Gertsamtkunstwerk

The Enchanted Island

I saw this last weekend at Clapham Picturehouse. I booked it primarily because Plácido Domingo was it, although I knew it was only a small role. I was intrigued by the concept - mashing up music from various Baroque composers, changing the words and weaving them into a story that combined elements of The Tempest and Midsummer Night's Dream. I knew it could be a dramatic disaster, but the cast featured a good few Baroque-expert singers, and I had high hopes in the production team.

I know there were a few people who didn't like it. Indeed, there were people who didn't like it right from when it was announced. And people who didn't go and see it at the cinema or live but declared it to be a disaster. People who heard it on the radio, who don't like opera seria, and criticised it for being opera seria and declaring that maybe one would have to see it to appreciate it. Unlike those operas, presumably, that were written only to be played to an audio-only audience. 

I enjoyed it. The least enjoyable aspect for me was the story, which was silly. Shakespeare, huh, what was he thinking of, writing such a silly set of stories, huh! But, in fairness, the dramaturgy was played out as silly. Not by clowning around, or giving heavy hints to the audience 'yeah, we know this is daft but we're all sophisticated adults let's pretend we're all in the joke together'. But by something more subtle - playing it straight to get the laughs.

I was intrigued by the production, but feel that the cinema didn't do it justice. I hope that the production will turn up at English National Opera soon. I've no evidence it will, but the same team worked on Satyagraha production which started at ENO before going to New York, and the two companies often share productions. And ENO is a good baroque house: in my view they should focus mostly on Baroque and post WWII (though I don't know what that would mean financially). The production used a lot of projections, which may have been magical in the house, but obviously lost something on the flat cinema screen. More importantly, the team interpreted the story and the opera seria nature intelligently. There was a ballet, the details of which I now forget, but I enjoyed very much at the time

I was initially put off by the inauthentic sound of the orchestra, playing on modern-ish instruments, but I soon got used to it. Even though I continued to miss the authentic baroque sound, I thought the orchestra played well, considering. William Christie was the conductor and he tends to make jolly music sound jolly, and laments sound poignant.

I might as well say I just don't like David Daniels's voice. I doubt anything could change my feelings about it - all the same tone, colour and whinyness. But I know a lot of people rate him, and I couldn't really fault his delivery technically.

The other main stars were Joyce Di Donato, Danielle de Niese and Luca Pisaroni. Joyce was fabulous, such a rich voice in the lower range and a secure top. Danielle wasn't as annoying as I sometimes find her, and she performed well, sounding sweet and bright, and thankfully, she didn't break into an ill-advised dance routine. Jimmy especially liked her performance.

The revelation for me was Luca Pisaroni. I'm not sure I've heard him before, and, as Caliban, he worse so much make-up I don't think I'd recognise him now even at close quarters. Not an especially memorable voice - but that's not a bad thing - he of all the characters moved me with his portrayal of pathos. 

There was considerable strength in depth, with a wide cast of supporting singers playing minor incidental characters. Particularly notable were Elizabeth DeShong as Hermia and Anthony Roth Costanzo as Ferdinand. He had a lovely aria, whic he sung beautifully; just a shame it was interrupted for several long seconds by a loss of satellite signal.

And then there was Neptune, played by Plácido. He had a small part in the second act, but much of his role was in the climax of Act 1. The orchestra played the familiar opening to Zadok the Priest, just building up the excitement, and the chorus sang 'Neptune the Great'. It was all terribly tongue-in-cheek; he was a grumpy irritable king of the depth, and forgetful, due to his immense age, and Danielle de Niese was on her knees in tribute to him being the greatest. Tremendous fun!

In the interval interview he did comment that he wished his part had more to sing, and when they do it again, he'll want a bigger part. 

This performance was on his 71st birthday.

 

 

 

 

 

 Photos: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera - fairly used in review and critique of Met Opera performance

Messiah at the Barbican

I decided I would condescend to the inexorable call of Christmas by attending one of the great Passiontide musical works, entirely consistent with my total indifference to the veracity of the story it tells.

I booked my seat only 48 hours beforehand, but in between my booking and the performance, the main attraction, Carolyn Sampson, cancelled due to illness. If I had been in a different mood, I might have decided not to go after all, but I thought 'It's Messiah. What could possibly go wrong?'

These days, when you someone says or writes 'What could possibly go wrong?', it's usually a wise-after-the-event knowing warning of tales of doom and disaster. And, certainly, when I was unable to get into Victoria underground station and was wandering Victoria Street in the sleet, with less than an hour before the overture, I did wonder whether it was meant to be.

But I got there with sufficient time, and it turned out to be an enjoyable evening. Not a classic, not something I'll remember for ever. But a good, dependable Messiah from the ever-excellent Sixteen under Harry Christophers. I do like the Sixteen but I do wonder about their recruitment policy. All the women, choir and orchestra, are thin and almost all of them are young. There may be rational reasons - connected with touring perhaps - that explains their youth, but I do wonder if body-fascism is at play.

I am a sucker for the interpretation given by an early music ensemble such as The Sixteen. I love the delicate touches that are brought out, and I'm not really sure that I could bear the large scale symphony orchestra-style Messiah I grew up on.

Of course, if you attend a Messiah in December, even in London, you're not going to get a star-studded cast, and we didn't! A good solid reliable set of regular Messiah singers. Sophie Bevan was the stand-in soprano. I've heard her a few times now. She's good and possibly she could go a long way. I first heard her about five years ago when she was still at college, so I guess she's still in her twenties. It was a shame for me that Carolyn couldn't make it; in her absence Sophie was fine.

I was pleasantly surprised by James Gilchrist. I like him in several recordings I have, but he's never just done it for me live, so it was delightful to hear such a convincing and powerful performance. I also thought Christopher Purves gave a good performance.

I simply don't like Catherine Wyn Rogers . I don't want to spoil other people's pleasure and I certainly don't want to be to cruel to a singer who is clearly a committed and presumably hard-working performer. I simply don't like the way she emphasises her words; it makes me think she doesn't really know what they're about, and so I don't care. And she bored me during He was despiséd, which is not good. Thankfully, the orchestra was sublime!

 It was a pleasant Messiah and the highlight of the evening was seeing Ian McKellen in the audience. I know it's a bit silly getting so excited at a celeb-spot-from-a-distance. But when it's a legend! Well!

Radamisto at ENO

I went to see this last week but for some reason haven't got round to writing it up yet. It's not as though my life is filled with excitement and busy-ness!

I was amused to see a comment, I think it was on Facebook. Someone said they were going, and someone else commented "Enjoy, I saw this and really enjoyed it!"

I thought that that's a bit of a daft statement. There are lots of reasons not to like a Handel opera: some of them can be about oneself - if you're not well, or have a lot on your mind, it can be difficult to sit back and relax. A singer in a key role can really let you down. I don't just mean dull, I mean aurally painful.

But, unlike many other composers - Verdi, Wagner, Mozart, Donizetti - I am not aware of people who like *some* Handel operas and dislike others.

In fairness to the person who left the comment, she actually said she had seen it in Santa Fe, and this production was a co-production with the SFO, so it wasn't a random comment. With Handel operas, the production can make a big contribution to one's enjoyment of the work. I do like the directors that 'get' it, that understand that there is so much scope for invention in creating a staging of the operas. The stories are so lame and the characters so incomplete that a good director can work marvels.

I had absolutelky loved Christopher Alden's Partenope a couple of years back - this demonstrated how much the director can play fast and loose with the actual story and yet retain a coherence with the plot. And I'd liked David Alden's Lucia di Lammermoor (they're twin brothers), so I might as well say that I was dreadfully disappointed with the production.

It was really quite dull, nothing much happened at all. It was basically a wallcovering fetishist's paradise, but not a lot there for those of us who are indifferent to wall-coverings.

The first act was papered in William Morris's Thistle

In the second act, the wallpaper reminded me of News from Nowhere, but as I can find no images online, I'm none the wiser, The final act was papered in silver foil. I shrugged.

In lieu of scenery there was a curved wall across the stage. What can I say, it was a wall. It was boring. To make matters worse, the lighting was appalling. Perhaps it was an apposite comment on the Comprehensive Spending Review and Arts cuts (echoed by the reduction in the quality of loo paper and hand towels in the Ladies), but whatever the reason, it was very difficult to see what was happening on stage. I suspect that I didn't miss much action. Maybe it looked really good from the stalls, but most of the audience doesn't sit in the stalls. Oh dear. There were also some wooden and stuffed big-game animals, which was all a bit perplexing because it was, supposedly, set in Armenia, and it's news to me that elephants and tigers roam free in Armenia.

I haven't a clue what the opera was about, and frankly, I'm not really bothered. Anyone who goes to a Handel opera in the hopes of finding insightful social commentary anywhere outside the stage lighting scheme is on a fool's errand. Something happened, and then something else, which led to another thing, then someone was in disguise, and someone else arrived in a rolled up carpet. But there wasn't any dancing or fun like that. And it was probably the first time I have encountered cultural reference to Armenia since Swallows and Amazons.

So it's a good thing that there were some jolly fine singing. I simply cannot imagine going to a Handel opera and not enjoying the music. But it can be ruined by dodgy singing, and I've certainly experienced that on occasion.

Fortunately, ENO once again managed to assemble a fine ensemble of Handel singers. Ryan McKinny (bass-baritone) as Tiridate, Sophie Bevan (soprano) as Polissena, Ailish Tynan (soprano) as Tigrane and Henry Waddington (bass) were all good enough.

I may have noticed flaws here and there but not enough to detract from my enjoyment. I found Ryan's voice to be interesting - I would like to hear him in a more interesting role, because I suspect there is quite some beauty there which wasn't really given the opportunity to shine.

I've heard Sophie Bevan sound better and I'm sure I will again. At times, Ailish Tynan sounded a bit shrill. But let me emphasise, I'm just noting these things as an alternative to writing "It was all very nice" or "Quite splendid!", the sort of empty inane comment one overhears far too often.

The two leads really were quite splendid, though. I am not a counter-tenor fan, on the whole, but it seems that there is a second counter-tenor that doesn't lead me to stick my fingers in my ears or alternatively fall asleep in boredom. Lawrence Zazzo was lovely as Radamisto. I'd definitely love to hear him again. Nice voice, with all the sweetness one expects from a decent c-t, and lots of colour and heft, too. Seemed to move well around stage.

I particularly liked Christine Rice as Zenobia. Her voice seems to get richer and richer every time I hear it, and she always seems such a natural on stage.

I didn't actually know any of the numbers sung, although nothing in the music sounded unfamiliar.

The orchestra under Laurence Cummings gave a fine performance, as can be expected from the ENO playing Handel.

Altogether a pleasant evening, and certainly worth the £20 plus booking fee I paid for my ticket in the Upper Circle (reduced from £49)*. But, at the end of the day, I never come away from Handel feeling that I have learnt anything of the human condition, nor am I ever moved beyond words by the music. I love his works, but don't really know why. Bring on the next one - which is currently planned as Tamerlano in Barca, but maybe others will crop up before then!

*I took advantage of an offer in Metro. There were better offers available, and I am pretty sure that throughout this season there will be some very good ticket offers available at both opera houses.

I see it as a games of brinksmanship: how desperately do you want to see the opera and how long do you have the nerve to hang on in the hopes of getting a really good deal. If you really want to see something, and especially if you suspect that it will be popular, you have to book when it opens. Otherwise, I forecast great opportunities for lots of great opera on the cheap!

Tamerlano at the Royal Opera House

Saturday 20 March

I had booked to see five performances but in the event only went to the final one in the run*. I can't say I was massively looking forward to it. I had read so many reviews which slated most of the cast, and also some that didn't like the production. I have seen the production before, in Madrid, and also on DVD. From that, I think it's lovely, but the criticisms include that it's too intimate for the Royal Opera House.

There again, some suggested that Handel is too intimate for a big house like ROH and then went onto make comparisons to ENO's Handelian successes, oblivious to the fact that the Coliseum is bigger than Covent Garden. Perhaps they were angry that their free tickets weren't in the best seats. Those of us who buy our own understand the trade-off between cost and position.

In a nutshell, I really enjoyed it. This was largely due to the superb writing of Handel and the amazing playing of the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, conducted by Ivor Bolton - who also played the recitative from harpsichord. As a by the way, being so close to the pit I was able to observe much to my surprise that OAE is a predominantly female orchestra and most of the women are over 40, if not more**. I even spotted Chi-chi Nwanoku (her off the TV) - indeed her music stand was directly in my sight-line. Even closer were the theorbos - although I got confused that their parts were labelled Chitarrone but the internet tells me that theorbo and chitarrone is the same instrument; 'chitarrone' made me realise how similar it is to a modern classical guitar.

The negative reviews caused me rather to dread it. Christianne Stotjin (who had been particularly criticised) was announced as indisposed and her replacement as Tamerlano was Tara Venditti.

