Gertsamtkunstwerk

Anna Russell

   Not an album to play over-and again, and not really one to put onto mp3-player, but nevertheless a bloody good record. There is humour throughout but the absolutely classic track is Ring Of The Nibelungs.

Ring Of The Nibelungs? you ask. Hasn't someone else done this already?

Funny you should say this. Wagner. Wagner's version takes 14 CDs and requires an orchestra of over a hundred, and cast of dozens, but Anna does it in 21 minutes and 40 seconds, just her and a piano. I'm not making this up, you know. Those who know the Ring enjoy it because it's absolutely spot on. And funny.

But it's also extraordinarily informative. If you don't really know the Ring, or kind of know it, but get confused, this is an easy twenty minutes crammer. Reportedly, it's used on university courses as introduction to the Ring.

On Easter Monday Radio 3 is broadcasting an entire Ring Cycle (Barenboim from Bayreuth in 1993) but for me, I shall be able to issue the immortal words "Next is  Götterdämmerung!". Later in the Spring BBCTV is broadcasting the entire Ring but both they and the Royal Opera House are keeping very quiet about it on their websites.  I would suggest that you play Anna Russell's Ring of the Nibelungs as preparation...!

Music Meme

Picked up from the internet!

The instructions were to put my music player on "shuffle" , ask the question and then push "play" to see what comes up.

1. How does the world see you?

Salut! Demeure chaste et pure (from Gounod's Faust)

2. Will I have a happy life?

Single Girl: Lush

3. What do my friends really think of me?

Mein lieber Hippolyte (from Struass's Rosenkavalier)

Hippolyte was queen of the Amazons, a tribe of women warriors

4. Do people secretly lust after me?

Angel - Adam Ant

5. How can I make myself happy?

Bella figlia dell'amore (from Verdi's Rigoletto)

Well, I wouldn't over-analyse the libretto, but listening to music as superbly beautiful as this will at least lift the spirits, if not guarantee everlasting happiness.

6. What should I do with my life?

Some Might Say - Oasis

7. Will I ever have children?

Somedays I See the Point - Billy Bragg

It's not a helpful answer to this question, but a fabulous anthem for life:

Never saw a meaningful tv advert, I don’t think shopping is a metaphor for life
Don’t waste my time at the gym in the morning, try to keep trim by living my life

Every day and in every way Billy speaks to me.

8. What is some good advice for me?

Wild is the Wind - David Bowie

You touch me, I hear the sound of mandolins
You kiss me
With your kiss my life begins
You're spring to me, all things to me
Don't you know, you're life itself!

9. How will I be remembered?

High and Dry - Radiohead

Never high, rarely dry...

10. What is my signature dancing song?

Voulez Vous - Abba

11. What do I think my current theme song is?

The Housatonic at Stockbridge - Charles Ives

12. What does everyone else think my current theme song is?

North Sea Bubble - Billy Bragg

13. What song will play at my funeral?

O Come Everyone That Thirsteth - from Mendelssohn's Elijah

14. What type of women / men do you like?

Pursue thy Conquest (from Purcell's Dido & Aeneas

15. What is my day going to be like?

Art Thou Troubled? (from Handel's Rodelinda)

Art thou troubled? Music will calm thee
Art thou weary? Rest shall be thine
Music, source of all gladness heals thy sadness at her shrine.
Music, music ever divine.
Music, music calleth with voice divine.

When the welcome spring is smiling,
all the earth with flow'rs beguiling after winter's dreary reign,
sweetest music doth attend her,
heavenly harmonies doth lend her,
chanting praises in her train.

Fabulous

I don't tag people and when I'm tagged I have a mental block, but the challenge is yours, should you wish to take it!

* I currently have about half of my collection on Zerlina

Pláci cancels Parsifal...

...but has not given up the role, according to Playbill Arts

Plácido Domingo has cancelled an upcoming appearance as Parsifal in Zurich, his representative Edgar Vincent confirmed. But Vincent denied that the tenor has dropped the role from his repertoire, as indicated in a statement from Zurich Opera.

In announcing Domingo's cancellation on its web site, the company said that Domingo had "decided to remove the role of Parsifal immediately from his repertoire."

Vincent said that Domingo will sing the role as scheduled with Hamburg Opera in 2007.

Vincent told PlaybillArts that Domingo was forced to cancel the April 23 gala performance in Zurich due to his recent bout of tracheitis. "He was silent for three months, which is the longest period he stopped singing in a 40-year career. He is following his doctor's advice not to overdo it."

Domingo was to appear in the closing night of the production, which starts on April 13 with Jonas Kaufmann in the title role.

New Season at Covent Garden

Has just been announced, bringing a temporary hiatus to the speculation that has been going on.

Full season listing

First the bad news. No Plácido. I've already gone into sulk mode and thrown my toys out of the pram. Sod the ROH, see if I care.

The season starts with Faust, with Angela Gheorghiu the highlight. John Relyea gets to wear the black sparkly dress.

We also have a concert performance at The Barbican of La Juive. Mainly a good solid British cast; Nicole Cabell (Cardiff Singer of the Year) makes her debut.

La Finta Giardineria is fully staged: I figured it might be a concert performance. The English Baroque Soloists are the band.

The we have Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk. Although I'm not a Shostakovitch fan, this is on my MUST SEE list - a fantastic production.

Bird of Night by Dominique Le Gendre appears in the Linbury (and out of left-field as far as mmofm is concerned...!)

We then have La Boheme, with Marcelo Alvarez (!) (I'll give Frank Lopardo a miss, except that he's in the cast with Robert Gleadow - a mmofm 'One To Watch' - as Colline)

Then we have Queen of Spades, with Gerald Finley (yay!)

A double-cast Carmen, new production. Lead role is Anna Maria Antonacci and Marina Domashenko. Jonas Kaufmann (!) and Marco Berti share Don Jose - so, no Alagna...Francesca Zambello directs.

La Fille du Regiment, follows, as predicted with Juan Diego Florez (!) and Natalie Dessay

Marcelo Alvarez (!) returns as Manrico in Il Trovatore, with Catherine Nagelstad and Stephanie Blythe.

Madama Butterfly, I'll miss. None of the cast is a pull factor.

Handel's Orlando is followed by a revival of The Tempest. Mainly the original cast in the main parts, although Kate Royal is added to the list.

The there is the L'heure espagnole/ Gianni Schicchi double bill. Yann Beuron, an mmofm One To Watch is in the former; Bryn Terfel is the major pull factor for the latter.

Stiffelio stars Jose Cura (ah well, never mind) and Sondra Radvanovsky.

Owen Wingrave (unpredicted on this blog) crops up in the Linbury

Pelleas et Meliande stars my favourite baritone (Gerald Finley), my favourite mezzo (Angelika Kirchschlager) and the frequently shirtless Simon Keenlyside. I suppose I shall have to learn not to hate Debussy. Simon Rattle conducts.

Fidelio stars Karita Mattila and a very good if not necessarily star-studded cast - although Simon O'Neill is being heralded as the latest heldentenor. Andrew Staples, very much an mmofm 'One to Watch' makes his ROH debut. Splendid.

Don Giovanni is the Big One for summer with Erwin Schrott, Jonathan Lemalu (ah well, never mind), Anna Netrebko, Ana Maria Martinez and a generally impressive cast.

Charles Mackerras conducts Kat'a Kabanova.

A concert performance of Thais stars Renee Fleming, Thomas Hampson and Joseph Calleja.

Tosca with Violeta Urmana, Salvator Licitra (oh please, do we have to) and Mark Delevan (shrug). This is one of many productions featuring Robert Gleadow.

Rigoletto and Cosi fan Tutte finish the season.

So well done to the mmofm community. We've done bloody well in predicting this, and the only predicted one that isn't scheduled is Le nozze di figaro.

Biggest thanks of all to the various less-than-discrete singers and/or their agents who make it all possible!

But I'm still sulking at there being no Pláci and no Rolando. I'm going to have to get on a bloody aeroplane, innit?

Update: MusicOMH has a sensible preview

Update update: Cunning Little Vixen previews it. Best quote:

There probably should be laws against putting Gerald Finley, Simon Keenlyside and Robert Gleadow on the same stage in the same opera at the same time.

Interview with Bryn Terfel

Bass-baritone and gentle Welsh giant plugging Brynfest.

Rolando did make reference to a concert 'somewhere in England'. Tee hee, middle of a field in Wales at August Bank Holiday weekend.

...Brynfest is a "well-oiled machine. People know what to bring - their picnics, their coats, their thermals..." When the issue of the famous Welsh weather rears its head, Terfel is typically lyrical on the subject. "They know they're not going to get the bright sunshine of Spain. We catch all the weather of North Wales." With a Dylan Thomas-esque flourish, he explains, "It's close to the Menai Straits and to the Snowdon mountain range - a beautiful wooded location with its own microclimate."

Bloody impressive line-up - Jimmy's been enthused about Shirley Bassey for weeks now - but nothing, nothing, not even wild horses, and certainly not even the combined talents of Bryn Terfel, Rolando Villazon, Angela Gheorghiu, Shirley Bassey and, er, Westlife, would entice me to stand in the middle of a field in North Wales. Gosh, "Camping facilities will be available at local campsites..."

British Summer Time

...and global variations of the clock-changing nuisance that ought to be abolished.

