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So, you know, we were sort of there, briefly.
And how did I manage to take such a photo?
I bought this trip months ago, for Jimmy's birthday back in August. With him working in the pub, there was never the opportunity to take it. Conscious that the voucher had a nine month life, I rang up just after we got back from Madrid, saying, can we go this weekend. The reply was, no, but you have a choice of 26 April, 3 May etc. I plumped randomly for 26 April, it was several days before I realised that it would clash with the Chelsea v Manchester United match, title decider, live on the TV blah de blah..
Then, earlier this week, we started to watch the weather forecast. And we were absolutely delighted that sheer chance had allocated us a day like yesterday, warm and sunny with an excellent view.
We booked with EBG helicopters, who are at Redhill aerodrome, fifteen minutes by taxi from Redhill station which is 37 minutes from Streatham Hill. There was us two, and another chap, along with the pilot. We took off at about one o'clock and arrived back about three quarters of an hour later. We flew North, reaching the Thames at Barnes, having seen landmarks such as Tolworth Tower and the windmill on Wimbledon Common. From Barnes we flew above the Thames, seeing Stamford Bridge, Chelsea Harbour, Battersea Power Station, the Houses of Parliament and so on (Jimmy saw more North of the River, I saw South of the River, although for some reason, I don't remember seeing the London Eye, I think I was too busy trying to get a photo of my office, like how sad is that?). We headed over to Docklands, seeing very clearly the runway at London City, before turning right at the Isle of Dogs and returning to Redhill.
Take off was very smooth as was progressing through the sky, until we hit some unexpected turbulence. For a moment I felt a touch of motion nausea, coupled with a sense of panic that we were in serious trouble. Irrational, and anyway it only lasted a few moments; after that it never even crossed my mind even to worry.
On the whole I don't "do" modern opera. Last week, I was tipped the wink that this was definitely worth seeing. I perused the available reviews and decided to take the plunge, booking tickets for Jimmy and me. As I decided to take advantage of the 'best seats in the house for £65' deal, it wasn't a cheap evening, but sometimes it's fun to get a taste of how the other half live. (Normal price £180, rising to £210 for some productions next season). I gave Jimmy a let-out clause that if he really didn't like, he must tell me at half-time.
In the event, he really enjoyed it, exponentially more than whisper it quietly Tamerlano in Madrid.
It's due to be on radio in a few weeks. Having seen it live, I will probably listen to the broadcast, but I know I won't enjoy it anything like as much. I suspect I might find it peculiar, because the music and the drama went so well together. To be honest, even with very familiar operas, I find radio to be a poor substitute. I get so tired by the dinosaurs on Opera-hell and elsewhere who judge an opera, or its performance, by a radio hearing. It makes me laugh when people say 'at least with radio I can imagine my own pictures'. Yes, that works with books, but not with opera or stage-plays any more than it does for Fine Art. And it's contrary to the composer's intentions.
So, the Minotaur. I know the story pretty well. Or at least, I thought I did. What I actually know is the story as appropriately abridged in the Junior 2 (now Year 4) reading book. So this production was fabulous in filling in the rich detail.
Firstly, the music. By Harrison Birtwhistle. I really liked it. I wouldn't pretend that I came out humming the tunes but that wasn't the purpose. I practically came on the spot when I took my seat and realised that both front boxes were filled with percussion instruments. Oh how cool is this going to be. There was never a point where I found the music unpleasant. I have read that it's atonal. Although I have read and theoretically understand what atonal means, I am not able to hear something and say sagely, "It's atonal". For me, either it works or it doesn't. And it worked. I suppose what I liked was the way the music was used in some places as sound effects. I also enjoyed the percussion for its own sake, and noticed the flutes in particular from the 'Other Instruments'.
The singing was of a universally high standard. Perhaps it helps in not actually knowing the work, but there were fine performances from the leading roles right down to the bit parts. It wasn't just the singing, though. It was like that was the icing on the cake. It would have been a fraction of what it was if they had just parked-and-barked, which is, of course, what we will get on the radio.
