Gertsamtkunstwerk

Photos from Athens

Parsifal has some more photos from the rehearsal between Plácido and Warbling Barbie for the Athens concert in aid of a A Very Good CauseMás Plácido para todos!. And promises update with sound-clips.

Dmitry Korchak recital

I attended a recital by this wonderful young tenor, Dmitry Korchak, at St John's Smith Square, part of the ongoing Rosenblatt Recital Series. Pianist Simon Lepper.

I had first heard Dimitry two or three years ago in a gala of ten tenors at the Festival Hall, and I decided to book for this.

A lovely evening.

The first half consisted mainly of Rachmaninov songs, all of which were unfamiliar to me. As I was listening I was thinking, yeah, he's good, but I'm not convinced he's the finished article. He finished the first half with a stunningly gorgeous Kuda kuda (Lensky's Aria) from Evgeny Onegin.

In the second half he concentrated on non-Russian stuff. Dies bildnis ist bezaubend schön from Magic Flute; Je crois entendre encore from Pearlfishers; Una furtiva lagrima from L'elisir d'amore; A te o cara from I puritani; & Seul sur la terre from Dom Sébastien, with the encores being Mattinata by Leoncavallo and another Rach song.

I thought he was gorgeous in the opera stuff, a sweet lyric voice and an engaging stage manner. He is very cute - the woman next to me commented that she found it difficult to believe he is as old as 28, and when he saw and heard the applause of the audience, he grinned irrepressibly. When he was singing Una furtiva, I seriously believed he was singing it directly to me, for me only. Definitely one to watch. But you know that anyway, being a prizewinner at Operalia three years ago

It was a shame that the hall was only half full, but, I have to say, I remembered why I am so reluctant to attend St John's Smith Square. There seems to be a cliquey bunch of people who attend religiously - with so many venues in London I don't see the point about being a venue-obsessive - and they have this unveiled hostility to incomers under the age of fifty. To my left and behind were obnoxious boors.

So, while I welcome Ian Rosenblatt's matchless contribution to tenor (and other voice-types!) worship in London, I am rather glad that the next one will be at Cadogan Hall where the SJSS bullies won't be so conspicuous.

Update: Available to download here

Pet Shop Boys

Onwards with blogging my record collection. Armed again with a cassette deck, I play the next scheduled cassette, containing Pet Shop Boys first two albums, Please and Actually. Not a great deal to say. And certainly no point digitising these well-played somewhat damaged TDK cassettes, (nor thinking - but turntable, seek out vinyl albums).

It's already been previously covered in words and bytes.

For contemplating as part of my Top One Hundred, note West End Girls, Love Comes Quickly,  What Have I Done To Deserve This?

Oh, and "It's A Sin." Where the lyrics go

At school they taught me how to be So pure in thought and word and deed

Whereas our Primary School Hymn went:

Our school's Latin Motto means Kind Pure and True

- 'Charitas, Caritas, Veritas', arranged around a red swan.

A bit better than secondary school. If I ever become Prime Minister I can't stand in Downing Street saying:

Maria Regina Angelorum Cruci Dum Spiro Fido

wikilink to a sister school in Letterkenny - Mary queen of the angels I hope and believe in the cross.

I suspect when I become Prime Minister I shall say

Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change;
Courage to change the things I can;
And wisdom to know the difference

The Blair Legacy

Okay, as blogging is a far more attractive alternative to what I really should be doing, I shall highlight three achievements of the Blair Years and as succinctly point out why they are (regarded as) partial successes.

The Human Rights Act. This seems a long time ago, and when it was first introduced it was quite scary for public bodies. As a Lambeth Councillor, we contemplated the impact of ordinary people taking the council to court for the right to decent housing. We concluded it would be a Good Thing, if expensive. Some of the actions brought under it have played into the hands of the right-wing hate mongers.

But even though, for example, I believe any school has the right to make rules on uniform and ban the political posturing of headscarves, I think the girls who bring these actions have the right to argue their case. In addition to individual cases, and cases where precedents are set, this has a real impact on thinking about how public policy affects individuals, and has emphasised the presumption of non-discrimination. As a little ordinary person, certain human rights as enshrined in the act have been helpful - to an extent - in challenging planning applications, past and present. However, I regret that in the face of sustained attacks by the Conservative Party and the illiberal self-interested capitalist Press, certain members of the Government have failed to say "This was the right thing to do, and continues to be the right thing, and the occasional perverse result does not in any way diminish its moral correctness."

Freedom of Information Act. Again, I am miffed at the preposterous Private Members Bill that served to exclude MPs from its requirements, on the spurious premise of protection of Individual's Confidentiality. The confidentiality of the individual has always been enshrined in it, and is the reason why HM Treasury refused to release details of David Cameron's employment history. It is also the reason that the Act, so trumpeted pre-1997 took so long to ocme to fruition. But setting a general principle in allowing public access to information previously withheld has changed our attitude and has caused documented changes in perceptions of actual policies.

The third is a bit of a catch all encompassing public spending, from the minimum wage to increased investment in, for example schools and hospitals. If people are living on the minimum wage they are still, certainly in relative terms, and arguably absolutely poor, thus are unlikely to be grateful because, rightly, they want more, valuing their labour at a higher rate.

Not long ago the medical establishment argued that reducing waiting times below 18 months was an impossible task. The fact that they are now weeks is a testament that nothing is impossible. I fully acknowledge that the NHS is not a nirvana of perfection. And I know that there are controversies - drugs withheld by NICE because of dubious clinical efficacy (which is no comfort for someone who hopes it might just be the cure), health trusts overspending in their desire to meet targets (hmm, that's called bad budget management and is intolerable in any organisation public or commercial).

Schools have benefited from actual capital expenditure, which simply did not happen under the Tories. Again, measures have been introduced into schools, such as the Literacy and Numeracy hour, which are boring for the bright child, and constraining for the teacher, but have shown demonstrable improvements in basic literacy and numeracy, without which all the rest of schooling is a waste of time. Still far too many children are leaving school with an inadequate education. The middle classes moan about the cost of higher education (all of which can be deferred until and if the student moves into high earning work). But society as whole benefits most from investment made at an early stage in the most desperate/deprived cases viz Sure Start.

I am not claiming that these are all works of perfection that have created a perfect Britain. I have deliberately avoided highlighting failures. But in my view, they are positives that absolutely would not have happened if the Tories had been in power for the past ten years, and would be threatened if they were to be re-elected. It is easy to be oppositionalist and in Opposition, a lot harder to grasp that the actual task of being in government is sometimes about making hard choices, often about falling short of expectations, and frequently about unleashing the Law of Unintended Consequences. Inevitably and I think correctly, it is the negative aspects that receive more attention from the media (good and bad), rather than the quiet little improvements happening in different areas of our lives. I have never believed that the obstacles to 'excellence' should prevent attempts at 'good', or 'better', or 'something'.

Oh, and my mortgage rates have remained low throughout this period, giving me an incredible amount of freedom unimaginable under the 15% of Tory Misrule.

I shall employ a capricious approach to censorship of comments. Don't even bother writing personal attacks 'what about Iraq' etc because they will simply be junked

Hollywood Bowl

I am now officially boycotting YouTube in a fit of pique, but notwithstanding the foregoing, I cannot resist posting this little ditty Kristin Chenoweth sang on Friday night at the Hollywood bowl.

The lyrics are...amusing...eg "I've heard his singing; it sours the milk."

