Gertsamtkunstwerk

Madrid here I come

Feeling rather chuffed that I managed to score a couple of front row seats for Tamerlano in Madrid just after Easter. I did try for a second performance but the site told me I'd exceeded my quota. I did try with a Maestro card but for some reason that didn't work. But that's just greedy wanting two performances anyway. It is said that Plácido will be doing the same role in London, so I shall book multiples there, if poss.

As Real Madrid are at home while we are in the city I thought it might be nice to go to see them in action, but Jimmy declared the tickets way too expensive (twice the price of the opera). Besides, it's not like he ever goes to Crystal Palace, so why on earth would he want to see Real Madrid.

We have a room booked in the Hotel Opera, which is, unsurprisingly, very close to the Teatro Real. And in a novel departure, we will be departing from London City airport in a special aircraft especially designed for STOL. I've never used City so that should be a novelty. I've also realised that Jimmy and I have never been on the DLR together, so our adventures will begin within an hour of leaving home.

Now I need to familiarise myself with Tamerlano, although, frankly, it's Handel, what's not to like? My favourite baritenor singing the baritenor role, a wonderful Baroque conductor, an interesting director. And the opening line of the synopsis on wikipedia appeals to me

The defeated Ottoman Emperor Bajazet is brought in chains...

We've been watching the excellent three-part series on BBC4, The Art of Spain, and I think there's a famous Art Gallery in Madrid, so we have no excuse for not appreciating the sight-seeing. And of course, food is a major attraction to be relentlessly pursued on this long weekend!

(And tomorrow, or sometime soon, I shall round up links from Valencia, Moscow and Doha; I might be strangely taciturn about Hong Kong on Saturday...)

Which decade

One of my favourite perennial blog events is the voting and associated commenting on Which Decade was the best for Top of the Pops. Pitching the decades against each other. Each of the top ten, slot by slot, will be over at Troubled Diva. Ten and Nine are already up

troubled diva

Having kept my blog reading up to date all year, I started to fall behind this weekend, so I might not get stuck in until nearer the weekend. But as the numbers get smaller and the hits get bigger, my adrenaline rises. I vow that only force majeure will prevent me from giving my considered opinion on every single one of the 50 singles.

Happy Palm Sunday

Admittedly, I'm a bit early, but this isn't really about Palm Sunday at all.

It is prompted by someone on a newsgroup closing their post with "Happy Lent, to all those who celebrate it". It was one of those WTF moments. Regular readers will know that I am not religious, but I do respect theological correctness. Respecting theological correctness, I can see no reason to be 'happy' in Lent. It's a time for self-sacrifice and reflection, and looking forward ultimately to salvation, theologically speaking. I have heard 'Happy Easter' many times in both religious and secular settings, but never 'Happy Lent'. It would have made a great deal sense to have said "Happy Spring" (for the Northern hemisphere); even though the Vernal Equinox is some weeks away, there are sufficient signs of new life in my garden to accept a "Happy Spring" in good spirit.

When I was at Primary School, when Valentines wasn't during half-term, crude handmade cards were left anonymously on someone's desk. In teenage years, cheap cards were purchased on the shopping street and sent anxiously and anonymously to acned adolescent boys with no response or feedback, and none expected.

When I was a student, one year VD fell on a Sunday and some group or other had the bright idea of running a postal delivery service across campus, all proceeds going to Karnival*. For several years afterwards I was under the impression that Valentine's Day was all about sending cards, either to one's SO or to some crush, all fairly light-hearted. I could barely escape the lavish displays in shops but rather thought, that's what shops do, doesn't mean I have to take any notice.

It only slowly crept on me that VD was a big exercise in fleecing-of-money. There seem to be two sorts of people in the world. Those for whom Valentine's Day is the ultimate expression of Love,because They Say So, and those who find it the antipathy of spontaneous, personalised, meaningful romance. I am puzzled about this adherence to the Say So of They, especially when you realise who They are. (People who are paid large amounts of money to extract money out of those who don't earn anything like as much money). Perhaps it is partly because of when my birthday falls; I know two people whose birthdays fell last week who have independently of each other expressed frustration that when they wish to go to a restaurant with their husband to celebrate their birthday, they end up being caught up in a Valentine's Day merry-go-round, where they pay more for lower standards and have someone else's idea of romance imposed on them.

It occurred to me this week, that when you read or watch interviews with people, be they real people or celebrities, and they are asked what is the most romantic thing that their lover has ever done, no one ever replies "Bought me a bunch of flowers, and a box of chocolates and took me for Table d'hote on VD".

By chance, I had an important Labour Party meeting on Thursday. It happened to fall on VD, because since Time Immemorial, every branch I have belonged to has met on the second Thursday, monthly. And in any case, Jimmy knows better than to buy me over-priced flowers on VD. He grows flowers year round in the garden, he buys me chocolates way too frequently, and we often have enjoyable twosome meals, at home and in restaurants. all year round. That is less romantic than when he brings me a cup of tea in bed or refuses to let me tackle our recent 'being overrun with mice' problem. This week he painted the kitchen. Not because it was Valentine's Day, but because a) it needed doing and b) he had time and inclination to do it.

I was on a bus on Thursday. Two sights made me wonder about Valentine's Day. Two men carrying flowers. One managed to stab a woman in the hand with the stalks. She was not best pleased. Another man with a bunch of about eight chrysanthemums wrapped in a piece of plastic tied with a cheap ribbon. Take away the plastic and the ribbon, and his love would be left with eight chrysants, probably now dead. I am not being critical of the amount he chose to spend, perhaps they are on a tight budget, and a present should never be measured by its cost, but a small part of me thinks I might be insulted if someone presented me with such a paltry offering, especially when it is likely that today or tomorrow he could get twice the bunch for half the price, and not battered by fellow Tube-and-bus passengers.