For me, the stand out was Christine Rice. She was sensational. Vocal expression and colour, really convincing as Ariadne, facially expressive and she moved superbly on stage. She portrayed different aspects well. The - albeit reluctant - loving sister, the dignified woman, the girl desperate to get away from a living hell. She was particularly impressive when she narrated the story of how her mother had lain with the sea-bull and then gave birth to the half-and-half. Earthy and literal, and very feminine.
John Tomlinson was a tour de force as the Minotaur. He played his entire role with a bull's head over his own head. It was a fascinating contraption, because from some angles you could tell it was a frame covered by a net, but mainly it looked like a solid bull's head. He was shirtless, his whole body from the waist up covered with hair - reportedly he was wearing a hair-covered vest although that wasn't obvious even from the fourth row of the stalls. I wasn't entirely sure what was going on in the trouser department, save that he had an large dildo outside his trousers. The outfit was complemented by the barefoot look. His movements were fascinating: well choreographed and well executed, often very convincing imitation of how cattle move. I don't think I could ever love his voice but the range of emotions he conveyed was startling, from anger and lust to self-pity and pathos.
Johann Reuter was good as Theseus. Not really in the class of Christine Rice and John Tomlinson, but never less than satisfying. When he went into the labyrinth he removed his jacket; when he got to fight, he also removed his vest. Definitely one to add to the barihunks list. He also displayed considerable athleticism.
There was strength in depth, including Andrew Watts as the snake priestess, singing whilst on stilts and wearing a set of comedy false boobs, Philip Langridge in a basically cameo role as the priestess's asistant (his son was the stage director). Rebbeca Bottone sang and acted superbly as the First Innocent; all the Innocents were good. And I developed a minor girly crush on Amanda Echalaz as Kere, leader of the vultures. That is quite some voice, soaring high into the stratosphere. Also convincing dance moves and great looking.
The production was memorable. It would be interesting to discover, with a new opera like this, how much interaction there is between librettist, composer and director, how much it is a dialectic process. It opened with a video projection of waves as if shot from the bow of a ship. This returned at appropriate orchestral interludes.
Above ground much of the action took place at the front of the stage where there was what seemed to be a sand pit, and the head of a bull created by Daedalus. In the first act a ship was moored at the back of the stage; from here emerged the innocents.
Underground, the labyrinth varied depending upon whether the Minotaur was awake or asleep. When he was awake, a crowd of masked Furies, including two on-stage timpanists, were arrayed behind a low wall, urging him on to kill the Innocents. Asleep there was a mirror/video projection screen, at which various times appeared the Minotaur's reflection, or his video projection, and Ariadne and Theseus. When people entered the labyrinth the descended down through a trapdoor into the bowels of the stage and in the next scene they descended ladders from the flies.
Most impressive was the choreography, especially of the Innocents and the Keres. The Keres in particular, a bit reminiscent of Valkyries.
It was a brutal and gory production, the third this year (after Lucia, at ENO, and Salome) where the stage was awash with blood. The Innocents were gored; at times this could have been sharpened up. I think the idea was that as they removed their hands from their wounds, the blood gushed forth. However, it seemed almost like a ritualistic bursting of stage-blood capsules. The First Innocent was gored until she was convulsing a painful death; still alive she was raped, and when she was dead, the Half-and-Half eviscerated her vital organs. There was real attention to detail - for example, after he had raped her, he leaned against the wall, spent and sated. It is relatively rare for a dramatic depiction of sex to include the male 'roll-over and snore'.