I hate it conceptually, and it throws my body clock out for a week or more. I end up doing approximate adjustments so every time piecdifferent time. And I haven't done most of the things. CBA. Carmen, Zerlina, Ulrica, and the video and stereos remain undone.

But the blog-comment of the week has to be on Zoe's

I always used to rely on the computer telling me about the time change too, but this year all our computers are confused. The Australian end-of-daylight-savings-time has been postponed by a week due to the Commonwealth Games, but no one told any of the computers.

StyleyGeek

We should have permanent Summertime. I was born in Permanent Summertime. We only went back to archaism so because Scottish farmers didn't want to milk their cows in the dark.

To which I reply:

• A tiny percentage of people live in the north of Scotland, of whome few are dairy farmers
• Cows don't wear watches
• Milking parlours have electricity

Meanwhile we are subjected to five months of SAD. I was going to cite RoSPA on the subject, but actually they advocate Single/Double Summertime, which would have undoubted benefits for safety and health but will still require us to change our clocks. Why can't we just accept that midday is when the sun is directly overhead and leave it at that?

In a global economy we could at least agree globally to do it all at the same time

And India is at half past when the rest of the world has the big hand pointing straight up.

Wheelie Bin Wars

In our little enclave we have four cottages. And three lidded wheelie bins and one without a lid. A year or so back we got a replacement for the lidless one. When I say we, I mean me. I don't mean the occupants of the other cottages, but me, complete with a job number and everything.

One of the lidded ones has been nicked. Beginning of February. So we rang up to get a job number and were told that it would be up to seven days before an Inspector checked our wheelie-binlessness. And when we got a new one would depend on whether they had them in stock. I remember the day precisely because it was my birthday.

The next bin day Jimmy found a wheelie bin at the end of the drive and we claimed it as ours. Weeks went by and we bumped into our neighbour, moaning her lack of wheelie bin. We mentioned that we had contacted Environmental Services and it was quite clear that she believed that we had stolen her wheelie bin, even though we were taking the view that it was First Come First Served. It was equally valid to aver she had nicked ours.

One Friday evening we were heading out at 7pm. We got to the bottom of the path, and Jimmy realised he'd left his Oyster Card indoors so went to get it, banging the door behind him as he left the house. In the mean time I was surveying our exit and realising that we were stuck, blocked into our front garden by the thoughtless parking of a car. There was insufficient room to allow a human being to pass either side.

A man came out of Our Neighbour's House and said "Oh, I heard you leave the house, you'll be wanting to get out." He was under the impression we wanted to go out by car, but I said, no, we just want to walk out. He was almost apologetic. Actually I lie, he was not apologetic but giggly and decided that he would move the car. With considerable difficulty - Jimmy had to use hand signals to assist him reverse up the neighbour's drive. Why he couldn't have parked there originally, I don't know.

I expressed my anger, saying that if it had been any other night I would have been coming in and would not have been able to get past, either to my own house, or to bang randomly on the doors of my neighbours to find out whose car it was. He still didn't apologise, so I called him stupid or thoughtless or some such, suggesting vociferously (but no swear words) that he should have realised that no one could get through, let alone anyone with a pram or luggage or in a wheelchair.

About three weeks ago the neighbours renting next door did a midnight flit and the house has been unoccupied. Every Monday morning a wheelie bin is placed on their driveway, depriving us of one. Every Monday afternoon we salvage a wheelie bin from the unoccupied house.

Jimmy reckons our neighbour is deliberately taking one to the unoccupied house to spite us, after we "stole" hers and were rude to her moronic visitor. I suggest that it might be the binmen, but there is no logic in constantly returning a wheelie bin to a house that doesn't start off with one, and has no rubbish bags, and still has the Phone Book, delivered last week, sitting on the path.

The simple thing would be to paint our house number and erotic pictures of the anti-christ onto the bin, but I always remember when it's raining or dark, and forget when it's painting weather.

It's so bloody suburban. If I wanted a neighbourhood dispute I would have moved to suburbia.

Talking Heads

"Five" - which I insist on calling Channel Five - aired the first in its new series: The 1970s: That Was the Decade That Was.

It was a worthy attempt but a bit hit-and-miss. They are investigating a different theme each week. Last Friday it was gender, sexuality and sexual orientation; this coming Friday "how Britain went bust; society became divided; and racism was on the rise."

I was initially irritated as it uttered barely defensible assertions eg "The Seventies was the Decadent Decade, the one of Consumerism." Where does that leave the Eighties, I thought? Yes, people did buy consumer goods, but they had done so since the Fifties, to the extent that they could be afforded. It also highlighted certain social trends, such as out homosexuality and unmarried couples living together, which may well have started in the Seventies amongst the pace-setters but in my opinion did not really take off until later. Conversely, they suggested that illegitimate children was a total social stigma until the Seventies. I think that was a simplification, because I can think of many illegitimate children of my own age (ie born in the Sixties) and yet I will swear that there was considerable social stigma into the eighties and beyond.

The best bits of the programme was the archive footage, and the contribution of knowledgeable people, such as Rosie Boycott, who were actually there and making things happen. Some contributions were obviously thrown in for comedy value: Norman Tebbitt saying that he was not entertained by Women's Lib, followed by an immediate segue into a demonstration for Equal Pay for Women. Very depressing to think that a former Employment Secretary still does not understand the importance of Equal Pay to over half the population. And Henry Cooper proclaiming that before the Seventies married women didn't work, but instead had the dinner on the table for the children. My interpretation is that going back decades and decades working-class women did work, had to work, and also got the dinner on the table.

But I was puzzled at the inclusion of 'Celebrity Contributions'. People expressing their opinions in a Talking Head. Or perhaps mouthing the words of a researcher. I can't understand why they were used, because they did not seem to bring a particularly personal experience nor do they have any credentials as social commentators. Even more puzzling in a programme that was aimed at a UK TV audience and was exclusively about developments in British society was the use of American social commentators. They weren't there, what do they know. Sure, there were parallel developments in the US, but so were there in France, Germany and numerous other countries. I detest this inappropriate, incongruous and inappropriate constant-Americanisation by the media of UK space.

The absolute best contribution came from Tom Robinson, who, despite being a 'celebrity' was able to articulate and amusingly analyse a personal anecdote to illustrate a wider point. In his case, reading Gay Times on the Tube, knowing there was a City Gent behind him, expecting some verbal abuse, and then hearing the City Gent make a comment to the effect that he too reads Gay Times.

What I took away was that so many people are so anxious to control the lives of others, when it's none of their business. Failing to understand that giving other people a choice does not mean being obliged to do likewise. But I don't know to what extent it is stupidity or fear or hatred.

It will be interesting to see whether they tackle environmentalism, which is far more important in understanding how private actions really do impact on society and its constituent individuals than faux morality about private sexuality. Yet quarter of a century later, sexual 'morality' is still more controversial than environmental morality.

TV musings

It seems that our satellite TV problems may well be over, although I am firmly touching wood whilst holding everything crossed.

In retrospect it appears that we had a strange congruence of events.

The major problem was the crane, but that served to reveal two other faults. We have had the satellite dish moved for almost two weeks now and TV reception is fine, even when the crane is moving around during the day.

Indeed reception is better than it has ever been. Ever since we got the Sky+, things we recorded were subject to nano-stutters. This problem got bad after Christmas, and I found an explanation on the digital spy forum, which connected it to a download of new software coupled with an intrinsically piss-poor model of box. Sometimes this led to an entire phrase being missing from a drama.

We watched a two hour recorded drama (less ads, through which we fast forward) and it was pristine, with not even a nano-second of interruption.

Interestingly, the programmes we recorded prior to our one week outage, before the application of Joe's 'Magic Fingers', have been lost. they came up on the menu as 'Copy', and directed that the video recorder should be in record mode to play them - but that was fruitless. The programmes we recorded in between our two outages were preserved without hitch.

I cannot understand or explain the problem with the box, but I can assemble facts and draw conclusions. I suspect that the dish had gone out of alignment - apparently just a few millimetres can make a difference. To be honest, it does not surprise me that it should shift in two-and-a-half years, especially sitting in an exposed position on a chimney pot, but it's worth bearing in mind.

The Sky engineers failed to check the box, failed to check whether the dish was in perfect alignment, and failed to move the dish to a place where it would by-pass the concrete boom.

It seems that the episode might actually have ended satisfactorily. The construction company have correctly promised to pay for the costs of calling Joe out. Sky have responded positively:

Firstly may I apologise for the delay in my reply to your email, this is due to us currently experiencing a high volume of emails. As your equipment is out of warranty then the service call charge would be applicable. rs any repairs that are carried out with a 90 day warranty. Unfortunately I am able to issue copies of the programmes you have missed, I have however applied a viewing credit of 9.60 (GBP) to your account for 7 days lost viewing. I have also applied a special promotion to your account of 2 months half price subscription as a gesture of goodwill. I hope my reply clarifies matters. However, should you require any further assistance on this matter please contact the above email address and we will be happy to help.

I am due to receive a copy of the Welsh Dutchman and have no doubt that BBC4 will repeat the Folk Britannia concert. However, nothing will ever make up for missing Manchester United winning the League Cup for only the second time in history.

All I can say is that it is important to complain, important to investigate what your rights are, and most important to remain civil and constructive throughout. At the nadir of my stress I was envisaging getting my solicitor, my MP and the South London Press involved. None of this was necessary as we dealt with the companies grown-up to grown-up.

