Gertsamtkunstwerk

Antmusic

Ah, this is the business. Pure class.

I went through a period of two or three years when I didn't play music. Well, that's not strictly true, I just got into a rut playing a small number of compilation albums, ignoring all else. I then decided to be a bit more systematic and all-embracing, and I put this CD on with trepidation. I was aware by then of the familiarity/nostalgia school of musical appreciation. Just because I knew the songs inside out and they brought back memories of a time of my life, didn't actually make them any good.

I realised then, and I realise again today that the biggest criticisms of this album are

• the packaging is low rent - an eight page booklet with a bit of hagiography, a track listing and pictures of the singles - hey, I've got the majority of the singles, on 7" vinyl, with their exciting full colour full picture cases
• it isn't on vinyl. I'm not a big fan of vinyl. What with broken needles, jumping needles, pieces of fluff that ruin an entire section, well, I'm definitely a CD girl. But Adam and the Ants demand to be played on vinyl, I think, to reflect the raw passion inherent in the music

Adam and the Ants exemplify more than any other pop band how percussion can be musical in itself. I got into Adam and the Ants in that difficult teen stage of my life. 16 October 1980, to be precise. Yes, I still know the date on which they first appeared on Top of the Pops. Without having to look it up. They were my band of my teenage years. And thus, it is difficult to be objective.

But I still think that lyrically, melodically and drumly, they are a cut above everything else in the poposhere*. This is me listening objectively. This is me already wanting to play the whole album again even before it has finished.

I have various Adam albums on vinyl and have previously blogged them Unplug the jukebox and do us all a favour... and Strip and Singles, both from January 2004. Ouch, that somehow seems longer ago than the heyday of Adam...

As any Antperson knows, there came a point where Adam (reverse D, please) and the Ants became Adam Ant. At the time it seemed important, but in retrospect it is less important than the hiatus. Basically those ℗ 1978 - 1983 are sheer genius. Those from 1985-1989 are, to be honest, forgettable.

So the good ones. Prince Charming. The acoustic guitar, the grinding sound, the fact the song deliberately seems to take ages to get started, then we have that wonderful chorus "Ridicule is nothing to be scared of..." and the howling, followed by a change of key, before reverting for the chorus And no, I can't do the Prince Charming dance, but then I couldn't back then, either. And I'm still word perfect in singalong.

Kings of the Wild Frontier: Perfect example of how powerful the double drumkit is. I was watching the Marie Antoinette film the other day and this proved to be a surprisingly perfect soundtrack for a pre-Revolutionary masqued ball. Who'd have known! (Actually, any real Ants fan will know that the classic jacket was researched by Adam on a visit to Les Invalides...so everything connects...)

Apollo 9 is very good for post-hiatus Adam. Loud and raucous, but, ultimately, not as satisfying as the earlier stuff. And really quite nonsense, I think.

Dog Eat Dog is for me the weakest of the singles from 'Kings' album. That doesn't make it a bad song, far from it.

On YouTube someone has commented

Thank God i was a teenager when these boys were around it was a magical time in music history and wouldn't change that for anything in the world

. A sentiment I share wholeheartedly. Although, I wonder how different it would have been to have been me then, and them then, but with t'internet, downloads, YouTube, MTV, PVRs etc. Would I have been even more obsessed?

Puss 'N Boots. What I like most about this is the staccato rhythm. And the way it pauses and then changes key. Marco Pirroni had more music in his little finger than most of today's manufactured crap have in their entire group and entourage combined...

Goody Two Shoes reminds me so much of the long hot summer of 1982, lying awake trying to get to sleep listening to the radio.Furious drumbeat, but a great melodic line, and funky brass. For a few weeks I even followed the advice "Don't drink, don't smoke". It didn't last, obviously, after all I was fourteen. A very shrewd critique of the celebrity culture, and an attack on the media. I didn't fully understand it then, but it certainly made me think.

Strip isn't the best song off that album - an album I discuss in more depth in the post linked above. At the time I was Guardian Woman and I did question this song, and this album from a radical militant feminist viewpoint. I decided - with all the wisdom of a 15 year old virgin - that it was okay, because it did not objectify women, or if it did, it was part of a mutually pleasing sexual game where both participants had equal validity. I concluded I would never become Andrea Dworkin!

Young Parisians pre-dates all the chart success and the loud drums and rock and roll, pre-dates the radical change in line-up, IIRC the A&tA line-up then was later to form the backbones of Bow Wow Wow. The style is entirely different, a ballad-like style that somehow conjures up smoke-filled bars of the Left Bank (although my time in Paris has never extended beyond half a day changing trains en route back from Geneve). Deutscher Girls is similar, but much darker. Is there a music genre called Pop Noir?

Cartrouble, with the immortal line "Have you ever had to push?".There is also the "other" Cartrouble which is not on this album, but I do have on vinyl...I might have to get a record player one of these days. I always felt uncomfortable about the lyrics of that. Best not dwell too much...

Physical (You're So) is among the sexiest songs ever recorded. Pure Sex (isn't that what the tattoo said...?). Even as a fifteen year old virgin, I was able to grasp that, especially the grinding. I always felt that Adam's songs about sex were the expression of a man who really loved women. If I had gone down the Andrea Dworkin role I would have felt uncomfortable, instead I decided to go down the Libertine road of saying that adult consenting sex is great, and as liberated woman, I am quite capable of determining whether to give consent and knowing whether or not I did.

Friend or Foe is energetic, with the characteristic drumming, and with added brass. There was a short period in the early eighties when quite a few pop bands, whether the 'real instrument' bands such as Adam, or the synthesised electronic bands (who, in retrospect, are responsible for killing music - not home taping) experimented with brass, and according to the bombastic pseudo-authoritarian know-all know-nothings that postured as presenters on Radio 1, this was the arrival of jazz funk. Hmm, it was short lived, and like so much music, it was derivative sampling fusion. Good if it's done well, tired if it's done thoughtlessly

Ant Rap is my karaoke track. Or it would be if a) I did karaoke and b) this was included in standard karaoke sets. So much more satisfying that "Feelings..." or "Eye of the Tiger". For a while I actually believed I could rap. I then realised that I didn't especially want to be a rapper. I think of my performance of AntRap as being a cross between reciting and singing. A mesmeric rhythm, very sophisticated. Somewhat in the style of minimalists such as Steve Reich and Philip Glass. Actually, I was quite a Steve Reich fan back then, but I've only just noticed the connection

The anthemic, epoch-making, eponymous track. And you know, from that day to this, I have never consciously tread on an ant. I love the latest comment left on YouTube to this - "he was so f'ing hot!!!!!!!!" Oh yes!