The LA Times reported An eclectic kickoff for Hollywood Bowl season

It was here that the evening reached its peak, with Domingo's engaging remarks to the crowd, and an utterly entrancing duet between the veteran singer and perky, but musically adept Kristin Chenoweth, singing and obviously enjoying every minute of Jerome Kern's "Make Believe." Domingo, in powerful form, concluded his segment with a dramatic rendering of "Granada."

More:

Next stop Athens: Celebrated tenor in Athens to sing for Darfur

BTW, as a result of my almost complete inability to read Greek, I would be ever so grateful if anyone in Greece who happens to find a review of said Athens concert, especially with pictures, would draw my attention (and if anybody who happens to be attending the concert wishes to contribute to WLKJ....!)

Update: We have a report from the Rehearsal

Son of a Preacher Man

It's weird, as a Labour Party member of 23 years standing, I ought to be blogging more about the change of Leadership.

We have a new Leader. To no great surprise, it is Gordon Brown. We also have a new Deputy Leader, Harriet Harman, who was my second choice, so I am pleased.

Changes in Party Leadership are rare enough, changes in Prime Minister rarer still. Although I have slight memories of the 74 Elections and when Wilson changed to Callaghan, my first real memory, when I first paid active notice was in 1979, when I was in top juniors at school, and Margaret Thatcher became Prime Minister. For two seconds I was pleased at the break through for a woman; my two seconds of inappropriately feminist delight did not eradicate my disgust at the political result.

1990 was a spectator sport of the most delightful nature, enhanced by the fact that I happened to be on study leave at the time.

1997 was unforgettable and a wonderful wonderful experience and memory.

And now, we are about to get the fourth Prime Minister of my adult life, and I am not sure what to say.

I have been meaning to write an assessment of ten years of Blair in government. So much good done, so much achieved, so many mistakes made, so many opportunities missed. But then, I think, everybody else is writing assessments, what new can I add? And over everything hangs the spectre of one word, four small letters - Iraq.

Everything that Tony Blair has achieved - and it is considerable - will be overshadowed by the debacle in Iraq. Watching The final episode of Andrew Marr's incomparable sterling programme on post-war British history, I can only concur with the conclusion that it was the single biggest mistake made by any British Government in 60 years. I believe that Gordon Brown would not have made the same mistake. However, he did vote for it. Unlike Robin Cook and John Denham, he did not resign as a matter of principle. He simply did his Macavity impression, conveniently helped to some extent by Budget Purdah. And I am not wholly convinced that if, presented with the same Foreign Office briefings that Tony was presented with, he would not have made the same misguided mistake. foget the opposition parties. The Tories seek to make political capital out of Iraq, ignoring the fact that support for the war was their official policy; those front benchers who opposed it were obliged to resign. Forget the LibDims even more. Their opportunism in catching part of the public mood in initial opposition was matched only by their cynicism in embracing the tabloid-set unthinking agenda of 'Support Our Boys Under Fire'. In any case each of the three main political parties were divided at Parliamentary and grassroots level.

Perhaps one day I shall write my assessment of the Blair Years. I think it is too soon to tell, yet. Ultimately, in a democracy, we have to select a government, and it is unlikely we will find one that is a perfect match. I know for sure that if the past ten years had been spent under the Tories, it would have been a disaster for Britain.

But say what you like about Gordon Brown, he is a gift for those of the "I Know A Song About That" tendency. For years we have sniggered at the Stranglers' almost eponymous song. Yesterday the BBC News were obviously playing that game with their repeated references to "Son of a Preacher". And unwittingly above, I made a reference to TS Eliot's wonderful poem, immortalised in tune by ALW. I'd YouTube but I'm feeling very anti-YouTube right now.

The evening I was Mrs Senza-camera...

So I can't prove that I met Anna Netrebko nor that Erwin Schrott kissed me on both cheeks. Donna Anna was in a rush, perhaps thinking she was late, then her swipecard wouldn't open the door into the Royal Opera House.

Erwin greeted me with "Everyone's here!"

I shall see the opera on Tuesday, and again in July. This evening, though, I was kissed by Don Giovanni himself.

Jimmy's comment on La Netrebko "To look at she isn't all that. She's too thin." I don't think that Jimmy will ever be a diva-worshipper! He left for the pub just moments before Erwin arrived.

La Fanciulla del West

One of the Puccini operas that I like.  In fact, I like it so much I have two different versions on DVD. This blogpost was originally intended to be about both, but because it got so long I decided just to publish the La Scala version for now!

For me, it takes a helluva long time to get started. Which is a shame. The first half hour or so is quite important for setting the scene, for letting us understand the context in which happens the drama about to unfold. I have read that the orchestral work in that first sequence is interesting and evocative, but it fails to engage me. I accept that every opera, even the greatest of operas, has passages that seem of lesser quality than the rest of the work. But this section is too long, and in too great a contrast with the remainder of the opera, and means that Fanciulla is a pretty good opera, rather than the 'approaching greatness' that the remainder suggests.

The synopsis is quite straightforward and can be found, for example at Wikipedia.

Puccini was very irritating giving his operas the wrong title. This title implies that the main role is the soprano, but it is so obviously a tenor's opera. Admittedly, one has to wait 38 minutes for the tenor's arrival, and that does drag a bit, but when he arrives with a flourish, it's worth it.

It will come as no surprise that both DVDs I have feature Plácido Domingo as Dick Johnson. It is one of my absolute favourite roles of his.  He plays the role of the Spaniard from Mexico who's travelled to California with such perfection, as if he inhabits the role. As soon as he walks in the bar it's obvious that Minnie has to fall in love with him. Just standing there, oozing Latino testosterone turns me on. and that's even before he opens his mouth! Vocally, the role is superb for him. I'm surprised it doesn't get mentioned more as one of his signature roles.

From the moment he walks into the bar, he is sultry seductive and sexy, absolutely compelling. I love his costume in the La Scala DVD, almost all in black (except for an off white polo neck, shame, no opportunity for chest hair fondling), knee high boots that serve to emphasise his long legs and delicious thighs. I love the way he struts round the bar, I love the way he looks at Minnie, and I love it when Minnie declares she would protect the miners' gold with her life, he falls for her hook, line and sinker. He looks absolutely irresistibly gorgeous, in one of his chubbier/cuddlier phases...

Act 2 is perhaps my favourite act in the whole of Puccini.  I can do without the appalling dialogue of the native Americans, Wowkle and Billy.  I am reading the pidgin English subtitles which are translations of the pidgin Italian. It's not unreasonable to assume that uneducated servant native Americans in California in the 1850s were not fluent in English or Spanish or whatever it was the incoming masters spoke. But it's probably reasonable to assume that when talking amongst themselves they spoke fluently in their native tongue. But once that scene's over, and Minnie starts anticipating Dick's arrival, it sizzles from start to finish. The librettist captured her pre-date anxiety superbly, worrying over whether her fanciest shoes were too tight, will he like them,  putting on her red roses, wanting to wear her Sunday best, spraying perfume. The initial awkward exchange of small talk is so recognisable. And the way he uses his charm on her (admittedly, this isn't really acting, this is him!)

There's a lot of recitative in this opera. Or sort of recitative, the 20th century version, where lines are sung in the natural rhythm of conversation, rather than in the unnatural form of the aria. His voice sounds so rich, , sweet and lyrical, which is a lovely contrast from when he expresses more passion eg when he sings that there are women in the world one would wish to have in one's life just for one hour and then die.

