at the climax.

But of course, we always forget, Beethoven's Ninth consists of four movements - well, I reckon five, but Beethoven said four - whose word do you accept. Possibly movements 1-3 are the most underrated symphonic movements ever. Utter utter genius, but much of the audience is waiting in tenterhooks with baited breath for the arrival of the soloists to herald the start of the undisputable greatest symphonic movement, ever.

Kurt Masur conducted the first three movements at a spanking space. Herbie+, I thought, thinking about the favourite interpretation that I have in my collection. Well, to be honest, I didn't think much at all. I just wallowed, utterly absorbed, in sumptuous music performed better than I have ever heard it performed before, live, recorded, or broadcast.

And the soloists arrived and the fourth movement begun. Utterly beautiful, utterly all-embracing, goose-bump causing. I suspect already that this will be one of my performance highlights of 2005. Alastair Miles gave a performance at least equal to the great José van Dam as i have on CD. Christine Brewer, one of the most talked about sopranos of the moment was utterly gorgeous. And the lesser parts acquitted themselves well.

I have just attempted to play my CD and have realised to my horror that it is totally worn out. I thought CDs were supposed to last for ever, allowed to be smeared with Marmite and stamped into the ground. Admittedly I have had this CD fourteen years and have played it so many times. But, i am just waiting until Amazon's server gets its arse into gear before I order a replacement

Prom 56

The main reason I booked this was to hear Deborah Voigt sing Wagner's Wiesendock songs and Liebestod from T&I. Beethoven's 3rd, Eroica, was a good bet, too.

Unusually, I managed to get a ticket in the Stalls. It's a different world down there from the Circle. And I was sat amongst some curious people. The Proms is definitely Dress Down, and I was in a fleece, combat-style jeans and trainers, and I got a few disdaining looks for those dressed for a cultivated Friday night out. On my right was a couple, male and female. As I did my usual faffing, the woman said loudly, obviously for my benefit, "It clearly states no food or drink in the hall." Here we go," I thought, "Just don't start! And if you're going to make personal remarks, say it my face." Sweetly, I said, "Most venues turn a blind eye to water." The man suggested that there could be vodka in there;  I said there could, but an element of common sense prevails,  if I don't have my water, sod's law says I'll cough incessantly and disturb everyone around me, but they have to draw the line at people bringing in their beer and fish-and-chips.  The man then started going on about Prommers who spot empty seats and then grab for the interval, which is a bit 'off' when people have paid much more to sit than the �4 promming price - sneer. Back to the water, and when I mentioned that Covent Garden don't care if you take a glass bottle in, he suddenly perked up. Damn, how confusing it can be - one and the same person can actually attend Covent Garden, and also wear trainers, combat and fleece to a concert?  Zzzzzzz. He then became animated about the previous night's Prom - The Miserly Knight/Gianni Schicchi. I explained I was going to go but didn't - something cropped up. the woman said she found it amazing that the singers managed to remember the Russian - Italian, yes, but Russian, no. I thought of saying "Yeah, I bet Sergei Leiferkus has tremendous problems with the Russian..." but decided instead to say "Yes, I saw it on the TV a few weeks ago, I know Sergei Leiferkus was in the cast, and I think it was the same last night."

"Oh we didn't really notice the cast," said the bloke. "Was it on the TV?"  asked the man, "we must have missed it..." "BBC4," I explained, confident in being an ex-anti-digital-snob but now enjoying BBC4, Artsworld, Performance Channel (un po') and Interactive Olympics (and who has now booked an upgrade to Sky+...).

The woman in front was really strange. During the first piece, Hindemith's Concert Music for Strings and Brass, Opus 50, nothing special, did nothing to grab me..., she started caressing her man and saying "I love you" repeatedly but not tenderly, more at the urgent temp we use after a row or when trying desperately to reassure.

She was very strange, and I don't mean that nastily. She had a very pronounced Essex-Hertfordshire accent - think Posh Spice but more so. But what was so bizarre was she seemed to speak entirely on a monotone, with no inflection, no variation in pace, rhythm, or volume. Very strange...

After the Hindemith, Deborah Voigt appeared, to enthusiastic response, looking very good in a black dress. Perhaps more of an evening dress than a cocktail dress, but pretty close to a black cocktail dress, IMO. She sang Wagner's Wesendock Songs. I thought I didn't know them, but I certainly know Der Engel, and  Tra�me is familiar from Tristan und Isolde. I thought she sang them well, but I didn't sense any great emotional input - sort of singing the phone book, but singing the phone book delightfully.