Most of all, the enduring impression was of pathos and compassion. I would be interested to know the origin of this myth. Obviously, it would be impossible for a half-man half bull to have been conceived and born, but I would guess that this was based on some grotesquely malformed and mentally subnormal offspring, perhaps the product of repeat in-breeding, who had to be contained, and hidden from sight. Considering that the hideousness was apparent at birth, it is some surprise that infanticide didn't occur. I had previously considered the Minotaur to be a monster, not deserving of our sympathy, but I came away with tremendous sympathy; indeed I cried. His life was so miserable he just wanted to die. He attributed his anger and lust to his human half. Ariadne had some love for him. He never saw daylight, never had the chance to run around in a field, and certainly would never find love to give or receive.
Just as a bonus, I came face to face with Harrison Birtwhistle in the interval.
Before the interval there were some longeurs but the fifty five minutes afterwards flew by so quickly. In those very few slower bits i fell to contemplating how this could be performed in a Met-trash style. Later, I came up with the solution and posted to a newsgroup (I have amended it slightly, subsequently...)
Excitingly, we were talking to Tony, Elaine and Harry in the Marquis afterwards and they're hoping to revive it for the 2012 Olympic Season, which is going to be all Greek mythology. However, because they wish to attract tourists, they're going to get a different director in. So that all the Innocents will be wearing designer Empire Line frocks or breeches and brocade waistcoats. Rather than raping, mauling and eviscerating his victims, the Minotaur will tell them of his angst. The vultures circling for blood will be replaced by angels. Rather than a black sail of death, the ship will have a pastel shaded sail. And the labyrinth will be less a subterranean hellhole and more Hampton Court. It's a bit tentative at the moment, but it's looking like Bryn will play the role of the very hairy bass-baritone bull (with Erwin Schrott on standby for the inevitable Terfel cancellation) They're hoping that as Katherine Jenkins will be over thirty by then and thus an opera singer she can take on the role created by Christine Rice. Rather than slaughtering a live pigeon, fresh from Covent Garden Piazza, live, on stage and smearing the blood over the scenery,she could partake of a ritual offering up of rose-petals in lavender water. And because the music is quite loud, almost raucous in places, it could be performed on baroque instruments, with the percussion merely mimed.
There are still three performances left and I would seriously recommend a visit. I don't know whether it will be televised; I hope so. If not, I hope that it will be revived soon. I don't know much about the Olympic Season and I am totally making it up that it will be about Greek myths, but it would be ace if the Cultural Olympics got comprehensive TV coverage.
Photos at ArenaPal
I have to confess to stupid naive inappropriateness.
There were scenes of chaos in the centre in Brixton this evening when I emerged from the Tube. The main crossroads was cordoned off, with heavy police presence, as well as fire engines, ambulances, a prison van and even the air ambulance.
Buses were running, but spasmodically, and packed to the gunwales, so like so many other people I decided the best thing was to walk. Up hill. It took a bit over half an hour. Would have taken less time if I hadn't paused to twit and take photos rest. The photos are just from my phone, so not great. Obviously if I had had my real camera I would have forced my way through the crowds of people gathering to stand and gawp. I would have said "Let me through, I'm one of Brixton's leading bloggers".
Fortunately it was a pleasant evening to stroll up the hill. Indeed, I had caught the bus and Tube with a colleague and we had been having that self-same conversation. I was faintly amused to notice that everyone, up or down, was walking on the left hand pavement. I don't suppose many held a realistic hope of catching a bus; there comes a point where it's barely worthwhile.
I've been home nearly an hour now. Whether it's because I'm more alert or whether it's an actual fact - plus we actually have the back door open - but there seems to have been more than average sirens.
And then I get home, fire up the PC and discover what actually happened: Woman is killed under prison van
Classic London street scene, cars parked the length of the road. In order to make life easier for pedestrians, someone had the very bright idea of creating pavement piers, so the pedestrian could actually see clearly in both directions, their view unobstructed by parked cars.
Hurrah!