My major criticism of the La Scala DVD is the strange absence of chemistry. I don't like it when the leading lady seems to be avoiding looking at the leading man. There he is working his charm on her, and it's like she's impervious to it, avoiding looking at him most of the time. I was watching with Jimmy and he commented on this quite independently of me thinking it. He begs her for a kiss and she turns away uninterested. If it had been me, I would have been right in there; if it had been me playing Minnie I would have refused with my words and agreed with my eyes. And, indeed, she hastily bundles poor Wowkle out of the house and into the snow, and grants the kiss with an  almost orgasmic musical flurry "That would be you," said Jimmy. "No," I said, "I would have succumbed to much more much earlier." And then we have the least convincing stage kiss I have seen him give (what's wrong with this woman?).

He makes to leave and realises it is snowing. She begs him to stay; he refuses, but there's a knock on the door and he agrees to stay. Cue the most erotic music in Italian opera, when, fully clothed, they consummate their love. I said to Jimmy that there's sex in the music, he said he didn't notice, I said that was because you were too busy talking about how people don't listen to the actual music. He's doing well, shagging her when she's as frigid as anything. They sink to their knees as the music subsides (oh, to be overwhelmed like that!). His look of admiration is pure post-coital.

The Sheriff and posse arrive, and Johnson is alert, gun at the ready. Minnie tells him where to hide as the boys storm in, and reveal to Minnie that "Dick Johnson" is in fact America's Most Wanted Bandito, Ramerrez, as revealed by his lover Nina Micheltorena,a woman of low repute from nearby (whom he had denied knowing). And they know he's at Minnie's. When the posse has gone, she demands he comes out of hiding and confronts him with the truth, and angrily tells him to leave. He explains that he has no alternative but to be a thief; his father was, and on his father's death he had to take it up to support his mother and siblings.

There's a certain quality in Plácido's voice that I simply adore yet cannot describe in words. It's particularly noticeable in the lower part of his range, when he relaxes and these beautiful gorgeous sounds roll out caressingly. and complement perfectly the power of the high notes. Perfectly illustrated in Or son sei mesi.

Update: Should now be available here

He leaves, she laments it's over - (and I remember that there are some people who you would wish to have in your life for just one hour and die*) and he gets shot, so she drags him back inside and insists he stays and hides. He is staggering, she bundles him up the ladder and foregoes the opportunity to grope his thighs, never going above his knees. Sigh I wouldn't be so restrained.

A knock at the door, Evil Sheriff Jack Rance has returned, now completely convinced that Ramerrez is hiding there. He makes an advance on Minnie who spurns him and he's about to go when he discovers Ramerrez's blood dripping from the loft. (38:16, great shot). Somehow, Dick is half dragged and half falls out of the loft, falling to the floor and rolling into the position he maintains for the rest of the act. The remainder of the act is a poker game where the prize is Dick Johnson aka Ramerrez. Minnie cheats (at which point the timpani are fabulous!), and wins, which is good. But if it had been me, if I had a shot man bleeding in my loft and I was not  able to summon Emergency Services on account of it being the 1850s, I think I would have tried at least to administer basic first aid.

The final act is again an act of two parts. The first part is only really setting the scene for when a now recovered, cornered and arrested Ramerrez makes his entrance bound at the wrists, to the delight of the miners who want to hang him as a thief and murderer. Also to the delight of any red blooded woman watching, because he looks unbelievably drop-dead gorgeous. Now without the polo neck and revealing just a teasing hint of chest hair, made up to look as if he has designer stubble, his dark eyes flashing with proud anger, trying to dodge the blows and pushes of the miners (still with bound hands), falling to his knees and rising again, not once, but twice, with bound hands. Defiantly he says he cares nothing for death, if his hands were unbound he'd slit his own throat. He begs they never tell Minnie how he came to die and then breaks into the most fabulous aria Puccini wrote Ch'ella mi creda libero e lontano - still with bound hands (it must be incredibly difficult to sing with bound hands...). The audience like it, a lot! Rance knocks him violently to the floor, and he falls spectacularly and gets himself up - still with bound hands. With great dignity he walks to the scaffold and has the noose put around his neck just as Minnie arrives. Now, it would totally freak me out to have a noose around my neck, even if on stage. Jimmy says it wouldn't bother him on stage, and it's just because I can't bear anything round my neck. But it would be too much to take psychologically.

Video now here

To cut a long story short, Minnie pleads - successfully - for his release and it ends happily if anti-climatically with a body count of absolute zero and a homespun wisdom lecture on being nice. And they ride away into the sunset. As Minnie delivers the lecture, Ramerrez is looking at her with undisguised lust, she seems barely aware of his existence.

I just so love the best bits of this opera that I can happily overlook the less gripping bits. And although I have been critical of Mara Zampieri lack of passion for Dick, all other aspects of her performance are somewhere between good and excellent. She acts a convincing Minnie and is vocally and musically of a high standard, with just a few squawks in a punishing role.  Juan Pons is eminently adequate as Jack Rance. None of the other characters in a cast of thousands are significant enough to be described. The production is excellent, a traditional production but with attractive sets and a naturalistic and convincing personenregie.

The DVD inlay card has the complete libretto, which is an unexpected bonus.

There is another DVD I ought to get, which I remembered when Googling, and was perturbed to find that the cast included Daniels. One of the great advantages of a composer like Puccini is the complete absence of counter-tenors. I was relieved to find that it is actually a soprano called Barbara Daniels.

In due course I shall watch, blog, and maybe MyTube add to a video sharing site with balls the Covent Garden version.

* I take it to mean that if you could only have one hour, you would gladly take it even if it meant death, rather than - an hour's enough, now get lost.

Woody Allen to direct Gianni Schicchi

The New York filmmaker will make his operatic directorial debut with the opening event of the LA Opera's 2008-09 season.

"I have no idea what I am doing," Allen said in a statement Thursday. "But incompetence has never prevented me from plunging in with enthusiasm."

It says here that Gianni Schicchi is Puccini's only comedy. Whoever provided that info snippet clearly has never seen La Boheme.

LA Opera Press Release

And Terry Gilliam will be directing Andrea Chenier at La Scala - I didn't expect the Reign of Terror. No one expects the Reign of Terror - ad lib ad nauseam

Tenement Symphony

By Marc Almond   

I suppose this is a concept album, which was, in itself, quite a strange concept when it appeared in 1991. I suppose that makes it one of the earliest CDs I ever got.

Even stranger is the fact that it's an album of two halves. The first five tracks are Marc Almond-written songs; the second half is the "Tenement Symphony". I'm not entirely sure of the concept, but I kind of like it.

One of the best tracks is Jacky, a Jaques Brel song. I had never heard of Jaques Brel until this album, and I do like this song, but it has never really inspired me to find out a great deal more. Indeed, this version has an incessant disco beat, which I suspect was not as Jaques Brel intended. In general, I don't like incessant computer-generated disco beats, but this is an example of where it works, because it's just part of an intelligent arrangement/orchestration.

I can't really make my mind up about this album. Whenever a track pops up on random on my mp3 player, I smile and enjoy the track. And, knowing that it was the next pop album scheduled alphabetically, I permitted myself a sense of anticipation.

Sadly, the playing of the album as a whole does not fulfil my expectations. I think it's an intelligent album, I think it's far from formulaic. It consists of good songs well performed. So, what is there not to like?