But I can kind of understand people buying flowers for their Lover, because They Say So, and humans like being told what to buy by They that Say So. But I cannot understand what I have read on the internet and overheard on people's phone conversations "Happy Valentine's Day" to someone who is obviously not their Valentine. Admittedly, it does come above "Happy Lent" and "Happy Hallowe'en"**. But I think if we must have date specific reasons for wishing other people happiness, we ought to become more imaginative. I would be tempted to introduce obligatory wishing of every woman a Happy International Women's Day, but that coincides with my father's anniversary, so I am disinclined to wish or be wished happiness. And I daresay, other people have reasons for irritation at being insincerely wished happiness on some arbitrary day. That's where moveable feasts have a distinct advantage and I hereby wish to anyone who has ever ridden a donkey in a tourist destination a Happy Palm Sunday.

BTW, someone sent me an anti-VD, but it went into my junk folder. I was in the process of opening it to mark it as 'not spam' but I emptied my junk folder too soon, so to whoever sent it, thanks, I think...

* Back then, don't know about now, Nottingham's Karnival exceeded the proceeds of other Universities' Rags by a degree of magnitude. It says all you have to know about provincial Nottingham University, providing the backbone of middle-England, that the one area in which it excelled was in Charity Fundraising

** An English shopgirl in London once wished me Happy Thanksgiving; I asked her why; she said because it's what they say on the telly. I asked her why; what was 'Thanksgiving' was about; she didn't know. In retrospect, I should have explained that it's when people in Britain celebrate getting rid of a load miserable old killjoy Puritans, but those retorts only come later

Test entry

It seems that this blog isn't visible in Internet Explorer although - even after frequent refreshing, to clear cache, it seems fine in Firefox.

The obvious answer is to tell you the reader to change to a proper browser but I know that the overwhelming majority of people read 'Dump Internet Explorer for a better browser' as 'xoewfhioreuutv j pfipo5u9o58 t 09t'

Gert 2 Oaf on Bus 0

There is a major national debate about how ordinary members of the public should respond to anti-social oafs on buses. My attitude is - speak to them, because the chances are they are so pathetic they can't deal with people challenging their challenging behaviour. Jimmy disagrees with me, saying that I will end up knifed or worse. But he wasn't with me on the bus this evening.

There was a man aged about 25 sat next to me, sprawled out, his feet on the seat opposite, legs splayed with that obvious message "Look at me I have a dick..." (to which my mental response is, yeah, so does nearly half the population; possession of a dick isn't in itself noteworthy). Having finished a call on his phone, he decided to let a series of ringtones play. Gosh, he has a phone that plays tunes, my god, how I fell in love with him and wanted to have his babies, right there. A phone that plays tunes! How sexy!

Instead, I asked him to take his foot off the seat. He pulled a face at me. I then asked him to turn off the crap on the phone, pointing out that he was merely telling the whole bus that he had appalling taste in music. Another face pulled. I told him he looked stupid, now everyone on the bus knew he had rubbish taste in music. No one else wants to hear it, especially not with that bad tone - I had better radio than that forty years ago. Take your feet off the seat, someone's got to sit there, you've probably got dogshit on your shoes.

At which point he showed me the soles of his shoes which obviously brand new and remarkably clean, but I thought, you sad bastard, you felt the need to show me the dogshitless state of your shoes. He's pulling faces like he thinks I am below contempt. I tell him again to get his feet off the seat. Because I am insistent, he obeys. I tell him once again to turn off the 'music' from his phone, reminding him that he's now told the entire bus how stupid he is, how awful his taste in music is. He pulls this really stupid face. Suddenly he realises that the bus is about to pull away from his bus stop and he jumps up, all frantic and panic, desperately ringing the bell. He gets off, and everybody else downstairs turns round and smiles congratulatorily at me. I had succeeded, in my rather drunken state, in humiliating a man who was so arrogant he didn't think the ordinary rules of considerate behaviour applied to him. It is so easy to bring down inconsequential squirts whose attitude is built on shifting sand.

BASH shortlisting, and thoughts on representation

I have been round the block in the Labour Party; there are very few things I haven't done (except National Conference). Oh, and vote for the winner in a Leadership contest...

I have been a member for 24 years and in that time I have participated in several Parliamentary selection processes. For  1987 in Altrincham and Sale it was a bit half-hearted; it would be when you know your bloke - and let's face it, it was mainly blokes back then - would come a poor third. I think we actually selected a chap called Geoff but he ended up withdrawing and Dave Hinder came a poor third to Fergus Montgomery, knight of the Shires,  and Greg Mulholland's Dad. By the time I moved into Nottingham South Alan Simpson had already been selected as candidate. Despite my best efforts, he didn't win in 87, but thankfully did in 92, and, sadly,  is standing down next time around.

I think I participated in selection process in Southend East, but again, it was to select the bloke who was going to come third to the redoubtable Teddy Taylor. I see a name on a Spreadsheet but it brings back no memories.

This meant, of course, that I missed the famous Streatham selection (timed to coincide with the Worldcup semi-final - the night Gazza cried), designed to select a candidate to overturn a Tory majority of 2407. By the time I moved into Streatham,  Keith Hill was embedded as candidate, and the internal campaigning newsletter was called "2407". We won in Streatham in 1992, with a majority of 2317, so you can guess what we called the campaigning newsletter up to 97!