Sir John in Love

It probably isn't a good thing to go to operas on two consecutive days, although such a thing will happen again in May, for sure.

But despite all my dithering I knew deep inside that I ought to go to this one. Perhaps "ought" isn't a good enough reason, either. Sir John in Love is by Vaughan Williams and is based upon Shakespeare's Merry Wives of Windsor. A strong cast, as ENO said, mixing Youth and Experience, and containing half a dozen names worth making the effort for.

Vaughan Williams, one of Britain's finest composers, wrote a ravishingly buoyant score for his 'Falstaff' opera, which has been described as one long chain of melodies. It is permeated with English folksongs, including the great British favourite Greensleeves. The vivacious characters are brought to life by an exemplary British cast,

says ENO.

First off, I will say that almost without exception it was wonderfully acted. Top marks to Andrew Shore as Falstaff, a real star performance, and there was nobody that came across badly. And Robert Tear and Jean Rigby both acted far far better than their singing. There were some examples of excellent singing: Shore, Marie McLaughlin and Iain Paterson were my stand outs; hon menshes also to Alistair Miles (who was probably better than how I heard him, because it was a deep bass role), Sarah Fox, and to Andrew Kennedy, who I have decided that I would like to see in a proper role, because at times he really hit my T-spot. He also gets my award for "Most Hyperactive Tenor of the Week" against formidable opposition...

Some of the music was magnificent. I single out the orchestral rendering of Greensleeves, exemplifying everything I like about Vaughan Williams. There was also some terrific orchestra work in the closing scene which managed to salvage the evening for me. I shall leave the final scene for a moment. But most of the score was dire. I can't stand that twee Merrie England folksiness tripping gaily through the meadow. Cowpat music, I think.

I thought the score was patchy at best. One tune, nicked from one of Henry VIII's courtiers, does not an opera make. I thought for the most part the vocal lines were horrible, and I feel loath to criticise the singers who delivered them, even though I felt that there were quite a few voices straining unlyrically in a way that made me judge them as too small for the house. The plot was amusing, but the libretto/dramaturgy really failed to give any insight into the human condition.

The dreadful libretto/dramaturgy combined with an awful staging to make the evening drag interminably. I am sure I could sit through the entire sixteen hours of Wagner's Ring and be not as bored as I was. Three hours into the second Act I lost the will to live, very jealous of the couple behind who had declared at halftime "It's a waste of money if we stay, and a waste of money if we go." They went. At least I got an insight into the relativity of Time, when I realised that a three week opera can actually be fitted in between half past seven and quarter past ten.

Much of the problem with the staging was the sheer wasted energy. There were a great number of chorus members and extras, who weren't exactly standing around but hadn't been given any clear directions on when to move. The sets were uninspired junk, with a house made of matchsticks acting as the focal point. For certain scenes they split it in two, which just irritated me because one half had no upstairs.

But the second worst bit was a scene in the country, where the scenery consisted of two dimensional cut-out cardboard greenery and a two-dimensional cut out cardboard cow. My colleagues could have done a better cardboard cow in 1991 when I moved to Agriculture Division - and, guess what, they did.

But the very worst aspect of all was the accents. Everyone else seems to think they were Mockney and Fake Somerset, but I swear they were the worst attempt ever at bucolic Norfolk.

Thankfully the final scene was a semi-coup de theatre with a half hearted attempt to make the tree look realistic, and there was a pretty impressive bonfire. The music for this scene was enjoyable, too, but frankly, it's not been staged anywhere in the world since 1958, and, if it takes another forty-eight years to be staged again, well, I shall be eighty-six and have an excuse to stay at home. Or maybe not - I want to be Rose Hacker. But I'll give Sir John in Love a miss.

Edward Seckerson in the Independent This comedy of errors falls flat, tepid says the Times. The FT loves it; Too Much `Hey-Nonny-Nonny' Deadens ENO's `Sir John in Love' . And someone travelled all the way from California and set up a blog specially - here's their review of the performance.

Audience observations. To my right were a couple, who seemed rather mismatched to me. I don't think it was a first date but I have my suspicions it will soon run its course. He was late twenties and earnest and thoughtful, she was early twenties, and seemed to be a spoilt attention seeker. When they arrived she had an enormous tub of ice-cream and spent the first twenty minutes shovelling it into her gob, before he suggested that she stopped scraping the spoon noisily along the tub. Before it had even started he suggested he would take her to Nixon in China.

Throughout the entire opera she spent her entire time fidgeting. To some extent, I have sympathy, because it was boring. But she made no effort to concentrate, perhaps concentration it isn't one of her core competencies, but she behaved like a spoilt small child high on e-numbers. When I returned at the end of the interval, she was sitting alone in her seat, and the boyfriend returned a considerable time later. As we left, he, rather desolately, said "Well, perhaps it might have been better if you'd known what was going on, most of the performances have surtitles." I think by then she had lost the will to live and no doubt her anecdotes in the future will include "I had this boyfriend once - would you believe he took me to an opera. Boring shit, I don't know what was worse, the boring opera or the boring boyfriend. I'm well shut of him."

Concert in Leon, Mexico

A number of links in the Spanish language Press

Plácido Domingo "emocionado" por concierto

Me falta vida para grabar a José Alfredo: Plácido Domingo

Plácido Domingo nombrado 'Huésped Distinguido' de ciudad mexicana de León

Emociona a Plácido Domingo primer concierto en León

Plácido Domingo, huésped distinguido, de la ciudad de León

Elogia el fin de la política unilateral

Plácido "emocionado" por concierto

And concert reviews:

Domingo y Olivia Gorra conmueven a León

Deleite bajo la lluvia

Concierto en Guanajuato bajo la lluvia: Plácido Domingo canta con Vicente Fox

Se une el presidente Vicente Fox al dúo de Plácido Domingo y Olivia Gorra

Fox cantó con el tenor Plácido Domingo: La lluvia interrumpió el concierto

Cantan Vicente Fox y Plácido Domingo bajo la lluvia de Guanajuato

Bajo la lluvia, Fox canta Caminos de Guanajuato con Plácido Domingo

Empañan percances concierto de Plácido

And a helpful summary, in English, from the Director of the Opera Company of Sinaloa

After the show

On Wednesday night I sent a text:

I just spoke to Rolando. I'd tried taking a photo a few minutes earlier but someone had moved into the frame so I asked if I could take another and he said "for your website?" OMG!!!

After Eugene Onegin, I went past the Stage Door and realised that there was a fair crowd but not too many, so I paused to think, and  I ended up going in.

Of the names, Amanda Roocroft was first out. She made straight for Smelly Psycho Stalker:  I was wondering whether she wanted to get him over with; she had her back to me and accidentally hit my arm and was profuse with apologies, even calling me "Madame". She looked ever so relieved when I did a "Don't worry, no need to apologise" face and gesture, and also that I was "normal". Either she was in a hurry or she is a bit of a whirlwind. But she seemed pleasant enough.

Eric Halfvarson was next. He seemed very nice, although reserved. The woman I was standing with told him that when he had played Claggart in Vienna she had gone to meet him but she had slipped and broken her arm and he was "I hope it wasn't my fault, I hope I didn't frighten you." She assured him it was just one of those things. I said I really liked the aria and thanked him. He thanked me for coming.

Next was Dmitri - more about him later. I did not get a photo, which is a shame because he is spectacularly photogenic.

Finally Rolando appeared and really did not seem in any hurry. He spent ages with the people near the automatic door, which was great because as he moved away from them they departed. I did try taking a photo but I sensed someone move into the frame.  So, as he was walking backwards towards the street door I asked if I had could have another attempt, which was when he said "For your website?" I did a double take step back, a bit embarrassed, and then we hugged. I took one:

He suggested that I took one of his t-shirt. I had a sneaking suspicion that it said something rude, and he explained to the woman next to me  (who I calculated was seventy plus although looking younger) that it was very rude, but to me he was saying it's okay if said among friends. So I'm going to publish the photo, even though I'm not really sure...

I asked him what he's doing next season, and he said "Nothing" so I went "Oh no!" in dismay (genuine spontaneous reaction) but he said the following season he will be doing The Elixir of Love and Don Carlo. I said "Brilliant" and that I absolutely loved the aria from Elisir on his first album (but its name slipped my mind - Una furtiva lagrima...duh!). I said "But I love the Donizetti on the latest album" which I've just realised makes no sense because L'elisir is also Donizetti. Stupid stupid stupid!

Someone asked him about his Russian and he said he spent two hour with the Russian language coach today and he's got more tomorrow and he did a slitting motion across his throat. But he's asked Gergiev if he can sing Lensky at the Marinsky...

Back to Dimitri: He was chatting a while to a very small number of people, then he came out of the door with the wall button, and Smelly Psycho Stalker addressed him in Russian and they were talking in Russian. Then he dashed away not pausing for the other six or eight people either side of the automatic door. I thought he glared at me but at the time I assumed it was a non-specific glare, but later I also wondered whether he has seen the SOSSLED Day Out post, and I feel kind of bad about that.

First of all, Faye is a massive fan of Dima, whereas I have slightly different feelings. I think he is a superb singer and excellent musician, and I have never come away disappointed in his singing. Conversely, the overall performance of his I enjoyed the most was the concert at the Barbican, when I felt he really reached out to the audience. I would certainly never avoid a production because of him and I am pretty damn sure that he would always be a 'pull factor'. But my natural reaction when with someone who really likes is to adopt cynicism, plus I'm never going to elbow Faye out of the way to get to Dima.