My problem is that, ultimately, there is no real variety. Perhaps that says more about me, and more about the fact that in 2007, I listen far too much to music on random. A whole album has to have something extra to make me want to enjoy it for three quarters of an hour. And I suppose the downfall of this album is the lack of variety in Marc's voice. I have a lot of respect and affection for Marc Almond, who has been delivering the goods in a creative way since the early 80s. I think he is a musician, I like his voice, because of, rather than despite the fact that it's thin and wavery. But in the end, an entire album with no real change in vocal colour is aurally tiring. I am glad I have this album. I would not contemplate removing it from my mp3 player, it has some fabulous songs on it, especially Meet Me In My Dream and The Days of Pearly Spencer.

Perhaps, ironically, it's downfall for me is the attempt to be a concept album. If it was presented as a collection of commercially-oriented standalone five minute pop songs for the radio, I would like it much more. I suppose I find it a tad pretentious. Marc Almond is a good pop writer and a pleasant pop singer. But that's it. Like Elvis Costello, he's at his best when keeping it simple.

If it isn't in your collection, you really ought to get it. Especially at the price it's currently going for at Amazon, a fraction of what I originally paid sigh

Blogging etiquette

I have just realised that it is some time since I have provided direct responses to comments that you lovely people leave.

When I started blogging, it was rare for the blogger to respond to comments, except for clarification or contradiction, but it's more common nowadays. I know that people in general don't leave comments saying "I read and enjoyed that but don't really have anything to add"; I find it equally difficult to respond to comments saying "Thank you, I read, appreciate and welcome that. I have nothing to add."

So I just want to say thank you for all your comments, whether or not I agree with them.

Report from the Alamo

Shame that the reviewer had to leave early 'because of deadline pressures'. I would prefer a more comprehensive report, later.

Domingo rises above Alamodome restraints

The most memorable moments of this concert were not strictly vocal, however, but theatrical — the conviction Domingo brought to the prayer “O, Souverain” from Massenet's “Le Cid,” the intensity and desolation in Federico's Lament from Cilea's “L'Arlesiana.”

Domingo reached his expressive pinnacle in the love duet from Act I of Verdi's “Otello.” With his wide palette of vocal colorations, along with astute phrasing and rhythm, Domingo created a fully fleshed character — imperious but tormented, strong but insecure.

I've also found more photos from Sunday.

Gadgetistry

I finally succumbed, as I knew I would. I bought a cassette deck on Saturday. Only cost me £50, stereo double decks (woah!), plugs into my new Amp, replaces a fairly crappy midi system. I also bought a gadget, a Magic Box of Tricks. Oh boy! It's what I have been crying out for a long time, something that converts cassettes into CDs just by plug-and-play into a PC. but then, I'm thinking, I have such a lovely cassette player, why would I want to convert them into CDs? I remind myself, posterity and flexibility. The analogue world has been overtaken by digital.

Remember back in the 50s some all knowing know nothing expert proclaimed that there would never be a need for more than six computers in the world. It's not so long ago that PCs were typewriters from which you could send emails. Where the internet was a wonderful place full of textual information with a few nice pictures interspersed (and pr0n, too). I am currently listening Beethoven's 5th Piano Concerto "Emperor". This tape is as old as Methuselah, bought from HMV in Nottingham at a time when most pre-recorded cassettes were at least £4.99. I started expanding my cassette collection just as CD players were launching themselves onto the mass market. One of my fellow students had one, but he was a sponsored post-graduate; everyone else was on cassettes, pre-recorded and recorded off their own and others' vinyl LP collection. CDs were never going to catch on; for a start you couldn't record onto them! Twenty years on, that's what I'm doing. It's a wonderful, dramatic piece of music. It may be on a scratchy hissy tape. Other than the fact that it's the first tape I picked out, I'm not sure that's there any benefit in digitally preserving it. It's not as though recordings of this work are hard to come by. I've never heard of the soloist, orchestra or conductor (for all I know it might be a forerunner of a Joyce Hatto fake). At the moment it's a .wav file. The first movement, that is. It's actually a silent wave file. Ah well, never mind, the man in the shop said it's a bit tricky to set up. I suspect it would be less tricky if the instructions were a bit more girl-friendly. I don't know what the ground connector on the L/R cable is for; I don't know why I have an RCA male to female; the manufacturers are uncertain as to whether there is a stereo miniplug male to male included. Process of elimination suggests I might. But what I do with them is anybody's guess....

Talking of which I acquired an entirely different set of gadget not so long ago, a very specifically girl-friendly one. Not the sort you'd want to ask your brother, Dad, son, male housemate or next door neighbour for help with, so it has a useful guide to installing the batteries...

1. Slide off the back of the silver base in the direction of the arrow
2. Push the negative end of a battery against the spring at the top of the rear battery compartment and push into place.
3. Push the negative end of a battery against the spring on the left and push into place. Repeat for the right hand battery.
4. Push the negative end of a battery against the last spring at the top and push into place.
5. Position the cover so about 5mm extends beyond the end of the oh my god, I can't write that... and then push down and slide to click into place.

Hello, I learned how to insert batteries into a tranny radio when I was, like four. "Make sure that the non-sticky-out end is against the spring. Put lid back on." Duh!

Concert at the Alamo

Well, the Alamodome in San Antonio Texas...

My San Antonio carries a concert preview and an interview with Mr Gorgeous.

Plácido Domingo is opera... "Most of my listening is pleasurably work-related but I seldom listen to music leisurely. Frankly, while at rest, I prefer some calm and silence." The almost 11,000 people expected to attend his Tuesday show at the Alamodome aren't too interested in calm — or silence. They just want to hear the man sing...

... Domingo's rise to fame was slow and steady, not meteoric. He paid his dues playing piano for a touring ballet company, training zarzuela and musical choruses, and arranging and singing back-up on Spanish-language versions of American pop hits... In more than 40 years on the world stage, he's coupled a commitment to new music and composers with signature approaches to the standards of the opera world...

...the lights in the hall will dim. The crowd will focus on the stage, eager to see the world's greatest living tenor. And Domingo, much like any performer, will be calming the butterflies. "The nerves are always there, and I get butterflies each time I have to go out," he says.

Hopefully, their reviews will be equally well-written and worthwhile, too.

How to sing

First of all select a winning basketball team and join in their victory parade, (preferably on the same day that your own beloved football team has won La Liga), round up a dodgy mariachi band, board a barge and sing the Star Spangled Banner...

source

(if you're impatient fast forward to 1:50, if you can. And if your computer's anything like mine, you'll have to quell the pop-up blocker rather than moan on the phone to a not-very-geeky-friend "How do I get Windows Media to work, I'm sure it was working earlier...")

He's doing a concert tomorrow night in San Antonio. I've been told this was where the Alamo happened.

Update: More photos... - click for larger size photos!

Meanwhile, South of the Border

Drew Barrymore has been cast as the lead voice in "South of the Border," a Walt Disney Pictures comedy being directed by Raja Gosnell.

Also lending their voices to the live-action movie in which the animals talk is a who's who of Latino actors including Andy Garcia, Salma Hayek, George Lopez, Cheech Marin, Paul Rodriguez, Placido Domingo, Edward James Olmos and Eddie "Piolin" Sotelo.

"South" chronicles the adventures of a pampered Beverly Hills chihuahua named Chloe (Barrymore) accustomed to riding in a purse. While on vacation in Mexico, she gets lost and must rely on her friends to help her get back home.

