Gertsamtkunstwerk

3 Anniversary Proms

My recent reports from concerts attended have been neither timely nor insightful. I really must get my finger out, especially when I look at my diary for the first fortnight in October which will have six highly reviewable nights out.

The Proms has  so many varied concerts in quick succession, it is impossible for me to attend even a fraction, and thus I don't get the full sense of being immersed in the Festival. It is also quite difficult to choose which I should go to - there were some obvious vocal highlights which became 'must see' for me, but I declined to go many solely instrumental concerts where only part of the programme appealed.

I really should not apologise for only attending a handful of Proms. I have always been a little bit scared of 'completism', that macho need to demonstrate to everybody that you have gone to every single home match, or bought every record, including the 7", the 7" EP and the 12".

I am not alone in believing that the more you consume, the less satisfied you become. It's almost like a drug, that you need more and more highs just to make it feel worthwhile. Whereas, the infrequent concert goer is going to get pleasure irrespective of duff notes, below par singers, and uninspired conducting. Which, I hasten to add, is not a cue for my report on the three concerts I haven't yet mentioned. Well, apart from the uninspired conducting (and I don't mean Harry Christophers).

The three concerts as yet unreported on are the Harry Christophers/Sixteen/Carolyn Sampson Handel evening; the Roger Norrington/ Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment/Joyce DiDonato celebration of the four anniversary boys; and Iestyn Davies/Academy of Ancient Music celebrating Purcell.

Of the three I suspect that the all-Handel evening will linger longest in my mind, although the Purcell, being so very recent (Monday lunchtime, the final chamber Prom) is currently uppermost. And, certainly, if I was ranking singers this season, it would be hard pushed to choose between Carolyn and Iestyn, both of whom I was lucky enough to see twice. I suppose I don't like Carolyn's post-baby voice as much as I did her before-baby voice, but I think I should reserve judgement - it's less than a year since she had the baby. Iestyn is just a phenomenon, an unbelievably beautiful voice, just amazing.

I do so want to like Joyce DiDonato. My intellect can admire and respect her tremendously, but I am not emotionally touched by her. When people write about her technical ability and musical understanding and vocal wealth, I cannot disagree. But she doesn't affect me the way some other singers do.

That having been said, she was the highlight of a somewhat dismal evening that tried to combine pieces from Purcell,  Handel and Haydn in the first half and in the second half had Mendelssohn's lush romantic Scottish Symphony somewhat ruined by (to me) irrelevant period instruments and an unengaged interpretation by Roger Norrington, who wasn't so much stick-waving as drowning. I'm sorry, but I found him intensely annoying, which marred the evening for me. It is said that if you notice the conductor, there's a problem.

The Handel evening was exquisite. Unfortunately,  it was the only concert where I was seated up in the Circle, way too high up really to appreciate the intimate sound of the Sixteen, and not ideal for hearing Carolyn Sampson, who prefers nuanced subtlety to vulgar bellowing.

The concert programme was a mixture of the familiar and pieces that I have seldom heard. The highlight was Carolyn's arias from Semele - Endless Pleasure and Myself I Shall Adore.

She embraced the character of Semele as a rather vacuous hedonist blonde, although this was lost to me in my lofty seat - it came across more convincingly on TV.

Two very different arias. Endless Pleasure could almost be a convincing pop song (hmm, now that's the sort of crossover I'd be interested in, if done intelligently and with fidelity to the composer's intentions).

Myself I Shall Adore presents plenty of opportunity for ornamentation and Carolyn did not shirk. In such a concert performance - more than in staged opera - the singer can have great fun with crazy embellishments full of flourish. I was a little concerned to hear a darkening at the top of her range. I hope that she isn't going to become too heavy, although I will have to accept it if that's where her voice is going.

Other highlights were the pieces I know best - Arrival of the Queen of Sheba and the last of the four Coronation Anthems, Zadok the Priest. I was surprised at how unfamiliar the other three were. I am confident that once I am familiar with them, I will enjoy them more.

I'm afraid the organ concerto did little for me. The programme explained that it was written as incidental music, and that's exactly how it came across. The Handel-era organ works superbly in small intimate venues; in the Albert Hall I want the big booming glorious monster with 9,999 pipes.

The final Chamber Music Prom was my first ever. Iestyn Davies was superb, both in Purcell songs - especially Sweeter than Roses - and in John Blow's Ode on the Death of Mr Henry Purcell. The tenor, Simon Wall, was less convincing but did not mar my enjoyment.

What I like about Iestyn - and what initially draws me to all the best counter-tenors - is the purity of his voice, the exquisite breath control, lyricism of line, and splendid legato. What keeps me fascinated by him, and not by the rest, is the rich tapestry of colours, the variation in tone, dynamics and emphasis, and the occasional hints of baritonal splendour (yet never coming out of the counter-tenor mode).