Then followed the (orchestral) prelude from Tristan und Isolde, which was...okay, followed by 'Liebestod', which was just marvellous. Gorgeousness. With a lot of Wagner I could happily listen to the orchestra part alone. This was the orchestral high point of the evening. However, the orchestra was nothing compared to Debbie, especially she soared into and caressed the high notes which rang out sweet and, well, beautiful (and I'm not even a 'high notes' fan...), and she was so obviously blissing out in the music, and thoroughly deserved the very enthusiastic and sustained applause.

I was slightly distracted for a split second during the Liebestod when a woman four rows in front turned to say something to her companion. I was startled; later I reflected with bemusement - what is so urgent that it can't wait just a few moments until the closing chord. And how can anybody possibly break off from listening to that sublime music? Perhaps  the sound of an orchestra approaching orgasm is just too much for them, perhaps they are so afraid of their own repressed sexuality.

Incidentally, it is said that when Gustav Mahler conducted Tristan und Isolde he sustained an erection throughout and climaxed during the Liebestod. Now, I know back then, orchestras were all male, and the orchestral pit is dimly lit, but I'm not sure I would have wanted to be on the front row of the second violins. I mean, really...

As people stood up for the interval Monotone in front of me said, in a dead monotone to her husband "Five hours is a long time for an opera but for that...Even you'd enjoy it. I would love to see a performance of that opera, but there's none in the next year. Or The Meistersinger. It's a comedy but the music is lovely." I was fascinated that somebody with such an obvious love of and passion for music can have such a lack of music in her voice.

There was a trio behind me. They loudly declared that they don't go anywhere in the interval - perhaps they have become too familiar before with Chateau de Chunder from the Albert Hall's very own vineyards...One of the women asked "Who was that singing?" The man replied, "Deborah Voigt - she's been on the radio..."  I recommended a CD - Wagner Love Duets, explaining it had Deborah singing the Love Duets from Siegfried and from Tristan und Isolde, and it's on EMI Classics. The man asked who's she singing with them. I said, "Plácido Domingo".  The man smiled and wink and said "Say no more." I thought "Am I that obvious?"

During the interval, it seemed that half of everybody was desperately wapping, and the word soon spread round "Paula dropped out," accompanied by widespread disappointment.

I was a bit bored in the second half. You can't really go wrong with Beethoven, I thought.

Wrong! It was insipid. The strings were mushy. When I listen to string heavy orchestral music I want to hear the bowing of the strings. It's a bit worrying when you can barely see the bowing. Maybe I've fallen victim of the Campaign to Abolish Vibrato, and I like my notes defined, but this wasn't so much vibrato, but just one long elision. I'm not saying that I was writhing and groaning in pain in my seat, but it just didn't grab me.

And when it was finished Mrs Monotone said "I didn't like that. Did you like that? I thought I loved that piece. You know, I'm going to have to play it all weekend,
because I know I love it. That wasn't right."

The orchestra was Royal Phil under Daniele Gatti.

Evenings out, past and future

The Bach Choir / Philharmonia / Hunt, Royal Festival Hall, London; a concert I went to nearly two weeks ago. The Independent doesn't like Christ on the Mount of Olives:

Yet its continuity is oddly choppy, its material obstinately unmemorable.

However, it's a piece with which I have recently fallen inextricably in love, and keep playing and playing, one of the very few works for which I have an urge to get the score, and, incidentally, the CD which is playing even now, gets an excellent review in yesterday's New York Times

Mr. Domingo has by far the most substantial role, and he sings with enviable robustness for a man over 60. A committed Wagnerian in recent decades, he has no trouble with Huber's German lyrics, imparting tender feeling to the words, especially in his anguished duet with Ms. Orgonasova. For her part, she is undaunted by high-flying passages.

That duet is sublime gorgeousness.

Cautious and reserved praise for Carmen, which I'm seeing next week.

A disgraceful review in the Observer of Arabella, which I saw last week. It is not the critics' place to criticise the audience. The audience who are paying - possibly three times (taxes, donations and ticket purchase) - for the presumably free seat enjoyed by the critic. A very nice seat, too, no doubt, one that prevented him from knowing that the booing audience was actually pissed off by not being able to see a significant proportion of the action from the cheaper seats bought with a guarantee of clear sight of the stage.