Furthermore, I firmly believe that once the final curtain has gone down, singers - or any other performer - owe nothing to the audience. The fact that some stop and talk to fans, and appear to enjoy it, maybe because they're on an adrenaline high post-performance, or because they believe that it is helpful PR, or because they're naturally gregarious. But there is nothing wrong with singers who choose not to linger or are brief and business-like. Furthermore, I understand Dima is a fellow-smoker and I would not be surprised if he just wanted to get somewhere and light up where he wouldn't get some nagging bat saying "You're a singer, you shouldn't smoke."

I also hope that the "Haughty Russkie" isn't seen as offensive. Again we are somewhat disrespectful about the names we give our favourite singers. No offence intended.

But I feel really bad that he might have read my post and been offended. That was never my intention and if it came across that way I can only apologise. Of course, how conceited does this read - as if world-famous baritone Dmitri Hvorostovsky is likely to read my blog. But world-famous tenor Rolando Villazón has, so who knows. And it certainly isn't anything to do with Faye, who really really likes Dmitri and is looking forward to seeing him soon.

Maybe we should have some cards made to hand to singers. On one side "You have been SOSSLED" and on the other "We are a group of respectable sensible women with considerable status in our respective professions. We just happen to like singers. We refer to stalking, but that stops outside the curtilage of opera house/concert hall. We are non-threatening, and don't have a criminal record between us, although Faye does have some Andrea Bocelli, which I suppose counts..."

Eugene Onegin links

The Guardian

the production places as much emphasis on Onegin's unravelling friendship with Lensky as it does on his conflicted feelings for Tatyana. This may be because the performances are exceptionally strong. Onegin is played by Dmitri Hvorostovsky, Lensky by Rolando Villazon. Hvorostovsky, a supercilious smirk on his face, is very much the caddish practical joker, toying with people's emotions until his games swirl out of control. Villazon is fragile and troubled, naively trusting in his fellow human beings, only to be destroyed by his eventual understanding of their inherent cruelty.

Roocroft isn't quite in their league. There are plenty of insights, above all in the final scenes where she confronts Onegin with bitter anger as well as regret, though her voice has now has a mature quality that doesn't make her depiction of the younger Tatyana entirely credible. Conductor Philippe Jordan, meanwhile, coaxes sounds of subtle sadness from the pit. Musically much of it is very beautiful but, as a totality, it fails to cohere.

The Independent didn't like it:

I cannot remember when this opera was last quite so dominated by a Lensky and Olga. Nino Surguladze's engaging Olga is established early on as a tomboy with irresistible feminine charms. The contralto colour of the voice is beguiling, but as ever it's the belief that sweeps you along on her every word and gesture. The same is true of Rolando Villazon's Lensky; the ardour, the intensity, of the delivery is thrilling. His calling for Olga in the final minutes of his life was the highlight of the evening.

Financial Times

Even if you don’t “get it” – and some of the allusions are just a little too oblique – you come away buoyed by the sheer wealth of subtext they find beneath the familiar surface... this is far more than a “concept” production. (Pimlott's) greatest achievement is to draw performances of such conviction and detail from his cast. There can be few more practised Onegins than Dmitri Hvorostovsky, but here he remakes the character afresh. Partly it’s the appearance: smiling in a brown wig for his early scenes with Tatyana, the Siberian baritone is almost unrecognisable, but he is all too real as the “superfluous man” who smiles politely before behaving badly. His performance shows just how far he has developed as an actor, while radiating the polished beauty of Tchaikovsky’s vocal lines. Rolando Villazón, in his debut as Lensky, makes the perfect counterpart, finding a thrilling ardour and open- hearted temperament in the role...Amanda Roocroft..rewards us with a Tatyana who may be a shade mature for the country girl of the first two acts, and not exactly touching in the letter scene – the production leaves her stranded in too much space – but she comes into her own in the finale.

The Times

After an Act I as lively as washed-up seaweed, the Royal Opera’s new staging of Onegin mustered a few late flickers of drama. But oh dear, what a sedate first hour! In the title-role Dmitri Hvorostovsky sang with customary suavity . . . and acted with customary impassivity. A broom might have been livelier. Amanda Roocroft (Tatiana) couldn’t be faulted for effort. But she never hit the consistent vocal form of her mesmerising Tatiana two seasons ago. And Steven Pimlott’s production took ages to ignite. True, Tchaikovsky wanted his Pushkin opera to be staged with rustic simplicity. But not inertness

What galvanised proceedings were three outstanding supporting performances. As Lensky, the much-vaunted young Mexican Rolando Villazón took a while to get his exciting tenor flowing, but he was compelling in his pre-duel soliloquy. Pity he lost the duel.

I was also impressed by the Georgian mezzo Nino Surguladze (Olga): sumptuous tone, and her face was the liveliest thing on stage. And the veteran bass Eric Halfvarson stole the show with Gremin’s touching hymn to late-flowering love.

The Stage

Sunday Times - that was me in Row M...

Music OMH

The saving grace of the evening is the musical performance which, although not first rate, was never less than competent and managed occasionally to be outstanding. The latter category certainly describes the riveting singing and acting of the young Mexican tenor Rolando Villazón as Lensky. Consistently excellent from his first entrance, Villazón was captivating as the impetuous young lover... his aria just before his death could scarce have carried more poignancy.

You know, I feel sorry for the professional critics. They get free seats in the best part of the house on opening night, and do not feel that their evening is worth it unless they can carp and criticise like a load of misery guts. I think they actually collude. Whereas us bloggers, who have to work for a living to afford our tickets in less favourable parts of the house, not always on First Night. Well, we get to enjoy ourselves. Ya boo sucks.

Eugene Onegin

This enticed me to the Royal Opera House on Wednesday evening. I have previously written at some length about the production in the Dress Rehearsal. It was the first time I had attended a Dress and was cautious about pronouncing on the musical performance. In the light of Wednesday's performance I am glad that I didn't, and the reservations I carried after the Dress are now irrelevant.

I also have to say that my review is being written in the context of attending a dire "Sir John in Love" at the Coliseum last night. If the order of performances had been reversed, I would probably have enjoyed Sir John more than I did and got even more enjoyment from Eugene Onegin. Ah well, such is life.

The story is taken from Pushkin's novel in verse and is a fairly straightforward story. Two sisters, Tatiana and Olga. Olga is engaged to Lensky. He brings his friend Onegin to visit and Tatiana falls for him. She writes a letter telling of her love. He spurns her, saying he's not the marrying type and their love can only be that of brother and sister (this is where it is interpreted as being semi-autobiographical for Tchaikovsky and the seed of the gay subtext).

At a ball Onegin dances with Olga; Lensky challenges him to a duel, which takes place and Onegin shoots Lensky. A few years later after travelling abroad, Onegin returns to a chance encounter with Tatiana now married to his distant cousin, and he realises the strength of his feelings. But too late.

All over I thought that it was a splendid performance. For the most part my attention did not wander, except when grabbed, for example by the ghastly cow sat next to me who thought it would enhance my enjoyment if she tunelessly hummed along. This was when she wasn't condemning the friezes as dreadful. I wanted to know why they were dreadful. Eg in the case of the naked man frieze, was it the nakedness that upset her, or the lack of naughty bits. Or was it because it  - purposely - obscured the action on stage. Everybody's entitled to an opinion but it would help, when inflicting them on me, to expand on the justification. Otherwise, it just sounds like the kneejerk reaction of a posh strangulated cow.

I am not intimate with the opera so I was in no position to find tiny flaws at which to nitpick, as I inevitably do with a more familiar work. Not necessarily to the aid of enjoyment! It's Tchaikovsky, beautiful tunes and lovely orchestration. I thought the orchestra played well without necessarily being on fire. The first night reviews suggested that the conducting was restrained and to a large extent I agree. I had hopes of a more lush richer sound, such as I experienced at ENO last year or in the DVD I have in my possession.

Some people have commented on the Russian diction - Dmitri Hvorostovsky was the only native speaker in the cast - but I can't comment because Russian is entirely foreign to me. And it's not just about pronunciation - there are styles of musical phrasing, and, as a friend pointed out dramatic gestures. But I don't have that understanding.

I thought all the principals were splendid in different ways. I find Dimitri Hvorostovsky an enigma. I have never found his voice to be less than technically superb and very beautiful, although inexplicably he does not hit my 'B-spot'. He is undoubtedly one of the most gifted and thoughtful artists I have seen. Yet, having seen him in the past year in Rigoletto, Ballo and now this, I feel that his acting and projection was most compelling in his Barbican concert. Arguably, Onegin is a cold person until Act 3, but even so, I have to file Dima under "Superb singer, indifferent actor."

I was a lot more impressed by Amanda Roocroft (a fine Lancastrian singer) than I expected. I can't say I care for her voice. I have a love-hate attitude to sopranos. Any hint of squall or wobble become magnified in my mind, whereas I tend to be more forgiving to other voice-types. Certainly she has the chops musically and acted convincingly. But I did find the letter scene to be the only bit where time dragged. It must be fiendishly difficult, basically a monologue, not really an aria, with the stage to herself for a protracted length of time. And it was not the most successful of stagings. Obviously there is little that can really be done to add drama to a teenager pining in her bedroom, unless it was an updated production with teenager drafting her letter on MySpace, but I do not think it was helped that the bedroom was the obligatory ROH box which served to muffle her voice on occasion. Perhaps a bit of OTT diva-ish furniture chewing might have worked...! But she was splendid in the Final Act duet with Onegin, and overall was entirely convincing in the role.