And finally, the greatest Adam and the Ants song, and a definite contender for my all-time best songs album: Stand and Deliver. Of course, we all remember the Da Diddly Qua Qua. And the innovative use of drumsticks as actual percussion instruments. And the guitar. And the video. What can I say? Straight in at number one and hitting and holding for five weeks. Correct me if I'm wrong. I ought to know - I salvaged my file of the entire 1980s Top Twenties from my mother's house the other week. They are dangerously close at hand. I refuse to fact-check.

SwapShop interview from 1981 - I wonder, did somebody record it on video back then, and recently digitise it to upload to YouTube?

You know,when I started "All the records by 40" Project, it crossed my mind that it would be nice to provide actual musical links, but didn't really know how. How fast t'internet moves... so many videos are available on YouTube, but if not, I could have uploaded audio tracks to Yahoo Groups, or audio or video to Rapidshare. I also have this album on video, but until this weekend I didn't have the means to digitise it. Yet when I were a lass, it was a matter of some regret to have to miss an airing of an Ant video on TOTP or Swap Shop or whatever.

Until my dying day, I will always be a devoted Adam and the Ants fan. Sex music for Ant people, Ant music for Sex people.

* equal with kd lang and Billy Bragg

How about the secondary moderns?

Tory quits post over grammars row

He had to go, of course, nothing else matters in Altrincham and Sale quite as much as the secondary moderns grammar schools. It is the entire reason to live in Altrincham and/or Sale. Five state funded grammar schools, plus two more fee paying for the failures. There are also secondary moderns in Altrincham and Sale. In fact, although I don't know for sure, I would guess there might be more secondary moderns. Or at least, more pupils in seocndary moderns. They're for the kids who fail the 11 plus, written off before they even hit puberty.

I love the dishonesty bit:

he first got involved with the Conservative Party aged 16, when he joined a campaign to save local grammar schools

Hmm, he's 40. Gets out fingers (see, even a grammar-school educated accountant needs fingers to take 39 from 40). Ooh, he was the year above me, him at Alty Grammar me at Loreto Grammar, Altrincham. So, he joined Altrincham and Sale Conservative Association the year before I joined Altrincham and Sale Labour Party... was he that Dork, or was that someone else? So this campaign to save Grammar Schools would taken place when I was fifteen, attending a Grammar School, very politically aware, about to join the Labour Party, when Trafford Council was controlled by a clear Tory majority, when Margaret Thatcher was Prime Minister, and no one told me that someone was trying to get rid of Grammar Schools, in Trafford, in Altrincham? Admittedly, we had some fun canvassing in 1986, pretending to dyed-in-the-wool Tories that that was our only policy. But, you know, for all the years from 86 to a couple of years back when, on-and-off, Labour controlled Trafford Council, there was never any proposals to abolish Grammar Schools. Yes, there was a parent-led petition to gauge opinion, because, you know, quite a lot of parents don't like their children to be condemned as failures at 11 and consigned to non-aspirant schools.

Ah well, I expect I'm the only person outside Altrincham and Sale who has ever heard of Graham Brady; I'm sure one more faceless chinless wonder won't be missed from the Tory front-bench. And having gone to Altrincham Grammar, not Eton, he was never going to get any position of significance, anyway. Still, better than going to Welly Road, though.

Red Shoes

In November 2003, when the blogosphere was tiny, there was a blogmeet, somewhere in the wilds of North London, in a basement of a place. It was very enjoyable; I seem to remember spending most of the night looking up to Hg in admiration.

I have found this photo on people wearing red shoes. One is Karen Uborka, not sure which, and I completely forget who else had red shoes. It's not like there were a great many women there.

Were you there? Can you remember?

New Covent Garden Booking system

What's a polite way of saying "It's pants!"

I had my debit card rejected twice and Jimmy's rejected once, before finally getting (I think!) the tickets I wanted for three Elisir D'Amores and 1 Iphigenie & Tauride. Five people have reported having a total of 12 cards rejected, up to 8 times.

I booked ballet a couple of hours after it opened; except for having to wait about five minutes to get in - it originally told me 66 minutes - that seemed to go okay.

I have confirmatory emails but won't actually believe until hard physical tickets drop through my letter box!

Beethoven

The other reason for stalling in my "all the records by 40" project was Bach. I honestly don't know what to say about Bach. I don't be the sort of moron who calls Bach "sewing-machine music". Not least because I like Bach, but I don't know how. SO I'm going to pass by Bach for the time being, confident that by the time I reach 40 I shall be far more mature and be able to express how I feel about him.

I have moved onto Beethoven in my systematic playing but forgot to blog most of it, so we shall return to the bulk of my Beethoven collection, too. However, I am currently playing the Choral Fantasy in C minor Op 80 for piano, chorus and orchestra, which is just one of the most amazing piece of musics ever written. I often say that Beethoven is one of my favourite composers, but, symphonies apart, I don't actually have very much by him.

What I like about this particular piece is that it encapsulates the quintessential Beethoven, for me. See again the title - fantasy for piano, chorus and orchestra. So we start with a grand virtuoso piano first movement, which, as well as being pleasant in itself, also signals that it is building up to something. the second movement is a conversation between piano and orchestra. Beautifully lyrical and worthwhile in itself, simultaneously telling us that there is more to come.. The movement closes with a significant temp change - from Adagio to Marcia, assai vivace - and always there is underlying sense of moving forward. The third movement with solo voices singing with piano and background orchestra, building up into full choir, orchestra and piano, a real goose-pimple moment. And for ever building up to a manic finale.

When there simply isn't enough time for Beethoven's 9th Symphony, the Choral Fantasy serves as worthy alternative in quarter of the time! It's not the sort of piece that gets pushed by ClassicLite FM, nor included on compilation albums, but in my opinion, no record collection should be without it. I have never heard it live, I wonder if the need for six soloists for a four minute movement militates against live performances.

The triple concerto on the same disc is pleasant, too, although never likely to be a contender in my hypothetical Greatest Pieces listing.

Absolutely

Go to the back of the class anyone who thought that Abba would be followed by Adam and the Ants. First, we have ABC  

I think that they are one of the forgotten bands of the New Romantic era. Probably deservedly.

I never really got into them in the Eighties. I sort of liked them in that undiscriminating adolescent way of liking anything in the Charts now, that isn't actually crud or uncool.

I suppose the difficult thing about ABC is Martin Fry. Let's not beat about the bush. I really don't like his voice. It's too strident, almost to the point of aggression, which is not really appropriate for what are, effectively, bland mushy love songs. And I doubt he was on many walls of teenage girls back in the early-to mid Eighties. I certainly don't recall any of my contemporaries fancying him. Although one of my classmate's Mum went to cookery classes with his Dad. Oh yes, we were well connected to the pop world back then.