I had not previously heard of her but I now read she is set to play Carmen at Holland Park in the summer. Run don't walk for tickets: she won't be playing houses like Holland Park for much longer. She was really amazing as Tamerlano.

I assume she was the official cover, because she obviously knew all the moves. If you didn't know you would never have guessed she was the inexperienced last minute replacement. Lovely strong voice, with excellent projection,  confident stage manner, good stage presence, excellent chemistry with other singers. No noticeable flaws. Definitely one to watch.

Before it began, my friend said how much she liked Sara Mingardo as Adronico. I demurred, based upon seeing her in this role in Madrid. But by the end I was convinced. I think she has a couple of annoying mannerisms - facial contortions and a tendency to lean forward from the waist; also in the Madrid run she and Monica Bacelli were too similar in too many ways, and that annoyed me too.

Really I ought to judge a singer primarily on their voice and vocal interpretation. Hers is a rich resonant contralto voice; her opening notes stunned me with their velvet. She brought so much variation in colour and dynamics to the part. Annoying mannerisms aside there was nothing I didn't like about her performance.

The tenor, Kurt Streit as Bajazet was disappointing. Many reviews had singled him out for praise, perhaps Saturday was an off night. Or perhaps they employed the traditional 'be kind to the stand-in guy'. But this was, I think, his 7th performance. I was determined to put out of my mind that which could have been and judge him on his own merit (I love tenors in general!).

There was nothing problematic in his delivery: he was vocally secure and had a noticeably smooth legato line. But he was so  boring. No variation in vocal colour, unless you include long phrases of angry shouting (albeit lyrical angry shouting), and no real sense he cared about the words. I also don't especially like the basic tone of his voice. It doesn't repel me but never did he hit my 'T' spot.

I actually almost fell asleep during the beautiful second act aria, A suoi piedi padre esangue, and towards the end I realised it was during his arias I had taken most opportunity to observe the orchestra. I found it increasingly annoying that he frequently came to the edge of the stage to park and bark his lines with scant regard for the fluidity of the production.

I remarked to my friend afterwards: he's been around a long time but has never really quite made it as a star. I read he is one of the top Mozart interpreters, but this was Handel, not Mozart. 

I wasn't sure what to make of Christine Schäfer as Asteria. Far from my vocal ideal , I nevertheless found her entirely captivating. She's older than me but she projects a delightful little girl persona and oozes understated charisma. I couldn't keep my eyes off her. Often, with sopranos I tend to think - if they don't squawk too much they're fine, and she didn't squawk. But I have heard better in this role.

Honourable mentions to Renata Pokupic and Vito Priante in the smaller roles of Irene and Leone.

Many of the reviews commented on the length of the work - I was glad it was played with very few cuts (having a good view of Ivor Bolton's score, I could see where the cuts were: too few to consider significant).

However, I think the Royal Opera House made a big mistake with curtain times. I was reading of midweek performances finishing closer to 11 than the 10.30ish people expect; same with this Saturday performance - I have observed that Saturdays tend to aim for a 10ish finish. A friend of a friend was obliged to miss the final act in its entirety to catch her train and it was pretty obvious that the auditorium was a lot emptier for Act III.

I realise that they have to be careful with too early starts on weekdays because of people coming from work, but, especially in the absence of a matinee, they really ought to ensure that the Saturday performance finishes at a time that allows people to catch their train.

Overall, one can dissect the vocal performances or even debate the stage of any particular aria or duet, but ultimately, in the absence of any truly memorable singing performances, the judgement has to rest on how well did the performance overall go. It's such a beautiful score: as with all Handel works (that I know) the tunes are instantly accessible, but familiarity is its own reward. Every number is beautiful and could on its own merits in a concert or recital.

The OAE played largely with a  delicacy and lightness that served the score well. My major disappointment was the gorgeous Act III duet between Asteria and Adronico, Vivo in te, perhaps the musical highlight of the entire work, with its gorgeous quartet of flutes and recorders, which this evening seemed surprisingly heavy.

And I really liked Graham Vick's production. I would imagine that, in the hands of say David McVicar it would have been radically different (I'm thinking of his 'Bollywood'-style Giulio Cesare or his hilarious Agrippina), but I'm judging this on its merits.

I liked that it was so light and airy with bold yet spare use of colour. A lot of black and white; Tamerlano's Act I and II costumes and the famous blue elephant were brilliant contrasts. I liked the minimal use of scenery - other than the giant ball that becomes a love seat, and the weird but useful amazing expanding bench-throne. I'm still not sure about the harem trousers that managed to make the travesti women seem incredibly short and Kurt Streit seem incredibly tall.

In summary it was a vastly enjoyable evening, even though of course I couldn't get over the  absence of my beloved Plácido, and even though the cast was weak in general and in certain particulars.

I am surprised at how much I have written, even though a month ago I was planning entire blogposts devoted to each of the production, the dramaturgy, even the history of the work. In my dreams I was also hoping for the opportunity to write at least one blogpost about 'the show after the show' - I had planned a veritable Tamerlano Blogfest, pulling in links from all over t'internet. But it wasn't to be. I am sorely tempted to go to Barcelona for concert performances of this next summer, though - could be combined with beach holiday on the Costa Brava!

* Five plus open rehearsal is a lot to book for a run of anything, but I was determined to make the most of the opportunity to see Plácido. Unfortunately he had to withdraw from the performances for perfectly understandable reasons. I suppose I should have gone to more than one, but as most of them coincided with rare time to spend with Jimmy, I decided instead to do that

** Obviously, I'm not the biggest observer of orchestras, but that does seem fairly unusual. I suppose the touring life of an orchestra becomes incompatible with the prime childcare responsibility  most mothers have to take on. But the gender-age balance of most orchestras doesn't seem to reflect adequately the large number of women who don't ever have children.

Tamerlano Insight Evening

I attended this the other night at the Royal Opera House. Bit of a weird night, if the truth be told. For a start, it was the only event open to the public. The Sitzprobe was happening in the Main Auditorium. And of course, there was an elephant in the room. Well, more precisely, on the main stage, so we didn't get to see it!

The evening was moderated by Sandy Burnett, from the radio, who explained that it had been a slightly strange 24 hours, and in case anybody didn't know, Plácido had cancelled the role of Bajazet. (I suspect that just about everybody did know).

The opening session was delivered by Sarah Lenton, an enthusiastic and captivating speaker. She spoke about the historic background to the work, replete with slides of paintings from the time and pictures from the current production, from its outing in Madrid as captured on DVD. She spoke about the Tamburlaine, or Timur, an actual historic character, and the role of 'the East' including Turkey and Persia in drama and opera of the time.

I wish I had taken notes now because it was a very interesting lecture, and I can't possibly remember enough of it. She highlighted how this work marked a development in opera seria and she focused particularly on how the plot develops in a series of twos; how, unusually for its time, each solo piece is actually sung to someone rather than merely being a soliloquy to illustrate their thinking. It was also unusual in that it almost contains an on-stage death - in actual fact Bajazet disappears into a black hole, so that's a bit ambiguous.

Graham Vick, the Director, was next to speak. I have to confess that I didn't find him particularly interesting. He was followed by Ron Howell, the choreographer, who described quite vividly the thinking behind his contribution. He did not have a set idea of how any character should move, and developed the movements with the singers as they arrived for rehearsals - later in the Round Table, Christine Schäfer who plays Asteria, explained how she had been to rehearsals in big shoes and was finding it difficult to remember to be dainty - as the choreographer put it, to move fast but with small steps.

Ron's talk was interrupted by the arrival of some of the singers - Kurt Streit, Christianne Stotijn and Christine Schäfer - from a break in the Stitzprobe. I was rather amused by Kurt; he did seem very defensive, I don't know if maybe he thought he would get a hostile reception. He explained that he had been contracted as cover and scheduled to sing a couple of performances, and he seemed almost too adamant in his insistence that he hadn't poisoned Plácido and sent him only good wishes. I do hope people realise, that's showbiz, the show must go on, and so on!

The singers couldn't stay for long, because of the rehearsal going on beneath us, and, to be honest, they didn't have much of great significance to say, but they were warm and nice and so on, which is a good thing.

We finished with a demonstration by Rita de Letterlis, the Language Coach, David Syrus the cover conductor, and Gillian Webster, cover for Irene, of how a short phrase of recitative is built up. It's partly about getting the right phonetic sound of the language but far more importantly about the right cadences and emphasis, and then the continuo, from a very basic score, working out how to imbue that with meaning, bearing in mind that it is during the four minutes of recitative rather than the 7 minutes of aria that the drama moves on.

All in all an interesting and reasonably informative evening. This is only the third I have been to, because I so often forget about booking these 'fringe' events in my panic to book actual rehearsal tickets. I did attend one that was held in the Linbury, which meant that far more people could attend when held in the Clore Upstairs. I think maybe I was also a bit reluctant to attend knowing that I don't especially like formal lectures peripheral to main events, but I wouldn't consider them to be overly intellectual, and the tone always seem to be generally light-hearted.

Messiah at the Barbican

I only bought my ticket for this after having been sorely disappointed by ENO's banal and pointless staged version the previous week. I am not sure why I did not book it previously, considering the mouth-watering line-up.

It was close to as perfect a Messiah experience as can be, although I stand by my contemporaneous tweet that it was very pleasant and technically excellent, but never passionate.

Our performers were The English Concert, with Harry Bicket leading from the harpsichord, and the small but perfectly formed Choir of the English Concert, with Lucy Crowe, Patricia Bardon, Allan Clayton and James Rutherford as the four soloists, in what I consider to be the 'traditional' array of soloists, no pesky countertenors or schoolboys* to disrupt the balance.

The gentlemen wore traditional penguin suits, the ensemble ladies plain black dresses or separates. The female soloists wore lavish concert dress. I wasn't sure about Patricia Bardon's, with its weird pink lined cape effect. Lucy Crowe's red dress with asymmetric embroidery looked gorgeous and really suited her. I wish now I had taken a photo, because I just cannot  describe dresses! And it seems that Intermezzo wasn't there, or if so, has not yet posted!

Overall I can't fault the performance by choir or orchestra. Not that they were perfect, but in a piece so familiar it is inevitable that will spot flubs, interpretations different from the familiar and a failure to achieve that goosebump moment like that favourite recording. And, of course, with period instruments, one can always expect surprises! I particularly liked the sound of the high strings in several passages of extreme staccato. And the altos in the choir sounded delicious.

I am extremely rubbish at noticing cuts in performance. However well I know the music of a work - and there are few works I know better than Messiah - I can rarely spot cuts. I did spot that  He Was Despiséd, was performed without giving his back to his smiters but it was, nevertheless the outstanding number of the evening. I daresay there were other cuts, too, but I am the least reliable source on such matters. 

It wouldn't be accurate to describe the cast as 'stellar' but impressive would be no exaggeration. Patricia Bardon, mezzo,  was outstanding. She has such a rich creamy voice, especially in the lower part of her range, and she is obviously intimate with this work. Lucy Crowe, soprano, gave yet another impressive performance; I have yet to hear her and be disappointed.

I was very interested in young tenor Allan Clayton, having heard him last week as Cassio. I don't think his performance this week was as strong as last week, but, nevertheless, he was very pleasing to the ear. I do have a concern that he could go down the wrong road and end up one of those bland 'English tenors' types, but this is by no means inevitable.

I did feel with both Allan and Lucy that they were lacking something when it came to stagecraft. It's difficult to say what, because obviously there is little scope to characterise the parts, and any over-acting would be highly inappropriate. It was just a bit noticeable alongside Patricia Bardon's instinctive communication with the audience.

I was disappointed with James Rutherford, and disappointed he wasn't the originally billed Matthew Rose. It seems unfair to criticise because he was technically proficient, he was always on pitch, and there were no concerns about breath control, wobble or whatever. His diction and enunciation are of the highest order. It is absolutely immaterial that he is in danger of morphing into Robbie Coltrane, and he really should get rid of the dodgy 80s style fringe. His higher notes are really quite pleasant, and it really isn't his fault that I'm rubbish at hearing basses properly.

All that having been said, I was just left with a feeling that he wasn't really into the part. It's also not fair to compare to the very best examples I have on CD, but his performance lacked a certain je ne sais quoi. It is not unusual to find singers with an excellent basic instrument, good technique, and sound musicianship,  and lacking in the indefinable element, part charisma and part communication that would make them special. Perhaps he would communicate better if he got his fringe cut off - it does seem to exist almost separately from the rest of him.

All of the different elements worked well, and worked well together, and it was never less than competent. But it lacked the electricity, the spark, the chemistry, the passion that makes for a really great Messiah performance. But after the ENO fiasco, I was very pleased that I went!

* why never choir girls?

Messiah at ENO

I have walked out of performances several times,  generally deciding to cut my losses and put it down to experience. This is the first time I feel I deserve at least a partial refund.

I showed faith in ENO by booking my tickets in advance. Sure, I got a discount for bulk buying but a mediocre seat still cost me over £40 and they are now trying to offload decent seats for a tenner. At £40+ I am entitled to a professional performance. Which is what I got from conductor Lawrence Cummings and his band, and from talented young soprano Sophie Bevan.