According to imdb, it's due for release in 2009. Hmm, I think I shall wait until it comes to Sky free-at-source films sometime in 2011...

And the Times, too...

Obviously, on mmofm we eschew all mentions in the DTM*, but, nevertheless, we feel it is our duty to our readership when not one, but two, once-great newspapers mention us in one day...

Paul Potts: The bloggers' verdict

And another blogger claims that Paul Potts was a Lib Dim councillor in Bristol from 1999-2003. Not that that means anything in itself, but it seems a bit at odds at the shy retiring humble man of the people just looking for his moment in the sun...

* Dead Tree Media

At last...

We have been visited from Australia.

Jimmy's late sister's widower is on a flying visit. A very nice man, but a religious nutter. I have never met the man before. He has been here five hours, which is not part of my plans for today - we only found out yesterday he was in the country.

It's not the religious nuttery as such; I can talk as much as the next person on what is essentially gossip; I'm more than prepared to chat about visits to various churches and holy places, especially when I'm also talking about things that may not be of any great interest to the other person.

But when we went from CHIP-and-PIN to God has told us not to have chips embedded in our foreheads to euthanasia to abortion to women politicians being the agent of the devil, I put my foot down. This does not happen in my home. I tend to avoid arguments on such subjects with people whose views are entirely immutable, and I certainly don't stand for being lectured about the evils of whatever it is, especially from someone who is so out of touch of reality it's unbelievable. Well, I'll stop there. Not my place to wash my partner's family's dirty linen in public. On the other hand, religious nuttery aside, surely it's plain bad manners to go round to someone's house and insult them. Perhaps he doesn't think that a sentence that begins "I've got nothing against women but..." is an insult, but I think it is. I made it clear we don't do hatred in Gert Cottage (we criticise we piss-take we oppose but the only thing we hate is hatred itself).

Now I can get on with some of the things I intended to do five hours ago.

A worthy winner

The great thing about Cardiff Singer of the Year - and similar shows - is that you start off with a list of 25 almost unknown names. I recognised three names from appearances in London, and a further one from blogging, but I had no clear idea of what any of them was like. There is a little niggle in the back of your head, that we are being served with 25 singers who might all combine all the merits of provincial, generic, comprimario and routine. And just a week later, it is easy to identify some real about-to-be-stars and a bunch more of singers who will be a pleasure to hear, even if not a 'draw' in their own right.

I was delighted that Jacques Imbrailo won the Audience Prize. To me, it made sense to vote for someone not in the Final, and it seems that the Great British Public had the same idea.

I never had any doubt in mind that Shen Yang was going to win. Well, not until the moment when John fisher from WNO went on at great length in Welsh before announcing the winner! In the heat shown on Wednesday he gave me that 'wow' factor within 30 seconds. Come the two finals, Song and Grand, my expectations were higher, so the wow was different. I was very impressed by his Song Prize recital, but agree that Liz Watts was a worthy winner.

The Final with full orchestra was an hour and a half of pure pleasure and entertainment. There wasn't one singer performing who doesn't fill me with delight. I think it would have been very difficult to choose between the four runners up, they had their strengths and weaknesses. Of the four, I thought that Liz Watts was clearly the one most finished and ready now. I thought Miranda Keys is so obviously going to be a great Brunnhilde, etc in ten years time; Levente Molnar gave a quite different impression in the Final than the heat - in retrospective it seemed his attitude was that he was there for the experience- to learn,to entertain and to enjoy himself, rather than believing he could win. And it was obviously quite a shock to realise that he was the Final. Dramatically, he impressed me the most. Some people have suggested his heat was a bit inyerface showy, but I think he proved in the final that he is a man of substance.

Maria Isabel Vera impressed me much more in the Final than the heats, and I am now clearer about the force of her voice. Mary King and Tony Pappano were both of the view that singing four arias was one too many. To me, it seemed that in choosing Stride la vampa, È lui! è lui! ne' palpiti and O don fatale, as well as Voi lo sapete, o mamma, she was more or less saying that she is a one trick pony. That having been said, that could be a very shrewd career move: she's never going to be out of work in major houses if she can master those roles with that voice - other than Stephanie Blythe there's not many people I can think of who can hack them.

But Shen Yang is so obviously a musician and a singer. Over and again it was mentioned that he is only 23, which is exceptionally young for a bass-baritone, apparently. But I think also proof that "if you're good enough, you're old enough". Expert analyser Mary King (a vocal coach) was obviously entirely smitten, and when Tony Pappano was quizzed about the notes he was making during the performance, his subsequent evasion and blushing were very telling. They both felt he was the winner, it was pretty obvious to me. On the whole, the internet seems in accordance, with comments such as the 'best bass-baritone since Bryn Terfel' (what, he's retired?), although, naturally, there are dissenting opinions, such as 'soporific'.

But, barring burnout and other calamities, I expect to see all six finalists and many of the others on the International Stage for many years to come.

Morris Dancing and Incest

You should try everything once but these, which is the attitude I adopted for Trooping the Colour.

I have started entering competitions recently. So far I have won free Barbican membership and tickets to the Trooping the Colour. The former from the Barbican, the latter from work. Me winning Trooping the Colour tickets was greeted with mirth by those that know me as a class warrior, a socialist. "And a Republican," I reminded them.  Jimmy encountered accusations of betrayal of Ireland. My attitude is along the lines of "Know Your Enemy".

The first shock was the early start - be in place by 10 am, toilets close at 10.30 (I suppose it's tantamount to treachery to relieve oneself - or worse - in the Presence). The second shock was a Dress Code. It said: Morning Suit, Lounge Suit or jacket and trousers, so I obeyed the dress code and wore a pinstripe trouser suit.

It was an interesting experience, perhaps the most interesting being observing the British Class System in play. Many people were togged up in posh frocks, WAGs mainly. Even before a mouth was opened, it was so easy to tell Officers' wives and sprogs from those of Other Ranks. We were standing in the "Inner Sentry South" - in front of the stand that was erected in front of the Downing Street Garden, opposite the Old Admiralty Buildings. I won't bore you with the details of what happened when in what order, because it's pretty much the same every year, it's shown on TV, and that would be a tedious blogpost.

I had been worried about standing,  fearing that I would have some tall person in front of me, but we were only one deep at the rope, so the view was unobstructed...well, once the massed bands had moved away! We saw the Queen, for Jimmy that was the first time ever, for me the first time in thirty years.

I feel a bit uncomfortable at the thought that I might have been unconsciously, unwittingly and unwillingly be thought to be giving my support to the illegal war in Iraq by going, but I don't think I did. It's an old ceremony, and the army even older. I am not a Pacifist, but I do think we should refrain from entering into Illegal War, in Iraq or anywhere else. But some wars, and, especially "Peacekeeping Missions" are necessary - although wars are usually evidence of the breakdown of diplomacy, not  diplomacy by other means (Clausewitz) - example, the Falklands. At the time I was, of course, virulently opposed to it, but on reflection, and after reading "Things Can Only Get Better" by what's his name, that funny chappie from Clapham Common ward, I have to agree that there was an irony in opposing war against an evil right wing dictator (and indeed not many Argentinians did...boom boom).  Incidentally, I had a decent view this evening of loads of helicopters doing a flypast of the A23. I was sitting on the top deck of a bus at Crown Point, not a bad vantage point to see ceremonial flies-past.