There were boundary changes for 97, with six constituencies becoming five over Lambeth and Southwark, so there was a semi-serious attempt to ensure that John Frazer,  MP for the disappearing constituency,  had a fair crack fo the whip. I don't recall there being anything of a selection process for 2001 or 2005.

However, after nearly sixteen years as a fantastically good constituency MP, and having risen to the lofty position of Minister of State (before becoming the PM's PPS until last June), Keith is standing down. And we have a selection process in full swing.

There was much talk in the summer about there being as many as 23 people interested in the nominations. Rumours of a snap election being called by Gordon fuelled panicky phonecalls about the likelihood of a candidate being imposed. Gordon obviously took notice, and since Christmas, Gert Cottage has been bombarded with a huge stack of paper, and more than a few phone-calls from the aspirants and their supporters. I skim read the leaflets, and also considered what I knew about the candidates. I believe that I have excellent political instincts but I also know they are rusty. My gut feeling was that there were three candidates that stuck out head and shoulders above the rest. Which is where it becomes difficult, because there were two more that I have considered as friends a long time, both of whom I have affection, admiration and respect for, and a third whom I don't really know other than through Facebook, but ditto.

Politics has come a long way since 1992. We now live in an era of All-Women Shortlists, but not in Streatham. I don't know for sure, but maybe the decision not to make us all-women was based on the fact that the other two Lambeth MPs are Kate Hoey and Tessa Jowell. I have always supported All-Women's Shortlists. Parliament cannot really be considered as 'representative' until the representation of women is broadly comparable with men. I don't believe in quotas or positive discrimination for employment, but where the key task is to  represent, I don't see how a body made up almost entirely of white straight able bodied men can seriously represent the country.

We have another issue in Streatham. For some utterly strange, vindictive and politically asinine reason, back in the early 80s Brixton was split into 3 different constituencies, including Streatham. Brixton is iconic as the capital of Black Britain;  the ethnic mix has become far more complex in the past twenty five years and it might just be the most multi-cultural part of the most multi-cultural city on earth. So, it's not irrelevant to consider ethnicity in the selection process.

In the selections for the last council elections, we had a definite policy of actively encouraging more BME candidates , especially BME women, which is absolutely right. I wrote at length about encouraging women to stand for Council, and I think to a large extent the same principles apply for BME.

However, although I support All Women shortlists and definitely think there needs to be more BME MPs, I am not so certain about the need or desirability to make a point about actively encouraging women and/or BMEs. If you are going to stand for Parliament you need to be ruthless and driven, able to take the flack, and with a profound understanding of the issues. Don't even bother applying if you're not - and that goes for every party.  I read leaflet after leaflet extolling the virtues of this candidate or that, very many of them with proven track-records as councillors, or community campaigners, or national campaigners. I don't think any of them needed 'encouraging',not at this stage. Before the shortlisting I had made up my mind whom my first preferences were going to go to.

I arrived at the venue, and spent a pleasant few minutes greeting old old friends, some people I have known all my time in Streatham CLP, others who were at my councillor selection meeting in 1993, and many others, some I haven't seen for aeons, some who are as inactive as I am. I counted 62 people. Admittedly, we are a branch of two wards, but in 24 years of the Labour Party I have never attended a ward meeting of 62 people.

In conversation I discovered that the Youth Forum last night had nominated exactly the people I was intending to give my first preferences to, which made me feel happy that my political instincts are not so out of kilter.

We were presented with a list of 47 people who had submitted CVs for consideration. Most of them were entirely unfamiliar names and the chair remarked that many had done nothing other than submit CVs. I suppose if you live in an eternal Tory constituency such as Altrincham & Sale or Southen East it is difficult to imagine the passion and competition that surrounds the selection of a prospective parliamentary candidate in a Labour held seat. Albeit one with a majority of 'only' 7,456 (down from 14,270  in 2001), and  a multi-millionaire selected to fund an expensive campaign for the  LibDims. Nominations were invited from the floor, and members were invited to speak for or against nominees. Then we voted in three categories, to get three names to go forward for shortlisting by the constituency.

One woman stood up and observed that her perusal of the leaflets had made it seem as though they were running for "Mayor of Streatham" and I thought that a point well made. I think all of them concentrated too much on local issues; the best showed how national politics affect the local area. But I don't think any of the leaflets fully confronted the fact that an MP (whether as a backbencher on Select and Standing Committees or as minister has a national and indeed international remit).

Nevertheless, I felt happy to cast my vote in the BME category for Chuka Umunna, who was duly nominated; in the women's category Dora Dixon-Fyle who didn't get nominated in an utterly ridiculous result borne out of perverse voting. But hey, why open the wounds from the 90s for a second time in an evening ;-) In the 'open category' I decided to vote strategically. It was a bit illogical because even under an preferential voting system, there is no prize for coming second, and it was pretty obvious who was going to come first. So I didn't vote for Steve Reed in the end but I am entirely happy that he secured the branch nomination. If I had any the slightest doubt that he would be runaway winner, I would have voted for him. How illogical is that?

The constituency's shortlist will be drawn up on 1 March, I believe, and there will be a hustings/voting for all members running concurrently with the arrival of my sister and family to visit. Grrrrrr. I suspect that it will end up being between Chuka and Steve. Either one of them will make an excellent candidate and a superb MP, as indeed would Dora, and it's sad that one of them will end up losing - but that's the harsh reality of politics.  As it happens, both are members of BASH, as is our retiring MP.