Brindley Sharratt demonstrated his strengths as a comprimario. Sadly, he was in a major role and he just was not up to it. There was nothing really bad about him but there was no substance either - and a decided lack of trill. Particularly bad was his failed attempt to sing sh-a-a-a-a-a-ke (all nations). His The people that walked in darkness was as limp as a wet fish. I most certainly didn't wish to hear his Why Do the Nations?, the non plus ultra of bass arias,  which I often sing in the shower!

You only need a mediocre tenor for Messiah and that is exactly what we got in John Mark Ainsley. One of the most over-rated singers I have encountered, proof that being an 'ENO star' means very little on a global scale. He strained, his voice had no core or ping, and his lack of legato was woeful.

You do need a very good mezzo, or even better, a contralto for Messiah. Instead, we got Catherine Wyn-Rogers. Search the internet and it seems she is both: mezzo and contralto. She is the provincial librarian of mezzos, the playgroup co-ordinator of contraltos.

On the positive side, most of her notes were on pitch, and several of them sounded vaguely mellifluous. What overwhelmed was her singing by rote, her lack of understanding what she was singing, the phrasing that consisted of stressing every syllable that coincided with a downbeat.

She looked lost wandering around the vast stage, and when she tried to imbue the words with meaning, it was giving a shrug, a skip and a forced smile to reflect O thou that tellest glad tidings of Zion. (yeah, it really was that contrived)

My decision to leave at the end of Act 1 was in no small measure the realisation that if I stayed, I would have to endure her singing He was despiséd, which I was sure would be on the Treleaven-as-Siegfried scale of awfulness.

All of this would have been bearable in a concert venue and with a ticket costing considerably less than £42.50, but we also had to endure the "Community Chorus".

It was as if Gareth Malone had rounded up a random section of yokels, coached them for a few weeks and presented them on the stage of a leading opera company as if they were professional. And, that, in effect, is what it was, but minus Gareth Malone.

Oh, full marks all round for trying, blah de blah, I certainly wouldn't have got past the first audition yadda yadda, but pur-lease, they made Bryn's feeble backing choir from the other week seem like the Huddersfield Choral Society by comparison. I certainly wasn't going to hang around to hear them massacre Hallelujah, screechy sopranos,  lugubrious basses and delayed cues.

They were insipid and disappointing; for example, the bit in They shall purify  - 'that they may offer unto the Lord' should be soaring swelling wall of sound sending shivers down my spine. It simply didn't happen.

Even so, this would have been tolerable if it had been a performance by the (fictional) Clapham Park and Upper Tulse Hill Choral Society, at the Community Flat, with a raffle at the end. But it wasn't, it was English National Opera, at the Coliseum, with an Upper Circle ticket that cost forty and half pounds in sterling of my money.

And we had to endure 'the production'. I suppose I could have enjoyed the production if I had met up some hours beforehand with some female friends and an unspecified number of bottles of wine, and gone along in the 'so bad it's good' spirit of adventure. But solo and sober, it was utterly cringe-making. I mean, so bad it's just bad.

I overheard a conversation beforehand between two people. The first pointed out that there is no story, the second corrected her in that the 'story' is Christian doctrine, and then went on to accept the point in its broad accuracy.

I think we all agree that most of Handel's oratorios should be staged - Jephtha, Salome, Samson and so on were only presented as oratorios in order to circumvent the church-influenced ban on stage performances during Lent.

Messiah is singular, and not really because of its unique place in the affections of the nation, but because it has no story. No characters - the only character that matters is the title role, who does not appear once in the work, which is based upon Old Testaments prophets and Psalms, and the New Testament Epistles and Revelation, not the Gospels, a not insignificant point theologically or doctrinally.

So, instead we were given a succession of moving tableaux. The act opened with several rooms alongside each other, including the waiting area for a housing or benefit office, a hotel bedroom, a Japanese-style chain restaurant, an office where two people worked away on PCs, and a utility room where someone ironed.

I started off by thinking it was mainly banal and pointless, but by the close of the act I considered it a mostly irritating celebration of ADHD. There was a very annoying child who spent large portions of the act running around stage, jumping onto furniture, playing with the abandoned PCs, leaping into the bed, just after the mother had given birth.

In essence, he was one of those dreadful children you shudder at when they hove into view in public spaces, you curse their parents for their lack of supervision and discipline, and you know the child seeks only attention and calm, but in vain.

Oh, the mother giving birth. She didn't, like, give birth or anything on stage, but there was this 'baby' that appeared in a hospital style glass cot next to her bed in the hotel room, then, with the baby still in the cot, she got up and did a dance, like a proper ballerina, like most women do, pirouettes and the like, even before being given the once-over by the Community Midwife.

That wasn't the worst of the dancing, even though it cruelly distracted from Sophie Bevan's exquisite Rejoice Greatly. There was actually worse in the He Shall Feed His Flock, this couple doing pointless modern ballet shapes on the railway station waiting room chairs at the back of stage.

And at some point - the bit that starts with the off-key boy soprano (where's a counter-tenor when you really need him!) screeching There Were Shepherds Abiding in the Field where they did a pretend Primary School Nativity Play. I thought we were supposed to laugh at that point but no one else did, so I just buried my face in my hands out of sheer embarrassment.

It wasn't even like a proper Nursery School Nativity Play where one shepherd decides he is in fact a pirate and adjusts his head-dress accordingly, or where the shepherds and angels end up in a gang fight.

Just to make things even worse, some bat in a fur coat in front of me decided to conduct along to 'For Unto Us a Child is Born'. I only wish she had been in time with the music being played.

And and then there was the mime. There is never any justification for mimes anywhere, and especially not on the stage of a leading opera house. Even if one has to tolerate mimes, one should never had to endure a mime that minces along pushing their hands against an imaginary wall/window. No, please, make it stop, make it go away!

And to crown it all, there were no surtitles. I demand surtitles. What an arrogance to assume that everyone knows the words of Messiah. Actually, we don't. I do sort of, but it is my leading contender for misheard lyrics, and it wasn't as if the Community Chorus, in particular, were enunciating clearly. In any case, if the objective was to attract in the newbies, then, surely, surtitles is the least they could have offered.

I've spent a lot longer writing this blog post than I did attending the performance, and I've enjoyed the writing more. If you've got tickets, you might as well go and see how long you can endure it, but, much as I want to support ENO, I can't in all conscience advise you to buy some: even at £10 it's a bit steep.

This from the home of modern Handel operas was most disappointing.

Mark Padmore and the English Concert do Purcell and Handel

Thursday night found me at the Wigmore Hall for an evening of Baroque indulgence. Mark Padmore is a tenor I rate very highly but often forget to include in my pantheon of tenors, because I hear him more on the concert stage than in the Opera House.

I have decided mixed feelings about Purcell. I kind of like his music but I can never quite define why I don't feel passionate about it. I was pondering this during the first half of the concert, dedicated entirely to Purcell, when I asked myself - what's not to like? Pleasant tunes and equally pleasant instrumentation, with the song words of elegance and beauty.

And I got my answer in the start of the second half. A passage from George Frideric Handel's Joseph and his Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat* Brethren - well, you only need to read the title: Where are these brethren - remorse, confusion, horror, fear, full of drama and despair.

Handel was writing as much as half a century after the death of Purcell and his most-performed works, and certainly the excerpts this evening, were the creations of his maturity, a luxury never afforded to Purcell, who died at 35. Indeed, the programme notes begin with this passage:

An anecdote tells that during a performance of Handel's last original oratorio Jephtha (1752), William Savage turned to the old (and now partly blind) composer, and remarked that a passage had reminded him of old Mr. Purcell. Apparently, Handel retorted that "If Purcell had lived he would have composed better music than this"

perhaps pre-empting the speculations as to what Mozart would have composed if he had lived long enough (to at least 58) to have heard Beethoven's 9th.

I suppose listening to an aria such as Let Me Wander Not Unseen from L'Allegro, il Penseroso ed il Moderato one can get an insight into why some people find the da capo aria tedious; a great 'A' and a good 'B' is then followed by an ornamentation of 'A', which works better in some circumstances than others. I thought this was probably the weakest of the Handel pieces, whereas I felt Descend, Kind Pity from Theodora worked so much better.

The final aria Waft Her Angels from Jephtha transformed the evening from pleasantly enjoyable to something magic. I have a CD of Mark Padmore singing this, and it is one of several tracks I put on repeat.

I know I have said that the beauty of Handel is that by sticking to a tried and trusted formula, one can enjoy his works without anxiety about the music being unfamiliar (with the best will in the world, one would need a great deal of spare time and a lack of interest in other composers in order to become entirely familiar as a listener to all his operas and oratorios).

However, as I know really, being familiar with the music and the text enhances one's understanding and thus appreciation of the piece.

I think also it helps that Mark knows this role inside out having performed it in concert and in staged performances. As the concert was drawing to a close, he seemed to relax and get right inside the character/aria, in a way that was truly moving.

Unfortunately, that was also the moment where I found myself having to stifle a cough. The more I tried to stifle it, the more it began to choke me up, and I was beginning to feel that I might actually deprive my brain of oxygen**.

My feeling about him relaxing and enjoying himself were confirmed by his sole encore, Tune Your Harps from Esther.

I thought the lowlight of the evening was the arrangement of Purcell tunes into a 'Purcell Symphony' which interrupted the Handel part of the evening.

I thought the arrangement, by the English Concert's principal trumpeter Mark Bennett was clever and worked on its own terms - a medley of tunes from King Arthur and Fairy Queen.

But it only served to show the relative paucity of Purcell's orchestration. One of the tunes - I got confused as to which - struck me as extremely familiar from some or other collection of incidental music, but as with the Rondeau from Abdelazar (that tune, as used by Benjamin Britten), familiarity doesn't disguise the plodding essence of the tune.

I know I should write in detail about the English Concert, and certainly they were worthy of praise - the stand out was the gorgeousness of the oboes in Tune Your Harp. But ultimately, I chose the concert for the singer, and Mark Padmore did not disappoint.

I love his voice, not least his impressive range. Soaring high with confidence and lyricism robustly and tackling the dramatic end of the range. I suppose if I have reservations it is that he can be a bit uneven - for all the evenings I have spent with him that have delighted me, there have been several where I have thought him a little ordinary.

He is quietly confident on stage, and introduced several of the numbers in a way that seemed both natural and polished. A consummate professional he nevertheless lacks a certain je ne sais quoi, a showmanship that reaches out beyond the proverbial spotlights.

However, his voice is sweet and true, his technique excellent, and his instincts for Handel so perfectly honed it would be churlish to proclaim the evening other than a great success.

Incidentally, for those of you who have seen him this year with shaven head, you will be relieved to know his hair has grown back. I assume it was shaven for the role of Samson

I don't often go to Wigmore Hall. Partly because I kind of forget it exists and then find I am too late to book tickets. Also, it seems that singers that interest me present programmes that don't (for example Iestyn Davies a week or two ago) or an interesting programme on an inconvenient night (Carolyn Sampson earlier this week).

I think I find it a little bit intimidating. I have a sense rightly or wrongly that a large number of people are Wigmore Hall 'regulars'. Indeed, on a previous outing I overheard someone saying that, as a sub-editor she works nights, and designs her shifts round the Wigmore Hall programme.

I can't really understand that, for me it is just one of several - many - venues in London, and I pick and choose what performances I attend. I don't feel a particular loyalty to any venue.

But of course, this leaves me perceiving, probably incorrectly, a sense of cliquishness which unsettles me.

So, it was a delightful surprise on Thursday to find some people I already know from around town, but who introduced me to several more, which rather belies my fear of cliquishness. So that was a bonus for the evening!

My "Handel Year" ends on Tuesday with ENO's staged Messiah (he's a very naughty boy), which I suspect will be 'interesting'. I seem to have cancelled more Handel performances than I have attended, which is a matter of regret, but sometimes stuff happens.

I suppose the year will be capped by the Royal Opera House's belated token offering in March of next year, which I might go and see if I've nothing better to do at the time - but who goes to ROH for Handel, really! (insert smiley of your choice here!).

* don't try and persuade me I was the only person who had this thought!

** I knew instinctively that it was neither a psychological nor phlegmy cough, that I was actually choking on something. Various finger nails had been splitting throughout the day and my fingers invariably end up in my mouth**. When the aria finished and the audience indulged in sustained and enthusiastic applause I coughed and coughed, eventually producing a strand of my own hair that had become lodged in my throat - it's not even currently long enough to suck, as I tend to do if I can

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.

Return o God of hosts

This is currently competing as an earworm alongside Kate Bush's Wuthering Heights*

The exquisitely lovely Iestyn Davies singing in what will undoubtedly be the highlught of my Proms season and one of my highlights of 2009 (although I do have one Prom left to attend...)

I just think that Iestyn Davies has an extraordinary voice, superb musicality, and that certain je ne sais quoi (the X factor) that strongly indicates that he is very much a star in the ascendancy - he's 30 in a couple of weeks.