It was quite an experience being so very close to the soldiers and horses, such that one could almost touch them. I vaguely recalled something about facing them down until you see the whites of their eyes, but that bloke's trombone was way too scary and was coming straight at me. And the horses were kicking up the gravel as they galloped past, I withdrew a bit for that. I was also really impressed by the BBC cameraman who walked parallel to the soldiers marching, but sideways with his knees and back bent ever so awkwardly, just to get the footage.

I would recommend Trooping the Colour once, as an experience, but I wouldn't be in a hurry to return. It comes across as a rather silly little ritual, although considerably less silly live than on the TV. And I suppose all that colour and pomp and ceremony is what keeps the Tourists coming. And the officer classes get indoctrinated throughout their public school carers of the importance of loyalty to Regiment, Queen and Country, which makes them averse to contemplating change, even when on civvie street. So the Ancien Regime stays in place, no boats are rocked, and we remain a semi-democracy with an absence of accountability and where people owe their position not so much to their own endeavours as to accident of birth.

Stats spike

On Thursday, I spent a total of almost five minutes of my life watching a video on YouTube and posting about it to rec.music.opera and to here. Just one of those link-and-move-on posts.

II didn't bank on it spending most of Friday as the number one hit on Google for P4ul P0tt$ the Phone seller from Port Talbot.

And, so, I got more visits to that one post than I normally get to the entire blog in half a week (or indeed a whole week, if you discount the hundreds of people who come here because a photo I stole, and subsequently removed, is number one on Google Images for Marilyn Monroe).

I realised that a fraction of one per cent of those new visitors actually bothered to click elsewhere (if you are one of the five people who did, and has decided to stick around, welcome...!)

(By the way, this is a different stats counter to the one on the front page. Geek, moi?)

Some of the people who left comments were perfectly reasonable. I didn't publish the most offensive comments, nor those that consisted primarily of personal attacks. I received four emails, one supportive, one oppositionalist but polite and reasonable, and two that were personal attacks.

With the comments standing at 52, I decided to have the last word, and close the comments with a characteristically long-winded rebuttal and summation. I have decided to reprint my closing statement below. From now on, I am never going to wish to be one of those blogs that gets lots of comments. It's nice to get comments either from regulars or from people who stumble in by chance, especially when they're thoughtful, even when they state their disagreement. It's not so nice to get them from some really angry people who feel a need to hit out. (I'm also puzzled why I got so much hate from one particular, unnamed, country. With few exceptions, all the hate I have received on the internet has been from that one country, yet all the citizens of that country I have met, either there or here, in Real Life, including off the internet, have been the diametrical opposite of hating, well, apart from the flasher in Central Park, and that fckd up taxi driver in New Orleans, obviously...):

What I did today...

I made myself very very small and hid inside an army tuba*

(I'm the one in grey, holding a camera - natch - next to the woman in purple)

More, later

* it might not be a tuba; it might be one of those confusing brass instruments that looks a bit like a tuba, but, technically, isn't

Cardiff Night 5

To me, it was always going to be between Jacques Imbrailo (South Africa, baritone) and Miranda Keys (Australia, soprano). I felt if it was - who would I most like to listen to right now, it would be Jacques (curses for thinking that Owen Wingrave tickets would be available close to the performance date). Who would be the big star in,say, ten years time, I would say Miranda Keys.

We were not sure at all about María Isabel Vera (Chile, mezzo). Her Trovatore aria was impressive, but she seemed to lose it a bit in the Dalila. I gather from the telly people that she has a massive voice. That didn't come over on the telly, in fact, having heard them say that I wonder if her sound was turned down, and turned down too much because at times she seemed inaudible over the orchestra - a timely reminder of the unreliability of a TV broadcast...except that, ultimately, we probably all hear more electronically reproduced music than live.

Ivo Yordanov (Bulgaria, baritone) - incidentally, a former Operalia contestant - was okay, but nothing special. It seems unfair to damn with faint praise. Every single one of the 25 competitors are something special, many of them will develop into much better singers, all of them would provide me with an enjoyable evening in the opera house or concert hall. Few of them have that elusive star quality.

Helena Juntunen seemed to have a certain star quality, but her technique let her down. Actually, it was pretty obvious from her body language and general demeanour that she was very dissatisfied with her performance, which is unfortunate, but in a competition, it's how you do on the night - as it is for any performance with a paying audience.

I really liked Jacques,and not just because he's a Jette Parker Young Artist at the ROH. I tried to compare his Ya vas lyublyu with Dima Hvorostovsky and Gerald Finley, and, of course, it didn't compare. But I would be more than happy to hear him sing it in the absence of either of those (and he certainly nailed that long high note at the end better than my Gerald did at Covent Garden last autumn!). I also found his Deh, vieni alla finestra to be flawless, although (seemingly contradictory, but not!) with scope for improvement.

Miranda Keys finished the evening and her Dich, teure Halle in particular was impressive. I was in two minds, because overall I thought she gave a very impressive performance, but I thought that quite a few times she was way off pitch. However, this was in a flamboyant way that can be forgiven in singers who give their all, but I wondered how significant that would be for the judges.

I was surprised that María Isabel Vera won, but will have to accept that she must have come over much better in the hall than on the TV. The Row K Jury agreed with the GertCottage jury in voting for Jacques Imbrailo; Jimmy turned against Miranda Keys because of her appalling choice of dress which really did her no favours. She seems to be a Lisa Gasteen wannabe.

We then awaited the decision for who would actually make the final. I decided it would be Shen Yang, Mari Moriya, Miranda Keys, and two out of Elizabeth Watts, Jacques Imbrailo, and David DQ Lee. (If I had been able to hear all 25 without knowing who had won heats and so on, my own choice might have been quite different...). But I had garnered the opinion of an insider last night who had suggested the judges were on crack and this insider questioned the choice of three of the five finalists.

The finalists are Elizabeth Watts (England, soprano), Levente Molnár (Hungary, baritone), Shen Yang (China, bass baritone), María Isabel Vera and Miranda Keys. I think I can guess which three my insider questioned...

I have decided that I shall vote for Jacques Imbrailo in the audience vote, reluctantly pushing aside Mari Moriya. I am sticking to my Shen Yang to win; but this jury has shown itself to be less than predictable, so who knows. If he performs as well as he did on Tuesday (live)/Wednesday (TV) it would be injustice if he doesn't win.

But for all the also rans,I hope they have enjoyed the experience, and got something out of it, and I also hope that some of these names will become familiars in my local opera houses and concert halls over the coming years.

Song prize final tomorrow; Grand Final, Sunday.

Beethoven's 6th

 This is a wonderful CD. In fact, I used to have it on cassette and when that conked out, I had to buy the exact same production on CD. That was because of the other two pieces, the Fantasia for piano, orchestra and chorus, previously blogged (but this version is just so much more passionate crisply delivered) and, also the Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage, which I think liked more then than now! And also because I have a minor DG Yellow fetish.

But the CD exists mainly for the Sixth, the rest is filler.

I have been looking over my early efforts at blogging my entire record collection, and I didn't actually go into great detail beyond "I like". Which is perhaps no bad thing. I really like Beethoven's 6th - Pastoral - Symphony, but not as much as I like 5 and 9. 5 and 9 are the pinnacle of his genius, 6 is merely a manifestation! God, that sounds pretentious. For me it is so much better than most of the symphonies in my collection, and yet, for me, it falls short of his two best.