Nina Surguladze as Olga sang with a beautiful voice. I was not especially struck by the character, but she was perfectly fine.

Some of the lesser roles were excellent. None of the comprimario roles were poor and some were excellent. Ryland Davies acted the role of M. Triquet excellently, although his voice ws somewhat strained. But perhpas that was the point. Robert Gleadow, in yet another small role as Zaretsky (Lensky's second in the duel) demonstrated once again that he really is one to watch. He's one of the ROH Young Artists and although only currently playing small roles - in Barbiere, Macbeth and now this -  I believe he has a fine voice and that certain je ne sais quoi of reaching beyond the footlights.

Eric Halfvarson was superb as Prince Gremin. He only features in the first part of the last act, and has one aria, but for a small part it has to be well cast. I saw him five times last July as Sparafucile and Hunding; in both Rigoletto and Die Walkure he absolutely delivered the goods, and he did so again tonight, and then some. I have said before that I do have a slight aural problem with basses, finding it almost impossible to hear beauty in their range. But this was something special and was enthusiastically appreciated by the house.

Oh, and Lensky. Yeah, not bad! Regular readers - and occasional readers (Hola Rolando!) - will know that I adore Rolando Villazón. Adoration brings high expectations, and, following the Dress I had my anxieties. These were not entirely dispelled in the first act, but I have to say that I am nit-picking (to me, he sounded a little bit nasally).  In Act II Scene 1 he was superb, and he just got better in Scene 2. "Kuda, kuda", aka Lensky's aria, is an amazing aria. The rest of the role of Lensky is very much as support to Onegin and Tatiana, certainly dramatically, but that aria means that the part has to be cast with a first-rate singer. It has a long orchestral introduction. What was extraordinary was that the orchestra was accompanied by the sound of the majority of an audience of over 2,000 clearing their throats. Not because "This is a quiet bit, doesn't matter if I interrupt" but in expectation. When he began singing, I heard a pin drop. Beautiful. Vocally, musically and in depicting the anguish that Lensky was feeling. When he finished, the audience hovered in awestruck animation for a moment which the old bag sitting next to me broke with premature applause.

Overall, it's a beautiful opera. As well as the two arias, for Lensky and Gremin, the highlights musically were the ball scene in Act II and the skating party in Act III, which perhaps serve to remind that although Tchaikovsky is regarded - in Western Europe, at any rate - as a second tier opera composer no one in the history of music can come near him in writing dance music. I suppose I would have wanted a bit more light and oomph from the orchestra: I think in these scenes they were decidedly second best to ENO last year.

Prior informed by the Dress I was prepared to give it a solid B, but after the performance I would go for an A- or Four Stars. Costumes get A++, thanks presumably to Antony McDonald.

Sorry the photos are so grainy - I was sitting in Row M of the Amphitheatre. My camera is good, but not that good!

Spammers

Their names:

Jane Ashworth

Justyn Trenner.

Hello Spam Harvesters.

Jane's email address is [email protected]

Update Spammer Ashworth's idea of an apology is to write "I love your threat. Astonishing behaviour "

Just for context, this prime idiot started her spamming a couple of years ago when she picked bloggers on the left and started sending round-robins with all recipient addresses disclosed, and directing people to her blog. I had not previously heard of it,and she had never linked me, or left a comment here.

Tim Bloggerheads sent her a polite email, with a specifically explained and in the context correct cc-all, saying a) it's convention to bcc a round robin and b) if you want people to viist your blog you do so by writing interesting stuff and by links, comments etc. She took notice of the bcc convention but continued the hectoring emails. I emailed her to take me off her list.

Yesterday I got five. Not one, but five hectoring emails from Justyn Trenner, with not as much as an introduction as to who he is or why he selected me as his target. Although I noticed the notorious Jane Ashworth as a cc to the email. I drafted a response, an angry reaction to being spammed, and I was about to press send, when I noted a PS "I got your email address from Jane Ashworth"

I often get email associated with this blog. Much of it is from the same people who comment here; some from people to whom I link; and some more is from people who begin by saying "I read such a post on your blog and I am interested in that topic." Some people even begin by saying "I hope you don't mind me emailing you..." All of which is nice and is appreciated. Even when people email me to take issue with something I've written, even when I disagree with them, they are perfectly entitled to do so, and in many cases I believe they do so by email out of politeness to avoid flame wars.

But Ashworth and her sidekick are just spammers. I get emails from all sorts of organisations and I always have the option of opting out. It seems that Jane Ashworth's email list is like the Hotel California - you can never check out.

Spam.

Signage

I have spotted a few oddities whilst out-and-about. Mind you, I think that some of them are designed deliberately to draw my attention. Bastards.

An advert on the Tube for the Ideal home Exhibition highlights various attractions, all of which seem understandable if not necessarily my bag - Guest Appearances by Celebrity Chefs, exhibitions on interior design etc. And Celebrity Garden Sheds. What? Celebrity Garden Sheds...! In what way do they vary from the normal 16x6x6 that nonentities favour?

Also on the Tube, an advert for an multi-function gizzmo 3G phone with all sorts of high tech innovations. They are marketing it that its unique attraction is that it's 'slidey'.

I take a perverse delight in finding comedy when people become haughty or take offence as a result of misunderstanding something that everybody else grasps. On a South West Train out of Waterloo into Berkshire, the dot matrix indicator said "This is a Reading Train." I was sorely tempted to go round haughtily scolding all my fellow passengers who insisted on daydreaming, talking or listening to music rather than reading.

And a sign saying "Civic Amenity Site." I wondered what it could be - perhaps a half-hearted attempt at a park. A Community Centre with children's ball pit and pensioners' tea dance? A one-stop walk-in shop where you can borrow a library book and pay your council tax? I then spotted the recycling symbol. Ah, it's the Municipal Dump. Why didn't they say so?

Washington Opera Golden Gala

Onward and Upward With the Opera

Washington Opera at 50

 

Wonderful descriptive narrative from the always meticulous Alan at Opera-L.

And a reminder that the USA has two coasts: Domingo Will Sing in Los Angeles Opera Gala Benefit

Update: This gala had it all: glam, opera stars and Supremes

Update update: A blog report from ionarts

And a gossipy report

TV alert

I've just noticed that the Classical Brits will be broadcast on ITV1 on 7 May, repeated on 14 May. That will be when “The greatest operatic artist of modern times” will be "honoured with Lifetime Achievement Award."

Placido Domingo is described as the ‘Greatest Operatic Artist of Modern Times’. He has appeared in 122 different roles, more than any other tenor in the annals of music, in a repertoire spanning the centuries from Mozart to Verdi, Berlioz to Puccini and Wagner to Ginastera. He has sung at every important opera house in the world and made well over 100 acclaimed recordings, most of which are full-length operas, often recording the same role more than once. He has been seen in more than 50 opera videos and three feature opera films, and his telecast performance in Puccini’s Tosca, filmed at authentic Roman locations, was seen by more than a billion people in 117 countries.

A Man For All Seasons

It was excellent, even though I was extremely annoyed at being stood up my date. And at considerable expense, too - I ended up getting two top price tickets whereas if I had wanted to go on my own I would have bought a cheaper seat midweek.

Most of the audience annoyances were present. The woman with the nauseously overpowering perfume The woman in front who could not turn off her mobile: her problem was unlocking it: I kept seeing the message 'Now press *' on the screen, that seemed beyond her. I miss occasionally, but not seven times consecutively, until she put in her handbag. Thankfully it didn't ring). There were people who talked over the beginning of Act Two. The play begins as soon as the house lights dim; there is no excuse to talk while Martin Shaw is on stage. There was the chap who noisily left and re-entered the auditorium halfway through the first half. And finally, when Martin was delivering an elegant soliloquy at the end, the person who opened the door allowing an arc of light to travel halfway round the auditorium and catch Martin's eye, slightly distracting him for a nano second.

Thankfully none of these marred an excellent play, which was for the most part well performed. There were no turkeys on stage although a good few were no better than adequate. Outstanding was Tony Bell as "The Common Man", a delightful comic touch - although make no mistake that this was comedy with a serious purpose. I also enjoyed Daniel Flynn as an unusually camp Henry VIII. Clive Carter as the sinister Thomas Cromwell reminded me of David Davis MP

But the star of the show was, well, the star of the show, the main reason I booked to see this, one of mmofm's Beautiful Males, Martin Shaw. He was just excellent. I'm sure if I knew the play intimately or knew more about theatre in general I would be able to find fault. But as I don't, I didn't.

A convincing portrayal of a man with high moral and philosophical principle but also with a comic side, a three-dimensional character. He conducted himself with dignity throughout, and I was particularly impressed to see how he aged throughout - obviously with the help of make-up. He had his hair long, not quite shoulder-length but considerably longer than in Judge John Deede. And very grey. I am afraid to say that I was one of the many women who gasped as he appeared to tear his shirt off. Sadly, he only pulled it down over his shoulders and it was but a brief moment before he put his head on the block and our gasps were joined by many more at the cold horror of an execution. And the stage went into darkness. He also delivered a rather splendid 'falling to the ground' moment when one of the characters landed him a blow. Over and I was struck by the sonority of his voice as it resonated through the theatre.