* Last night, ITV1 showed the first part of a two-part dramatisation of Wuthering Heights. I find that whenever WH is mentioned, I immediately think of Kate Bush's song, which I consider to be a very great song, that captures the essence of the novel

Samson at the Proms

When I saw this at the Barbican in February, the Israeli bombardment of  the Gaza Ghetto was fresh in our memories, or maybe even current, although it's now slipped away and doesn't figure in mainstream news or bloggage. But I suspect that for as long as I live this work of Handel will remind me. And it was only when I listened to Today that I remembered that I shall be attending Daniel Barenboim's East West Divan's Fidelio tomorrow night.

Before I get down to details, I need to get my fan-grrrrl raving out of the way. Iestyn Davies! Oh dear, I already liked him so much I have a special category for him on this blog; after his amazing performance of Micah, my adoration has increased even more. It's almost like I'm wanting all men to sing like girls. 

I came away from Samson with a very strong sense of it being a very strong work. The programme notes made reference to its length and acknowledged that cuts were being made. It was slightly confusing at one point that the printed libretto included lines of recitative that were cut in performance. As far as I could tell, and given my lack of a score, many of the arias were fully performed, with da capos, often with delightful embellishments.

The performance was an interesting mix of traditional and modern, but I am not sure which aspects fit into which category. The orchestra was strictly period, with all that that entails - Harry Bickett conducting from the harpsichord, and another keyboard player, on second harpsichord (although switching to Handelian organ for the Death March). Other period instruments included a theorbo, on which I am really quite fixated, and valveless brass. I like the tone of valveless brass but recognise there was a reason why valves were invented; on this occasion it was the trumpets who were pretending to be French Horns.

The chorus was larger than I would expect normally for a period Baroque performance; I expect that was influenced by the size of the Albert Hall. I was surprised by the very static nature of the performance. I accept it was written as an oratorio, in deference to the laws forbidding opera performances during Lent. And I certainly didn't expect lots of mad stage work. I was just surprised at the lack of interaction between the singers. As I have previously found several of them to be at least adequate (if not much much better) actors, I assume this was deliberate.

There was plenty of life and spirit in the performance. In the interval I composed a text to Twitter, but amusingly it didn't go through (perhaps I forgot to press send!). I described the performance as 'pleasant and sedate' which I realise in retrospect to be a big mistake. It was necessary to be restrained at first in order to build up to the climax. The climax was dignified, not thunderous or dramatic, and was all the better for being so. Mark Padmore encapsulated this dignity in his final aria, Thus when the sun from's wat'ry bed, before slipping away off stage.

There were numerous musical highlights. I could be flippant and say 'all the arias and all the choruses' which would indicate that the recitatives are boring. In away they are, especially in a static performance such as this, and I find the English to be really quite impenetrable, but it wouldn't make any sense without it. I did enjoy the choruses, which were beautifully delivered, but I don't think there are any that really stand out.

I think that the singers generally acquitted themselves well. Ben Johnson, last year's Kathleen Ferrier award winner (so, young and inexperienced) didn't do much for me, but I am sure he will grow and one day will return to a major role at the Albert Hall. Christopher Purves was fine in the relatively small role of Harapha (I was amused to read that he is a former member of Harvey and the Wallbangers).

I hadn't realised that Dalila was such a small role, only appearing in Act II,  because when I saw it previously it had been with the other soprano roles. But for a short role it gets one hell of an aria, With plaintive notes and am'rous moan and Susan Gritton was fabulous, splendid trilling and a real feeling for the emotion.

Neal Davies was effective as Manoa, Samson's father, without really grabbing me, until when he was lamenting his son's death, and suddenly, I just welled up with tears.

I thought Lucy Crowe sounded lovely, but I guess with a basket of roles called Israelite Woman, Philistine Woman, and Virgin, she doesn't get much opportunity to project any character. But she does get the most famous aria that just about wraps the evening up, Let the Bright Seraphim, and I was happy with her performance.

Samson was sung by Mark Padmore, who sang it at the Barbican, and, I think, sang it a lot better. He gets a lot of good  arias; as I said above, I loved the reserved poignancy of his final aria. Total Eclipse is the show-stopper, and I thought it was a heart-rending evocation of blindness. I also enjoyed Your charms to ruin led the way.

There was plenty worthwhile from the orchestra, not just the Dead March and the wonderfully named A Symphony of horror and confusion, but snatches, phrases and passages elsewhere. There was an aria (I think it was With plaintive notes) where the Leader Nadja Zwiener accompanied the singer; that was gorgeous. 

But for me, the highlight was undoubtedly Iestyn Davies, and the highlight of his performance was Return, O God of hosts! But throughout he was just wonderful. Such a beauty of tone, amazing breath control, such expression, dramatic insight. And loud. I'm not someone who judges a singer solely on their volume, and I would far rather listen to a good quiet singer than a loud one with an absence of musicality. But Iestyn has it all, so the loudness is just icing on the cake. And I think it is worth noting in a counter-tenor because there are often complaints that they get drowned out by the orchestra especially in large halls. It probably isn't actually loudness as such, but an ability to place the voice which is difficult to describe but you know it when you hear it.

Dido and Aeneas and Acis and Galatea double bill

What a fabulous night. I was on such a high even before I checked out the Porto 0 Manchester 1 result (that was me going "Yes, yes, yes....!" orgasmically in the Ladies at Covent Garden!).

I have decided that I don't especially like Dido & Aeneas (Purcell) as a piece of work, but it had sufficient highlights to make it enjoyable. The highlights were obviously that whole closing sequence with Dido's lament and that gorgeous chorus. Special highlights were Ji-Min Park singing his aria as the Sailor and Iestyn Davies singing from the Dome as The Spirit. I have to confess to having a massive crush on Iestyn Davies. It seems a little bit shameful to have a crush on a counter-tenor, but he has such an unbelievably gorgeous voice, and unlike most counter-tenors he has so much vocal  drama and colour. Although not evident tonight, because he was singing in the roof he cuts a fine figure on stage, too. If he was as ugly as fuck, I would still adore him. But he isn't.

I have to acknowledge Sarah Connolly was good. Whenever I see her she is good. But I have to confess that I don't get the cult of Connolly. I know so many people go crazy about her. I don't, even though I know she's good.

I didn't like the ballet in Dido and Aeneas.

After the interval was Acis and Galatea (Handel). Now, this is weird. It seems to me that I know this opera, but I don't know that I know it. I don't believe I have ever seen it live. I don't thnk you would forget having seen something live at the point where you are seeing it again. I don't have it on CD. I don't think I have it on DVD. It is bizarrely lodged in my semi-conscious. I can only assume that I must have heard it as a child, at that age where one only has to hear a tune once to be able to recall it when heard many years later. Only, how can I possibly have heard it as child? Obscure Handel operas weren't done when I was a child.

Everyone in the blogosphere and the MSM seemed to hate A&G, or at best, find it disappointing. Particularly open to criticism was the ballet and the staging. I must admit, when the curtain opened I was disappointed by the painted backdrop. Oh god, how ballet, I thought. And I wasn't much impressed when that went up to reveal another painted backdrop. But Act II, which is much longer than Act I had some real scenery.

The highlight of this was Matthew Rose as the Giant, Polyphemus. Never in the history of opera has a singer been so suited to the role. He has a wonderful voice, is so obviously musical, and has come on leaps and bounds as a stage animal. I think he is an exemplary Handel singer.

Ji-Min Park was fine in a small part. Danielle de Neise was okay, but nothing special. No reason I could put my finger on, she was just disappointing. Paul Agnew wasn't very good at all, but seemed good in comparison to the other tenor.

Charles Workman, let's be honest, had no business whatsoever being on that stage. I don't know whether he was actually out of tune or whether his voice is just so unbelievably horrible that the grating tone just sounds like he is. Didn't seem to have a clue about how to sing Handel. It wasn't just the tone, it was the lack of legato, the broken runs, the poor breath support, the cracks (not mega cracks but lots of nano-cracks). He moved well on stage and from a distant looked fairly easy on the eye, although the photos show that he's nothing special. I don't understand why the Royal Opera House has to employ a fourth-rate American tenor to sing this role when there are plenty of second-rate English tenors who could have done it justice. With the exception of Marco Berti, he is the worst tenor I have ever heard. This was the most welcome death of an operatic character since Katie van Kooten breathed her last as Mimi, and it was the first time since Sondra Radvanovsky in Stiffelio that I have had to cover my ears to take away the pain of ugly loud singing. 

And I loved the ballet, even though there is nothing intelligent I can say about it - except it wasn't modern. I've seen moderner ballets in the provinces in the 1970s. But I loved the choreography and I loved the execution. 

If I get a chance I might write a more reflective piece later in the week. And again, maybe not!

And I've discovered an interesting interview with Iestyn from a few months ago

Tamerlano arrives!

The DVD arrived this morning, a nice fat packet, with a nice inlay booklet lavish with glossy photos. I shall stick it in the DVD player, but won't have time to watch it all this afternoon before Jimmy and I go cycling, or swimming, or slobbing, or something

Update: This seems to be a substandard product. Easily dealt with is the fact that it defaults to 4:3 (just a flick of a button changes it to the correct 16:9). More problematic is that the colour is washed out. Fiddling with the colour brightness leaves the stage action (and singers' faces) with a bluish tinge while the orchestra look as though they've been Tangoed. If I stick with the TV settings I have employed for months if not years leaves everyone on stage looking washed out, to the point of deathly pallor.

Sigh...I don't pay £30 for crap (obviously I'm not talking about the quality of the performance...!)

Tamerlano is now on DVD...

Handel: Tamerlano [DVD] [2008]

   and reviewed in The Times

Approaching the twilight of his career with just a whisper of concession to age Plácido Domingo marks his 126th career role with a surprising foray into the Baroque. But what a role. Bajazet ...is one of the first great tenor roles, in an opera containing some of Handel’s most exquisite, poignant music.

It requires serious vocal agility, and few singers would entertain it in their late sixties, let alone one whose repertoire is more usually the great lyric/dramatic roles, but then Domingo.. is not just any old tenor.

At 68, the great singer/actor’s voice still juts above the crowd — burnished, velvety and hugely expressive, if less so than in previous years. His heroic, flawed Bajazet dominates, although his Baroque style is idiosyncratic to say the least, and his first aria, Forte e lieto, somewhat wayward. If his technique doesn’t always match the cast’s Baroque specialists, his dramatic weight is ideal for Handel’s wonderfully dramatic, unusually dark masterpiece.

Having seen it live and at the cinema, this DVD is a must have for me, and I am already getting Ticket Acquisition Stress Syndrome - and hoping, probably unrealistically, that the Royal Opera House might have an online booking system that's fit for purpose in 2010. 

The expected delivery date is 3 - 4 March which seems a long time to wait for a DVD that's out on the 2nd. I shall of course go immediately to the end and see if I can spot myself in the crowd!

Slaughter in Gaza, at the Barbican,

Or, Handel's Samson at the Barbican on 12 February.

I have to say I am a bit annoyed at the scheduling of this. It started at 6.30 pm and they ran Acts II and III together, as well as having several cuts - mainly the failure to Da Capo several Da Capo arias - and then finished at 9.30.

I expect this is so that people can get their trains back to the provinces, but let's be honest, how many people working 9-5 in the provinces can actually get there comfortably for a 6.30? I know in reality most people don't work 9-5 but if you're making assumptions... And they didn't even announce what time it would finish, so you're left guessing how to manage food and drink from lunchtime onwards.It really does put a downer on what should be an enjoyable evening when you're hungry and thirsty.

As a subsidiary moan, the TfL Journey Planner refuses to acknowledge that the best way to get from Parliament Square to Barbican is via Victoria and Kings Cross. They suggested all sorts of stupid routes (bus to Great Portland Street...as if!) that would take an hour.

So, what did I think?

It was okay, but not great. It is a lovely piece of work, and a great story. I don't know if the powers that be at the Barbican had any regret about scheduling this, a decision they probably made two years ago, considering it's about an Israelite suicide bomber who slaughters many Philistines in Gaza, to the general rejoicing of the Israelite nation. Well, I say bomber, I mean temple-destroyer. All pretty much the same.

I say it's a lovely piece of work. I hadn't actually heard it in its entirety through before this performance, but knew that it contained two good arias (as featured on Mark Padmore's album) and a good aria/chorus, as featured on Kiri Te Kanawa's album. Indeed, my good friend Gail Forcewinds remarked that he was only there for Let the Bright Seraphim. It's rather a long time to wait for that! The great thing about these evenings at the Barbican is how sociable they are. I think in total I spoke with a dozen people, all of whom I have met directly or indirectly via the internet. Who says 'social networking' doesn't encourage face-to-face interaction! I mean, if it wasn't for the internet, I'd be going along to these Barbican things and being in lonely solitude. Actually, I probably wouldn't be going.