I'm playing this album, but I'm not especially enjoying it. It's not making me run round in a state of agitation or anything like that, but I can't help thinking: mediocre songs, over-produced, with unconvincing faux emotion, crooned by someone who can sing, sort of, but has an ugly voice, and backing vocals of the 'phone-it-in' school. The worst thing about this sort of 'Greatest Hits' retrospective of Never-Weres is the concept of 'Added Value'. The true fans will already have all the singles, and, in any case, the paltry array of hit singles is insufficient to fill a CD past the crucial 45 minute mark. So they put on additional bonus tracks, which are remixes of the garbage that has gone before, but with extra stuttering - because that 'scratching' was so cutting edge in the years before 1990, the date of this release.

Still, I shouldn't be too negative. I did, after all, buy it, and almost certainly for more real cash money than it is available now.

Gordon Brown is Wotan

I just thought I would mention the similarities now, before anyone else does, so it;s here on t'internet as being my observation. Unless, of course, someone else made it first.

Wotan lost his eye in a deal which made him head honcho of the gods. Gordon is alleged to have lost his playing rugby.

Wotan paid for Walhalla with the Rheingold taken from Alberich who took it from the Rhinemaidens. Gordon has been quite an enthusiast for the Private Finance Initiative.

Gordon has been known to disguise himself as a wolf and...okay, the analogy has run out there.

Space, the Final Frontier

I joined the queue to be served in the coffee bar, noting that there were four people in front of me. In the end, I was the eighth person to be served. Most of those in front of me were together, as far as I could tell, they were IT consultants. It's a grey area, I couldn't reasonably accuse them of queue jumping, but it was annoying as the 'round' got extended by new arrivals.

What was more interesting was the posture of the sad Wannabe Alpha Males (WAM). I like two sorts of men, the real Alpha Males who are so self-confident, relaxed in their identity and sexuality that they don't feel a need to display it. I also like men who are gentle and caring. I like it best when these two are combined in one bloke, the sort who would hug a tree before chopping it down with bare hands. What I don't like is the man who has to pose and behave in a way that he believes makes him Alpha Male but simultaneously betrays his insecurities. Standing with legs splayed, head pecking away like a bird, talking loudly in meaningless fashionable buzzwords, checking that everybody is looking. The woman behind the counter is Lithuanian.  To me, this means she speaks English with an accent and occasionally has difficulty understanding poorly-articulated and/or heavily accented requests. It doesn't mean she is stupid, inferior or in need of being patronised. She does her job and is always pleasant.

One of the Wannabe Alpha Males said "And a Bounty"

"Red or blue?" she said.

"A Bounty," he repeated.

"Do you want Red or Blue?"

He was getting exasperated, "A Bounty". She looked him directly in the eye "Red Bounty or Blue Bounty?" Chastened - momentarily - he requested blue.

WAM2 looks at his cup of coffee. Accusatory, he said "It has a message on it."

"Yes," she said. "Extra shot..." Again, he was temporarily chastened. I don't suppose they will ever learn. She does her job, she does it well. They are so full of themselves that they are confounding her efforts at customer service. To their detriment.

There is a road close to me. It's a very minor road. It has another road off it. Both roads are densely populated, many of the residents in conversions, most of them with cars, few of them with off-street parking.

With Thames Water's contractors currently replacing the crumbling Victorian water mains - a Good Thing - parking is even scarcer* .  Where the two roads meet, the pavement is high but there is a drop down kerb to enable pedestrians to cross, especially those with buggies, luggage etc. Yet, so often, there are vehicles parked there, making it dangerous to pedestrians, and often blocking the sight lines of any driver wanting to turn out of the subsidiary road. It actually barely affects me personally. It's no big deal to wander out into the road, which I generally want to be crossing at some point - once I have passed the sticky-out building.

I was walking down there the other morning and saw a van parked on the drop-down crossover, and joy of joys, there was a bloke with the van. I commented to him that it wasn't a safe place to park, it was inconsiderate to people with buggies. His response "Don't give me that, I live here too." Oh well, that's okay, if you live 'here' that means you're exempt from common courtesy and safety precautions.

I got on the bus which was full downstairs. Full and standing. There was a bloke stood on the staircase. Someone asked him whether there were seats upstairs. He gave no reply but the person went up anyway. I asked the same question. He said yes. So I said "So it's a bit stupid for you to stand there blocking the stairs and making people think the upstairs is full." He scowled at me. Upstairs was half empty.  The bus passed the next stop without stopping.

* I'm not quite sure why so many of them have cars because most of the cars don't seem to move from one week to the next; surely a garden gnome would be cheaper. Plus they demonstrably increase Fear of Crime

Exciting new arrivals

I took advantage recently of my fortuitous position in the housing market to inject something into the slowing retail market. I take my Fiscal Responsibilities very seriously. It's a gesture of solidarity welcoming Golden Brown into power. those of you new to this blog may think this post in an arrogant display of conspicuous consumption; those of you who actually know me in real life may exclaim "About time too...!"

While I was in Manchester Jimmy took advantage of my absence to paint the back room. On my return we ordered a carpet; also one for the stairs, which he had painted just after Easter.

Today was carpet delivery day, and deliciously, everything went to plan. I took the opportunity earlier in the week of ordering an amp, CD player and speakers to replace my well-knackered midi stereo system. I am now without cassette deck - which is easily and cheaply remedied when I get a round tuit.

Just a very small part of my music collection

It's been agony having the new system sitting in their boxes since Tuesday; a DVD recorder (which also plays videos) is still packaged on the floor of the front room.   In fact, I feel as though my life is currently piled up on the front room floor. We have ordered two display cabinets (two doors wide, to replace a crappy fally apart Gerry-built three door wide one), but they are not due for another five weeks yet, so the next task is to load the glassware, crockery and booze back into the old one - we can't live another month falling over things on the living room floor.

But for now, I am truly enjoying my new CD player. The instructions say run it in for 36 hours constant use, so I am yet to come to a definite conclusion. Major decision which CD to play first. Despite owning several hundred CDs, the choice of the virginity-breaking one was obvious. So far, I can say that I never realised that Plácido sounded so fabulous singing Wagner, nor did I realise that the Tristan Love Duet was so orgasmic...!

(Oh, and the horrible neighbour who has built a poxy extension on our wall, the bitch, moved into her house to live yesterday. Hopefully, today, she is finding out about her more-of-a-bitch neighbour who plays Wagner loud with the kitchen door open...!)

But the trouble with conspicuous consumerism is the sense of deep dissatisfaction it causes.   I have new toys, I love my new toys, I think the mile-deep shag pile on the backroom carpet is gorgeously sensual. But I want more. Okay, I won't analyse that piece of philosophy. But whatever one does, one does feel that there is always more to do. For example, our walls are currently picture-free. We got a lovely papyrus in Luxor, which is rolled up somewhere, in anticipation of a decent frame; that will go at the top of the stairs and will look fabulous from the front-door step.

I think new curtains are needed...