The play was thought-provoking. Two passages stand out. The first coincides with a thought I was having just the other day: I was thinking about people who put all their efforts into hiding their affairs from the law, thus making themselves more vulnerable to abuse, and thus more dependent upon help from the law, yet unable to take advantage of it because of the avoiding they have been doing for so long.

The other one was that a statesman has to follow his duty not his conscious. Which shocked me, because I would have thought that where there is a conflict between conscience and duty, conscience must dictate that the duty is wrong. Perhaps this was brought into sharp relief by the fact that I arrived at the theatre as the Anti-War rally passed by Although, in a dramatic twist, the play was essentially about a man whose conscience would not allow him to be expedient or dutiful and paid for that with his life.

Which I find troubling. In essence, he refused to sign an oath acknowledging the validity of the marriage of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, even when his daughter (played by Sophie Shaw, his RL daughter) pointed out that what matters is not what one says but what one feels in one's heart.

My problem is that Thomas More is painted as a martyr and a hero, perhaps in no small part as a result of this play and the resultant film. I do not see a hero in someone who stuck to dogma and defied the King without seeming to think more deeply about whether Leviticus is at all a useful set of laws for life in 16th Century England and never doubting the legitimacy of the King's Divine Right to rule.

At the end we gave Martin Shaw a resounding cheer. As I was walking up Haymarket, I overheard someone say "He doesn't sit down for the entire play, until , when he dies..."

TV update

We had our satellite dish moved today. Our friendly neighbourhood construction company suggested this yesterday and agreed to pick up the bill. All the chaps - my dearly beloved; Joe, the engineer who moved it; Bert, the site manager; and the project manager - all seem to think it will solve our problem.

I must admit that I am sceptical, but I full endorse it as a sensible step. We will only find out in time, and with experience. And it would be extremely churlish of me to ignore the constructive and prompt reaction of the construction company. I don't do gratitude in such situations; on the other hand if their attitude had been difficult, arrogant or snotty, it could have caused a great deal more misery.

Elijah

A surprisingly enjoyable evening for me.

I booked this ages ago on the basis that I really like Elijah, by Mendelssohn. Tthen I started thinking. I might like Elijah, but I don't really know it. It's in Westminster Cathedral, a venue I have already discovered to be completely antipathetic to music.

Then I looked at the list of soloists. Kate Royal, I know little about except that she's the next Big Thing in British Opera, and I heard her as Woglinde in Rheingold about eighteen months ago. I have always found Timothy Robinson to be satisfying and reliable without ever hitting my T-spot.* I have seen Iain Paterson in a few minor roles here and there and have not been displeased, and he was impressive in Curlew River on the TV. But, to be honest, when I saw his name, I thought, 'he's the one who looks like someone I used to be involved with...' rather than thinking about his voice. As for Jean Rigby, the last time I saw here I wrote

I've found her disappointing before. Once I can forgive, twice I draw conclusions.

I sat down with the CD over the weekend and played it in my ears today, and concluded that it is indeed a fine piece of work. But still I don't know it.

I took myself along to Westminster Cathedral and prepared for an evening of misery.

As the conductor walked on someone on my row said "Ooh, it's that gorgeous one...!" I racked my brains to think of a youngish gorgeous conductor. I t dawned on me it was Paul Daniel. I would say 'Easy on the eye' rather than gorgeous, but I would be a sad woman indeed if that mattered to me. You know, conductors, the ones with their backs to the audience.

It was definitely a performance of two halves. In the first half the orchestra, chorus and three of the soloists battled heroically against the appalling acoustic. I moved forward after the interval and heard a splendid concert, conducted wonderfully, played magnificently and sung gloriously by chorus and three of the soloists. I think I might have been in an acoustic whitespot, on the aisle, about Row 10 of Block B. Timothy Robinson hit my T spot, notably in his closing aria; Kate Royal sounded good, but far from the finished article, I would say. And Iain Paterson was amazing. I really like his voice, and I resolved that I do want to see him again. As it happens, I have tickets to see him four times in May but, knowing nothing about the opera Cyrano de Bergerac, I know less than nothing about Le Bret. I'm wondering whether I should, after all, go and see Sir John in Love, but again, I'm not sure how significant is the part of Sir Hugh Evans.

I'm sorry but I'm going to have to say it. Jean Rigby was awful. Maybe it's just me, because she has an impressive CV, but at one point, there seemed to be a lot of fidgeting when she started singing, whereas the next time Iain Paterson began, the only stirring was people sititng upright to pay attention. And it can't just be me, because when she had strangled 'O rest in the Lord', a sumptuously beautiful aria as written, and as sung by Janet Baker on the CD I own, the chap behind me exhaled the word 'crap'. He didn't know the music - he said so afterwards, although he did know the story, because he wrote an essay on it once. However, you don't have to be familiar with the music to recognise brilliant singing, nor do you to recognise, well, crap. So maybe I shouldn't go to Sir John in Love, after all, because she is in it.

Elijah is an extraordinarily beautiful piece of music, with some fine arias and some rousing choruses. I doubt it will ever overtake Messiah or the Creation in my affections, or that of the Great British Public, but it's a great piece of work. Quite possibly the missing link between Haydn and Wagner. Mendelssohn died at 38, the same age as I am now (7 November will be my Mendelssohn day). Another great Aquarius. Him, Mozart and Schubert. All Aqaurians, all geniuses. All died young.

And I will say this for Westminster Cathedral. The bizarre acoustics muffle the strings and allow the brass and timpani to sound out. Admittedly, it was Mr Noisy on the timps,but I like him!

I feel a lot happier about the final concert I have in the Westminster Cathedral series. My seat is in Block A, and hopefully it will be somewhat warmer at the end of May, so I won't have to sit shivering in coat, pashmina and gloves. And I will book the Riccardo Muti Verdi Requiem for next March.

*it's a spot specially reserved for Tenors; sort of the aural equivalent...oh, you get the picture.

A Cyrano blogpost

Cyrano Rules!

If I didn't have plans I think I'd try to go see it again

I am so looking forward to seeing Cyrano in May. Not that I have yet heard a note of the opera, so I shall go into it like it's something absolutely brand new.

SOSSLED Day out

We only actually went to the Dress Rehearsal as an excuse on which to hang some singer-stalking*. We had noticed nearly a month ago the sign in the window at the ROH Shop declaring that the lovely Rolando Villazón would be signing after the Dress Rehearsal. So, despite not having tickets, we queued at the Box Office and we got lucky. Well, if you call Row W of the Amphitheatre lucky. But I'm not complaining, not at £4.

At half nine we found ourselves with nothing to do but wait an hour-and-a-half for curtain up. The Stage Door beckoned. We established that neither of Messrs Hvorostovsky and Villazón had arrived, so we waited, joined only by one other fan. We did not have to wait very long until Rolando arrived. As he crossed Floral Street, I swear I did not recognise him. I've seen him in Contes d'Hoffmann and Rigoletto, and have seen numerous photos of him but he looks really quite different in the flesh. He was a real sweetie as he signed his autograph for the other woman - she had a broadsheet copy of the poster for Daz Konzert des Jahres!.

Then we asked him to pose for photos and we had a chat, nothing heavy, just good luck, that sort of thing. Me being total fan grrrl simpering "It's lovely to meet you..."

He came back a moment or two later explaining that he had forgotten his tequila. For a moment I believed him, for, though I am trained and paid to be sceptical, I become very gullible when starstruck. He picked up a water bottle he had left on a ledge.

I suggested it was time for breakfast but Faye insisted on waiting for Dima. He was not overly gushing, but I also appreciate that many singers do not like being bothered on the way in before a performance, and many theatre people don't do mornings, so we were taking a bit of a liberty hanging around. Nevertheless, he signed Faye's score and was gracious enough to pause for photos.

After the Dress Rehearsal we joined the queue outside the ROH shop and got to meet Rolando all over again. I forgot to take any photos, but Faye did. He signed her score, and I was kicking myself for not bringing along any one of the CDs I have of his. So I told him that I have all his CDs - which I've just realised isn't strictly true,  although I have all three recital CDs plus Tristan und Isolde where he is luxury-cast as the sailor - but they're on my mp3 player.  I also said that I have seen him in everything he's done at ROH, except La Boheme, where I did try to get tickets. He pointed out that he hadn't been scheduled to sing in La Boheme.  I might just as well have said "Rolando, I'm a fan grrl"..! I asked him to sign my Dress Rehearsal ticket and he asked me to whom he should sign it. He is so nice...!

Faye took pictures.

Afterwards, we ended up walking all round the Royal Opera house, trying to decide where to go for a drink. As we  walked past the front, I spotted the poster of Rolando outside, the same one that has been used as an advert on the Tube but doesn't appear to be anywhere on the internet. I was about to start drooling over it when Faye spotted Dmitri coming out of one of the exits from the ROH (not the Stage Door). She reckons he spotted us before we spotted him and probably thinks we're lunatic stalkers.