I have written several times of his impressive stage presence. In Partenope or Samson, he becomes the character and communicates this to the audience. A different setting called for a different behaviour; he showed that he understood the words (which is to be expected!) and also that he grasped the thoughts and sentiments that inspired them and understood how the music reflected them.

I enjoyed the small baroque ensemble from the Academy of Ancient Music, in the purely instrumental pieces and when they were working with the singers.

Parenthetically, a small bugbear: Suzy Klein interviewed their leader, Richard Egarr, who proudly announced that the first thing he sang 'at Cambridge' was a 'fart' that was the start of a Henry Purcell's song not suitable for daytime broadcasting. I don't know why so many people who happened to have studied, often decades ago, at Cambridge University (or Oxford) seem compelled to drop this fact into almost every conversation; it would seem quite strange and very tedious, a sign of arrested maturation, for someone in their 40s and 50s to constantly harp on about how they did student-like things as a student at Neasden Polytechnic in the 1980s.

I enjoyed my Proms season, and feel I got a lot out of what I attended, even those concerts that did not reach my expectations. There were several concerts I would have surely enjoyed if I had attended them, but I didn't, and I do not regret that.

I write this after the Last Night, an unrepresentative nadir, of an otherwise excellent series. Sadly, it is only the second half of this last night that gets any attention from BBC1; there are people who believe (and blog or twitter thus) that this is all the Proms represents. The small proportion that does get broadcast gets shunted into the ghetto on BBC4, or dumbed down into ever-moving slots on BBC2.

Clearly, anyone who wants to see the broadcasts can switch channels or set the recording device of choice, but the BBC sends out a clear message in its choice of channel, timing and cuts. I feel certain that during the 2010 World Cup, every single match will be televised, most of them live on BBC1 (or ITV1), and the less attractive group stages will at least be available through the red button or transmitted in the early hours. The BBC will be proclaiming - this event is important enough to disrupt our normal scheduling, whether or not you want that.

I believe it has been demonstrated numerous times that a significant number of people, at least some of the time, watch what is provided for them, without actually making a positive choice. The BBC doesn't have the courage to engineer the viewing of their Proms in the same way they do for snooker or celebrity-reality TV.

NB For all three concerts, and all the other Prom concerts reported on,  I purchased the tickets myself; they were not provided free by the venues or organisers.

Fairy Queen at the Proms

This was a couple of weeks ago now, and I have few excuses for not getting this done earlier. It's a shame I've left it so long because, inevitably, some of the magic has dissolved into warm fuzzy memories.

The Fairy Queen, by Henry Purcell, my second localest composer* is not strictly speaking an opera, but a series of masques linked with dialogue. I reviewed a DVD a couple of years ago and won't repeat all that, focusing instead on the actual performance I attended.

It was an import from Glyndebourne. I had read some great reviews of the production and orchestra and some broadly positive reviews of the singing. I am Facebook friends with a couple of the singers, and it was amusing to read a few comments from Ed Lyon.

Glyndebourne operas are only semi-staged at the Albert Hall, but even so, are good fun. I have never been to Glyndebourne, and, although I would love to go for the opera, I would be very anxious about the dressing up, and I don't think I would be entirely comfortable with the picnic thing unless I was with someone who would be happy to fit in with my catering plans.

It was a long evening, from 6.30 to 10.30, with only a twenty minute break. It would have been nice to have a decent supper interval, rather than just grabbing a sandwich on the bus, but then, of course, that would have meant leaving work even earlier.

There was a large cast, not only of singers, but also of dancers and actors, and the Orchestra of the Age of the Enlightenment, conducted (from harpsichord) by the wonderful William Christie. I suspected that the actors were miked, and later read that this was indeed the case, but I didn't find the microphones over-intrusive. Obviously, most of the actors were unknown to me, and while I think that they worked well as an ensemble, obviously it wasn't star-studded. For me, two were outstanding, Desmond Barrit as the Drunken Poet/Bottom and Sally Dexter as Tatiana. Both of them seemed to grasp the size of the hall and projected larger-than-life characters. Verging on camp, but quite fitting for a particularly silly work.

I thought the production was wonderful. It is difficult to remember every aspect of it. I know I certainly enjoyed most of the dancing, even though I now don't recall especially stand-out moments. Apart from the rutting rabbits, of course - can you imagine six, or was it eight, human size Easter Bunnies gambolling onto stage and proceeding to enact a ballet straight out of the Karma Sutra. There was considerable laughter from the audience, even though, apparently, the BBC (Proms organisers) have received complaints.