However, presumably because, if not here, at other pavement piers, idiot drivers not watching where they are going have taken to driving into the piers (or because some idiot jobsworth has decided that that might happen), a warning bollard has been erected. Not a problem for lone ambulatory people; not so great for people with pushchairs. Although, the lack of a dropped kerb suggests it was never intended for that use. God forbid anybody would wish to cross from a block of social housing to a Primary School/Early Years Centre with a pushchair or holding the hand of a small child.
Every time someone makes a half-hearted attempt to claim back public space for people, some jackass comes along and reasserts the jackboot of the car.
Update: 2030 hours: My mistake, the piers don't exist so that pedestrians stand a better of chance seeing on-coming traffic. Clearly they are for the placing of commercial waste paladins:
photo taken mid-afternoon
Scoredesk asks Who's that guy with Domingo?
Finally, after the dross and muck came pure gold. Placido Domingo sang Panic Angelicus and miraculously the problems with the sound were fixed. He was magnificent and Pope Benedict seemed to really enjoy it. He even got up and went over to Placido who was really emotional when he knelt to kiss the Holy Father's hand.
There was a nice moment at the close of the post-communion meditation. My beloved Placido D sang Panis Angelicus. That rascally group in the mid-level bleachers started to applaud; I was shaking my head in embarrassment, especially as the applause started to spread. But then the Pope himself stood and went to embrace Domingo and --be still my heart!-- the maestro knelt and kissed the Pope's ring. Maybe opera stars just have a knack for dramatic gestures, but it seemed to me that in kneeling Domingo did a wonderful thing --he put his singing back at the level of service to the Pope and ultimately to Christ in the Mass.
if I were to complain about anything, it would be the fact that Placido Domingo unavoidably upstaged the Pope himself with his rendition of Panis Angelicus. Of course, I am just kidding. It was operatic, but thoroughly appropriate for the occasion
These are excepts from the blogs that are fit to excerpt. It was singularly soul-destroying reading through so many others that managed to combine scary hysteria, faux piety and a rabid hatred that women and hispanic and black people were permitted to participate in a Mass which, apparently, ought to have been a celebration of American culture, not immigration. I usually manage to stay blissfully ignorant of the nasty underbelly of the internet, then something happens to reveal the blogs that are written by the rednecks and the haters (in this instance who happen also to call themselves Christians. Delightful).
A strange review - Domingo picks up a mantle (sort of).
(When I say strange, I mean amateurish and half-hearted...). A sort of vague allusion to some of the items on the programme, some passing surprise that
while it was billed as Domingo's first-ever full concert appearance in Boston, the program was shared with the Puerto Rican soprano Ana María Martínez, who sang almost as many solo numbers as Domingo did
As far as I can gather from the information supplied it was the standard, oft-repeated formula that has happened successfully many times before. I would wager that the first half also contained Winterstürme and Gia nella notte densa, not unimportant numbers from a couple of his signature roles. A programme that has appeared last year and the year before and the decade before...And in several US cities.
Then we get
Even if he did not whip the crowd into a frenzy, at least before the night's deadline forced me to leave following the first encore
- well, at least it's honest. But I do think that reviewers, as well as concert goers, ought to grasp that encores, especially for this sort of 'numbers' concert are not an optional extra. If you miss three encores, you miss a substantial portion of the concert.
The formula is: First part - opera; Second part, operetta, musical theatre, zarzuela (almost certainly finishing with No puede ser). Third part, time to be light-hearted and have (even more) fun. Almost certainly Granada, another 'signature' song.
Still
there was a lot of intelligent and deeply committed singing with Domingo, at age 67, in remarkably healthy voice. On the first half, among others, Domingo delivered the selection from "Le Cid" and one from Francesco Cilea's "L'Arlesiana," with his trademark heft, power, and smoothly burnished tone.
and really, one can't argue too vociferously with
Domingo's unpersuasive yet still somehow endearing attempts at Broadway standards
And I can't be too critical of an article that publishes this picture
Meanwhile, the Gloucester Daily Times reports A Rockport man found himself in the middle of a "collision of two entourages" as he welcomed a member of international opera royalty, and some real royalty, to the Boston area.