On paper it was a splendid line-up: Harry Christophers and the Sixteen, with a starry set of soloists: Gillian Keith, Catherine Wyn-Rogers, Mark Padmore, Roderick Williams and Jonathan Lemalu. In reality it was somewhat mixed. I wasn't at all impressed by Catherine Wyn-Rogers, who as I said soon after the event, managed to conjure up images of Beecham and the Huddersfield Choral Society circa 1950 performing Messiah with enormous orchestra syrupy strings and a chorus of thousands. Not that I have anything against the Huddersfield Choral Society but Handel performances have moved on considerably in the past quarter of a century.

I suspect that Iestyn Davies will be several degrees of magnitude better in the upcoming Proms performance (well, I say Proms, it's in an undisclosed London venue in August or September). I felt that she had no insight into the character she was performing and the events she was supposedly commenting on. To her it was just a display of vocal virtuosity, but without the virtuosity, the sort of singing that gives Handel an undeserved bad name.

I was not impressed by Gillian Keith who I thought was more interesting to look at than to hear. Definitely a babe, although not the sort to awake my dormant bi tendencies. To be honest I was more interested in trying to work out the support arrangements for the dress she wore as Dalila than hearing her sing (she wore a different dress when she appeared as Philistine Woman). And she was really disappointing in Let the bright seraphim.

So that's the women dismissed. What about the men?

Roderick Williams was the stand out. I do think that he's a very under rated baritone, although I do realise that I will be seeing him in L'Amour de loin in the summer.  As well as vocal security and a lyrical line, he also managed to convey a real sense of mature dignity. His singing of  How willing my paternal love was my highlight of the night.

Mark Padmore was generally very good, but to some extent I was comparing him to how he sounds on his sublime album, especially in Total eclipse and Your charms to ruin led the way, and he didn't match up. I do like Mark as a singer, but despite his excellent musicality and his fine voice and reasonable stage presence, I do think he lacks a certain je ne sais quoi. And I have heard him in better voice than I did tonight.

I was surprised by how little I disliked Jonathan Lemalu; again I knew his big number because I have Bryn singing it on CD, and, actually, JL didn't suffer too much by comparison.

My lowlight of the night was, perhaps inevitably, the flubbing by period horns. It almost goes with the territory, but at what point they all seemed to be playing different duff notes, and I am sure that Harry Christophers went red with embarrassment, unless it was just the exertion of being an amazing dancing conductor. I did manage to excise it from my mind, until I was reminded of it on a newsgroup the next day.

Overall, it was enjoyable evening. Not a perfect performance, but one with much going for it. My enjoyment was marred by the small-mindedness of whoever imposed a time limit on the performance and made it an unrelaxed evening. I want Wagnerian breaks in Handel operas, I mean seriously, I doubt any opera house, or concert hall of renown would run Acts II and III of, say, Tristan und Isolde together and cut out lareg chunks of the music, just so that people could get a 10 pm train. Handel deserves as much respect as Wagner. I want a 5 pm start and a supper break (although, obviously the Barbican isn't the best place to do supper). Okay. 5 pm starts aren't ideal, but then, nor is 6.30pm, let's rush it, let's cut the ornamentations. Dare we hope it will be given more respect at the Proms?

Hilary Finch picks up the Gaza reference and says the evening 'sped by'. She, like Gail Forcewinds and I, and Mrs Senztalento on a previous occasion, specially counted that the choir had 18 members. And reminds me also of how wonderful was the Dead March.

Robert Hugill comments on the ridiculous timings and the cuts, and also mentions the choir of eighteen, and also provides some excellent background information.

More chances to see me in cinema as 'woman in audience'

(and also to see Plácido Domingo in Tamerlano)

8 December at 2 pm...that's a Monday, I don't normally work Mondays, but that Monday I have booked myself onto a course. Persuasive Techniques for Accountants. Which would you choose, Plácido Domingo in Tamerlano, or Persuasive Techniques for Accountants?

Yeah, I know...

Also being shown in some places at 6.30 pm on the Tuesday evening. But nowhere that is convenient for me.

The email I received suggests going to Vue cinemas for more info, although when I selected Fulham Broadway (probably my nearest) there was no info for anything beyond two weeks away.

Tamerlano

I am just back from the Empire,  Leicester Square, having seen 'Tamerlano', that which I saw in Madrid in April (just after the clocks went forward...). It did seem a bit ground-hog day because this time last year, ie clocks going back day, I was also going into London for the matinee of Die  Walküre at ROH.

I am not going to review the production/ performance in any great detail, because it was filmed when I was actually there in the house, but I thought it was excellent seeing it in the cinema. Of course it isn't the same as actually being there, but definitely worthwhile.

The action was projected onto a very large screen, much larger than life. This mean that the close-ups were very close indeed. I took considerable pleasure from close-ups of Plácido's chest hair. And in the death scene, his anguish and suffering was magnified by being able to see every bead of sweat on his face.

The sound was excellent, for amplified sound, but can't compare to being in the house. The rather quiet trouser role women sounded louder than they had in the house, although I can't say I cared any more for them. The quiet soprano, Ingela Bohlin, benefited the most from the close-ups. The amplification made her more audible and emphasised the gorgeousness of her voice. Also, she was understated in her facial expressions which came across brilliantly on the screen but was lost in the house, whereas the identical twins in the trouser roles were shown to be mugging in a way that was not so obvious live. Plácido of course sounded gorgeous but some of the subtle overtones of his voice were, nevertheless, lost in the amplification.

I benefited from really having absorbed the music in the past six months. I must give up on my silliness about every Handel opera sounding alike. Of course they don't: each one is very different, and yet, sufficiently of a style that you can be confident that if you love one, you'll love them all. Indeed, the man was a complete musical genius, and I hereby declare 2009 to be Handel year. He deserves as much exposure as Mozart. Mozart was no less of a genius but Handel was the opera genius. Only Verdi and Wagner come close :-)

At the end, when they were showing the curtain calls, they did a couple of shots of the audience. Mandy says she saw me, but I must have blinked at that micro-second. I'm going to have to buy the DVD if and when it's released!

It shows again at the Empire on Tuesday, and various other venues, too:  here's a list for UK, Germany and Netherlands. It's tempting to go again, and if my coming week wasn't so hectic, I would. The cinema was more or less full - lots of familiar faces 'big hello'! There were two ten minute intervals between acts, just enough time to get a fag and go to the Ladies, but not much else

Partenope

Last night at ENO.

Fabulous, really wonderful. I'd definitely recommend going.

(If last night was anything to go by there's still lots of seats available. In the Upper Circle which has three blocks the central block was mainly full, but the right and left blocks probably less than half full. I was in Row H which is by no means a great seat, but I didn't at any time regret not paying more for a better seat. Intermezzo gives details of a cheap offer).

This is exactly the sort of work that English National Opera does brilliantly: a small cast of excellent singers: Rosemary Joshua, John Mark Ainsley,  Christine Rice, Patricia Bardon, Iestyn Davies and James Gower. Conductor Christian Curnyn.

Throw in an exciting and innovative director - Christopher Alden, with an excellent creative team - and you have a really good night.  So good I almost applauded the scenery says obscure Brixton blogger

What I love about Handel is that the opera can be placed in just about any setting or any time period and it works. There is no great modern performance history of Partenope, so no real opportunity for die-hards to complain that it isn't an exact facsimile of when they first saw it in 1950something. In many ways the story doesn't matter too much - is merely an excuse for characters to fall in-and-out of love and perform Da Capo arias about their inner emotions. That having been said, you can't please all the people all the time. I overheard a conversation saying that the production was well 'over the top', and that ENO do do some ghastly productions - citing Satyagraha as being 'ghastly'. I know that taste is non-negotiable, and that Philip Glass's music is not to everyone's taste, but to dismiss the production of Satyagraha as 'ghastly' is, well, it's quite possibly the best production of anything I have ever seen live (or on TV) ever in my life. Saying 'it's ghastly' is quite quite different from 'I didn't like', bordering on the arrogant.

The concept was of a 1920s cocktail party. I read some months ago that it was to be based upon Virginia Woolf's Orlando, although I saw no reference to that in the programme, and really, other than being 1920s and gloriously gender-bending, I can't see a great connection.

Gender-bending: Christine Rice was Arsace, a male character; Patricia Bardon was Rosmira (female) disguised as Eurimine (male) and although Iestyn Davies - Armindo - is all man in appearance and role, being a counter-tenor creates a certain ambiguity in my mind.

The first act was set at a cocktail party. The scene was beautiful - a two-tiered stage representing a salon and stairs leading up to an upper level landing or corridor. Walls in white and to the right a table, with a gorgeous chandelier. I thought the set was exquisite but sadly can't really find photos to do it justice, nor really the costumes.

Act II was set in the same house but focused primarily in the hall, with the downstairs loo providing some light relief. And Act III was set in a day room,  light and airy, with Arsace spending much of the time lounging on a day bed while Rosmira/Eurimine perched high up on a semi-balcony above a set of shelves.

Emilio, the invading Prince from Carthage was based upon photographer Man Ray. The use of the camera provided some stage action and also contributed to the denouement, but really didn't add a great deal for me - nor did it take anything away.

It was an excellent ensemble piece for an excellent ensemble, all characters well-directed and convincing in their roles.Some particular highlights included:

• A rather well-executed if slightly camp dance by John Mark Ainsley,
• real elegance and subtle sexiness from Rosemary Joshua,
•  Christine Rice's brilliant portrayal of a young man, even in the way she lolled against a door-frame.

The gender bending was delightful, eg when Patricia Bardon as a woman disguised as a man made play for Rosemary Joshua, or the gorgeous love duet between Christine Rice and Patricia Bardon - perhaps the musical highlight.

I had studied neither score nor libretto beforehand, nor do I think I have ever heard let alone seen the opera before, so I went in with no pre conceptions. This is my usual attitude to Handel - there are no surprises in the music, and the structure follows the opera seria formula. Time and time again I wallowed in the gorgeousness of the orchestra and delighted in the simple brilliance of the tunes. I liked the libretto very much, translation by Amanda Holden, but a very loose translation with some comic effects, some lame (but not unpleasantly so) rhymes and some 1920s phraseology.

In respect of the cast, James Gower's role was the least and he performed satisfactorily with the material he had. He's a Young Artist and I'm sure he progress well to bigger parts. 

I was disappointed in John Mark Ainsley. He acted the character well but I didn't warm to his voice. It seemed quite small and with no real beauty,and no real sense of agility around the coloratura bits.

Rosemary Joshua was good in places but she was rather thin at the top and really couldn't trill,instead using  a pronounced vibrato - bordering on wobble - to negotiate the florid bits.

Mostly Patricia Bardon was gorgeous. She really throws herself into the part, really seemed to be enjoying herself, which transmitted to the audience, and generally sounded fabulous. Except for one passage that was particularly high lying and she had to screech and squawk to get it out. An ugly sound and quite out of place. Only for a couple of bars but that rather blurred my overall assessment.

Christine Rice was fantastic vocally and dramatically; she really can do no wrong. A really fabulous mezzo-soprano, with a gorgeous voice, innate musicality, intelligent interpretation, wonderful stage presence. Indeed, if it wasn't for the existence of Sarah Connolly and Alice Coote, she would definitely be my favourite British mezzo (Patricia Bardon is Irish) - how can one choose between them?

But for me the absolute highlight of the night was Iestyn Davies.

I am not generally a counter tenor fan, but all negative remarks previously made about c-ts on this blog may be laid aside for Iestyn, who has a beautiful voice, the ability to vary colour and tone, projects well, is good on stage and, really, has a je ne sais quoi which is just pure star quality. Just looking at his schedule, he will be in the much-anticipated Dido and Aeneas at ROH, lots of appearances in London and the world - I assume that Samson with Bicket and the English concert is a Prom. But the one that really catches my eye is the Athalia in New York in May. He and Carolyn Sampson together, and Ed Lyon whose voice I fell in love with the other week, plus Neal Davies who has also impressed me. It's too far for me  to go just for that, but I would say to anyone in New York, if you're in two minds, don't be. Run don't walk.I can't imagine it would be less than splendid.

In actual fact, the next year is going to be just one long Baroque-fest. Purcell was born in 1659 (350 years ago); Handel died in 1759 (250 years ago); Haydn* died in 1809 (200 years ago). The Barbican is having a Purcell, Handel and Haydn Season; word is that the Proms will have PH&H as a major theme; and the opera houses are obliging.

The lowlight of the evening was certain members of the audience. I suppose I shall just have to get used to the idea that the overture is the time to continue and finish one's conversation, not the time to shut up.

I got a bit annoyed by people who let out totally false laughter at bits which were mildly funny. I don't understand why people do that. It's not like that they are being polite and laughing at a friend's lame joke. Maybe it's because they think they 'ought', but you would think they would pick up clues from  everyone else, who isn't laughing. Or maybe they think it shows they are ultra-sophisticated, that they are the ones who get the obscure intellectual humour (...!), little realising that there are plenty of other people who do get it, and are amused in their head. And then, especially in Act 3, you get those who laugh loud and prolonged, probably because they're so pissed they actually genuinely think it's really really really funny, whilst everyone else is merely tittering mildly.