I am so disappointed that I missed Karita Mattila.

Beethoven Evening

To the Barbican for the Academy of St Martins in the Fields and a programme thus:

Beethoven - String Quartet No.12 in E flat major, Op.127 (arr. String Orchestra)
Beethoven - Piano Concerto No.5 in E flat major, ("Emperor")
Murray Perahia - Conductor & Piano

I had an excellent seat, circle, two thirds of the way back and almost exactly central.

The String Quintet was strange. To me, it did not seem right played by a string orchestra: 14 violins, 4 each of violas and cellos, and 2 double-basses, rather than the 2 violins, and 1 viola and 1 cello it was written for. Very pleasant piece of music - you can't go far wrong with Beethoven, in my view - but it just seemed top heavy on the violins, and for me, one of the delights of chamber music is being able to hear the timbre of the individual instruments. I also got the feeling that the orchestra was playing rather mechanically.

The second half was something I have just remembered is one of my favourite pieces of music ever. I am currently listening to it on a very old, very poor quality tape I bought for about £1.50 in March 1988. I bought it at the same time as my father's sixtieth birthday present; he died four days before his sixtieth birthday. but that does not stop me loving this concerto. I think I must I have a 'thing' for piano concerti.

It was quite strange to see Murray conducting from the piano. I know it used to be a very common practice in the 18th century, but I have never seen it done before. At first a little off-putting as he starts with a flourish and then lifts his hands from the keyboard and starts conduction. This also meant that he had his back to the audience, which again, I find a little strange. Just as a note, he conducted without a score, as Zoltán Kocsis did a few weeks ago. Is this a new thing? Mind you, it would never do for a pianist to bring a score to a concert. Many years ago, Peter Donohoe played from a score at the Halle proms, and it was really quite shocking - one of the girls in the year above me even broke off her crush on him as a direct result.

I was thoroughly captivated by the piano concerto, even though I am sure I heard a couple of duff notes. (No, I can't have done, my hearing must be at fault). It was just pure joy escapist music, sweet melodies played very sweetly by a small orchestra. Although not big on percussion it has one of the nicest timpani parts around (IMO). What I call easy listening. And he played my favourite passage, the lead up to the finale of the third movement magically - his fingers shimmered on the keyboard.

I was fascinated or horrified by the couple in front of me. A scruffy-tweedy couple. She slipped out as soon as the applause started at the end of the *quartet*, and did not return until the end of the interval. He sat there throughout the interval. Before the second half began she said she would like to slip away early to catch 'that' train. And she began looking for seats nearer the aisle. She found one, she triumphantly announced to him, he pulled a face. She then suggested moving further up the row, he pointed out that as the six or so seats to the right of them were empty it would actually make no difference. But she persevered, and found two seats by the aisle. He was unhappy at moving; and too right, she had already commented that the rickets were more expensive than normal. Why move to the edge when you are in the centre? I suppose if you go a lot and live out in the Home Counties it must be frustrating to keep missing 'that' train and having to wait around for ages, but, I think it's rather getting one's priorities skewed. I cannot stand people who leave concerts, plays, or matches early - I have only done it once, and that was Mansfield Town vs Bristol City on a bitterly cold day. I decided that I preferred to get the 1642 bus back to Nottingham rather than miss it by three minutes and have to wait for the 1742. I don't know whether this couple were married or friends or what, but if they are married, I think the marriage is over in all but name.

There were some home counties ladies behind me talking with those ghastly tortured accents and hackneyed phrases so characteristic of a 'type'. Although one was quite funny describing the teenage girl on her train who had a phone to each ear and was conducting two separate conversations simultaneously. Another of the Ladies was saying that there was a concert in her local hall the other night, given by four of the chorus from Covent Garden, and it was wonderful, but the hall was two-thirds empty. She was so embarrassed for them. The hall usually has a much lighter programme, so people who like opera would not have thought of looking for the programme, but it was very badly advertised. She was looking out for them in the car park to apologise - they won't be coming back.

The rest of the audience didn't seem at all Home Counties. Lots of black, Asian and Oriental people, and I heard very many American accents. Mainly 30-50 age range. Trust me to be surrounded by the worst sort of strangulated Englishness!

I had a fairly boring journey back - ten minutes wait for a tube, fifteen for a bus. It does so mar the magic of the evening.

Oh, and Manchester United won at Panathanaikos, which is cool, meaning we're through to the knock-out stage.