Wikipedia - Steve Reed and Chuka Umunna

Tito Beltran jailed in Sweden

Tito Beltrán found guilty of rape and sentenced to two years in jail

From my point of view, two years doesn't seem anything like long enough. But I do realise that sentences differ between countries with no real logic to support either longer or shorter sentences. I think for a lot of people even to experience one night in prison is enough of a wake-up call. And a crime such as rape is strange. In a sense simply to be named as a rapist is a massive punishment, especially for someone with a career and a reputation (of sorts - he was pretty rubbish in Boheme at Covent Garden; OTOH, there is a West End restaurant that gives him iconic status, bizarrely...). But there appear to be rumours around that the offence for which he was convicted is allegedly not an isolated incident; he was acquitted last year of child sex abuse, a verdict which the authorities indicated an intention to appeal; there are other unsubstantiated rumours. If someone is a compulsive sexual abuser, no length of jail term will change that compulsion, but does serve to protect society.

Nasty man.

Bad headline The songbird is now a jailbird

A couple of videos

An interview about Cyrano de Bergerac and The Fly, from Milano
Thanks to Dragos for this find (I'm surprised at how much I understood considering that Italian is my fourth language, and I don't do languages...)

and this from Wien on Sunday just gone, a Press Conference with Trebs and Eyebrows regarding the pre-Euro 2008 concert (thanks to "Anonymous")

Around the World in Eighty Gardens/Art of Spain

What I do like about the BBC is the way they put out these documentaries. It's what the BBC does best. I wonder how many people actually watch them. We have just finished catching up on Michael Palin's 'New Europe' and Michael Wood's 'History of India'. The Michaels get programmes with their names in, which even David Attenborough doesn't for his latest (which isn't for me, but Jimmy is watching it and I'm glad the Beeb is showing it). I loved Palin, and thought Wood was worthy. But very irritating, especially when he put on a pretend-Peter-Sellars-Indian accent when talking to Indians (other than academics).

I am sure that I read somewhere that these presenter-centred documentaries are the ultimate in dumb-downing. Well, they're not. I found Wood quite impenetrable and difficult to follow at times. As for Monty Don and his gardens - well, I thought he was nothing but a sidekick to the ghastly Titmarsh, but it turns out he's in a totally different class. I am not certain that I necessarily like all the gardens he has selected but it is teaching me stuff. About plants, about which I know very little, and about the countries in which the gardens are in, and about the culture and societies of those countries.

I have only watched one of the Art in Spain so far, about the Moorish invasion and occupation of what we now know as Andalusia.

Interestingly, I have found a common link between the programmes. That link is Islam. In their different ways, they are showing an insight into aspects of Islamic history which rarely gets an outing in more conventional discussions. and probably isn't known to the average jihadist, or even the nutters in the inner city mosques, in Europe, throughout the Middle East and into the sub-continent. We have been able to see the similarities in the design of Al-Hambra and Taj Mahal, and understand how Moslems peacefully co-existed with Christians and Jews in Al-Andalus and Former Yugoslavia and Albania, and how the Mughals, despite being Moslem, took on many aspects of the existing Hindu culture.

What is obvious in both India and Spain is how it was all ruined by the Christians. Christian armies of occupation or colonials looking for trading opportunities insisted on Christianity being the dominant - only - religion. And we wonder why the world is in such a mess today.

Cyrano on TV?

Singapore Opera Blog: The Mad Scene. Well, in Singapore, anyway. Which isn't much use to me, unless someone in Singapore happens to upload it to Operashare. But if it's being shown somewhere, it might mean it might be shown somewhere else.

From Valencia

Ashes to Ashes

Watched the first episode last week. The jury is still out.

Absolutely loved Life on Mars, both series and looked forward to Ashes to Ashes. I don't know 1981 London any better than 1973 Manchester ie I was there but really quite clueless. But I know my 1981 Music. Oh yes! As it opened I really thought that someone had been going through my record collection. Starting with Vienna on Vinyl, followed by a poster advertising Prince Charming. Pretty smart for July 1981 seeing that the single wasn't actually available until September... (and if I recall correctly from Swap Shop, it was actually recorded in late July). It finished with a song. Naturally I knew it - Same Old Scene - but could I remember who had actually recorded it. To my shame I had to look it up in the Guinness Book of Hit Singles - Roxy Music, whom I never liked anyway. I hope I don't spend too much time looking in Guinness, because, trust me I will know every song that is played.

I have yet to decide about the drama. Obviously the premise and format are much the same, the ultimately unexplained time-travelling whilst in a coma. So far I can't see where it's going, but Gene Hunt is back! And, frankly, even if it turns out to be a turkey, or relatively turkeyish compared to LoM, who can't forgive a TV production company for that 'bound to be iconic' shot of Gene and sidekicks motoring down the Thames, Tower Bridge in the background, with guns at the ready. One of those TV moments that one just has to stand up and applaud.