I realised that he was strolling down the street so I suggested we followed him. Faye insisted that this would be discretely and at a distance - I wouldn't have had it any other way. For some silly reason, the idea of surreptitiously following an aloof Russian through the streets of London had a crazy appeal. We saw that he had gone into Cafe Rouge, and I suggested that we did, too, although frankly, it's a bit 'low rent' ;-). Faye absolutely refused and I have to reassure you that if by any chance she had agreed my immediate reaction would have been absolutely not. Although as Carla pointed out, there would have been a certain believability about us 'coincidentally' ending up in Cafe Rouge, whereas a proper restaurant would have definitely have looked like stalking.However, we agreed that it would be against all of our principles, and dignity, to do so.

Perhaps we should get little cards printed up to hand to our singers saying "You have been Sossled" so that they know we're not mad deranged stalking types.

* I'm joking, you understand...

Eugene Onegin (Dress Rehearsal)

Not bad for £4!

by Pyotr Il'yich Tchaikovsky, at the Royal Opera House. Cast etc in the Extended Entry. Synopsis

Convention states that one does not comment, critically or complimentarily, on the performance of a Dress Rehearsal, because it's a working rehearsal and,f or example, singers may not sing out.

A new production, with new sets, new costumes and new wigs.

Ah yes, wig. Dmitri Hvorostovsky wore a black wig in the first two acts, a bit of a shock when one is expecting to see that distinctive silver mane. But it had come off by Act 3, to signify his aging.

Costumes. The leading men's' costumes were wonderful. Most noticeable was that the trousers - sort of lycra breeches, Mr Darcy-style, were tight. Very tight. But no tighter than they had to be. Both our leading chaps have fine figures and looked delightful in these figure-hugging trousers. We would advise them to go easy on pies, chocolate and beer for the duration of the run. We considered many fine singers who would not look good in such tight trousers. In the first Act Rolando's were beige; in Act 2 for the ball and the duet he changed into light blue velour breeches. Very fetching.

I know I am supposed to notice the Ladies' dresses a bit more than I do. Amanda Roocroft's outfits after she married Prince Gremin were splendid. I was torn between between the stylish black coat with double-breasted jewelled buttons and snazzy red fur hat and trims she wore when she first re-encountered Onegin, or the rather splendid gold over scarlet dress in the Final Scene, which would match my jewellery.

I would be tempted to say that red was a dominant colour, because in Act 1, all the peasants were wearing red and white. However, the area surrounding Tatiana's bedroom were green and blue. My companion mentioned Dulux for the first scene; the letter scene in the bedroom was exactly to me like a promotional colour chart one would pick up from B&Q. The ball scene was very very colourful indeed. The duel scene was, in effect, monochrome, set on a frozen river (we'll return to the river), and the next 'ball scene' - which was enacted as a skating party - was also monochrome with costumes in bold colours. The colours of the final scene matched the old gold of Tatiana's dress.

There were gimmicks galore. Possibly no new production at the Royal Opera House can happen without The Box. The misshapen box, set an angle, which acts as an (almost) self-contained stage within a stage. In this it served both as Tatiana's bedroom at her childhood home and her library at Prince Gremin's townhouse.

Another gimmick was the frieze. The opera opened with an additional curtain portraying an enormous picture of a naked man in foetus position (so no naughty bits...). at least, I think it was a man. Very androgynous. Possibly a buff man with incongruous man-boobs. This later changed into a similar size homoerotic picture that must have been inspired by a Crucifixion of Christ painting.

The most important gimmick however was the river. Do not underestimate the importance of the river. I most certainly did at first. Act I scene 1 began with the girls sitting on a marble altar in the river; for some reason it reminded me of the Dead Diana shrine at Althorp. The frieze of the buff-man-with-man-boobs was lowered and behind I could see scenery. I saw planks of wood and assumed them to be the 19th Century Russian equivalent of sunloungers. The three dimensions of the rural scenery worked well, with hills rolling away and in the distance a building. The frieze rose to reveal the sunloungers to be plank bridges across a river. One of the extras picked up the building and carried it away , ruining the illusion of perspective.

After Tatiana had spent the night writing a letter to Onegin, some hefty chaps came on stage to wheel away her bedroom aka The Box, and the ground on which it stood was flooded with water and suddenly became a river again. I did not see the point of the wooden plank bridges because everyone waded across the water regardless. Except for Onegin, who, being a Haughty-Russkie used the bridge. And Tatiana who splashed maniacally in it. Note for the Weak-Bladdered. You will need a wee stop before this begins. There is a lot of water.

In the interval we speculated as to how the duel would be staged. We concluded that we wouldn't mind a bit of Operatic Mud Wrestling in the river, perhaps with some gentlemanly white shirts getting wet. In the event, the river was frozen. Lensky pointed the gun at his own head before attempting to shoot Onegin, but Onegin had shot him first. For Lensky it was heart-wrenching (and he died). Onegin was as emotionally involved as someone might be when knocking icicles off a garden gate.

We monitored the opera for key operatic moments.

No furniture was abused. Plenty was left in strategic places, looking as if it might be ripe for abusing but it all remained firmly upright. Rolando teased and tantalised my furniture-abuse-fetishist friend by appearing to threaten the furniture on more than one occasion in the aftermath of the ball, but in the end he merely knocked over a pile of books - perhaps a more intellectual form of furniture abuse.

There was no chest hair on display although Onegin did turn up at the Gremin's skating party with the top three buttons of his shirt undone. Perhaps that's a uniquely Russian way of dressing for the cold. But I understand that Dima doesn't do chest hair.

Wonderfully, we had some extremely good tenorial falling to the ground. In despair, at the end of the Ball scene, in preparation for the musical highlight of the entire opera, Lenski's Aria, Kuda, Kuda. And his tumble to the ground on being shot was a tenorial death par excellence. The Pupil has learnt well from the Master.

I'm going to the performance a week tomorrow, after which I shall discuss issues like orchestra, and singing, and the stupidity of male 'honour'.

Update: Hairy McMungo was also there

Self-harm

We need to talk.

Pull up a chair and make yourself comfortable.

I've started cutting myself.

At this point 99% of readers sigh and think 'oh god, has she regressed to self-absorbed teenage?* The other 1% smile and think 'she's one of us'

It began innocuously enough eighteen months or so ago, when I decided that after years of neglect, I would grow my nails. I am a nail biter, but if I take the time and trouble, I can grow elegant nails. My middle nails grow very quickly and are very strong. I have not worn nail varnish for over a month and they both broke at the end of last week. Even so, they both still protrude beyond my finger tips.

Three times this year I have managed to stab myself in a very delicate place whilst in the Ladies at work. For weeks, I have been waking myself up by stabbing my right palm with my right middle finger. I now know the secret of stigmatatisation.

One day last week when doing my daily cleansing routine I managed to scratch a spot I did not even know was there, the result being blood pouring down my face, like a razor nick.

Last night, I woke myself twice by scratching my face and today I have three rather obvious scratches down my cheek, as if I have been in a cat fight.

When my brother was a newborn baby, still in hospital, he was issued with little mittens to stop him scratching his face. But he grew out of it within days. It's not something I've ever been prone to before.

* my response, I never progressed from...

Not the brightest button in the box

I love my fiancé very much. Hey, I might even marry him one day...

But sometimes, despite his massive intelligence, he does come out with things.

On holiday, we took an evening stroll along the beach in a southerly direction. The wind had whipped up a bit and was coming from the north. Being us, we paused to light a cigarette. Being windy it was slightly more difficult than normal. So Jimmy said,

"It's not so bad walking in this direction but we won't be able to light one when we walk back..."

Yesterday, we were watching Songs of Praise (desperate times call for desperate measures...). It was a Special in anticipation of St Patrick's Day. Although hosted by Eamonn Holmes on top of Croagh Patrick, much of the music came from various cathedrals in Belfast. Jimmy commented on the colouring of many of the youngsters - typically sandy hair, often with freckles, adding that if it were from the South they would look different - dark hair...

"Like me!" I said (I've often been presumed to be Irish)

"You have a reddish tinge to your hair," he said, in all seriousness.

"That's chemical!" I exclaimed.

"No, the Irish will always out eventually," he declared.

I never say anything stupid.

Crane interuption

Sorry if I'm boring regular readers with my step-by-step chronicling of the crane-Sky saga. I promise some online quizzes soon ;-) And if the demand is there, kittens*

But if my experience is of use to any Googlers, then I offer no apology.

I contacted Lambeth Noise and Pollution control, who were of the opinion that it might well constitute a Statutory Nuisance.

The suggested I contact Ofcom, which I did. Both Lambeth and Ofcom are of the view that I am not being unreasonable expecting an uninterrupted TV service at all times. Part of my mind was thinking that rights to daylight and sunlight are enshrined in planning legislation, but satellite TV isn't, and there will always be some smartarse who will exclaim "You don't need TV, read a book instead..."

Ofcom said that if the construction company are not prepared to take all necessary steps it would be a matter between Sky and them, and that problems often occur, either with building works or with when buildings have gone up.

NOTE TO GOOGLERS: When you are confronted with a planning application, whether you object or not, ensure that the conditions of consent include provision that the building works must not interfere with TV or radio reception (whether terrestrial, satellite or cable). If that is part of the planning consent, you have more ammunition.

The Ofcom woman also said that in general, construction companies are eager to do what is required, and it is unlikely to need legal action.