The introduction of the Mechanics was quite a hoot. They came on dressed as cleaning ladies, and proceeded to do their cleaning, with hoover and all, in a parody ballet. Of course it's been done before, in La fille du regiment at Covent Garden and elsewhere, but it's still entertaining.

One of the highlights was Andrew Foster-Williams' entrance as Hymen (I'm afraid whenever I encounter the Greek god, I always snigger at the rude word). He fought his way along the front row of one of the blocks of the stalls, inducing visible embarrassment in some audience members. He entered the area occupied by the orchestra, tried to involve the percussion section in a discussion, rearranged the music of some string players, and then picked a fight with William Christie at the keyboard, who had to throw a few punches to defend himself.

Another highlight came towards the end, with a duet by a Chinese Man and Chinese Woman, actually Ed Lyon and one of the Glyndebourne chorus women, wearing nothing but a fig-leaf each. Although the shock to me were the blonde wigs! This was a prelude to them eating the apple in the Garden of Eden and hastily putting on beach wear.

The OAE were splendid throughout, and a fine pace was set by Mr Christie. Obviously, lots of recitative, and no outstanding orchestral moments, but fine playing, and, to my surprise, more percussion than I would have expected from the 17th century. Nice period instruments, including theorbo as well as many of the instruments familiar from modern orchestras**.

But I chose this Prom overwhelmingly for the singing, and the singing lived up to my high expectations, indeed better. A predominantly young cast, with Carolyn Sampson being the most experienced singer, probably the only one who is a 'household name' in opera households. I was also excited at the prospect of Lucy Crowe and Ed Lyon (my FB friends), whom I heard and adored in Agrippina and La Callisto respectively. Also Lucy is exquisite in duet,  As Steals the Morn, the title track of Mark Padmore's Handel CD.

A new voice to me was Andrew Foster-Williams, although I have been reading good things of him for a while. And he certainly showed why such good things have been written about him. A pleasant baritone voice, good tone and legato, excellent pitch and expressive, which coupled with good acting make for an all round excellent artist. Perhaps not one to set my knees trembling, but definitely one I am keen to hear again.

Lucy Crowe was gorgeous. I love her voice. It has a splendid combination of a crystal clear top and a rich velvety lower range, something that I find rare in sopranos (also in tenors). On stage she is fascinating. She was not especially active in this, but by standing there, collected and composed, she exuded a calm serenity. I think she is on the verge of a very significant career.

I was so pleased with Ed Lyon. I fell in love with his voice on account of a phrase or a tone in La Callisto, and other than a performance downloaded from (I think) German TV, I haven't heard him since. But I am even more convinced that I love his voice. There is something unique in his voice, a steely edge, which provides quite a contrast with what is essentially a fairly light tenor. He has a cheerful bouncy stage persona, moves well round stage, looks good in the nearly buff, and is generally easy on the eye, (but, unfortunately, sings for the other choir!).

Of course my favourite was Carolyn Sampson. It is over a year since I last heard her live, since when she has had a baby. So I wasn't entirely sure what to expect. She was gorgeous, and her Plaint was truly outstanding, the biggest highlight of the night. I was totally transfixed on her, through the binoculars, and it was one of those wonderful occasions when, even though you are in a massive hall with 6000 other people, you are totally lost in the music.

She does not do a great deal of opera, especially not staged, indeed the only live opera I had previously heard her in was Semele, although I have recordings of her in Tamerlano (Handel) and Elena e Paride (Gluck). I don't know why, it seems a shame, because she has such a natural yet sultry air and knows perfectly how to hold the audience in her hand. Oh, and that voice! I know some people prefer sopranos who scream and squawk their way up the scale, but I prefer the approach of Carolyn (and Lucy), gliding as free as air and seemingly effortless.

So, all in all, even though I found some of the actory bits a bit long and fidget-making, I came away with a warm glow inside and a smiley face on the outside, tripping lightly on an effortless journey home, delighted at a wonderful and memorable evening's entertainment.

* he's my local at work, I peer down the road he was born when I have an occasional ciggie, but my local to where I live is Streatham boy Arnold Bax (and local to where I was born is, I think Peter Maxwell-Davies)

** sorry, I know that sounds stupid, considering I probably encounter - outside the ROH - more period orchestras than modern ones, but I'm still stuck in the mindset of when I learnt the instruments of the orchestra in 1970-something, when neither the Observer's Book of Music nor the Halle chose to enlighten me about such wonders as the theorbo.

PS I found the photo in The Times and thought I would nick it whileI could...! Unfortunately, they don't credit the photographer, so neither can I. 

Perfect Mozart

An evening at Cadogan Hall, to which I have never previously ventured.   A lovely compact little hall, just off Sloane Square, refurbished and opened as "London's newest concert hall" less than two years ago.