Late for assembly

Recurring dream.

It is twenty one years since I left school. If I had done the fashionable thing and dropped a sprog in Sixth Form, I could be a grandmother by now.

I think it's fair to say that by Upper Sixth I was getting mighty fed up of school. Nothing major, just it was time to move on, stop being treated like a kid, but structures make it difficult to walk out two-thirds through A-Levels. I started playing truant rather frequently - a bit ironic that I never properly skived school until I was adult. Pointless General Studies, horrendous compulsory PE, even worse three-line whipped RE.

But I tended to get to school early, well before the bell, often early enough to be the one that gets to unlock the school (yes, seriously, and that wasn't just a Sixth Form privilege). I can't actually recall but I suspect there may have been occasions when I couldn't bear another school assembly so just stayed in the Sixth Form Common Room. If I did, I certainly wasn't alone. If my absence from the register being taken was noticed it wasn't commented. By Sixth Form "the buses were crowded, couldn't get on" was a well rehearsed in truth excuse.

But every few weeks I have a dream of panic that I'm missing assembly, full in the knowledge that there will be dire consequences, and I'm straining every sinew to be there. Strange, because School Assembly was never a Bad Thing. Never a Good Thing, either. Just a Thing. Over quickly enough, better than most of the boring lessons. Not as good as lunchtime.

I am not sure why I have this recurring dream, almost a nightmare, of something that never mattered a great deal when it was current, over half a lifetime ago.

Ah well, dentist in eight hours. A new dentist, to whom I shall have the tiresomeness of explaining,"No, I really don't have any fillings. Yes, my teeth are filthy dirty. No, I haven't seen a dentist in two-and-a-half years because the evil bitch who took over from my lovely dentist deliberately banged her instrument against a nerve so that I have momentary intermittent pain when I eat chocolate. Yes, I used to adore going to the dentist until that evil bitch called Nicola, who seemed very smug when she assured me if I didn't give up smoking I'd get cavities...whoopy do, let me join the rest of the human race with their mouths full of filigree." That's the demon I need to bury, not some made-up fear of School Assembly - Pseudoscolionoassembliophobia.

Pelléas et Melisande

I was there this evening...until the interval.

I still hate Debussy

I paid all of, ooh, £7 for a ticket, so I'm really not complaining. I'm not even going to attempt to be even-handed and fair. I only went because of the star-studded cast, notably Simon Keenlyside and Angelika Kirchshclager in the title roles, and Gerald Finley in the starring role of Golaud. And all I could think was - why I can't I hear this cast in something decent. As far as I could tell, they sang wonderfully. But it's horrible music. As far as I could tell, the orchestra played well. But it's horrible music.

It was definitely the night for the coughers, and the wheezy breathers, too. Perhaps because the air was redolent with impending - but yet to happen - thunderstorm. Suffice to say, in the pause between Acts II and III, Simon Rattle turned to the audience and requested that people cough into their handkerchiefs, 'because the score demands it'. I'm afraid to say that at that precise moment I felt a fart coming on, but, because, obviously, I never fart in public (and in private it's only rose petals), I didn't.

Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if the production wasn't a pile of w*n*. The three leads are very natural stage animals, but it might as well have been a concert performance, except when Simon Keenlyside went off-message and started springing around stage.

And the costumes were a complete joke. Everybody except Melisande were dressed  in the most ridiculous and unflattering Fat-Elvis/Clown costumes, with padded trousers made of foam, I think. Two of the nicest male arses in opera, ruined by those horrible creations. Melisande wore a red dress. All the reviews focused on her sitting in her tower with 38 other identical red dresses. Well, I scrutinised them closely, they seemed to be identical to each other, but quite different in a number of details - neckline, front waist panels, pleats - from the one she was wearing.

And the sets were just garbage. Just a series of giant boxes, like people put butterflies into, but the height of the Covent Garden Stage, a different one for each scene, containing eg copies of a letter, bloodstained pillows, snow.

The final scene before the interval, where Golaud is quizzing his son Ynoild was the only memorable (good) scene. It's the only one that stuck in my mind from prior play-throughs, and the only one with anything that resembled a tune. All the reviews, professional and amateur, have highlighted it as being the best in the entire opera. So at the interval, I decided that life is too short. And if I never hear P&M again, that will be just fine. Just a shame that I don't think Gerald is appearing in anything before Eugene Onegin next season. Which is way too long to wait.

On the way home, my mp3 player included songs or arias  from Gerald, Simon and Angelika, all of which sounded gorgeous, and made me feel sad and annoyed. And the final tune on my bus ride was the overture to Tannhauser. Now that's what I call music.

Although, for a balance of views it might be instructive to read what Silverfin and Cunning Little Vixen have to say...

Abba Gold

I seem to have gone into hiatus on my "All the records by 40" Project. It's not that I haven't been playing music, quite the opposite. If I travel anywhere on my tod, I always have my mp3 player with me, and at 4629 tracks it has a reasonable cross-section of my music collection.

So I take the project up again with a pop CD. I am not quite sure what to do about cassettes. I shall be without cassette playing capacity until I can be arsed to buy a cassette deck to plug into my amp.

 And quite fittingly, the first album that comes up is by Abba (quite shocking that the HTML-writing community hasn't come up with the code for the trademark Abba reverse 'B'. Fittingly, because, although I originally randomly began pop/rock CDs at 'Jones', Abba is alphabetically apt, and in keeping with the fact that Abba were almost certainly the first group that I really liked. I mean apart from The Wombles etc, and they don't really count. I even had an "Abba Songs for the Recorder" book. Okay, I admit it, I've still got it.

That was when I was a child. As a cool teenager I entirely repudiated Abba, which later proved to me how stupid the adoption of cool is. Abba's legend goes on. And why? Because, pretty consistently, they wrote fabulous songs, and performed them ably. It's easy to sneer at poppy tunes, much harder to emulate them. And it wasn't as if they were all bright and shallow. On this, effectively their Greatest Hits Album . Supertrouper, for example, has a dark sound to it, and the mood as expressed in the lyrics is ambiguous. Facing 20,000 of your fans, how can anyone be so lonely. But at least 'you're in the crowd tonight'. I suppose performers the world over have similar fixed feelings. and it was this song that first made me realise that the showbiz life wasn't all glamour. Billy Bragg also does it splendidly.

I find it fascinating to follow the trajectories of their private lives through the chronology of their songs. The Winner Takes It All is really quite weird - written by the blokes, sung by Agnetha, I think in the aftermath of her break up with, Benny or Bjorn, I used to know who was married to whom. Heck, I saw Abba the Movie at Sale Odeon. I was that big a fan. And I tell you what, if they played the Dome for £500 quid a ticket, I'd be there! It ain't gonna happen. One of Us is in much the same vein.