David Gibbons, general manager of the Taj Boston international hotel near the Boston Public Garden, was there Friday when renowned tenor Placido Domingo bumped into a member of real Spanish royalty in the lobby: Her Royal Highness, the Infanta Cristina Federica de Borbon y Grecia.
The Spanish maestro was on his way to a press conference when the elevator door opened up to the lobby and he found himself face-to-face with Princess Cristina.
"It's peculiar, I was just in Madrid yesterday where I saw the king and queen, and today I see their daughter," he said to an international press corps
Janice Mancini Del Sesto, general director of Boston Lyric Opera, said Domingo is as beloved and admired by all those who work in the industry as he is by his fans around the world.
If the press provides any indication of that admiration, at the end of the event, many members of the media rushed to the podium for his autograph.
"He is legendary for his missionary zeal, not only contributing to the art form as a performer and a singer, but also as conductor and an impresario who has responsibility for two large and important opera houses in this country. And the work he has done with young singers through his Operalia contest you have seen on our stage because there are many singers who made debuts with us that were winners and finalists in that competition," she said.
Sharon Daniels, director of the Boston University Opera Institute, said Domingo has had a phenomenal career because he is a great performing artist, who is as convincing on stage as an actor as he is as a singer.
"Placido Domingo is beloved by a new generation because he is a true supporter for their cause," said Daniels. "He supports the creation of new works, new artists, and new audiences. This is a tremendous gift for an artist to give back to the world. He just keeps on giving."
All-round good guy!
BBC NEWS | Magazine | How do record holders prove their age?
Well, bugger me backwards with a traffic cone, Buster isn't 101. And remember, you read it here, first,. Nor is he 94. Funnily enough, all those 17 kids he's supposed to have fathered have suddenly disappeared. Mind you, so has the criminal record.
All this news coverage rather devalues the bottle of beer that Jimmy has been hoarding for the past seven months. I told him he ought to drink it; not that he's going to, just in case.
Update - must be read in conjunction with OAP's £60k Porsche crash escape
It's now a while since I went to see this. I did a brief review after my first attendance, and intended to do more, which was rather stymied by Gerald Finley being not too well on the second night that I went.
In any case I wanted to say more than just an appraisal of the singers. However, I do think that Gerald was masterful. Vocally, on the first occasion only; dramatically on both occasions. He is a stupendous acting singer, and having now seen him in two different productions he is, for me, the definitive Eugene Onegin. Not that I'm knocking Dmitri Hvorostovsky, far from it, but I do find that Dmitri in character is less compelling than Dmitri in concert.
I actually think that Eugene Onegin is a work of something approaching genius. The more I get to know it, the more I think that it would be an ideal introduction to opera for just about anybody. It has some amazing tunes in it, although conversely, there is nothing that I take away as an earworm, and, apart from Kuda, kuda, there is no tune that I conjure up at will.
The more I see it, the more the story affects me. A reflex action would be express frustration at the futility of the duel. Have a disagreement with your best mate, and the only way to resolve it is pistols at dawn. I am afraid it strikes at immature macho posturing.
Some people say that the opera should be called Tatiana. I am not convinced*, but I can see the thrust of the argument. In Act I, Tatiana is a dreamy, bookish teenager, easily enraptured by a romantic hero who rides into town in a pair of white breeches. By the end, she is expressing her happiness at being married to Prince Gremin, who is considerably older and not especially dashing or glamorous. I happen to find that very romantic and simultaneously realistic. It's okay to have your dreams and romantic notions when you are young, but as you mature you throw off such superficial notions. Indeed, that it was both Mother and Nurse tried to impress upon Tatiana in the early act.