Tonight was the opening concert in The King's Consort season, an exclusively Mozart evening with soprano Carolyn Sampson, who I completely adore. Also in the audience was Blogger Simon - our diaries often coincide and we share a taste for singers.

It was an exceptionally lovely concert, a mixture of familiar and unfamiliar. In full:

Regina Coeli, KV 127
Sancta Maria, mater Dei, KV 273
Epistle sonata in C, KV 278
Exsultate, Jubilate, KV 165
Symphony 34 in C, KV 338
Regina Coeli, KV 108

The Epistle sonata was extraordinarily familiar to me, and I was puzzled, because the name meant nothing, but a quick flick through my CD collection has shown that it is inserted into the Coronation Mass which features on my most favourite Mozart CD. The first Regina Coeli was slightly familiar, as if I might have heard it more than once previously. The second Regina Coeli and the Sancta Maria were entirely unfamiliar. I thought I knew the Exsultate, Jubilate, but when it started I realised I didn't, but then it progressed and I realised I did - a programme note states it is "the rarely heard Salzburg version of the famous Exsultate Jubilate..."

I sort of  know Symphony 34, although it is not in my collection. The Andante is reminiscent of my beloved Clarinet Quintet, the final movement reminiscent of the famous horn concerto. But the fabulous thing about Mozart is that it doesn't matter whether or not you can hum silently along.

The orchestra were fabulous. There was a small flub from the period horns - how precarious are modern horns, let alone old ones - but otherwise no criticisms. The sensitivity was moving. I think Robert King is a wonderful conductor, and I have rarely heard Mozart played with such delicacy and feeling, with some amazing contrasts not just in dynamics but in touch, if you get me. The orchestra was perfectly sized for the space  - interesting feature in the Guardian (and apologies to the couple next to me - this is where I read briefly about the history of the venue...). Bigger than a chamber orchestra, but not so vast as those wonderfully enormous symphony orchestras that fill the big halls.

The Choir of the King's Consort, small but beautifully formed, sounded just right, too. My only criticism was that I found their opening salvo to be quite difficult to understand, but maybe that was me adjusting to the acoustics of a new venue, because after the first few minutes, I thought them excellent.

If it had been a purely orchestral and choral concert, I would have come away delighted, but in addition to all that we were treated to a sublime performance by Carolyn Sampson, her of the crystal voice - "the leading British soprano of her generation" said the programme. There are so many aspects of her voice that I enjoy. Most of all the sheer clarity, and added to that the even-ness of tone from the very high to almost the bottom of her range. The ability to vary dynamics, the mezza di voce, and the coloratura she displayed. All this and a wonderful sense of music and the ability to project herself to the whole audience, when not singing meeting all corners of the audience with her eyes.

At the end Robert King mentioned that they would be spending the next three days recoding that programme and some other pieces in preparation for Mozart's 'big year' next year, and, if we didn't mind, they would practice one piece with us. This was Laudate Dominum, already one of my very favourite arias. The way it was performed tonight, especially by Carolyn, but also by the choir, the orchestra and conductor was something very special. And the final 'note' was a perfect appreciative silence by the audience, not under the direction of the baton, but because the music deserved it. I had experienced goosebumps at periods throughout. Laudate Dominum made the hairs on my arm stand up. I turned to the woman next to me and said "That's one CD sold, already". As I was walking up the gangway to leave there was an elderly couple behind me in tears. They had never heard Carolyn before and had never heard anything like her, especially that final Laudate Dominum.

As well as a perfect choir, orchestra, conductor and soloist, there was an almost perfect audience. At one point the woman next to me delicately rattled a packetof mints, but I suspect it was only me that noticed, and then only momentarily. Otherwise, perfect. Except that in the distance I spotted a man so repulsive that I once entirely resisted his attempts to seduce me despite his evil use of Plácido Domingo records and copious quantities of red wine direct from the chateau. I did consider taunting him about some other matter, knowing that I was surrounded by Lambeth residents (I'm such an earwigger) but there's no snappy way of saying "Where's the three million  defrauded from Lambeth Housing on your watch...?"

Handel and Haydn

Simon's posting Westminster Abbey, Carolyn Sampson reminds me to write a review of a concert I went to at Westminster Abbey, mainly to hear Carolyn Sampson - I had booked the ticket after I had been alerted by Simon...

I had booked the ticket, then about ten days before the concert, an email circulated at work, saying that it was about time for a night out. If the concert had been at the South Bank or the Barbican I would have had to decline the drink-up, but the wonderfulness of working at the heart of Westminster Village was the ability to nip to the concert as an interval in the works' drinkies.

I was stunningly underwhelemed by Westminster Abbey as a venue. Indeed I had a rantette on Usenet:

I do not make a habit of going to Westminster Abbey...This evening I had a a £5 ticket, in the Quire Stalls, no view. Fine.