TV thoughts

I have been enjoying The Palace, finding it surprisingly convincing and realistic (which is not to say I think it is perfectly authentic but there have been few howlers than I expected). But last night's was really dreadful. I thought that they had proper ex-Buck House people advising them, but last night's was so full of howlers that anybody who watched the Monarchy Propaganda Brainwashing job last autumn as I did (Know Your Enemy...) could have stacked up the howlers:

• State Banquets are Evening Suit. They are so Evening Suit that even Gordon "I don't do White Tie" Brown could only get out of Evening Suit by wearing a kilt and Gordon ain't never go to wear a kilt. I suppose it's possible that the new King would have abolished Evening Suit, but you would have thought it would have been discussed. And Princess Sloane still wouldn't have worn a Primark Dress even if Evening Suit had been abolished
• Posh Tory Totty from Party Animals would never have turned up late for a meeting with the King citing 'I got stuck at work' as an excuse especially when the meeting was about work. And 5pm meeting about work would never have turned into dinner, just like that
• The new chef would not have f***ed up on the crockery for serving dinner because there is a 'to-do' list for State Banquets which is checked, double checked and quite possibly triple checked. It wouldn't be left to the new chef to busk it
• A State Banquet for India (a very important country indeed) would not be Palace Employees and a handful of token Indians cramped round one long table in a pokey room. Try The Great and The Good (eg where was the Prime Minister, no, not Gordon, the fictional one), Eminent Indians in Britain, CEOs etc of companies with Trading Partnerships with India, and lots of lots of Indians, in a massive State Banqueting Room with dozens of tables seating dozens each. Guests wouldn't wander into dinner at the sound of a flunky saying 'Right folks, get stuck in, grub's up'. Maybe there would be a formal walk-in to pass The Receiving Line
• if that diamond necklace was so important to Gujeratis, and normally stored in The Tower, the Royal Jeweller wouldn't casually pass it to Princess Sloane to take back to Queen Mummy Bitter to casually pass to King WetBlanket
• Royals don't drink out of cheap 1960s Habitat red glasses
• There is no way that the King would offer to fund an orphanage for abandoned girls in Madras without causing a diplomatic incident - for starters, he meant Chennai, and secondly, it is an implied criticism of Indian society and an insult to the Government, who claim not to want International Aid, anyway

Which is a shame, because it's been a hoot so far. And it's fun spotting the DNA links between this, Party Animals and Mistresses. I haven't been too bothered thus far with some stretching of truths and realities, but last night was so riddled with them, it dragged the batting average right down.

Blue Light

We went to the park yesterday. It was quite busy, not surprisingly, considering what a lovely day it was. Bright blue skies, not especially cold. Days you yearn for sometimes in August, let alone February. (While I was there I had a big chocolate chip cookie. Speaking to my niece this morning, she and my mother went to the park also yesterday, and my niece had a giant cookie!)

I took quite a lot of photos, of varying quality (varying from not at all good to really quite bad). What has struck me is how much blueness there is in the light. I am not sure if it's a calibration problem with my camera, simple user error - I tend to use the Automatic White Balance setting, or something inherent in the light - maybe something to do with the time of year, low sun, or whatever.

I would be interested to know what causes it...

Fierrabras

How many people guessed that Schubert's opera would be the next to be blogged after Fidelio and before...well, you guess,but you have to understand my particular method of alphabetising operas. A hint, the next one alphabetically exists in so many different forms in Gert Cottage it may be some time before the blogpost appears. But it used to be my very favourite opera, despite the absence of any tenors in the top five - at least - roles.

I just have an audio recording of this, and everything I know about it is from Wikipedia. Schubert doesn't merit an entry in my pocket Kobbé*. It has no entries in Operabase, so I can assume it is extremely rare indeed. There is an online libretto but life is too short for me to try reading it in German

The recording I have is a download of the Wunderlich broadcast; I downloaded it predominantly for Wunderlich, coupled with curiosity about a composer I like but do not consider to be an operatic composer. The synopsis does not exactly inspire me but I don't now how the dramaturgy plays out.

Musically it is pleasant. If there was a performance in central London, especially with 'name' singers, I would consider going. That having been said, I won't be lobbying any of the companies to put on a production. Perhaps there will be some concert performances in bicentenary year of 2028, but I don't think the music is compelling enough to merit a major revival. It's not like there is shortage of Grand Romantic 19th century works in the repertoire, and revivals should be focused more on the Baroque masterpieces than a justifiably neglected minor work by an otherwise Great Composer. To be honest, I think the reason that it has been given any attention at all is because it's by Schubert rather than any intrinsic greatness.

As I said, the music's nice, but nothing special. I suppose it's important for Schubert completists, or Wunderlich completists, but otherwise, there are probably hundreds of operas more worthy of my time. But I suppose if I were to see it live in a good production with decent singers I might change my mind.

* Kobbé as well as being known for his seminal opera reference book also qualifies for the 'freakish death' list - a seaplane, coming down for a landing, struck his boat and killed him instantly

My tuppence on Sharia

Murky waters...

It's pretty obvious from the news coverage that some of the opposition to the Archbish's remarks are orchestrated by the evangelicals in the CofE determined to get him for anything in order to block his moves towards tolerance* of homosexuality.

Some of the rest of the opposition is founded in general uninformed racism.

So, what do I think?

One of the advantages of large-scale immigration is that the best of what immigrants bring from their culture can be incorporated into British culture to the benefit of all - this is most apparent in cuisine but examples abound elsewhere. I am insufficiently familiar with Sharia Law to know whether there are aspects that are worth incorporating into the British system, but if there are I wouldn't oppose it merely on principle. And certainly, there is an established tradition of local arrangements for arbitrating matters such as neighbour disputes, and if a Sharia system is acceptable to both parties, I see no obvious reason to oppose this.

There has been some opposition to allowing Sharia to be the basis of settling, for example, marriage disputes. All the evidence is that Islam, along with Christianity and other religions, exists merely to sustain patriarchy. In other words, secular society has worked to make the British system fairer to women, anything that moves away from that is wrong. If people don't like the way the British system works, campaign to change it. Campaign to persuade the majority of the wisdom of your way. Or shut up.