My absolutely favourite Abba song is "Thank You For the Music", and, let me tell you, I love nothing more than bopping round belting it out loud, using the remote control as a pretend microphone. but I can't right now. I have my earphones on; Jimmy's watching a film in the next room, and he thinks that a whole album of Abba is too much. It's only a single album, I protest. But singing with headphones with witnesses (think of my poor neighbour...) is a no-no.

All of the rest of the world thinks Dancing Queen is the best Abba song. It comes on pub juke-boxes a lot and I can rarely resist the temptation to get up and dance. I think just about anybody can dance to it.

We bought my father Take A Chance on Me for his fiftieth birthday. I am not sure he particularly appreciated it!

Another of my favourites is I Have A Dream, another of the break-up songs, very melancholy.

Gimme Gimme A Man After Midnight, the anthem of every* single woman and many a not so single one. Musically, another departure from the stereotypical sunny happy Abba. And had a Sitcom named after it. As did, of course, Knowing Me Knowing You aha...

Fernando is damned hard to play on the recorder, I can tell you.

And then there is the difficult Does Your Mother Know? At the time (Junior 4 - or Year 6 to you youngsters) I thought it was cool that Abba had gone all punk with heavy guitar riffs and I wanted to buy it with pocket money. But my parents put their foot down with a lame you already have too many Abba records... I can't believe that Radio 1 played it without batting an eyelid. Does it ever get any radio in these less innocent days?

Overall, a bloody good album!

* straight, obviously

Vienna Gala

Großer Jubel über Placido Domingo

Eine 40-jährige Liebe - and he nearly didn't get through his first performance in 1967...

Domingo feierte 40 Jahre Staatsopern-Reife

La Ópera de Viena agasaja a Plácido Domingo en el 40 aniversario de su debut

Plácido Domingo revive su euforia vienesa

Nice picture

Also a report at Opera-L, but I'm not sure if that link will work because it includes my login, otherwise go here, and look for 'Domingo Gala in Vienna -- eye and earwitness report'

Misheard lyrics

A classic, from Songs of Praise, with subtitles

Marginally NSFW

via

I can talk about it now...

Saturday, that is...

Such a strange feeling, anyway. when I look back to Cup Finals of the past, 83 and 85 in particular, but also 76, 77, 90, my excitement was immeasurable.

In the 90s - well, 1990 seemed at the time to be a spark in the dark, a momentary relief from five years of having won nothing. In retrospect, of course, it was the start of everything. I wasn't at the 1990 Cup Final, but I was at the Third Round Match at Nottingham Forest. Beforehand, people were quoted in the Press as saying "I'm never going to watch Manchester United again whilst that useless Alex Ferguson is manager..." Mark Robins scored a vital goal, and the rest, as they say, is history.

1994 was very special; it was only a year since we had become Champions for the first time in my lifetime (well, we were Champions when I was born, but we were soon to concede that to Manchester City...the hilarious irony being that the season they happened to win the League, we won the European Cup...thirty one years and they've won f...all). An FA Cup win and it would be the double. Fantasy Football League, with Baddiel and Skinner, had had a hilarious sketch, based on a costume drama being broadcast at the time "Middle of March,where it all went wrong..." So wrong, we won the Double. I remember that FA Cup Final. No, I don't. I was at a friend's flat, and her flatmate had a boyfriend who was a drug dealer,and we found a packet of grass down the sofa. I learnt a vital lesson that day - smoking grass eradicates special memories. Just say No, kids.

1995 was awful. I missed the Final because I was at Union Conference. Not even full Conference, but Sector Conference, for the amorphous groups of organisations that were too esoteric even for the Civil Service General Group - the Public and Commercial Sector (us, the Research Councils, British Council, the Equalities organisations, Forestry Commission, Alliance & Leicester-ex-Girobank etc). The Girobankers were all Toffees. Oh dear! The next day I was admitted to hospital with suspected appendicitis which turned out to be burst ovarian cysts. A week off work. One of the managers, himself a Manchester United fan, declared he had never seen such an over-reaction to an FA Cup Final defeat.

1996, Double Again, getting a bit of a habit. I got very drunk on green and yellow Hooch, which my then boyfriend bought me because they matched my Green and Yellow Newton Heath replica shirt.

1999, Make Mine a Treble! I was actually at my sisters that weekend, because it was My Favourite Niece's Christening the next day. At three minutes to three I was in the garden having a cigarette and Nephew #1 (at the time, Favourite Nephew) asked me to play football. I scoffed, no way, I'm old and past it, I'm almost as old as Teddy Sheringham...oh boy, what with his FA Cup Final performance and his subsequent European Cup performance, Teddy Sheringham earned himself a place in the United pantheon of heroes.

This century becomes blurred. I sofa-blogged the 2004 Final when we beat Millwall in a particularly one-sided Final, the match that saw the emergence of Cristiano Ronaldo as a player of exceptional potential. I block 2005 out of my mind, losing on penalties is really unpleasant - having said that, penalties are a better test of ability than tossing a coin, and the rules are known before play commences. And I will be just as happy to forget Saturday. Chelsea won. Fair and square. I thought they were dirty, I thought that Ryan Giggs had a perfectly good goal disallowed. but end of the day,that's the result. I can live with it. Because we are Champions!. And we are still in the lead with 12 wins in history. And we are now level with Arsenal, Newcastle and Everton in having 7 runners up places.

We lost in 1976, but returned victorious in 1977. Because Arsenal did much the same in 1978/9, I developed a view that that was common. Of course I know different now, but supporting a team like Manchester United, one does have the confidence that some time in the not too distant future, there will be another attempt at Glory.

And one day, I suppose, Alex Ferguson will retire - although he has stated he has a renewed zest for football - and those True Fans who tore up their season tickets in January 1990 will be able to start watching United again. I'm not sure about those who said that the Glazers would asset-strip...

It still makes me laugh when the minnows keep sacking their managers. Martin Edwards stood by Alex Ferguson through three-and-a-half years with nothing to show, and some shockingly low League positions; he ignored the clamours for the sack in 89/90. And Nine Premierships later - I want Ten! Not to mention5 Fa Cups, two Mickey Mouse Cups and one each of European Cup and European Cup Winners Cup

Housekeeping

My laptop is getting slower and slower. This does not surprise me, even though I regularly virus-and spybot check.

And I do give it a battering, expecting it to multi-task.

If I recall correctly, conventional wisdom says it's occasionally a good idea to return it to its factory settings. I have never bothered to do this, knowing how much of a hassle this would then to reload it. But, the way I see it, as long as I make sure everything in "My Documents" - including Pictures, Music and Videos - is safely backed up on the External Hard Drive; also stuff in My Profile, such as archived emails, and importantly, all the programmes I have installed and downloaded, then there shouldn't be a problem. All I need to do is restore the factory settings, then copy everything back from F drive to C drive.