In the interval we make to go out. Some silly Jobsworth questions why we want to go out; one woman suggests that she really doesn't want to be treated like a caged animal. Jobsworth insinuates that if we go out we might try and take over empty seats with a view. (I would have been angry if they existed; I would have been willing to pay, but they were all sold out)

I say "I need a cigarette; without a cigarette I can go really quite
mad" Jobsworth gets scared and lets us out. Halfway down the aisle, a woman turns to me and says "You know that man said 'Some people want to have a _cigarette_ during the interval'!" (reminiscent of Lady Bracknell's handbag). Yes, well, what of it? Some other people wanted to pee.

I stood in the courtyard and was told to go out the gate. I checked I
would be allowed back in. When the bell sounded for the end of the
interval and I made to go in, another Jobsworth snootily said "Yes?" I said I was going in. "To the concert?" he enquired with utter
condescension and snootiness. I felt like saying "Look, arsehole, I know I am fifty years younger than you , and obviously quite the wrong gender, and I'm wearing a fleece, and carrying a rucksack, but don't you dare condescend to me like that." Instead I just glared. I had a suit on, it wasn't like I really looked a student (perish the thought). I'm tempted to write, 'and I'm not young', but, frankly, that's irrelevant - if someone aged 14, or 9, had paid to be at that concert, they shouldn't be treated the way I was treated.

It made me quite angry. I'm going to be snooty. In the Quire Stalls (no view) we didn't clap in between movements of Haydn's Nelson Mass, unlike the corporate people in the £28 seats. I have never been treated with such utter contempt by any venue in my entire life.

People say that Covent Garden is snooty; I have never experienced that - in fact, the staff seem to like common people like me.

There are so many venues round London used for concerts, but the way we were treated by the Jobsworths at Westminster Abbey was just appalling.

I don't know what their problem is; I'm tempted to say, fear of women. I wonder just how much profit they got from tonight's concert.

There weren't even any toilet facilities provided, which is scandalous. I can hold it in, but I have not experienced multiple childbirths nor do I have a prostate, ageing or otherwise, to give me trouble. But when I rejoined my colleagues in the pub and went to the loo before ordering a drink, they all laughed at me.

It is the twenty first century, and it's about time these religious nuts started to understand that we have paid money to be in their sacred venue, and whilst they continue to treat middle-aged women with contempt, they are demonstrating why so many people have rejected Organised Religion.

So it was a good thing that the concert was so enjoyable. It would have been more enjoyable if I had been sat out front with the voices projecting towards me, but I accepted that limitation when I bought a 'Quire' seat with no view.

The performers were:

Carolyn Sampson (s)
Ann Murray (m-s)
James Gilchrist (t)
James Rutherford (bs)
Robert Quinney (organ)

The Choir of Westminster Abbey
St James's Baroque
James O'Donnell

The programme was Handel: Chandos Anthem 'As pants the heart for cooling streams HWV251c; Salve Regina HWV241; Organ Concerto in F, op 4. no. 4 HWV292

Interval

Haydn: Mass in D minor (Missa in angustiis, 'Nelson' mass) Hob.XXII:11

I wasn't overwhelmed by the Organ Concerto, but the rest was delightful. I still haven't worked out what I like about Handel. Logically, he's very predictable and samey-samey, but he just does something for me. I especially liked the Salve Regina.

But nothing like as much as the Haydn. I'm going through a bit of a Haydn phase at the moment. Currently an unfashionable composer, under-rated and underperformed. Possibly not epoch-making, and thus, not leaving the legacy of influence that Bach or Mozart or Beethoven did. But I don't, on the whole, listen to music to go pointy-headed about 'legacy' and 'influence' but to hear the music. If I could only use one word abut Haydn I would use the word 'lyrical'. But that would suggest that I was ignoring that bright clear soundworld.

Carolyn sounded gorgeous, as always. I won't comment on the other singers, because none of them sounded impresive from where I was sitting. But that highlighted phrase is the key - I really was not in a position to judge the fine details and nuances.

Westminster Abbey is a gorgeous building but I suspect I will not be visiting it again in a hurry, unless there's a concert that catches my eye grabs me by the scruff of the neck. Next stop, St John's Smith Square.

Silete Vente and other Handel

A gorgeous evening this evening at St George's Hanover Square for a concert in the London Handel Festival.

The programme was:

Handel Concerto Grosso Op6 No2 in F major HWV 320
Handel Silete Venti for soprano and orchestra HWV 242
Vivaldi Violin Concerto in D major op8 no11 RV 210
Interval
Handel Concerto Grosso Op6 No4 in A minor HWV 322
Vivaldi Violin Concerto in B flat major op8 no10 RV 362
Handel Saeviat tellus for soprano and orchestra HWV 240

The London Handel Orchestra played under the Direction of Adrian Butterfield, violin.