But probably worst of all was the man next to me - or who would have been next to me if I hadn't shifted along to take advantage of empty seats and get shoulder-room. He sneezed once and blew his nose. Fair enough. Except that he continued blowing it for ten minutes, and I really wished I wasn't in earshot. I think I can honestly say I have never heard such blowing even from someone with a streaming cold - and he had sneezed just once!

* I know that Haydn is more correctly classified as Classical, but there is a reason why Handel and Haydn are often grouped together

Lazy journalism...

From time to time, one reads articles in online newspapers that are written by people who don't have a clue about the subject they are covering. Or are merely paraphrasing a Press Release without engaging brain. Or haven't actually been to the event they are supposedly reporting. Or they assume that their readership is so stupid that they patronise them.

And then you get articles that cause one to stare with bulging eyes at the screen, exclaiming "WTF?"

Placido Domingo is joined by countertenor David Daniels in a sterling production of a rarely-performed work by Handel

So far so good(ish). An overlong and far-from-snappy headline; the first half is accurate, the third quarter is an opinion. The final quarter is inaccurate - yes, it's hardly a warhorse, but the plethora of live recordings that abound and three different productions in three different countries just in Spring 2008 contradict the fact. But I wouldn't wish to split hairs on 'rarely performed'.

Then we get to the "substance" of the piece, which is unbelievably stupid.

if you are a giggler or not immersed to the point of humorlessness in the traditions, quirky and otherwise, of opera, be strongly advised to avoid alcoholic beverages before seeing the WNO's production of George Frideric Handel's Tamerlano --at least until one of the two intermissions, that is. Don't get me wrong -- this is a most wonderful and well done opera, a fine example of Handel's baroque splendor. It's just that it has the teeniest of little surprises in it and if the defenses are down... well, let's just nip in the bud right here, shall we? The surprise and delight, I will add, of this opera is the fascinating phenomenon of the countertenor.

Oh my god! A counter-tenor!!! A completely unheard of freak from outer-space!!! ROFLMAO!! LOLCATZ!!

Who on earth is this ridiculous article aimed at? I will willingly concede that any production is likely to attract a proportion of newbs, some of whom might be entirely unfamiliar with trained voices. But this writer seems to think that the bulk of the audience who have bought tickets for a Handel opera have not only never heard a counter-tenor live, they have also never heard a counter-tenor on record, nor have they any prior knowledge of counter-tenors whatsoever. And, furthermore, they are probbaly going to pee themselves just a little. Absolutely unbelievable.

I have expressed before that I am not keen on counter-tenors singing roles written for castrati, preferring on the whole to hear the full-bodied sound of a mezzo-soprano or a rich contralto. But mine is a minority view, I think; many Baroque-lovers feel that a counter-tenor is closer to the correct sound. On the whole, I dislike the lack of variety of colouring and volume that is characteristic of counter-tenors.

This writer refers to the c-t being an 'ancient' voice, which, actually, isn't inaccurate, but in opera, it is really a phenomenom of the late 20th century. And I don't imagine she actually intended to be so accurate - she probably thinks 'counter-tenor' and 'castrato' are interchangeable terms. She fails to mention that the essence of a counter-tenor is that they sing in falsetto. (Castrati's voices never broke, because of the pre-pubescent castration). This is pretty common, to the point of being unremarkable, in pop music.

Such dumbed-down avoidance might be forgiveable in an article aimed at the under-tens, but this appears in an LGBT publication. I would have thought the target demograph for such a publication is hardly likely to get an attack of puritanical vapours from a factual statement about castrati. Considering that David Daniels is one of the very few out gay male opera singers, a parenthetical mention of this would not be out-of-place. Or indeed some mention that many people assume incorrectly that all counter-tenors are gay, or maybe some research to support or refute my theory that counter-tenor fans are disproportionately gay. Maybe, some mention that many roles taken by counter-tenors are alternatively cast with mezzos (or contraltos) so, in this production, there is a gorgeous love duet between Patricia Bardon and Sarah Coburn, which would create a frisson of some interest, I would imagine, to some of the LGBT community.

I have to say a considerable amount of what I have read concerning this production just comes over as ... provincial. But how can it be...provincial...when it's occurring in the political capital of the world's sole superpower. In the rehearsal journal, some reader opines that New York City Opera is responsible for giving baroque opera exposure, a view supported by the self-aggrandising piece on NYCO's website. And the various p/reviews which have asserted without qualification that David Daniels is the best c-t in the world, a difficult claim to sustain unequivocally in a world that contains Andreas Scholl (and others, too.)

The article closes with 'brace yourself for the bearded lady', presumably a euphemism for 'clench your pelvic floor muscles, especially if you ignored all advice and partook of a small sweet sherry beforehand'. I prefer not to ponder the possible inundation that might result from this rather silly writer being subject to Landi's Sant'Alessio, with no fewer than eight counter-tenors...

There does seem to be some dispute whether the Handel revival started in the 1920s, the 1960s or 1985, but even if it's the last, that's over two decades ago. Long enough for people to absorb the characteristics, I think.

Tamerlano, Washington

Video clip

Tamerlano in Washington

Building an Opera:  Behind the Scenes of Tamerlano -  a rehearsal diary, which is vaguely interesting in places, as is:

Blog: William Lacey Conducts Tamerlano at Washington National Opera

Placido Domingo takes on new challenge

In his rich-hued robes, the tenor presents quite an exotic sight - "I dress like this for all my interviews," he says with a smile that lights up his dark, penetrating eyes

Critique from Dominic at Musical Criticism

Outwest Arts was there last night

Tame Tamerlano

Amid the Baroque and the Bluster, Love Blossoms

Tamerlano @ WNO

Domingo, a Lion in Winter in 'Tamerlano'

Domingo Goes Baroque

Domingo delivers 'Tamerlano'

Flavio at The Barbican

I went to this last week and really enjoyed Acts I and II. However, I had to leave early because of a call of nature. I accept that I misjudged - during a fairly intense afternoon at work I had two cups of tea, and during the fifteen minutes interval (advertised as twenty) I chose to have a drink and a fag rather than tackle all those stairs and spend the entire time queuing for the Ladies.

I don't know why the Barbican chose to run Acts II and III together. I see a similar complaint made by Handel expert Sue in respect of the recent Giulio Cesare in Lausanne. I recognise that the Barbican has to balance start and finish time for those coming from work and those needing to catch trains back to The Sticks, but the programme said it was scheduled to finish at 10, a full half hour before the Royal Opera House's habitual finish, so it wouldn't have hurt to have put in an interval between Acts II and III. I think this is a classic example of 'designed by men, used by women', timings decided by men who seem to have no idea about the queues that are typical in women's loos at theatrical etc events (I once went to a play with a then boyfriend who exclaimed 'what have you been doing all this time, the interval's nearly over').

When I go to an opera, I expect to be able to sit back, relax and concentrate on the music. That didn't happen, which was areal shame, because in respect of Acts I and II it was very enjoyable with a good cast and excellent orchestral playing by the Academy of Ancient Music under Christopher Hogwood.

The cast was:

Flavio: Iestyn Davies
Guido: Robin Blaze
Emilia: Karina Gauvin
Vitige: Maite Beaumont
Teodata: Renata Pokupic
Ugone: James Gilchrist
Lotario: James Rutherford

No weak links; the stand outs were Iestyn Davies who risks becoming my favourite countertenor, if such a notion wasn't oxymoronic, and Maite Beaumont.

Although it was a concert version, and they were in concert dress, they did inject some acting into it: moving around stage, and exiting and entrancing.There were some nice comedy touches. The oboist stepped forward to hand Flavio an envelope, which he opened. He took out a letter, which was the Governor of Britain tendering his resignation. He went into the envelope again and extracted a union flag, the sort given out for free at Classic Spectacular etc. He then handed it to Ugone, appointing him the new governor of Britain. Ugone's reaction of distaste was delightfully hammed, to the general amusement of the orchestra.

Sorry I can't bring you a more profound review, but it's difficult based on just two acts. Sometimes I choose to walk because the performance, or work, is poor, or not to my taste. So I was angry and upset that I had to leave, and could not re-enter, simply because the Barbican had moronically decided to run two acts together, making a second half of one and three quarter hours.

Tamerlano

I have a strange relationship with Handel. There is nothing of his, that I have heard, that I don't like, except for Concerto Grosso Opus 6 No 6 which was a set work at O-Level and I hated with a vengeance, only to discover years later that there's nothing wrong with the actual concerto, just a really bad recording that was owned by the music department at school that could have put me off Handel for life. For years, I was convinced I didn't like Handel, apart from Messiah, of course, and the Water Music, and Music for the Royal Fireworks, and Zadok the Priest, and the Arrival of the Queen of Sheba, oh, and all those arias, like Ombra Mai Fu, Where'er You Walk, Waft Her Angels, and, oh dammit, those operas (and operas masquerading as oratorios). Not that I have heard very many of his operas, but what I have heard, I do like.

I received a pocket Kobbé for Christmas which not only mentions Handel but also gives a summary of Tamerlano,which is two steps better than my father's old 'Complete Kobbé' which doesn't even mention Handel. For a long time, most of Handel's operas were unperformed. There is conflicting narrative about when they started to be revived; some sources mention the 1920s, some the 1960s. A couple of years ago someone remarked that seven different Handel operas were performed in one season in London, which apparently has not happened anywhere in modern times.

I encounter people almost daily on the internet who contend or imply  that Handel isn't really opera or 'doesn't matter', which alternatively saddens and maddens me. I can understand why people, steeped in classical grand opera, can have difficulty adjusting to the strict conventions of opera seria, with its structure of recitative/da capo aria, with characters exiting in turn, to be replaced by another with a different plot twist. There is also a challenge in staging a Handel opera successfully; the da capo aria does lend itself to park-and-bark (although I don't think that 'bark' is quite the right term). That having been said, they also lend themselves to imaginative stagings by gifted directors - the McVicar Glyndebourne Guilio Cesare is widely considered as a 'must have' DVD. I think one of my worst nightmares would be a Met-trash Handel staging.

The plot is one of those that seems convoluted when written down but makes more sense when played out number by number - libretto, score

The staging was very simple: a white set with little scenery. It curved round at the back, the back containing several doors. High up the wall was a sort of shelf, running round the back of the stage. Suspended from the ceiling was a large ball with a foot on top of it...oh, watch this video. Most of the time most of the characters were in white, or black, costumes, with just occasional use of colour to provide a contrast.

I can't decide whether I really liked the production, or not. I thought the sets and the colour scheme worked well. Throughout much of the first act, we watched a procession of small blue elephants process round the shelf at the top; towards the end of the first act, Irene arrived on-stage astride a life-size blue elephant which was wheeled onto stage (a rare example of when scenery is worth applauding).

During the second act, the suspended ball swung round to reveal itself to be a swing-seat. And in the third act the stage was dominated by a bench or pier at waist height (or a bit lower). At various times, the turbanned dancers appeared in stage, or on the shelf above the stage.

Other than the blue elephants, the most striking use of colour was when Tamerlano appeared in a bright fuschia pink outfit together with pink stiletto ankle boots. I particularly remember this because at one stage, Bajazet was lying down and Tamerlano put his/her stilettoed foot on his back, and it stuck me as being a bit, well, you know...

I can't really make my mind up about the general direction of the opera. It seemed that some participants were more able to act than others. Of course, it goes without saying that the former category included Plácido, and also Ingela Bohlin, who played Asteria, whereas both Sara Mingardo and Monica Bacelli (Tamerlano and Asteria) seemed pretty clueless in the acting department. I have to say also, that both are of similar build, were mostly wearing similar turbans and despite one being a contralto and one a mezzo, they sounded way too similar.

Indeed, I was generally disappointed in both trouser roles. I had been pleased when I booked that the parts were not being taken by counter tenors. I have stated many times that I find  counter-tenors beautiful for about three minutes then I get bored by their lack of variety in tone and volume. I also argue that Handel wrote these parts for castrati who, despite being obviously lacking in certain departments, had the torsos of adult men and thus were able to use full lung power, stomach muscles etc to create volume and colour, which counter-terrors, for all their beauty, cannot because they sing entirely in falsetto. So I was disappointed to be confronted by a mezzo and a contralto lacking any variety in volume, tone or colour. And the fact that neither could act didn't help. Although, I did notice that both showed - as far as I could tell - perfect breath control and perfect phrasing, especially of the fioritura.

I liked the soprano a lot, although she did suffer in comparison to the recording I have from France with Carolyn Sampson in that role. Ingela Bohlin has a gorgeous basic sound but I did notice that when she was upstage her voice did not really project very well. Considering that I was on the second row of the 'patio', just behind the orchestra, I did find this a bit worrying. It was also noticeable with the mezzo and contralto, and I did wonder if it was a design fault with the set. And Plácido suffered a bit, too. I tend to be quite purist with set designs. Looking good is only the third consideration, after 'ensuring all action is visible to all non-restricted view seats' and most importantly, not harming and, preferably, helping the acoustics. The other two characters were reasonably well sung without setting me alight (Jennifer Holloway and Luigi De Donato).