But a part of me thinks that that is a pointless exercise, because any problems currently affecting the C drive will just go across to F and back again?

Vienna Gala

Last night Plácido celebrated 40 years at Wiener Staatsoper, by singing in Act 1 of Die Walküre and Act 4 of Otello.

Audio download available here: Act 1 Die Walküre - two files that need to be joined by free software HJSplit and Act 4 Otello

This is the information supplied by the uploader:

In diretta Euroradio da Vienna, Staatsoper Galà per i 40 anni di Plácido Domingo all'Opera di Vienna

Orchestra e Coro dell'Opera di Stato di Vienna

tenore, Plàcido Domingo
soprano, Deborah Voigt
soprano, Krassimira Stoyanova
mezzosoprano, Nadia Krasteva
tenore, Ho-Yoon Chung
baritono, Boaz Daniel
basso, Kurt Rydl
basso, In-Sung Sim
basso, Ain Anger
Direttori, Ádám Fischer e Daniele Gatti

Richard Wagner
Die Walküre: estratti dall'atto primo

Sieglinde, Deborah Voigt
Siegmund, Plácido Domingo
Hunding, Kurt Rydl

Giuseppe Verdi
Otello: estratti dall'atto quarto

Otello, Plácido Domingo
Desdemona, Krassimira Stoyanova
Emilia, Nadia Krasteva
Iago, Boaz Daniel
Cassio, Ho-Yoon Chung
Montano, In-Sung Sim
Lodovico, Ain Anger

Broadcast Rai 256/kbps

No doubt this entry will have reviews added to it in due course...

Fairy Queen

To be filed under 'opera' because I don't have a category for semi-opera, or masques.

By Henry Purcell. Purcell is said to be the father of English opera, although it is said he only wrote one, Dido and Aeneas, which is short. And until Britten, there aren't really any other English opera composers whose works have endured, unless you include Handel, which I think you can, but cautiously.

I walk past Purcell's birthplace on average about once a week. Indeed most of my smoking breaks are spent staring down the street on which he was born. I suppose that makes him my local composer.

According to the booklet that came with this DVD, this isn't an opera. Furthermore, although the various audio editions include dialogue, this is a very free interpretation by director David Pountney. It does seem a bit strange. The actual DVD describes itself as 9 masques in 3 acts. The uniting factor is the music: the usual baroque formula of numbers - often exquisitively beautiful joined together by continuo. Supposedly, there is also the drama, based on Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream, that propels the semi-opera together. But, I have to say, if I didn't know the story of MSD, I am not sure I would be able to follow this.

It comes over to some extent as separate sections of singing and dancing. I don't care for the dancing in this. I could be facetious and say there is too much of it. I suppose if one happened to be a fan of that style one would enjoy it - but the singing would get in the way. at times I found some of the costumes disturbing - such as Puck (male) wearing a bra and one of the other dancers wearing a nappy. All the positive reviews comment on the humour in the piece.

The booklet says this is generally performed in concert. The scores went missing in 1695 and mysteriously reappeared in the early 20th century; it was the first performance of the Covent Garden Opera Company in 1946. The accompanying booklet to this DVD says that Benjamin Britten unburied the work in 1970. This DVD dates from 1995; there is an excellent review of the 2002 revival at MusicOMH. It's currently playing in rep in Linz; and has also been performed in Como and Aachen this season.

So, how do I rate it? Musically, it is always pleasant, but, despite hearing it three times, there is not a single number that stands out. I rate Dido & Aeneas much more highly - this CD rather than this video; not least for the well-known aria When I am laid in earth.

I think if my attention was drawn to a cheap CD or download with exceptional singers I would consider obtaining it. If it were to be performed locally, I might consider going, but more likely to a concert performance. I missed the Armonico Consort's production in last year's Chelsea Festival, and can't decide whether or not to go to their King Arthur next month. From what I have seen on this DVD, were ENO to revive it my decision whether to go to would be based solely upon whether or not the cast attracted me.

Not so long ago I had a reaction to Handel along the lines of 'very nice, but so what, shrug'. I have got over that, at least to some extent. I tended to think that Handel wrote loads of gorgeous music, but I could not see the collection of numbers as part of a coherent whole in the way I would for Mozart, Donizetti, Verdi, Wagner etc. And I suppose that is my problem with Purcell: that there isn't enough unique DNA in Fairy Queen - or Dido, or Indian Queen - to motivate me to become sufficiently familiar.

Evgeny Onegin

Or, as it seems to be called in the Anglosphere, Eugene Onegin. What's it known as in Germany, France etc?

I can't find any recommendations for a DVD of this opera. What I  have is what comes with the Del Prado partworks series and is functional. But I would urge anybody looking for a DVD of this opera to wait until (if...?) the New York Met makes a DVD of this season's live transmissions to cinemas'. If for nothing else, I think it is essential to get Dmitri Hvorostovsky in the title role, especially now he is reported to be bore dof it - oh, the irony!  It's a shame that ROH didn't record last season's production, also with Dima. In my opinion, the Met's Renée Fleming outshone Amanda Roocroft as Tatiana, but ROH's Rolando Villazón was a degree of magnitude better than Ramon Vargas. Both productions had their attractions, on balance, although the ROH's was, at times, gorgeous (thanks to the late Stephen Pimlott) but I would take the Met's spectacularly minimalist and un-Met-trash-like Robert Carsen production. Also, at ROH, Phillipe Jordan waggled the stick splendidly for one so young and drop-dead gorgeous, but one feels that he would not be slighted by mention that the Met had Valery Gergiev thoroughly at home in his repertoire.

This is written by Tchaikovsky. After the Tchaikovsky season on Radio 3, some newspaper johnny commented that because of Tchaik's great writing of orchestral works - symphonies and concerti - people forget his other works. I couldn't take that seriously. Call me Cheshire Girl, but surely, most people who know something about music, when prompted with "Tchaikovsky" will first say "1812" and follow up swiftly with Swan Lake/Sleeping Beauty/Nutcracker.  But I will happily concede that people do forget he wrote operas. I know only this, and Pikovaya Dama  (Queen of Spades). Maid of Orleans and Iolanta are known by the cognescenti. Not me. Of the two, I think Pikovaya Dama is great, whereas Evgeny Onegin is merely nearly-great.

I have played this DVD about four times now - and I went to the cinema to see the live broadcast in February, as well as seeing it live twice last year and once the year before. And each time I hear it, I love the music more and more. I'm inclined to think that it doesn't get any better than on this DVD. Gennady Rodhezensky is the conductor; I know there are people who rave about him, and I can hear why. I won't say too much about the singers, because they were terribly young then. It dates from nearly a decade ago, and they're still young now, at least the ones I'm familiar with. Suffice to say that although none reaches out and grabs me, there's none that makes me cringe. Clearly some are better than others, but why labour the point?