I think that Gremin's aria is one of the most romantic in all of opera (special praise to Hans Peter Konig in this production). It is enduringly simple, and reflects that, although he maybe called 'Prince', he is an uncomplicated and sincere man, and I believe that Tatiana's marriage with him is enduringly happy because of this. Perhaps I am betraying my essential bourgeois nature, perhaps I ought to be making more of a case for dashing, Romantic, fucked-up up Onegin.
If the opera is about how Tatiana grows up and changes, it is even more about how Onegin fails to do. Above all, it's about him as an outsider. It is easy to be attracted to such an exotic figure if they are fictional, but throughout, he displays his own emotional autism. Some people think that at the end, he finally grows up when he realises that Tatiana won't have him, but I don't think he does. Intellectually, he realises that he was a fool to have turned her down way back then, but I don't think he fully grasps why Tatiana makes a positive choice to be with Gremin.
I think the music is unbelievably gorgeous. I find it difficult to identify my favourite piece, but I think the set pieces for the chorus are rather special. It would be wrong to ignore Tatiana's Letter Scene, a tour de force for the soprano in question. I love Lensky's aria and Gremin's aria, too. Which leaves us with Onegin himself. Bizarrely, I can't name an outstanding piece of music from him, but he is so dominant throughout it takes a special singer to do it justice.
Regarding the production, I have mixed feelings about it. I reject some of the criticism as ill-founded. For example, some people object that the dance for Tatiana's nameday is held in cramped provincial surroundings, well, it should be. I like the skating party for the Act III Polonnaise. Again, people have criticised it for its lack of authenticity. I can't say I am bothered by a slavish adherence to setting. It doesn't change the linear narrative and it looks good. I don't know for a fact whether the aristocracy of St Petersburg would actually have organised such a party at such a time, but I am prepared to accept is a possibility.
What I was more aware of in seeing it his year than two years ago was a fundamental contradiction. The programme notes discussed the essential intimacy of the work, saying that Tchaikovsky wanted to break away from the then current fashion of grandly staged spectaculars, and create what was essentially a domestic drama between ordinary characters. If it wasn't for that programme note, I probbaly wouldn't have spotted the essential absence of intimacy. Even when the famous Covent Garden box was utilised - for Tatiana's bedroom and for Gremlin's library - it ultimately became necessary to break out of the box in order fully to play the drama.
My abiding memory, at least of excursion 1, will be Gerald Finley's total portrayal of the character. I can't adequately describe the overall effect. It's not just that I love his voice, it's not just that I recognise a fine musician who seems to have an instinctive understanding of how to portray the music. He was inside the character, portraying the change from a rather aloof yet impetuous young man to one more worldly and experienced and yet still not comfortable in human relations. I don't know what it is he does, I couldn't really single out any particular example of how he used this device or move din such a way in order to illustrate a point. I suppose that's what is called acting!
I am already looking forward to seeing him as Dr Atomic next Spring at ENO, and I will also got to Die Tote Stadt at ROH, although, at this stage, not knowing the opera, I can't really feel very enthusiastic, except for him. Hopefully, I will remedy that in the interim.
Here are my rather pathetic curtain call photos.
If you want a host of decent photos, look here
* obviously, in my world, it would be called Vladimir Lensky
A few weeks ago Jimmy and I were sitting in the pub messing around with my camera. The resulting photos really illustrate how very different we are...
Before I forget, I scanned the entire article from the BBC music mag and uploaded it to the internet. Feel free to download. The link is here. It's about 20 megabites, in a zip file.
After last Tuesday's performance of Tamerlano, naturally I went to the Stage Door at the Teatro Real. Not immediately. I had time to check the final scores on my phone (Roma 0 United 2), nip to my hotel room for a cardigan, knock back a large glass of wine in the bar opposite and still wait for Plácido outside the Stage Door!