There is an excerpt that is often included on compilation CDs and, indeed in Fantasia - indisputably the greatest animated film of all time - which makes it very familiar to anybody with even a passing interest in music - and probably the reason why this symphony is no.8 in this year's Classic FM Hall of Fame (if you don't believe me, note that the Pearl Fishers is no. 1 opera...even though, like, nobody has ever seen the Pearl Fishers...). Some compilation CDs even include just that bit and call it "Beethoven's 6th Symphony", giving the impression that the compilers don't have a 'king clue that symphonies generally consist of approximately four complete movements.

A public appeal

My regular readers will know that my interest in opera is driven purely by my love of the music. And the words. And the plot. the sets, the lighting, occasionally the costumes. My hero worship of singers is based primarily on their voice, musicality, dramatic interpretation.

With all that firmly fixed in mind, nevertheless, I am appealing for a photo. I keep reading about Don Giovanni - Erwin Schrott - ending up in hell wearing nothing but a strategically attached laydee.

Only as a public service to my readers - and perhaps this appeal is aimed particularly at the posh people in the orchestra stalls, with a good camera, set with a wide aperture and a slow shutter speed (but not so wide/slow as to cause unintentional shake) - I was just, you know, wondering, merely for the sake of completeness, are there any, you know, photos?

[email protected]

By the way, everything and anything else you need about the luscious Mr Schrott can be found at Erwin Schrott Titbits Page, lovingly maintained by Giorgia

Fidelio @ROH

I went into this with very low expectations because of the reports coming from previous performances: horns rubbish - allegedly drunk, Pappano a charlatan, Mattila over-parted, action all taking place on the side of the stage. Plus I had a physically painful walk all the way from work, which was not part of my agenda, and I was already not in 100% physical condition. Oh, and I was in a cheap seat in the Lower Slips, which has many advantages, but leaning over the hand rail in discomfort isn't one of them.

The overture, so familiar began. It was a mess. The horns were a mess. The strings sounded just wrong. I think it was a tone thing. I wanted them to be period strings - is the sign of a period instrument fascist wanting Beethoven on old strings? But it's almost impossible to ruin Beethoven (well, I have a CD of this very opera, and despite some transcendent singing from some gorgeous singers, it is so much much less than the sum of its parts as to be as close to a dogs' dinner as possible. So I kind of knew that however bad the lovely Tony was, he could never reach the nadir that is Daniel Barenboim).

Two and three quarter hours later I came out of a pretty special experience that I think will be memorable. And why that is, I can't really explain.

To be honest, the orchestra never really fully got it together. They weren't too bad when accompanying the singers but in the purely instrumental bits they seemed out of time and sometimes a bit vague about pitch. Especially the brass, especially especially the horns.

The production was, for the most part, adequate if ultimately rather workaday. I found myself being far too critical of the sets, which were illogical and counter to my view. It was a production imported from the USA and I can't quite understand why. The prison cells were open cages, which presented dramaturgical problems because they faced into the courtyard and were fitted with electric lightbulbs (important for sleep deprivation, not so effective when it comes to the glorious hymn praising the sunlight). Also illogical because they were of a three-storey construction with no means to access or exit the upper two storeys. Then, when Rocco and "Fidelio" were going off to Florestan's cell, I did wonder why Rocco was carrying a light-sabre which even I know is straight out of Star Wars. Finally, the staging of the finale struck a mischord. All it lacked was ticker tape and a military band playing "When Jonny comes a marching home". Many of the crowd were disco dancing and I swore I saw some break into the Texas two step. And I was confused as to why there seemed to be an empty swimming pool outside the prison.

The personenregie was reasonably good and I think was helped by having a critical mass of impressive stage people. It took me a while to recognise Karita Mattila, who looked very fetching as a man, and was very convincing as Leonore-disguised-as-Fidelio. I didn't recognise Eric Halfvarson for all of the first half (and I've met him!). He gave a credible impersonation of a small minded lackey. Terje Stensvold was a towering tyrant, blessed with a passing resemblance to someone I used to know professionally who was/is also a tyrant. Endrik Wottrich was convincing in his suffering as Florestan although he didn't quite reach out far enough beyond the footlights to grab me. And Karita really inhabited the role.

The singing was at least as good as that one gets from the currently superior house down the road ;-). I don't think any of them excelled. When Karita was good she was very good, but I understand - although ultimately disagree with - the analysis of overparted: there was a lot of strain and an inconsistency in volume. Halfvarson gave a good solid if generic vocal performance, and Stensvold matched his dominating stage presence with a booming and almost attractive voice. Endrik Wottrich is a new name entirely to me and I really don't know what to make of his voice. I now understand the term counter heldentenor - it was as if he was singing the entire role in head voice but without the squawk of the seagullist. I veered between loving and hating his voice; regardless, it has a compelling ring to it.

So far I haven't mentioned Marzelline and Jaquino (Ailish Tynan and Robert Murray). They were fine in their relatively small roles, but, if the truth be told this opera-comique is a distraction from the main thrust of the main opera, and had the woman next to me confused into thinking the whole thing was a comedy (you pitifully sad creature). Hon mensh. must go to Haoyin Xue and Krzysztof Szumanski, both of them Jette Parker Young Artists, as First and Second Prisoners. Haoyin Xue seems to have a sweet gorgeous voice, so a slight crack was a shame.

I first became familiar with Fidelio at the same time that I was learning about tyrannical dictatorships in Latin America, particularly in Pinochet's Chile, so in my mind, regardless of accuracy (historical and dramaturgical), it is set in Pinochet's Chile. (It sets my teeth on edge when people start using the word 'relevant' about opera, but in this particular case it is synergetic with current events).

It is impossible not to consider Leonore (Fidelio) as a real feminist hero. Unless one rejects the notion of sacrificing so much for one's husband as being too close to 'Surrendered Wife'. I don't. Not long after the time when Mozart's women were getting their fiancées confused with cunningly disguised Albanian soldiers, and Rossini's girls were fluttering their eyelashes at Counts on White Chargers, Beethoven's sister was doing it for herself, getting her hands dirty, yes for the husband she truly loved but also for Freiheit. Nothing encapsulates the Enlightenment ideal better than the Prisoners Chorus which when performed well is Beethoven at his peak. The male chorus is one of the greatest strengths of the Royal Opera House, and they excelled themselves. One seemed to pick me out as the random anonymous audience member on which to focus and I was moved by the look of desperation, a desperation echoed by the entire chorus accompanied by sublime music. It really is one of those amazing goose-pimple moments.

I am going again on Thursday, this time to the Lower Slips Right, and in my alphabetical-survey-of-operas-on-record, Fidelio will follow after Fanciulla, Faust and Fedora, so perhaps I will explore the 'Freiheit', the Enlightenment, and the gorgeousness of Beethoven in greater depth at greater length then.

Paul Potts....

I have found the weirdest thing on You Tube. An amateur singer with a wispy whiny voice, no heft and lots of wobbles sung Nessun Dorma on some ITV talent show the other day

The video has been watched like 1.3 million times (more than one upload) and has attracted 5,000 comments, over 90% of them being hysterically over the top, saying he is the greatest singer ever. Well, I suppose if you have never heard anything but cRap in your life, anyone who can more-or-less hold a tune is so out of your experience, that, without any valid comparators at all, you are likely to wet your pants. Good Luck to the guy. He's rubbish, but there you go.