My concern about the Archbishop's view are deeper than that, though.  Over the past ten years or so, there have been several examples of where the Democratically elected government has legislated to create a fairer society against the prejudices of the religious fanatics - the most obvious examples being on gay matters. The forces of organised Christianity still labour under a misconception that they are a suppressed group, discriminated against, despite the evidence to the contrary. They don't seem to understand, or understand but reject, that any laws against homosexuality make life intolerable for gays,whereas laws equalising homosexuality have no impact on the lives of those who oppose them.

We only have to look at the ridiculous row over adoption agencies, where the Catholic Church declared that its agencies which specialise in placing 'hard to place' children would shut down rather than 'be forced' to place children with gay people (thus demonstrating  that they care less about child welfare than their sex obsessions). Although the Anglican Church doesn't maintain such a bigoted position with its adoption agencies (which must have come as a shock to many of its members), it supported the Catholic Church's right to practice mindless bigotry.

So perhaps Rowan Williams is actually trying to say that all religious organisations and its practitioners should have the right to set up a parallel legal system outside the bounds of civil society.

This could include, for example, rejecting any state 'interference' in state-funded religious schools (suspending the employment law against religious discrimination, persecuting employees whose sex lives don't meet their requirements, resisting attempts to implement a sensible and workable sex education policy, fear that they might have to accept pupils who live locally irrespective of their parents' religious practices).

I suspect some of the reactionaries and evangelicals would be less vocal in their opposition to Williams if they understood his agenda. Even so, many of them are opposed to any recognition of Islam, or any other non-Christian religion, because of their unshakeable conviction that their way is 'right' and any alternative is 'wrong' even though they are united in their hatred of women and gay people.

*As a by the by I hate the word 'tolerance'. It's entirely inappropriate for attitudes towards homosexuality. 'Tolerance' is something one does grudgingly -  one tolerates various impositions as preferable to alternatives. One tolerates low-level pain because there is nothing we can do about it. One tolerates the tolerable because to demand better requires disproportionate effort.

Fidelio

The other day I wrote a review of Fidelio that included a recommendation for one version that isn't available on commercial DVD.

It had already been uploaded to Operashare. But suddenly it occurred to me that that version was with French subtitles, so it was legitimate of me to upload my version with English subtitles.

And because it's my upload I can share the links on my blog, which is cool...!

File 1
File 2
File 3
File 4
File 5
File 6
File 7
File 8
File 9
File 10
File 11
File 12

If you have a Premium account you probably know what to do!

If you have a free account, you are only allowed one download per hour; however, I have read, but not tested, that this control can be circumvented by disconnecting from the internet and re-connecting.

When all the files have downloaded, rejoin with HJSplit . You will then have one avi file, which you can play on your PC if you have the correct codecs, or you can convert to a DVD. I use IMTOO. The free version leaves a water mark which plays throughout the DVD, the paid version has paid for itself over-and-again in expanding my DVD collection with jewels unimagined a year ago!

Give Women Votes

Today is the 90th anniversary of women in the UK being enfranchised for the first time (well, not exactly, technically, but to all intents and purposes). At the time it was only women over 30 whilst men had the vote at 21.

The discrepancy seems preposterous to us now and was totally unjustified then. But as a gradualist I am often persuaded to accept a partial reform, because history shows that once the fundamental concept becomes the norm and widely accepted, the discrepancies increasingly become seen as irrational. It still amazes me, even though I should know better, how many irrational laws were made by men citing women as irrational and weaker.

I suggest that in ten years time someone organises a big party to celebrate the centenary. It will make it easier for me when people ask me how I will be celebrating my fiftieth birthday - marching on Parliament to commemorate the centenary of Women's Suffrage.

I expect if I mention to this to my mother she will just say "I don't remember there being much fuss about the fiftieth anniversary".

To mark this auspicious day, I give you a link to The March of the Women. We made a recording of this at school for some Open Day exhibition. It was written by Ethel Smyth.

6 February in history

I feel like fifteen again.

It's very difficult to be fifteen on the 25th anniversary of the Munich air crash. Especially if you're living in South Manchester. Would you believe that a few months earlier I had written to Jimmy Hill suggesting that it might be a good idea if Football Focus had a little feature on it. And Jimmy Hill wrote me back a very nice letter thanking me for my suggestion, and while, of course, it never actually said 'we hadn't thought of that' it left a feeling that they were taking my suggestion very seriously. Which is why I won't hear anything against Jimmy Hill.

It was a different age, media wise. Today it's all over the media. When so many words are written, it is difficult to add any more. The survivors - those that are still alive - are getting old. Bobby Charlton's losing his hair. The public who remember it are getting old. If such a crash happened now, there would be far fewer casualties. Even in the Eighties, they said, if medical science was further advanced in 1958, Duncan Edwards would have survived. It used to bother me that people said that Duncan Edwards was the greatest footballer ever. How did they know, where was the evidence, had they tested this with counter-evidence. With age comes wisdom, and I realise that such a statement doesn't need evidential support. It's not provable, it;s not disprovable. People say it perhaps because they unthinkingly parrot what they've read in the newspaper, or maybe because wishing makes it so. It's like 'They shall grow not old as we are that left grow old'. As human beings we accept the deaths of those in old age of natural causes, people who have had the chance to make their mark and live their life. When it's young people who die, it is much harder to understand. Ironically, the footballers who died at Munich (and the journalists and Pressmen, who would have been older) would only have been a tiny fraction of the young men who died that year, a miniscule fraction of those that would have died fifteen years previously. Many of them would have gone on to become unremarkable footballers, forgotten by all but the most obsessive loyalists of the minor clubs they would have ended up at. By dying young, without reaching their potential, they are remembered forever.

