Gertsamtkunstwerk

3 Anniversary Proms

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Death in Venice

I went to this ages ago - the end of May - and I don't understand why I haven't blogged it,because I really enjoyed it. In fact,it's pretty safe to say that everything I have seen at ENO in 2007 has been really really worthwhile, which is a helluva lot better than can be said for ROH, out of which I have walked twice this year. Oh well, win some lose some.

Perhaps the reason I didn't blog Death in Venice is because of my woeful ignorance. Of course I know the story, who doesn't? Not that I have read Thomas Mann, but I seen the film - the Visconti film, starring the incomparable Dirk Bogarde. Sadly, transmitted by the BBC at the wrong screen size, leading to a dreadful distortion of the haunting Mahler.

But about Benjamin Britten's opera I knew zilch. And I'm not going to even pretend to make an intelligent comment about it. I loved it. I thought there were committed performers in an absorbing opera with a brilliant production. There are lots of reviews all over the interwebthing, from people who know what they're talking about. So what I can I say - and, like eleven days later, how precise can I get?

Ian Bostridge was...interesting. I want to like him, and I do like him, but I can never feel passionately about him. His performance was musical and tortured, very convincing acting. A lot of people say he is, and appears, too young to play Aschenbach, and he certainly comes over much younger than Bogarde's portrayal. But I was happy to overlook that.

I suppose the style isn't everyone taste - it's not actually that popular even with people who are fond of Britten. It's not exactly a stop and sing pretty arias for the show-off-of-voice, which deters people. But you know, I liked it! Peter Coleman Wright was also excellent in the various baritone roles, and, surprisingly, I really liked the seagull counter-tenor Iestyn Davies who sang the Voice of Apollo, a role specifically written for counter-tenor. I wrote somewhere else - and now I forget where - that it was interesting that he soared above the light orchestra, which c-ts don't do in parts written for castrati /soapbox.

If I had to single out one reason why I like Britten it's the percussion. Despite the commendable singing performances and the stunning set, time and again it was the percussion that thrilled me. I keep saying I need to get more into Britten, but time and stuff conspire against me. However, I know that I have the rest of my life; like Handel, his operas are going to be performed more and more. So I shall learn by osmosis rather than study.

Some blogger somewhere - can't remember where, do please claim credit if it were you - singled out the lighting, and I can't argue. So atmospheric, of the Lido/beach, the hotel, and so on. I thought the sets were gorgeous, and I like the way the floor alternatively represented the canals of Venice and the highly polished floor of the hotel. I liked that the sets represented a concept of Venice rather than spelling.it.out.in.big.letters.with.perfect.reproductions.of.St.Marks.and.various. palazzos. And most of all I liked the movements, the way the characters interacted, and the choreography of the boys, who were beautiful to watch.

There's plenty to provoke the thoughts, in Britten's novel and in Visconti's film, and it's potentially a delicate and controversial subject. To put it crudely, Aschenbach is lusting after an adolescent, which makes it sound all murky. More correctly, he is looking at this beautiful child-man and appreciating the beauty, is falling in love, and yet, all the time, the beauty and vivacity, and innocence, of the child is a stark reminder of his own 'old age' (in his fifties...), ugliness, and impotence (as a writer, and, I suppose, sexually). Obviously not one for the Daily Mail/Classic FM Brigade, and it makes me feel uncomfortable - am I naive in thinking it's just some old man's fantasies, or is there something more sinister going on. I want to believe that the main theme is the contrast between youthful beauty and ageing deterioration, and not that it's a pederast's charter (although, let's be honest, no one would raise an eyebrow if the object of his desire was a girl of the same age - fair game in the public subconscious...)

It still has one more performance left, on Wednesday, and I hope that they revive it in the near future.

And, finally a big hello to Mandy. I had hoped to catch up with you in the interval, but I had to bolt to the street for my nicotine fix, then the lift on the way back took for ever up and down up and down. but it was nice to see you, and I hope you enjoyed it, too!

Oh, and the stick waver was Edward Gardner who has cunningly had some grey dye inserted into his hair to make him appear older than Tadzio.