Cardiff Day 4

Looks like being 'Game On' in Cardiff. After Heat 3's sensational Chinese bass-baritone tonight we had the thrill of Ms Japan, a superb soprano: Mari Moriya from Japan. Apparently she's already sung at the Metropolitan Opera in New York, so I'm not sure what hse's doing in a competition. But what the heck, she's perfectly entitled

The first three competitors all definitely had their strengths and all were a pleasure to hear - Ida Falk Winland (Sweden, soprano), Owen Gilhooly (Ireland, baritone) and Anna Viktorova (Russia, mezzo). Of the three Anna showed the most potential. Mary King articulated what I was vaguely feeling - 25 years old, and a mezzo, she will mature and improve, and will be exceedingly good in ten years time.

Of the remaining two. Well, I'm afraid I learnt the result last night by clicking on Opera Daddy's Blog. Even so, listening to him was a bit like watching a friend, in a way, and I was delighted at what I heard. Of course, it's only manners to be sucky to people on their own blog, I can be more honest on here. He is a very attractive man, although a bit young for me. He also came over as very likeable on stage - which actually, perhaps was not so cool when all his roles were baddies. An interesting repertoire ie I only knew one of the three pieces. I enjoyed his performance, it was definitely one of my very favourites so far this week (I've watched, but not blogged Tuesday's), and I would like to see him in the final.

But I already knew, and it was obvious from the first minute or so of her performance that Ms Japan was going to win. A lovely performance of the Bellini. The Caro nome was delightful, although probably the weakest of her three pieces, and the Der Hölle Rache was a real stormer. I'm still backing Mr China, but I think it will be very interesting on Sunday.

Idiot reporting

The report is entitled Kacey's weight went off the scale

It says

Kacey's weight began escalating when she was barely six months old...A whole team of doctors carried out a range of tests which failed to find any underlying medical cause for her condition...The turning point came when Kacey was two. Her parents decided they had to control what she was eating much more closely. Nadine drew up a list of healthy foods and told Kacey she chose off her special list of "princess" foods. A typical lunch might now be a bowl of soup with a slice of bread, and a piece of fruit...By taking control of Kacey's food her parents have transformed their daughter's future.

There's two aspects of this I don't understand. What was she eating beforehand? The fact that she had a battery of medical tests suggests that doctors were reasonably satisfied that diet wasn't a significant cause. The fact that they couldn't find a medical explanation doesn't mean there isn't a medical cause - undefinable and freak? The other thing that confuses me is that as the child approached two years old, the parents decided to take control of what she was eating. This seems to imply that prior to that, the child - a baby - was in control. Of course I know how difficult it can be to get children to eat certain foods, in the right amount, and a parent has to decide how far to push it. But, if it turns out that a diet that has soup bread and fruit for lunch has really helped the child's obesity, what was she eating before that was so radically different? So, either the previous diet was so crap that any reasonable diet was a vast improvement - so why did she have medical tests? Or else there is a - undiagnosed - medical problem, so - what is the general relevance of this and what is the conclusion to be drawn from the change in diet?

I don't know the answers to any of these questions, but it seems to me that someone is being paid good money to write absolute rubbish. A hundred monkeys with a hundred typewriters...

Shen Yang

He's the man!

Admittedly, I haven't seen the heat broadcast on Tuesday, and there are two more yet to be broadcast, but if any of those singers can match the extraordinary talent of this competitor I will willingly eat my hat.

Thirty seconds into his Vivaldi aria - which I don't know, but all Vivaldi sounds the same to me , I was "Wow". After a moving Hans Sach and a convincing Mephistopheles I was even more convinced that this is the Cardiff Singer of the World 2007. Beautiful voice, great expression, superb diction (as far as I can tell, which, admittedly is limited), and a natural confidence, polish, finish, maturity and professionalism. If the standard gets any higher than this, it is truly a Golden Age. Of course many of the soundbiters went for Sarah Jane Davies 'because she's Welsh' but the Row K jury, the panel of experts, and the real jury went for Shen Yang.

As for the others, I did not like Wiard Witholt very much but would be interested to hear him in the Song Prize, suspecting that he could do extremely well. Sarah Jane Davies' singing of one of the Four Last Songs was exquisite, but her Handel (from Serse) did nothing for me, and the Cosi aria was lacking. It's a shame, because I've heard her live, and she sounded much better. Nor did she score very highly from the TrinnyandSusannah (Jimmy) of Gert Cottage, who opined that her dress didn't suit her, and was of the same unflattering design as Liz Watts'. Juhan Tralla gave a good solid unexceptional performance. I feel he would be super-reliable as a house tenor but has no star quality and I felt that he was singing in the masque far too much. Evelina Dobraceva raced into the lead in the Gert Cottage Frockwatch, and got special marks for being an Angela Gheorghiu wannabe. She has a lovely voice, a gorgeous free top, and was head and shoulders above the other three. But singing straight after Shen Yang merely served to highlight her limitations, and without being cruel, if she hasn't developed a je ne sais quoi by 32 she ain't never going to. Whereas 23-year old Shen demonstrated that je ne sais quoi and star quality are something one is born with. A soundbiter said "I feel tonight we have been in the presence of greatness" and it's hard to disagree. I found that elusive wow factor.

A journey

I walked down to Millbank and realised that traffic was bad, really bad. I thought, maybe I could wait for a bus but if I walk to Whitehall I have a better choice.

Parliament Square was even more heaving with traffic and really stunk of petrol fumes. I feel terribly sorry for the people who have to work in that area. They have to endure such ghastliness and there's just nothing they can do about it. It's so pedestrian unfriendly at the best of times; tonight wasn't the best of times. I then realised Whitehall is being dug up, so had to walk to the Cenotaph for a bus stop. But there was an absence of buses going where I wanted.

Reluctantly I walked up to Trafalgar Square, every step making me hurt more and more, wondering if I would ever make it. Then at Trafalgar Square, it's like, I'm nearly there now. But I wasn't,not really. So by the time I arrived at Covent Garden, I was really set for a ghastly night. I looked in the mirror and I looked terribly hot and flustered. And felt like shit. So, if the truth be told, the idea of enduring a reportedly not very good performance of a patchy opera, whilst sitting on the somewhat uncomfortable seats of the Lower Slips, leaning over to view the action which reportedly took place all at the side. I thought,no, stick the first half, then go if it's really bad.

The next thing I knew it was the interval - Beethoven does that - and I was eagerly awaiting the second half. I shall write a more considered review when I get the time, but although it was patchy and, in places, rough around the edges, I really really enjoyed Fidelio. The Prisoners Chorus is something else, really amazing, gave me goosepimples and the most gorgeous visceral thrill.

Covent Garden Station was closed, but I managed to sail down to Leicester Square painlessly. I'm beginning to find my way around that area of London; indeed, the other week I even announced, outside Leicester Square station "I think I know where I am now..."

There are some public loos at Clapham Common but they close at night. A bloke went up to the Gents and seeing that they were closed, decided to use the space anyway, in front of about forty people at the bus stop. Finished, he turned round, half crossed the road, put himself back in again, zipped himself up and returne dto a hug from his girlfriend, standing by the phone box.

Two stops before mine, about eight people got off, to be met by two burly chaps holding up ID "We're from Scotland Yard and we'd like to ask you about an incident this time last week." I asked myself where was I this time last week. Then I remembered, lying in bed being kept awake by helicopters and sirens, in the aftermath of the murder of two Colombian brothers - a drugs thing apparently.

And, after all that, I'm still bubbling,which is proof of how brilliantBeethoven is