And the lasting legacy of Munich is a the phenomenon of Manchester United. Obscured now because of a decade and a half of success, confused by the big business capitalism that is now global football, but the unique position of Manchester United, that makes the club different from even the Italian and Spanish giants, is that human legacy of affection created in the aftermath of Munich, and probably little understood by the majority of people who call themselves fans.

A while back, my mother said "I don't remember them making much fuss on the tenth anniversary..."

Cyrano de Milan

I've been a bit slow blogging this, but to be honest, there have been few meaningful reports coming out of Milano. And, as far as I can find, no photos.

Update: Thanks to White Rabbit for the photo links in the comments, which prompted me to seek photos in the most obvious place - the La Scala website:

But the reports that exist are worth the wait:

Domingo de Bergerac at La Scala

Cyrano: applausi per Domingo (illustrated, somewhat bizarrely, with a picture from Luisa Fernanda)

An interview: Domingo: "Il mio Cyrano? Per le opere ho buon naso" L’ultimo tenorissimo riesuma alla Scala un Alfano dimenticato

And from Ed's Opera Group, posted by Ed, but (obviously...) on behalf of AN Other (registration required

Did I forget anything? Oh yes… some  more details … There was also a male singer, he  sang “Cyrano”. Judging from his vocal shape, his condition, his look and his  movements on stage he must be one of the young, upcoming tenors of the next  generation. Certainly a talent! I am sure we will hear more of him during the  next couple of decades. 

His name is Domingo. Plácido  Domingo. And he has the license to bewitch old and young, male and female, crazy  and crazier people. The more I hear of him the more I  get the impression, those are right who allege that he has lied about his age.  It’s impossible that this man I saw on stage is 67. He can’t be older than 45,  maybe 50! Ok, maybe he was short of breath for  one single, very short moment … But …is there any of us “youngsters” (Come on,  ladies and gentlemen, my bank account number is 21.01.1941. You can send your  donations right now … ) could  sing that demanding work, act and swordfight like that – and be it only for ten minutes???

He was really convincing! Although I  could hardly see a third of the stage from my seat (and therefore missed the  balcony scene and wide parts of the moving final scene – to count just the most  important parts…) I was moved to
tears several times – just by hearing the  expressions in his (and her!) voice!  Hmmmmmm… which leads me to another  conclusion … maybe he is really older than we all think and Alfano had HIM, HIM  and nobody else than HIM in his mind, when he wrote that opera? Yes! Must be! It  is “tailor-made” for him! Like so many other works …And – to prove that I am objectively  reviewing  – the Scala  audience, which is dreaded for being very severe, sometimes even cruel towards  singers or works they do not like (especially sung by “Non-Italians”), ALSO  liked the
performance.

Plácido got standing ovations,  several curtain calls and loud “Bravo”-yells. Also some (familiar to all who  were in Madrid) “Plácido, te quieremo” - screamers could be  heard. All the singers and the conductor  (did a good job!) got much applause. Most of all – Plácido and Sondra  Radvanovsky.  Of course, he was moved and  happy.

He held a signing hour later. He was  relaxed and happy, but visibly tired when he came out (no wonder!!!!!!! It is  really a very demanding role, even for a teenager of 45, maybe 50), but he  stayed as charming and friendly as
always, when he saw the huge crowd of waiting  crazies from so many different countries.

And finally, it seems, the real  Cyrano de Bergerac (not actually of Bergerac) was gay: Nosing out the real-life Cyrano - CYRANO: The Life And Legend Of Cyrano De Bergerac by Ishbel Addyman. Strange, cos when we saw the opera, the only gay subtext was the bloke who had an unrequited crush on CdeB.

News from the home front

Today is Shrove Tuesday (aka Pancake Day!).

This of course means that tomorrow is Ash Wednesday.

This means that for the very first and very last time in my lifetime, my birthday falls within Lent - it won't do again until 2160 by which time I fully expect to have given up blogging. It's a bloody good thing I'm not religious, else I'd be starving. Instead, I'm going to bloat out on afternoon tea at a well known Central London hotel.

I did try moaning to my brother at the weekend. Fool! (Me, that is, not him). Who in their right mind would moan to someone born on the 4th of April about the misery of Lenten birthdays?

The sharp eyed among you will have noticed that I will have singularly failed to blog my entire record collection by 40. However, I no longer do 'failure', merely deferred success. I think I'll manage it by 50. We're always being told targets should be Challenging but Achievable.

Gott! Welch Dunkel hier

For those who couldn't be bothered to read through my long post on Fidelio - or who read it before the late edit - I uploaded the following to YouTube, thinking there was little point in moaning about its absence when it was within my power to make it happen.

Breaking news - a Trebs/Schrott sprog is pending

Opera diva Anna Netrebko says she's pregnant

Many congratulations to both of them :-)

Fidelio

I've spent a few weeks contemplating Fidelio. I am not short of recordings, both complete and audio-only. I have concluded that Fidelio is a tricky opera, far bettered enjoyed live. I know that the same could be said for all operas. All music in fact, but while I can thoroughly enjoy a Beethoven symphony at home whilst being aware that the concert hall experience is unmatchable, I cannot get any recording that surpasses the

And they all lack the je ne sais quoi of  the rather indifferent performance at ROH last year. I also saw an Opera North version in Nottingham when I was a student but other than a visual memory of the Prisoners' Chorus I have very little memory of it, other than being enjoyable. And cheap. Considerably cheaper than the Evita which we saw at about the same time in the same venue.