Hanover Square is a delightful quiet little square lying between Oxford Street and Regent Street, close to Oxford Circus. John Lewis is visible from it, Liberty is almost visible. When circumtances force me to go shopping, I often turn into Hanover Square to escape the inanity of shopping and shoppers and to recapture my sanity.

St George's was Handel's Parish Church nearly two hundred and fifty or so years ago. It's a pleasant enough church, although visually nothing out of the ordinary. A nice sized venue for a selection that is hardly chamber music, but would not work in a full size hall.

I am not overly enthusiastic about Vivaldi. I do not suffer pain in listening to him, on the other hand, I would not select a concert on the basis of it including Vivaldi. I didn't know any of the Handel pieces. I may have heard the concerti grossi, but maybe not. I did know Opus 6 no6 well at one stage and hated it; for a long while it rather put me off Handel. It must have been a dismal recording.

The Vivaldi pieces were all pleasant without inducing me to become more interested in Vivaldi (sure, I have the obligatory Four Seasons, who doesn't, but that's quite sufficient for me). I did have one of those moments in the violin concerto when I wondered whether the violin was tuned sharp, or whether it was written that way, or whether I was being Ms Cloth Ears. But I don't especially care.

The Concerti Grossi were really quite delightful. I think one has to listen to Handel in quite a different way that one would listen to music from my favoured classical/romantic periods, or indeed later works. I am not even sure what the attraction is. But I do like it, even though I couldn't rave about the melody, nor the orchestration, nor the way it paints a scene. I guess that the word I'm searching for is 'soundworld'

The highlight of each half was the vocal number. The reason I booked this concert was specifically to hear Carolyn Sampson. I adore her voice; each of three times I heard her last year, I liked her more. So, naturally, I was a little anxious this evening.

What can I say? Well, during the orchestral pieces my attention did wander slightly - not onto mundanity, which is a sign of defeat, but it wandered. It did not wander once during either of the vocal pieces. As I was walking out, I heard people using words such as 'splendid'. Even as far away as the Tube station, the woman behind me on the escalator said to her companion, "The orchestral pieces were good, but she was simply magnificent". For the orchestral pieces, the applause was warm. For Silete Vente, it was enthusiastic and sustained. After Saeviat tellus, a demure and somewhat elderly audience went nuts, a reaction repeated after an unplanned encore of the Alleluia from Silete Vente.

They are both very beautiful pieces, both musically and lyrically, and her voice is just gorgeous. My only criticism is that it's a little on the small side, yet, curiously, I did not find that to be a problem in either of the Royal Albert Hall nor the Colisseum, both of them sizeable venues. And she's young, so, I would guess, it will increase in time. I cannot think of any voice I have ever heard that is so pure, sweet and clear, with a wonderful top, and with such rich colours lower down the registry.

This is Diva Worship, although I am clearly an amateur at the game.

Well, I shall hear her again in a fortnight's time - although I shall be in one of the cheap seats with no view, as a result of all the others having sold out. I shall hear and see her again at the end of July.

Semele again

Gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous...!

Musick by Mr Handel, libretto after Mr Congreve. I don't hink I've ever seen any plays by Congreve, but I thought I had. I had a brief 'thing' about Restoration Drama a dozen or more years ago, but got distracted, possibly by Accountancy studies. Sigh

Oh, and Congreve took it from Ovid's Metamorphoses, which are a hoot, especially in the original (trust me on this one...)

I am struggling to work out what was the best bit of a thoroughly enjoyable night. The music? The libretto/drama? The production? The set and costumes? The wonderful acting from the entire cast? The singing?

It was all good. Four more performances remain.

The music's Handel. The great thing about Handel, I reckon, is that if you like one piece of Handel, you're likely to like the rest. Not that they all sound alike, but Handel's Handel. A businessman.

The libretto is satirical, about the mistress of the King. In this case the King happens to be Jupiter, but as the programme notes pointed out, Kings have always had mistresses. It would have been tempting to draw ultra-modern parallels, but it was set in the 1950s. Incidentally, Juno - Jupiter's wife, goddess of marriage - was done up to look exactly like QE2. The synopsis seems complicated, but isn't - Semele, a mortal, walks out on her earthly marriage to be Jupiter's mistress. She begs him to appear to her as a god, rather than in mortal disguise, and that proves her destruction - the moral, of course being, be satisfied at being the mistress, don't aspire to being the wife (don't get ideas above your station...).

I think all the singers acted it well - special mention should go to Patricia Bardon as Juno/the Queen, and a very special mention to Janis Kelly as Iris. I had no complaints about the rest, either.