Jimmy went to see the site manager, who commented that the Manchester United v Newcastle match was very exciting, and Rooney should have had three. Cheers, mate...! He did offer to park the crane with the brake on - which would solve our TV problem - but Jimmy said "Best not". If it were a straight choice between no telly or a house destroyed by falling crane (plus concrete boom) I would choose the 'no telly' anytime. We had discussed and rejected that option yesterday. Bluntly, if that crane fell as a result of being braked and one person was killed or even injured neither of us could live with that on our consciences.

I shall wait for the project manager to get back to me. Which had better be quick, because I am not renowned for my patience.

*I lied about the kittens. There will be no kittens...

Musical Meme

Pick a band/artist. Then answer these questions using only titles from the band/artist’s songs.

1. Name of band/artist: Adam (Ant) and the Ants
2. Are you male or female?: Something Girls
3. Describe yourself:Goody Two Shoes
4. How do you feel about yourself?: Desperate but not Serious
5. Describe your ex girlfriend/boyfriend: Killer in the Home
6. Describe current girlfriend/boyfriend: Prince Charming
7. Describe where you want to be: Place in the Country
8. Describe how you live: Kings of the Wild Frontier
9. Describe how you love: Mile High Club
10. What would you ask for if you had just one wish?: Baby, Let Me Scream At You
11. Share a few words of wisdom: Don't Be Square (Be There)
12. Now say goodbye: Feed Me To The Lions

via

Autonomy and fertility

A few weeks ago the Observer published a story UK baby shortage will cost £11 billion.

I wrote, but abandoned a blogpost about what a silly thing it was. I wrote

When newspapers report that women are delaying having children until, in some cases, it's too late, it conjures up to me an image of a twenty-four year old woman sitting down and writing a manifesto which reads something like "1) Achieve career goals; 2) find suitable sperm donor; 3) breed"

I abandoned the post because although I knew what I wanted to say, I was unable to express myself sufficiently eloquently and it was boring.

No doubt smug driven women - and men - do exist who are able to decide in their early Twenties exactly how their professional and private lives will unfold, and have the drive and the luck to meet that, and to fulfill a stereotype, most of us tend to take life as it comes, often the involuntary tools of happenstance. The existence of a stereotype doesn't mean that every relevant person fits into it.

I read into the Observer piece a berating and an attempt to induce guilt in people - or let's be straight here, women - who put off having children until they have sorted their career out and then find out they can't have children. The logical rejoinder would be a society that arranges a marriage for every sixteen year old and instructs her to abandon her education in order to breed. Or women who drop serial sprogs by random fathers and expect to be supported by taxpayers. Which are clearly ridiculous.

Not satisfied with scolding people - or, rather, women - who do not have children, it barely stops before it scolds those who do have some, but not enough. Apparently, most people end up having fewer children than they might have wished for in their childhood. Never mind practicality, wisdom, and common sense. Very few people can really cope with more than a few children unless very spread out in age. I think we can all find plenty of anecdotal evidence to find children from large families who suffered from a lack of parental attention even when there was no shortage of parental love.

I never posted but today appears another Observer article 'I never chose to be childless. I just never reached the let's-make-babies stage with anyone. Even when I was married' where the writer explains how, because she behaved in a sensible and responsible way she did not have children. Not because of some sinister arrogant plan as dishonestly caricatured in the same paper last month, but because she never felt it sensible to have a child with a father who was not interested or unwilling or unlikely to stick around. How terribly old fashioned.

Earlier this week we had the story of Natalie Evans A woman left infertile after cancer treatment cannot use frozen embryos to have a baby, the European Court of Human Rights has ruled.

A terribly sad story for her personally and for any woman who may be affected by any legal precedent that may be established. As far as I understand it, the case hinges on the refusal of her ex-boyfriend to give consent to the frozen embryos being used for fertility treatment.

My first reaction was that the man is a Selfish Bastard. He is quoted as saying "The key thing for me was just to be able to decide when, and if, I would start a family." How nice. He still has that choice and will continue to do so for another half a century or so. She does not have that choice. Except by unfreezing the embryos. He is denying her that choice.

Then being a balanced reasonable person, I thought, hold on, should this be forced upon him, without his consent, not least because he may be pursued for financial support.

But even when I see both sides of the story, I like to take the right, rather than wrong. That is the reality of life. Many men surrender the right to decide when to start a family and risk being pursued for child support when they take the decision to seduce a woman. The creation of embryos to be frozen must surely have been a decision taken with considerably more thought, discussion and research than the average decision to fall into bed. If he was not prepared to accept the consequences, he should never have committed himself in the first place. Most parents don't have the option to change their minds five years later. He insists on his rights yet he already exercised that right and made his decision when he contributed his part of the frozen embryos.

I was annoyed by the involvement of

Josephine Quintavalle of the pro-life group Comment on Reproductive Ethics, who said of the court's ruling: "It's an inevitable judgement, but a very sad one." She said Mr Johnston had "become a father" when the embryos were created, and should have compassion for Ms Evans.

In this particular instant our views happen to coincide, but she is also the person who a few years ago supported a legal bid by a man who was trying to prevent his ex-girlfriend from having an abortion. Quintavalle's argument at the time seemed to be that the man had rights over the women's fertility.

A few days ago for some inexplicable reason the BBC Radio Four Today programme covered attempts by some backwoods US state to outlaw abortion, attempts by the Right Wing Christian Misogynists to impose their agenda onto women.

Blue Witch covered this in a bit more detail a couple of weeks back. In the comments box, some anti-abortionist wrote:

...many girls are encouraged to have an abortion. Yet afterwards they can feel very disturbed mentally and may never completely get over it. And there are many people wanting to adopt who for one reason or another cannot have children. It seems to me encouraging the girls to have the baby and then put it up for adoption where they could continue to have some contact later in life would be a better solution all round. But I certainly agree that rape, incest and danger to the mother should always be included as valid reasons, I cannot see why that is not the case here.

I do not understand these anti-abortionists, or Pro-Lifers as they call themselves. If they believe in the right to life of the foetus, they cannot support any position that makes exceptions on the basis of their judgement that the foetus is inferior. Who are they to play god and decide that one foetus has the absolute right to life and the other should be condemned to 'death', just because its father happens to be a rapist or an incestist. And who is this "Debster" to determine what is 'danger' to the mother? Someone else suggested that the adoption argument is not as simple as this Debster made out.

I felt obliged to highlight the ludicrousness of allowing 'rape' as an exceptional circumstance for abortion, and I commented

How would you define rape? Is it when the woman claims she was raped? Or would it be allowed only after the perpetrator - alleged perpetrator, I should say - is arrested, charged, tried and convicted?

Do you know the (low) proportion of cases in which that happens? Do you know how long it takes to get the perpetrator to court, if at all? What about the numerous cases where the woman chooses not to pursue the case because of the trauma involved in the judicial process? What about cases where the woman genuinely and honestly believes she was raped, and the man equally genuinely and honestly believes the woman consented? How many women would claim they were raped in order to get an abortion, and how many innocent men would end up in jail and with a lifetime on the Sex Offenders register as a result?

In practical terms, it simply wouldn't work. And all policy-making and legislating should be concerned only with what is possible. The simple fact is that the anti-abortionists will try every tactic to abolish abortion. They know that they can't get away with outright abolition, so they try every tactic to erode availability of it. The fact is, and this is evidenced by what happened long before the 1967 Abortion Act, women will continue to abort regardless of legality. Except, when it's done legally, it's done safely.

If I were to leave this post as it stands I would probably get a comment saying "When I was x weeks pregnant I truly felt that my baby was a living being and therefore I cannot understand how anybody could abort a baby of that age..." to which I would reply - no one is suggesting that you should have aborted your baby, (which was either planned, a happy accident, or an initially unhappy accident that you were able to accept and welcome); in an ideal world most abortions would occur in the first twelve weeks of pregnancy, on demand.

Very many of the anti-abortionists also oppose wide availability of contraception and oppose the provision of adequate sex education in schools.

What all these articles and events suggest is that way too many people believe it is their right to control the fertility of individual women. The only person who can do that is the woman herself.

Our intermittent satellite TV problem

Or rather, an entire weekend without any digital TV and only poor quality terrestrial to sustain us.

I have contacted the Development company outlining the problem, and noting that their site manager has been helpful and constructive, but that is not sufficient.

It is possible to move the satellite dish but even if we find an alternative suitable spot I suspect that it will still hit the concrete boom at some point.

If the company does not respond to my email by mid-afternoon tomorrow I shall telephone them and explain that it is a matter that requires immediate attention. If they have not come up with an absolute and permanent solution I shall contact my solicitor, my MP and the site owners, the Metropolitan Housing Association. I will not hesitate to contact media outlets if necessary, starting with the South London Press but not ruling out national media.

In the interim I shall try and call out the Lambeth Noise Patrol people this evening. They are unbelievably womderful people and although our problem isn't Noise, it most certainly is a nuisance coming from a building site. Whether it constitutes a Statutory Nuisance, I do not know, but that is to find out! I am of the view that it is an "unreasonable intrusion", and I suspect if I hopped on an omnibus to Clapham and questioned a random man, he would agree.

A possible solution might be for the construction company to pay for us to have a motorised satellite dish installed, but even then, it would only be acceptable if we can still receive Sky Sports, the various film channels provided by Sky or equivalent, and Artsworld, as well as Sky Plus or an equivalent service. And receive them 24 hours a day 7 days a week if we so wish.

The obvious solution is for them to remove their crane and replace it one that doesn't have a concrete boom.