Fidelio is a fascinating study of what might have been or what nearly was. I think all educated people acknowledge Beethoven as one of the pillars of Western Music, even when not really knowing why. For me, it is above all his symphonies, whilst also loving the concerti, chamber and solo works with which I am familiar (embarrassingly few). I find his Missa Solemnis a weakness, in a genre where I would automatically look to Mozart or Haydn. He only wrote one opera. There is a reasonably comprehensive article in wikipedia, I certainly can't add to that. Ultimately the only way to really familiarise oneself with an opera is repeated viewings and hearings of different versions. And also study of the score,  but I'm too much of a skinflint to buy scores. I shall make more of an effort to study scores when I hit forty.

Die Zauberflöte

It's no surprise that I have reached the age of nearly forty without ever seeing Die Zauberflöte live. Don't be surprised if I wait until I am eighty before seeing it again.

The first act is long, the second act is even longer. Indeed the second act is as long as Wozzeck. I would far rather sit through Wozzeck. There are three reasons to like Die Zauberflöte. One of them is that some of the music is fabulous. Another is that David McVicar's production is rather fun. But, having seen a few on DVD, I suspect it's easy enough to make a fun production. I recently watched the Glyndebourne/Hockney production and it seemed familiar, perhaps I had watched it in my childhood. If so, it came very close to putting me off opera for life, which would have been quite regrettable at age 9.

The third good thing is Simon Keenlyside. Indeed it became for me an opera of two parts: those when Ickle Shirtless was on stage and those when he wasn't. Not that I'm saying the rest of the cast were bad, they weren't. Just that most of them lacked any stage presence or charisma. Steven Milling was excellent as Sarastro, I could tell. And Kishani Jayasinghe almost stole the show as Papagena.

But there are and were too many bad things about it. The story is total tosh and I simply don't care about the characters. I sort of like the utter bitchiness of the Queen of the Night, but I was disappointed by the delivery of that aria. A few weeks ago I spent an evening watching some fantastic deliveries on YouTube from Diana Damrau and Edita Gruberova, inter alia. I believe that our QotN makes a career singing tis role but she didn't live up to those illustrious divas.

The music is by Mozart, whose Figaro I adore, but I feel his Cosi and Don G could benefit from judicious editing, great though they are. I think Flute could do with even more editing. Indeed, I have a CD (one disc) of highlights. That's just about enough Flute.

All that masonic crap is utterly tedious. The misogyny is of its time, and shouldn't be censored, but does nothing to enamour me to the work. There are considerable longeurs when various singers are singing pretty, but I really don't care.

No production is so great it can rescue a dismal work, not even when the director is the great god David McVicar. Great arias are great arias, but can be enjoyed in isolation in the comfort of one's own home.

So that leaves me with Simon Keenlyside to savour. I have caught him in concert rep, and in a concert opera. I walked out in the interval of Pelleas because it was musically/production-wise ghastly, notwithstanding fab performances from Messrs Keenlyside and Finley and Frau Kirchschlager. I caught him when he was in poor vocal form in Iphigenie. So, finally, I get to appreciate the full glory of Simon Keenlyside. He was the difference between a bad night out and the salvaging of something very special to remember. His singing was flawless - when I say Ein Mädchen oder Weibchen sounded just like it does on his CD, Tales of Opera, trust me  that is praise. His portrayal of the character was entirely convincing,from his rather hunched walk, to his comic timing, and, naturally, his athleticism, including a sort of somersault across stage (tumbling is, I think, the technical term for it) and his flying leap to join Papagena in bed.

Still, he said in a recent interview that he's learning the role of Wozzeck. We know that Wozzeck is planned for a future season at ROH, so perhaps that will star Shirtless. If so, I very much look forward to that, much more than to a future performance of Zauberflöte.

There was a slight comedy moment at curtain call when Simon and Stephen realised they were next to each other and Stephen patted Simon on the head. Stephen is 200 cm (I asked his manager, who was sitting next to me at Die Walküre; she asked him, he told her, she told me) and I'm sure someone's said that Simon is about 5'6". So, that's quite a difference...

Oh, and just for the record, Simon's shirt stayed resolutely on, but his trousers did come down.

I also missed the live falcon. I'm a bit thick sometimes.

To do list

As I'm off to Zauberflote this evening, I have several things to do. Firstly, I have to assemble my outfit, probably shell suit bottoms, a fake DKNY t-shirt from one of those stalls not quite in the market, a jacket bought from some bloke who goes round the pubs selling them, plastic stiletto shoes, and a Burberry cap.

I shall quickly read and paraphrase some programme notes, or someone else's review, to hide the fact that I know nothing about the music.

I shall engage in telephone calls with pre-teens to determine how to translate into sub-standard English that demonstrates that I'm hip and down with the kids, a bit like a middle-aged vicar or the sort of politician who claims to like the Antarctic Chimpanzees. I shall write a 'review' of the opera that renders machine translators useless, and is of no assistance to non-native readers of English.

I shall adopt a superior attitude to my readers and my fellow audience members. I shall declare whomever happens to be appearing in the opera as my favourite ever, until the next time. I might even comment on whether they sing loud. I might suddenly realise that one of the arias is familiar and yet different from how it sounds on one of my few CDs, compilation arias, naturally.

The whole experience will have no lasting impact on me.

If you're really lucky, I might include some erroneous facts, exclude some correct ones and deliver some breaking news that is about four years old.