It is sometimes described as an oratorio, or a staged oratorio, but to me, a staged oratorio is an opera. It just seemed to work really coherently - no 'egh, what's that supposed to signify?' Some great little touches of sheer comedy. The sets were simple but effective - the weeding scene just chairs arranged either side of a red carpet. Much of the action taking place in Semele and Jupiter's bedroom, with just a bed, and lots of clothes strewn around. The choreographing of the chorus was excellent, and, again, it just seemed to work. The second act ended as darkness fell around the heavenly bedroom and it was really rather nice seeing the stars twinkling against a black background.

The clothes were really lovely - fifties style, the ladies mainly in satin, the men mainly in dinner suits, except for Jupiter, who was mainly in a cream lounge suit and brogues. I would think the costumes outstanding if I hadn't seen La Rondine last week.

And the singing! Perhaps the overall most satisfying singing I have heard at ENO all year. Not a weak link, at all. The minor parts did what they had to do at least competently, if not better. Personal dislike for me is the counter-tenor voice. I just don't like it. But I am sure that fans of counter tenors would have found Robin Blaze delightful. I wasn't frightfully keen on Anne-Marie Gibbons as Ino. Patricia Bardon sounded luscious as Juno, a rich contralto (or mezzo, I'm not quite sure). Ian Bostridge was a bit of a let down. He acted well, and clearly had a large fan club present. But at times, I thought his voice lacked colour, and was a bit generic.

But the total star was Carolyn Sampson. She was the reason I booked to see this, and she exceeded my expectations. To me, she has a a completely gorgeous voice. I have heard her sing Monteverdi, Beethoven, and Mozart in concert, and Handel on disc, but this was the first time I have seen her in an opera. As well as having a beautiful voice, she acts really well, and looks just great. The most memorable arias are Endless Pleasure, Endless Love at the end of Act 1 - very slinkily sexy without vamping it up; O Sleep Why Dost Thou Leave Me? in Act 2 and Myself I Shall Adore in Act 3. But lots of more good stuff. I'm so tempted to rush out and buy a CD, but I so hope that maybe Chandos could do a recording starring Carolyn. I think I'm a bit of a fan!

There was a pause - not an interval - between Acts 1 and 2, and a rathe rhigh numbe rof latecomers were admitted, resulting in much shuffling, and a general hum of conversation. The orchestra began and the woman next-but-one said, audibly, "There doesn't seem to be any spare seats" so, irritated, I did a loud sharp shush and the netire centre of the Upper Circle shushed instantly. Go me!

At the interval, I went down to the main doors, glass in hand, and I was told 'no glasses outside'. I grumbled 'It's a different rule every week, it makes life so exciting' and smiled at the door staff. One of them pointed out they had some plastic glasses, so I grinned happily and said "You are truly wonderful people!" When I had finished my cigarette she waved me in without checking my ticket!

Semele

Reviews in the Times and Guardian

gorgeous to look at and listen to, it is also rather shallow, a romp rather than a morality tale...Carolyn Sampson sings Semele with beguiling facility, style and beauty, adding her own roulades to Handel’s already extreme demands, pinpointing every note of the coloratura and doing it all with liquefying sexiness...This is a great performance... Ian Bostridge’s Jupiter gradually unbends to deliver the sweetest soft legato, Patricia Bardon’s Juno is hilariously fiery as the (literally) queenly betrayed wife, and Janis Kelly camps Iris up something terrible.

After a languid start, Laurence Cummings, conducting, brings real Handelian sensibility and drama to the orchestra, and the chorus has a fine time undressing, drinking and indulging in some of Handel’s loveliest music.

The revival is also hampered by the miscasting of Ian Bostridge as Jupiter - a cleanly sung performance, but too anodyne to be engaging. Bardon is fabulous, all fire-breathing coloratura and fury, while Carolyn Sampson's Semele is by turns languidly erotic and petulantly manipulative. Laurence Cummings's conducting and the orchestral playing are both immaculate.

I'm going tonight, mainly for Carolyn Sampson. I shall, of course, blog it.

Monteverdi Vespers

Prom Number 61 Monteverdi Vespers of 1610, aka Vespro della Beata Vergine.

I booked this because of one of the soloists, soprano Carolyn Sampson, who delighted me a few months back in Beethoven and Mozart at the Royal Festival Hall.

It suddenly occurred to me this afternoon that I don't know this piece. then, something on the CD rack caught my eye - I have a recording of it. Which I played, and realised I do like.

So, off to the Albert Hall, usual ritual, except that three minutes, two minutes, one minute before the concert was due to begin I couldn't find my ticket. Panic. I even explained to the steward. Then I found it, in among the pages of my programme. Phew!