It struck me that this would be a perfect opera to put on the list of 'ideal for newcomers'. Funny that it doesn't tend to feature. Because it is packed full of great tunes, beautifully orchestrated. Particularly considering that none of the singers is a stand-out, it's enough to wallow and enjoy. I especially like the dance music at the start of Acts II and III (Tchaikovsky wrote amazing dance music? Who would have known!). I also adore Kuda kuda, a great great tenor show-piece aria, and Prince Gremin's is fabulous for the bass. But there's not one passage that isn't really quite beautiful. I have to confess that I often find Tatiana's letter scene drags, but I know that's me, and I also know it is vital for the dramaturgy and the character insight to have this besotted teenager angsting away in her bedroom writing this letter of love to Onegin, who receives it, and rejects her.

The story roles on; it's Tatiana's name-day party, Onegin dances with Olga, her sister, so Lensky challenges him to a duel, which of course, he accepts, adding two more to the total of Stupid Men in Opera. Onegin kills Lensky, his best friend, and wanders the world for years. He returns and attends a party given by a distant cousin, Gremin, who is now married to Tatiana. Later he tells Tatiana that he loves her, but she sends him away with a flea in his ear.

Champions...whatever

So, it happened. To be honest, from just about Christmas, deep inside, I never had any real doubt that it would happen. But deep inside is not the same as applied logic. And being so convinced, deep inside made it more difficult when there have been hiccups.

And, I have to say, United have just had the worst run of the season. The match at AC Milan was disappointing. Not that I watched it - I did listen on radio, but that really isn't quite the same thing. And the draw at Chelsea was only slightly less dismal than the depressing defeat at home to West Ham. The season isn't over: we also the FA Cup Final looming. Victory would land us the Double, nothing to sniff at. Defeat would be unfortunate, but would still leave us as Champions. For a few moments, on Sunday, when the trophy was presented, when my boys were being presented with their medals, I felt slightly pleased. Then, the thought occurred to me.

That's the end. A fleeting triumph. In three months, we begin again. Nul points, same as everybody else, with mountains to climb and obstacles to be overcome. I am examining myself, where is the pleasure in this? I recall in 1993, when we won it for the first time in my lifetime, I had a feeling that nothing good will ever happen again. And the next year we won the Double; later, the Treble. But it all counts for nothing when a new season opens.

Perhaps it's a metaphor for life. But I'm trying to work out what aspect. Am I becoming old and jaded...overheard the other day, someone said "I know I'm getting old because this bloke said 'I've got a nice piece of grass at home' and it turns out it was the lawn under under his tree."

Is it a reflection on the circle of life, the meaning of life. All joy is transitory, all misery lingers?

Or is it a critique of vicariousness? Alex Ferguson and Ryan Giggs can rightly point to nine championships. They've achieved that. they look in the mirror in the morning and they don't have to question their value. n one can take those achievements away from them. But me, I just sit and watch.

And yet, sit me down in front of a good football match, and I will enjoy it for it's own sake. It's a beautiful game. The pleasure is passing but it is worthwhile. Next season doesn't matter. Saturday is exciting, it's the new Wembley, over-budget, over-deadline, but nevertheless the home of the FA Cup Final.

Plácido to perform at the Albert Hall

According to the promoter's website

Date to be announced. Well, it will either be before mid-July, or after mid-September. That much I know from the schedule at the Albert Hall. Mid to late October will be my firm bet.

Oh, we lurve the Albert Hall...

Okay, it's not bad. and it's properly designed, unlike an arena. And doesn't require me taking time off work.

Stiffelio at Covent Garden

I went to this with quite low expectations. The critics, pro-and-am, had been underwhelmed and underwhelming. It is not a Verdi opera with which I am especially familiar. I do have a taped-off-the-telly video of this same production from 1993, with José Carreras and Catherine Malfitano, but it's not Josep at his best and Catherine, I can take or leave. I have also downloaded a 1995 Madrid performance, but as I am yet to teach my PC to play .avi files, I am yet to watch it. I would provide a link to the ROH website but that is out of order until Thursday...

The cast: Stiffelio – José Cura
Lina – Sondra Radvanovsky
Stankar – Roberto Frontali
Raffaele von Leuthold – Reinaldo Macias
Jorg – Alastair Miles
Federico di Frengel – Nikola Matišic
Dorotea – Liora Grodnikaite

Stick-waver - Mark Elder

My major gripe was that throughout, the directorial conceit was only partly to raise the front-drop, so that the surtitles were actually projected onto this. I know I had a cheap ticket, but when I bought it as restricted view, knowing that I would not be able to see the portion of the set under the overhang, I had expected to be able to see more than just the front of the stage. There was a (Croatian) couple sitting next to me; she said she will complain when she gets her feedback email; he had a wry sense of humour and suggested that we got a good impression of the church and churchyard.

There was a point in the first act when I questioned whether I would last beyond the interval, but I'm glad that I did, because it got a lot better.

Regarding the singers, I thought Sondra Radvanovsky was awful, but 80% of a random sample of strangers disagreed - although one suggested it was a voice you either love or hate: she 'loves' but can understand the 'hate'. In fairness, as far as I could tell, she had very good sense of pitch and a good sense of phrasing, and below about halfway down the staff she had a pleasant if unremarkable tone.

But as she moved up, the tone was increasingly unpleasant. I found that just about everything above the staff was screeched or squawked loudly. It was physically grating, almost painful, to hear, like a cat in heat: I almost ended up blocking my ears. And at times, it really jarred - especially at the start of the final scene, when the church congregation are singing completely gorgeously and devotionally and she keeps coming in with these incongruous yells. I think I will try and avoid her in future, or tolerate her only if co-stars and/or the opera are unmissable.

José Cura was curious. I am tempted to say a Curate's Egg, but that is too much alliteration, and, anyway, his role was pastor, not curate. A really amazing stage presence and intense believable acting; I was particularly impressed by his dramatic fall to the floor in despair on finding the truth of Lina's adultery. And, I have to confess that at one point I did have the thought 'I wouldn't kick him out of bed'. Vocally, I am not so sure. At times he sounded more baritonal than any tenor I have ever heard, which in itself is not a bad thing, but it did reveal many strains on higher notes. And in places I felt there was such an absence of lyricism in his voice that I just felt sad. But then, there was much to please: 'Ah sì, voliamo al tempio' was a thing of sheer beauty.

My favourite singer was Roberto Frontali as Stankar, although I would say he was not exactly top drawer. I found his legato exquisite but his passaggio was troublesome. Not a great actor but with considerable dignity. I ended up having considerable sympathy for his character against my better instinct. I think I would enjoy him tremendously as Germont pere and probably as Renato in Ballo. I also really liked Alastair Miles as the religious-extremist freak Jorg, although it was a relatively small role that did not showcase his ability very much.