And as for Plácido. Well, what can I say! Obviously he has the status that he can do any role he wants to, in any opera house he wishes. He doesn't have anything to prove, and if he wished, he could retire secure in the knowledge that he has a solid unassailable reputation. Alternatively, he could spend years combining pop-style concerts with an occasional lazy reprisal of a signature role. Instead, he has decided to explore new territory - the Gluck in the autumn, and now this, in Madrid, and then in Washington, Vienna and London; he has also mentioned Monteverdi's L'Orfeo and Ritorno di Ulisee in Patria. I have read hints and suggestions on the internet that he shouldn't, or, at least, why? I guess some people see it as some sort of vanity project, and even seem to be implying that he wouldn't bring it off. He has given interviews where he has mentioned how difficult it has been to learn the role, but anyone who has ever read My Operatic Roles will know that every role is difficult! 

So I actually went in with an open mind prepared to be critical if required. And I shall be critical. I thought he took a while to warm up. In his first aria in Act I Scene 1, Forte e lieto a morte andrei, I thought 'I've heard him sing better'. Even in, say, the Act II Scene 7 aria A' suoi piedi padre esangue, I didn't think he was perfect. I was deeply impressed by his vocal and dramatic performance, he sounded really gorgeous. I love it when he opens his shoulders, puts back his head and seemingly totally relaxed, this beautiful sound pours out. I was delighted by the trills, by the intelligent variation in volume and colour. He was so impressive on stage, raging around, his eyes flashing with passion, so physical. Even so, in one phrase I did a notice bit of hoarseness and slight breathlessness. Not significant, but I did get the feeling that this was a work in progress. This aria had me transfixed, just gazing at him, later realising that my mouth was hanging open...it was a bonus that I was sitting so close to the stage.

If he was good  in the first act, and very good in the second act, he was superb in the third act. A great tenderness with Asteria (although I later remarked that the way they were embracing wasn't noticeably father-daughter, not that I'm complaining, and I don't think she was, either). I did think the death scene a bit reminiscent of Otello, so I was amused to read in one of the articles I linked to yesterday that that was deliberate! Every bit as searing and heart-rending as Otello.

I wasn't sure about the costumes. Plácido's especially.Most of the photos show the elegant tailed jacket, the brocade waistcoat, the open neck shirt and the ponytail, all of which were fine. I was not sure about the Moorish sandals, even if they did allow a glimpse of bare foot. And as for the trousers - harem pants is I think the technical term - they just weren't flattering. At one stage, he was sitting on the stage directly opposite me and I ought to have had a perfect view of his gorgeous thighs, but all I could think was, why waste such lovely thighs in baggy trousers...sigh

I am so looking forward to getting the DVD when it is released. Even if I hadn't seen it in the theatre, I would want it anyway, but, obviously, there's an added interest when they're actually filming it in one's presence (I'm waiting for the New York Romeo et Juliette to appear on the internet).  It seemed on the Wednesday that the TV van and cables weren't moving, so I don't know if they were filming Friday's performance, too.  It will be interesting to see whether  a couple of bits that weren't supposed to happen will stay in. One was when Asteria produced a dagger concealed in her clothes, Tamerlano grabbed it and threw it at the swing-seat and it bounced, being a stage dagger mad eof rubber with no sharp points. Also, in his death scene, when Plácido was raging along the bench-pier thing, about to throw himself to the ground, again, (only to have to get up again, because no one dies on stage in Handel..I think, I might be making that bit up!), his hair slipped out of his ponytail and he was frantically brushing it off his face, whilst simultaneously singing and raging.

And the music. I was well impressed by the orchestra. I assume that they are not in the habit of playing in the baroque style, and I like to think I have heard a lot of period ensembles live and on record, and there wasn't once when I thought,ooh no. I had a good view of the wind, especially the wind quartet in Vivo in te, mio caro bene. Later, we were chatting someone (actually in the shuttle bus to the airport, as one does) who hadn't seen a Handel opera staged before, and was wondering what was the string instrument, like a large lute, that played the continuo. I guessed it was a theorbo, and I was a bit disappointed that I didn't see it, because I do like theorbos, even though I don't recall them getting a mention in my sister's Observer's Book of Music, from which I originally learnt the instruments of the orchestra. 

Although I sometimes joke that Handel was a hack composer and that all his works sound the same, once you've heard one you've heard them all, I think they all benefit from repeat listening, such gorgeous tunes, and despite the small, limited orchestra, lots of variety in the sound-world. For the time being I shall satisfy myself with the recording off the radio, until the DVD comes out. And I am already looking forward to the performances in London in two years time.

And in the meantime, there will be other Handel operas in London: Acis and Galatea and Partenope next season at Royal Opera House and English National Opera respectively. Flavio next week at the Barbican, and next season, Samson, La Resurrezione, Arianna in Creta, Jephtha, and Joyce DiDonato in "'Furore' Scenes of madness from Handel" (not ot mention Thomas Quasthoff in Haydn's Creation...). Damn, I've just spent £350, but buying in bulk has saved me £33.50...Oh, and there's also the London Handel Festival and Lufthansa Baroque

At the curtain calls, people were throwing flowers onto the stage, so he did what he always does, spend a lot of time gathering them up and distributing them to the other cast members, including the dancers, the orchestra, the conductor, anyone, really. He's very sweet the way he does that; of course it just encourages people to throw flowers, and the more they do, the more it encourages him! And I think he spotted my camera because he was definitely flirting, with the camera, that is, not me...

Tamerlano: Capsule Review

It was patchy. Handel was excellent, the orchestra and the conductor (Paul McCreesh) were very good, the supporting cast were...really not more than adequate. And Plácido was fantastic. Really, when he wasn't on stage, it dragged - except for the non-Plácido highlight, when Asteria and Andronico had a third act love duet accompanied by wind quartet (two flutes and two recorders). But when Plácido was on stage he was utterly fantastic. One particular aria in Act II he sang directly to me!

The performance was being filmed for DVD release, so when we arrived we were told that we couldn't have the seats we had bought on the end of the first row - a camera was there instead. So we were given seats on the second row. They were more central so it was a bit of swings and roundabouts, but I was a bit annoyed that we weren't told until we arrived. It was a bit embarrassing, considering my (non-existent) Spanish so I couldn't really understand what was happening. Just an email to explain would have been nice.

Faye will be delighted that even in a production with no furniture, Plácido managed to abuse a microphone stand as he descended into the orchestra pit (a lot of the stage exits were via the orchestra pit). I lost count of the number of times he was on the floor: he started on the floor with the weight of the world on his back. He fell to the ground three times during his mad death scene. And at various times he was on one knee or the other, or both. If anyone asks me if there's anything Plácido Domingo can't do, I'll have to say 'be a human statue' because during an aria from Asteria, he was supposed to be sitting absolutely still (back to the audience, displaying his conductor's shoulders), but every now and then he moved.

It did sound strange hearing him sing Handel, and I am not sure that the obsessive purist Handelians would approve, but I definitely enjoyed him in this role. I have to say that it's the least favourite of the three roles I have heard him sing this season, but, nevertheless, I was delighted when he confirmed afterwards that he would be singing it in London "but not until 2010..." (he'll still be a young man then). Believe me, I will be there!

I fly home tomorrow and will be at work on Thursday, so I'm not sure when I will write more, and publish curtain-call/stage door photos, but here's one for now...

Tamerlano Reviews

Plácido Domingo suma un nuevo reto con el debut, en 'casa', de su papel 127

It's going to be recorded for DVD release and it's going to be broadcast on the radio this coming Tuesday...when I shall be there!

Delicado Tamerlano - that blue elephant certainly looks right for DVD.

Plácido Domingo viaja al Barroco en el Teatro Real de Madrid con la opera más oscura y dramática de Händel

It's not actually strictly true that Handel only wrote two major tenor roles. I suppose if you stick with the strict description of opera, that might be true, but Handel only called Semele an oratorio so that it could be performed during Lent, and roles like Samson, Judas Maccabeus and Jephtha are all tenors.

More Tamerlano...

Including a video clip

I like what I hear and see, so far...I am like so in the front row in eight (count them....) days time. I do so like Handel, but I have seen so very few of his operas live (a few more staged oratorios). When I did my Music O-Level back in 1984, Handel was one of the set composers, but I don't recall us even mentioning his operas, or else it was 'he also wrote some operas but they're all forgotten now'.

Plácido Domingo regresa a la ópera barroca con el 'Tamerlano' de Haëndel

Giulio Cesare at the Barbican

I had really looked forward to this, filled with fond memories of a Proms ex-Glyndebourne* performance two years ago that had enchanted and captivated from start to finish. One of Handel's most celebrated operas, written for the best singers of his day.

The orchestra was René Jacobs' Freiburg Baroque and - some flubbing horns aside - they were fine (I regard flubbing period horns as an occupational hazard of period performance: I'd rather they didn't but would prefer to have period instruments than have Handel played on full Wagnerian symphony orchestra). I noted that René Jacobs didn't use a podium, but the orchestra leader was slightly raised, and they seemed to be sharing responsibilities, including for gurning. She was very irritating as she gyrated in her seat and bobbed her head about allowing her hair to swing freely. I was happy with their sound and their tempi and would willingly hear them again and again.

But the singers, oh dear. Provincial. I'm sorry, but when something is marketed as 'Great Performers' in the Barbican, I expect more. This is London, arguably the place where there is the greatest concentration of superb classical performers/performances in the world and where the eyes of the world gaze enviously at the numerous different sumptuous Handel operas performed in a season (it's reckoned at 7 this season - and heavens know how many in the anniversary year of 2009!). These singers collectively were just not good enough.

The best were Malena Ernman (m-s) as Sesto and Kristina Hammarström (m-s) as Cornelia; indeed, their duet to close Act I was a thing of beauty, the highlight of the night. Even so, I felt that Kristina Hammarström lacked heft, often inaudible in the circle. Malena Ernman was one of only two performers who seemed aware that there was an audience.

Veronica Cangemi (s) was adequate, mainly as Cleopatra. Quite a sweet voice, but it got irritating when time after time she went through vocal gyrations in order to reach the higher notes, throwing out any sense of legato. I felt she had seen the Glyndebourne DVD and was half-heartedly unsuccessfully trying to emulate this. I wouldn't avoid her in future but she was nothing special.

I am afraid the Cesare, Marijana Mijanovic (c), was awful. She was often off-pitch, and her sound was unpleasant - it was as if she was trying to sound like a counter-tenor. Fortunately, I was too far from the stage to see the full impact of her gurning but even from where I was sitting, it wasn't pretty. She was approximate to the pitch on many occasions and didn't seem interested in conveying the meaning of what she was singing.

Nicolas Rivenq (b) as Achillo didn't help his mediocre performance with his awkward stance. A boring voice; I felt he was just singing the notes. I don't even remember Klemens Sander (b) as Curio. As for the counter-tenors, once a seagull always a seagull. Christophe Dumaux (c-t) was in the range of acceptable (which is high praise for a c-t). He was the only one who tried acting; I think he was following McVicar's directions from Glyndebourne. I expect he was a delight for c-t fans, but, I'm afraid for me, c-ts, along with flubby horns, are the downside of Baroque opera. A companion of mine described him as cute; quite why any sane woman would take a fancy to a c-t is quite beyond me, indeed why any man would wish to sing like that beggars belief. Another companion made reference to the castrati, I pointed out that it wouldn't be bad if they were castrati because we would hear gorgeous boy sopranos with the power of an adult male singer. I insist there are compelling reasons for reinstating the castrati. A companion suggested that a chat-up line for a counter-tenor would be "I would love to discover the truth of your legendary prowess in bed!" I pointed out that their prowess is probably a myth, simply that, being without balls, they are idea for an extramarital fling without the risk of pregnancy in the days before contraception. The other counter-tenor, David Hansen, as Nireno sounded ghastly. No doubt this caused the c-t freaks to cream their knickers but it made me wince with pain. Indeed, after a wince-inducing screech from Nireno (Seagull #2) and a wobble from Cleopatra, I decided "sod this for a game of soldiers, I really don't give a monkeys about any of these two-dimensional characters, who gives a fig who gets to rule Egypt, I'm off". This was 2/3 of the way through Act II, I decided not to stay for Act III. Oh, and I completely failed to distinguish any of the Italian that was being sung. There were English surtitles, but I do like to listen to the words as well.

During the first interval, a flock of seagulls flew over the Barbican lake, sounding more mellifluous than a bunch of counter-tenors and contralto wannabe counter-tenors.