It was only a small orchestra, and the choir was perhaps two dozen. Gorgeous looking instruments - all period. Gorgeous sounding too, especially the sackbuts and chitarrones

Having perhaps overdosed on Wagner in the past couple of weeks, and, especially over the weekend, it was a delightful contrast to enjoy an hour and three-quarters of Monteverdi. I don't know whether it's specific to the Albert Hall, or whether I happened to be sitting in an acoustic white spot, but it just sounded gorgeous. All that plainsong woven with polyphony is just magical. Airy, light and soaring.

I enjoyed all the voice soloists. I don't especially like counter-tenors and high tenors, for example, but I did enjoy the three we had this evening (And note to the woman sitting on my right - counter-tenors are not the same as castrati...!). I also very much liked the bass. However, I was pleased to hear that Carolyn Sampson, who had sounded good at the RFH sounded exquisite this evening. Then, I used the words sweetness and clarity, and I would repeat that now. I'm not a great soprano freak, either, especially not light sopranos, but I do love her voice, and am looking forward to seeing here in Semele at ENO in October.

I also enjoyed the fact that this was not a static performance. For much of the time, the choir was grouped behind the orchestra, but occasionally different soloists, including instrumentalists would go to the back of the stage, or even high up in the gods in the gallery. The instrumentalists, especially the chitarronists and recorder-players came and went. Some people might find it distracting, but I think the movement is interesting and the use of space adds something to the performance.

Overall, I wouldn't say that the performance was exceptional, but it measured up well alongside the version I know. It was a good rendition of an achingly beautiful piece of music. Overall contemplative, but with such variety.

But what is it that people have to say that can't wait until the end of the concert, or at the very least, until the end of that particular piece. Is it verbal diarrhoea, or is it an inability to listen and feel the music and be carried away to another place. And don't they know how penetrating a whisper can be...!

Unexpected wow moment

At the Festival Hall tonight, during the Lacrimosa in Mozart's Requiem, I realised with delight that my plastic water botttle was tuned to exactly the same note as the lower timp. I feared to sip a drop of water, and I am sure that the timpanist saw me looking at him in awe and amazement. Then I started panicking - was it merely the water in the bottle, or was it also where and how my hand held it, was the way I rested it on my thigh of any significance?

If I had tried to tune my water bottle to a timp, I would never had succeeded!

As for the rest of the concert, it was the Philharmonia and the Bach Choir under David Hill, with soloists Carolyn Sampson (soprano), Catherine Wyn-Rogers (mezzo), James Gilchrist (tenor) and Michael George (bass).

The programme was Brahms' Alto Rhapsody, Beethoven's Christus am Ölberge and Mozart's Requiem.

I had never heard the Brahms before. As I was listening to the first half, sung by the mezzo, I thought it a bit dull, but then the male choir voices came in and I heard a little bit of magic.

As intimated below I was excited and nervous about the Beethoven. The orchestra was very very beautiful. The final Chorus of Angels caused goosepimples of ecstasy, which don't happen with the CD. The bass was okay - although it is only a small part. I didn't like the tenor very much. He kind of spolt it for me by a very weak entry on the first, powerful phrase, "Jehova, du mein Vater!" And he was less than impressive in the Terzetto, which is my favourite bit of the oratorio. I did think that he would be better off singing nice little Leider about flowers, lambs and falling in love.

I found the soprano Carolyn Sampson very interesting. She only looked young - in her twenties maybe - and her biography seems to support this "She currently studies with..." Her voice was not big (she sometimes was barely audible over the orchestra in the Mozart), but it was beautiful, to the extent that I am now considering booking for Monteverdi's Vespers at the Proms and Semele at ENO in order to hear her. I was really wowed by the sweetness and clarity of her voice in the Beethoven.

I also found it fascinating watching the orchestra - despite the many times I have played my CD over the past few weeks, I had not realised the extent of the timpani part. Also, sometimes when I'm listening, I get confused between clarinets and bassoons, and between French horns and trombones, so it's good to see the live performance.

And even with the poor acoustics of the Royal Festival Hall, it is still a thrilling experience to hear the music live.

The Mozart was gorgeous. I especially liked the Bach Choir. I gazed on them with envy. I would so love to be able to sing in a choir (they are all amateurs, but very good). Also, the tenor and mezzo were more impressive - more confident? - and the bass was solid.

In a way it's such a familiar piece, and it's nice to know exactly what phrase is coming next. Having heard so many different interpretations over the years, it is also much easier to retain an open mind, which is healthy, I think.

And in the audience I spotted John Sergeant. I'm afraid I glanced just a little bit too long as he was walking in (I was already in my seat). He went bright red. He's not so ugly in the flesh.

Back to my Beethoven CD. God, I'm sad...

Or off to bed. I'm tired. I have to go to the doctors tomorrow, and in a stroke of genius planning, I have another concert to attend.