But what made the evening worthwhile was the music and the story. The music is not as instantly hummable or memorable as that from Verdi's Middle Period, and not as dramatic as Don Carlo(s), Aida, Verdi etc. But it is a wonderful addition to the Verdi repertoire. I say that because its Covent Garden première was as recently as 1993, and the manuscript was found during my lifetime! Particularly memorable is the liturgical music; the graveyard scene is moving and gorgeous, with superb writing for off-stage chorus.

I have found myself purchasing the recommended recording - Verdi - Stiffelio and I shall work out how to watch .avi files!

The story is compelling and thought provoking. Basically, a story about adultery - Lina had an affair in her Pastor husband's absence, which was a dishonour to her father. Of course, with my 21st century sensibilities, I would take the view that these things are best forgotten and forgiven, or, at least swept under the carpet, which would lead to greater happiness.

And I was very angry about these men thinking with their dicks. It was as if, for Stiffelio, the thought of having to put it where another dick had been was more unbearable than the thought of losing the wife he claimed to love. And for the father, her shame in letting some man in was so great that he was morally justified in killing the man. Being entirely cynical, I would expect that Stiffelio had his end away with some naive innocent hero-worshipper when visiting his far-flung congregation. And Stankor was a retired great soldier. Hmm. But my 21st century reaction only serves to highlight the impossibility of the situation in a strict Protestant sect in the 19th century. Nothing was worse than a woman to 'be seduced'; the consequences were ruination, both economically and reputationally. Conveniently divorced from her husband (because he had married under a pseudonym) and outcast from her family. In the end Stiffelio forgave her, because a random passage in the bible instructed him to. This accords with both Verdi's and my view of religion - that the hypocrites running the organised church usually forget the real meaning of the Bible in their desire to be seen as devotional.

In conclusion, a worthwhile evening, but a qualified success.

Update: And then there's this...

Angela Gheorghiu Concert

At the Barbican last night.

Now, I have to state up front, I really like Angela Gheorghiu as a singer, and I have enjoyed every performance I have seen her in, on stage and on DVD. But there is something about her that brings out the inner bitch in me - which, let's be honest, doesn't lie very far beneath the surface. If you find bitchiness reprehensible, tough!

First of all, I must comment on her wardrobe for the evening. I was really quite shocked at her first dress, which I immediately assumed was from Primark. But as they don't display their wares on their site, it's impossible to prove. I then decided that it was a cheap - very cheap - rip-off of Anna Netrebko's Estrada gown, seen at the same venue six months ago. Some inspired surfing helped me to identify it as being straight from the Littlewoods catalogue. I did feel that by her age, 45 or whatever, she really should stop dying her hair black. Her natural colour is no darker than mine, but even though I am considerably younger, I find blonde and auburn highlights work a treat.

For the first half of the second half, she appeared in this Dorothy Perkins gown. I think it would have looked better if she had worn a bra underneath. Even though she isn't blessed in that department, gravity has taken its inevitable toll. For the latter part of the second half she wore a red satin dress. It was actually quite nice, or, would have been in the next size up. Didn't really go with the gold glitter shoes. And then, afterwards, she appeared for a signing in a tight red skirt, a shiny gold jacket and a pair of shoes that managed to make Sarah Brightman's look classy - I think it was the wrap-around-the-calves ribbons that really set them apart.

Now for the music:

Verdi Overture: Nabucco
Giordani 'Caro mio ben'
Handel 'Lascia ch'io pianga'
Mascagni Intermezzo from Cavalleria Rusticana
Leoncavallo 'Stridono lassu' from I Pagliacci
Puccini 'Ch'il bel sogno di doretta...' from La Rondine
Puccini 'In quelle trine morbide' from Manon Lescaut
Bizet 'Habanera' from Carmen
Tchaikovsky Overture: Romeo & Juliet
Puccini 'O mio babbino caro' from Gianni Schicchi
Puccini 'Un bel di vedremo' from Madama Butterfly

Nabucco Overture was a nice way to start off the evening; although a bit frustrating, because there are hints of Va pensiero in it, but without a chorus, it wasn't possible.

Angela's first two numbers were disappointing. The Giordani because she entirely failed to hit one key note and was a bit approximate to quite a few others. The Lascia ch'io pianga was the low point of the evening. She is emphatically not a Handel soprano. I felt she was attempting to be derivative of Renée Fleming in the inappropriately mannered and effortful performance. Some people claimed Angela made no effort whatsoever, which I think is unfair, because she clearly made a lot of effort in this. The last time I heard this performed live was by Carolyn Sampson, who made it sound so simple and effortless! Someone said the last time they heard Morticia sing it she forgot the words, causing audience member Cecilia Bartoli to chuckle heartily.

The Leoncavallo was fine, nothing special but nothing to make me shudder. And in the Ch'il bel sogno di doretta we did get a glimpse of what she is capable of when she applies herself. After the interval was more Puccini - okay, nothing special - and her best number of the evening, the Habanera from Carmen. It would be funny to say it was derivative of Warbling Barbie, but it wasn't. She had great pitch, a wonderful tone, a real sense of knowing what she was singing, and an understanding of how the character of Carmen is portrayed in the music. I am not sure she has the full range of low notes, but towards the bottom of her range she has gorgeous colour of tone, quite different from the bell like clarity of her beautiful notes towards the top.

Next came the highlight of the evening, Tchaikovsky's wonderful Romeo and Juliet overture. There was a time in my life that I must have played this about three times a week. I went off Tchaik for a while, but he seems to have crept up on me in the past year or so, and this piece is just so fabulously great. I was almost in tears. In fact, the only thing that ruins it is that it doesn't break into the 1812 Overture!

Angela returned, performed a couple of Puccini arias very pleasantly, and we waited with growing excitement for the encores. Having predicted them, we were absolutely right. First, Musika, the Romanian song that she often sings, which is pleasant. Next was 'I Could Have Danced All Night' - I can only quote my friend who has written "where the LSO did a superb job of drowning her out". And, finally, I knew it was going to be Granada because I could see the score on the music stands of the back row of the first violins. I really could not believe what she did. she actually failed to come on stage until after it had started. Absolutely derivative, ripped off from that silly joke that Pláci plays with the audience whenever he sings Granada - except that the point is, with him, everyone is expecting and wanting him to sing what is effectively a signature song, whereas, no one especially wants Angela Gheorghiu to sing it.

So, overall, it was an enjoyable evening, made more so by the fine London Symphony Orchestra under Ion Marin. But, especially when one considers what Ms Gheorghiu is capable of, it is annoying to be treated to something less. I think it's reasonable to compare her against her own high standards, it's just a pity she didn't match them.

Watch and enjoy

Placido Domingo - 40 Jahre an der Wiener Staatsoper