And then I had the stupidest journey home. I walked to Liverpool Street with a friend; I decided eventually not to get the bus, deciding instead to go by Tube. As the Central Line set off from Liverpool Street, the driver announced "This will not be stopping at Bank". A woman in my carriage observed it would have been nice to have been told at Liverpool Street. So that scuppered my plan to switch to the Northern Line, and ended up going the tortuous route of Oxford Circus/Stockwell/Clapham Common. How I loathe that change at Oxford Circus.

Emerging from Clapham Common I had literally just missed a 137 - it had left the bus stop and was a few yards down the road, waiting at the lights. I lit a cigarette and crossed the road to go to the bus stop. Some bloke said "Excuse me" and kept saying it, and walked along the pavement parallel with me, blocking my access to the pavement in a manner which was at least inconsiderate and at quarter past eleven was arguably intimidating to a lone female. Eventually he said "You. Got a cigarette?". I just said "No," contemptuously, knowing full well he didn't want a cigarette, he wanted to rob me. No one calls me "You" and gets a favour, and no one obstructs me at night and gets a chance to rob me. Two unconnected men were watching the situation closely and giving me looks of "We're watching and we know he's up to no good." After my calm, contemptuous, business-like 'no' he wandered off, never to return, further proof of his intention to rob, and knowing he had been sussed. I then waited fifteen minutes for the bus and two came at once...

* Glyndebourne, now on DVD, had the stellar cast of Daniele de Niese**, Sarah Connolly, Patricia Bardon, Angelika Kirchschlager

** arguably, it made Daniele de Niese a star

Agrippina @ENO

Music by Handel; production by David McVicar. Not an insignificant fact. David McVicar said in an interview the other week that no one would choose to go to an opera on account of him directing it, and I daresay he is strictly accurate, but, in my opinion, if one is teetering on the brink of indecision, I would say a McVicar production is enough to tip the balance to 'Buy Your Ticket and Go'.

Agrippina: Sarah Connolly
Poppea: Lucy Crowe
Nero: Christine Rice
Narcissus: Stephen Wallace
Otho: Reno Troilus
Claudius: Brindley Sherratt
Pallas: Henry Waddington
Lesbo: Richard Suart
Conductor: Daniel Reuss

I have an ambiguity about Handel's operas. I have not yet seen or heard a Handel opera I have failed to enjoy; on my occasions I have enjoyed tremendously; and the latter was certainly the case here. And yet, I can't really sit here and say what I like about the music, except that I like the tunes. I can't in all honestly rave about the orchestral tones or how they set and portray mood. One could easily point out the samey-samey nature of the music, da capo arias separated by lots of recitative, most of it secco. And I have to be honest and say that I can't really distinguish the music of one Handel opera from another. And I've heard less than a quarter of what he wrote.

So, I suppose the two main elements of Handel's operas are the quality of the singing and the entertainment value of the production. Which is perhaps how it should be. No need for intellectual analysis of the dramaturgy. Sit back and enjoy.

It's difficult to decide which of the women was the best. And even if I did, it would be difficult to separate out the beautiful voices from the dramatic interpretations. Sarah Connolly has a cult following and I can't say I am a paid-up member of the cult. Nevertheless she was very satisfying. I thought that Lucy Crowe was lovely, and Christine Rice was compelling. All three of them great stage animals.

I was not so impressed by the men. Brindley Sherratt was competent as Claudius. But didn't rock my boat.

The downside of Handel is the necessity of enduring counter-tenors. I think there is a major divide amongst opera lovers between those who love counter-tenors and those that don't. Because I enjoy Baroque opera, I have to accept the presence of counter-tenors. Some of the best I can find exquisitively beautiful for almost a whole aria, but my attention soon wavers. Unlike many anti-counter-tenorists, I don't have an issue with the volume of their singing, but I find the lack of variety in tone, colour and volume to be tedious. At worst, I find the falsettist approach to be bizarre to the point of almost frightening. My companions, neither of them counter-tenorists, tried to convince me that, actually, Reno Troilus's Voi che udite, coming immediately before the interval (a break that seemed to work, halfway through Act 2 out of 3), was a thing of beauty. I daresay they are correct, but I preferred the oboe, and I would have much preferred to have had it delivered by a mezzo or a contralto with lots of chest! I can only endorse the description given to Stephen Wallace as one of the Monty Python men pretending to be women.

As for the production. There had been a lot of descriptions of the production in the media, and I won't repeat the descriptions. There were a couple of moments that were flagged up repeatedly. A very free translation had Nero singing "Fuck fuck fuckety fuck" and later, snorting enormous quantities of cocaine. I think in both cases the slight shock - or more, dislocation - value was diluted because of this. Alternatively, a casual reader might think that either incident was the sum total of the drama, suggesting a laziness and a desire to shock for its own sake. they were just aspects of the characterisation of Nero as a spoilt teenage boy. Much comment has been made of the scene in a bar,with the harpsichordist brought on stage to represent a pub pianist.

Scenery wise, there wasn't much to applause. There was a throne at the top of a high staircase. At various stages there was furniture, useful for a bedroom scene, or for a bar scene. I thought it was all rather lovely. I suppose there are people who would like to see a Handel opera played all po-faced and serious, with Roman Empire characters wearing togas and laurel wreaths in order to stand at the front of stage and belt out their arias with no need for dramatic coherence. I don't. I liked the modern dress, I liked the interaction between the characters, the main ones of which were believably three dimensional. Obviously, I don't know how Handel would view it, but I suspect that someone who wrote opera after opera for entertaining an audience would approve of this entertainment. It may not be true to the eighteenth century, but nor am I.

As others have commented, it's a shame that this hasn't been filmed for DVD. I hope it gets revived in due course, and assuming a good cast, I would definitely go again.

Theodora

By Handel, at the Barbican.

Le Concert d’Astrée Orchestra & Chorus
Emmanuelle Haïm: conductor
Geraldine McGreevy (soprano): Theodora
Anne Sofie von Otter (mezzo): Irene
Matthew Rose(bass): Valens
Stephen Wallace(counter-tenor): Didymus
Paul Agnew(tenor): Septimus

I thought it was going to be a concert version of an opera, but it was actually an oratorio that has been staged...excerpts of the Glyndebourne DVD are posted on YouTube.

I don't know the oratorio, but I don't think this is necessarily a serious handicap to enjoying Handel, the great impresario who churned out works to a formula...a great formula. Some really sublime music, and a compelling story. The only thing about Handel is that I feel each of the operas/oratorios (except Messiah) are pretty interchangeable. That's not a bad thing, but nor is it particularly good thing. It's a thing.

As is usual, the main protagonists took to the stage. On my side, the three gentlemen and a woman; funny, I thought I know what both Geraldine McGreevy and Anne Sofie von Otter look like, who's she...Oh, she's the conductor...Blatant sexism on my part - it was the first time I have ever seen a woman conductor live, so perhaps I am just reacting to the sexist conditioning of society. I wonder why there are so very few women conductors at any level, considering that orchestras probably reflect the gender balance of any professional workplace with unsocial hours and trips away, and singers and solo instrumentalists seem to be pretty evenly split on gender lines. And to my shame, I did spend a portion of the first act thinking, I don't have the ability to judge this conductor against various others I have heard/seen, because I keep noticing her, which is not a good thing, but that's because she's a freak, a woman conductor. But then I stopped noticing her, which is a good thing, and the orchestra sounded lovely. Just the right setting and the right work for a Period Ensemble, and whilst they didn't seize me with burning passion I found them consistently pleasant throughout.

I was a bit hesitant about what I'd say about the eponymous heroine, being that she's a blogger, we've mutually commented, and I can be quite harsh on sopranos that don't pass muster. To my relief, I do not have to pick my words carefully, she was splendid. A really gorgeous voice, with a rich creamy lower register and no flaws all the way up, clear enunciation and intelligent interpretation. I particularly enjoyed Angels ever bright and fair, which was sung with tender feeling. And gorgeous shoes. Really gorgeous shoes.

I am not a counter-tenorist, being much more of a tenorist, so, realising that one was in a very major part, I just sighed and thought "Well, this is the downside of Handel, just grin and bear it." And I have to confess at first I had my usual counter-tenor reaction: beautiful sweet voice, but I've heard enough of you, the lack of variation in tone is getting boring. But as the evening progressed I warmed more and more to Stephen Wallace's voice. I understand he was not very audible in the gods, but from where I was on the floor he was perfectly audible. He started out with quite awkward body-language, like a gawky youth, but as the story rolled on, and the character gained a maturity, his body language took on a suaver confidence, which is quite sophisticated acting for oratorio! The closing duet with Theodora was quite possibly the absolute highlight of the evening

I found Anne Sofie van Otter really quite disappointing, considering especially she was ostensibly the star name. Once or twice I found her below pitch, more often she was straining for the high notes, and on a few occasions she just didn't even attempt them, just letting the voice die away. One of the people I was chatting to said she was far too operatic for this work; another said she lacked the serene piety required for the role. I can't say either thought had previously occurred to me, but on reflection, I had to agree.

Paul Agnew sounded fine in a role where I suspect it would be difficult to sound better than fine. A typically English tenor, and, perhaps unfortunately, he does look a bit like a Chartered Accountant. I don't mind the occasional Chartered Accountant looking like a tenor, but I prefer for the converse not to apply.

The biggest treat of the night was Matthew Rose. I have heard him in one or two comprimario roles live, and have a Mozart Requiem where he is a splendid bass soloist (trouble is I have another Mozart Requiem where Gerald Finley is a splendid bass soloist, and I regard Requiem as less-than-top-drawer Mozart...). I have to say that Matthew is definitely one to watch for the future; he has a number of secondary roles this season at ROH and ENO, but I suspect that he will soon be moving onto the major bass and bass-baritone parts, and I will welcome him in them.

All in all a thoroughly pleasant evening. Not necessarily one that will linger in my memory for ever, but a thoroughly nice way to get back into the swing of opera for the season.

And a big hello to Alison and friend, to David and Frances, and to the ubiquitous Stephen with whom I pleasantly spent the intervals.

Bryn

 

I have to be careful what i write here because I know there are a great number of Bryn fans out there. I have two albums by Bryn, one of cr***o**r and one of opera.

The imaginatively named Bryn actually isn't too crossover, in that it does contain some operatic arias, as well as traditional songs. I haven't got round yet to buying Simple Gifts. (Amazon seems to be offering a Double Album; I only have a single album...)

Bryn has a really fabulous voice and there are those who wonder why he has to waste it on cr***o**r. Actually, I like some of the crossover on here a great deal.  Especially Bugeilio'r Gwenith Gwyn.

And it's one of the opera ones that I really don't like. Namely, "Au fond du temple saint" and I think you can guess why. I have a wonderful recording by Jussi Bjoerling and Robert Merrill. Additionally, from time to time they show on the TV a performance of Bryn singing this with Roberto Alagna and it's wonderful. So on this record he has to sing it with Andrea Bocelli. Which is a real shame, because Bocelli's whiny bleat with its approximation to pitch just goes and spoils it. I don't understand why one of the world's greatest opera singers feels the need to sing an operatic duet with a mediocre pop singer.

The only explanation I can think of is that it makes him feel more secure because when he does it the contrast is almost embarrassing. Last year, Songs of Praise came from Brynfest and they showed Bryn singing a duet with Aled Jones. And Aled Jones is by no means a bad singer. Jimmy summed it up

Bryn's not even trying but he's outsinging the other bloke in every way. The other bloke's singing his heart out but it's a different class.

I mean, really,  Bryn has everything, when he makes the effort. In his voice alone: a delightful sound ,superb musicianship and the ability to colour the tone to convince the listener that he understands what he's singing - the words, the music, the emotion, the mood. Even things like Going Home, or  Home Sweet Home, which you've heard a  million times sung by all sorts of people - from his mouth it becomes something extra special.

And if you want to hear My Heart will Go On (or, rather Il Mio Cuore Va) performed superbly well, this is where you'll hear it.

  The other album I have of his is one of Handel Arias, which I got fairly soon after it was released in 1997. He hasn't made a big thing of Handel in his career, I don't think. A whole album of Handel arias is high risk gamble for the listener, in my opinion, because, basically, Handel was a churner-out of operas and oratorios for the commercial market. He wasn't striving for high art or the great truth in the way that, say, Wagner did later. His aim was to supply the paying public with entertainment, and it would be fair to say it was formulaic. If the formula works, that's a good thing, and for Handel, it definitely works. The downside is that a string of arias can be all a bit samey, and it doesn't really matter - Messiah aside - which work any particular aria is from. I'm knocking Handel. He wrote Messiah, for god's sake. And this album contains the gorgeous Where'er you walk (from Semele) and Ombra mai fu (from Serse) which are classics in their own right as well as three from Messiah.

What makes this album so enjoyable is pretty much what makes 'Bryn' also enjoyable - the wonderful voice, the musicality, the ability to colour the voice, and the sense that even though I'm not following the libretto, I know what emotions the aria is about because of the characterisation in his voice. The Scottish Chamber orchestra under Sir Charles Mackerras are lively with a lot of oomph