Of course, I wasn't the only person there but I honestly thought that there would be more. Not that I'm complaining. I was getting just a little bit cold standing outside, waiting. We could see his car and driver were there. And then I knew we wouldn't have to wait long because I saw Marta, so I knew Plácido wouldn't be far behind. (Jimmy later said he was a bit surprised that Plácido was being so blatant leaving the opera house with a woman; I pointed out, 'that's his wife'. Incidentally, we saw Alvaro on Saturday).
Plácido came out of the stage door looking lovely, but in retrospect a little less flirtatious than usual...possibly because Marta was there! Jimmy instructed me that I had to request his autograph in order that Jimmy, my cameraman, could try and get a photo of the two of us together. But I didn't have a pen, because I'm not a habitual autograph seeker. Fortunately, one person did have a pen, so Plácido used that to sign the programmes of several of us. (Jimmy later said I should have brought along Katherine Jenkins' biography and get him to sign the photo in that. As if...).
One person presented him with a hand-held to sign; which he did, but he didn't look comfortable doing so. Maybe it's just the auditor in me but I actually think it's the height of bad manners to present a celebrity with a handheld to sign. I know that electronic signature gathering is commonplace now, but I do see a difference between handing it over to a delivery company for example (or in the USA, signing a credit card slip - they don't seem to use PINs for plastic cards) and handing it to a random stranger, who might use it for forgery. Not that I think Plácido's signature actually has much monetary value, on account of him being so approachable and so amenable to signing so many things.
Anyway, I approached him and as I handed him the programme, and he was signing it, I asked him whether he would be singing that role in London. He confirmed he would, 'but not until 2010'. He sounded almost apologetic. Perhaps because he won't be at Covent Garden next season, which is disappointing, but heck, I have the travel bug:-)
Obviously I didn't get much time with him, but it's always such a pleasure to meet him. I'd hate to be one of these people who go on at great length and in boring detail about...nothing...just to keep his attention, when he'd been in the House 7 and a half hours, and his wife was in the car, and he probably just wanted to get away and get something to eat. And, anyway, I consoled myself that it's not long til Barcelona, and Die Walküre (woot! yay!)
I have a strange relationship with Handel. There is nothing of his, that I have heard, that I don't like, except for Concerto Grosso Opus 6 No 6 which was a set work at O-Level and I hated with a vengeance, only to discover years later that there's nothing wrong with the actual concerto, just a really bad recording that was owned by the music department at school that could have put me off Handel for life. For years, I was convinced I didn't like Handel, apart from Messiah, of course, and the Water Music, and Music for the Royal Fireworks, and Zadok the Priest, and the Arrival of the Queen of Sheba, oh, and all those arias, like Ombra Mai Fu, Where'er You Walk, Waft Her Angels, and, oh dammit, those operas (and operas masquerading as oratorios). Not that I have heard very many of his operas, but what I have heard, I do like.
I received a pocket Kobbé for Christmas which not only mentions Handel but also gives a summary of Tamerlano,which is two steps better than my father's old 'Complete Kobbé' which doesn't even mention Handel. For a long time, most of Handel's operas were unperformed. There is conflicting narrative about when they started to be revived; some sources mention the 1920s, some the 1960s. A couple of years ago someone remarked that seven different Handel operas were performed in one season in London, which apparently has not happened anywhere in modern times.
I encounter people almost daily on the internet who contend or imply that Handel isn't really opera or 'doesn't matter', which alternatively saddens and maddens me. I can understand why people, steeped in classical grand opera, can have difficulty adjusting to the strict conventions of opera seria, with its structure of recitative/da capo aria, with characters exiting in turn, to be replaced by another with a different plot twist. There is also a challenge in staging a Handel opera successfully; the da capo aria does lend itself to park-and-bark (although I don't think that 'bark' is quite the right term). That having been said, they also lend themselves to imaginative stagings by gifted directors - the McVicar Glyndebourne Guilio Cesare is widely considered as a 'must have' DVD. I think one of my worst nightmares would be a Met-trash Handel staging.
The plot is one of those that seems convoluted when written down but makes more sense when played out number by number - libretto, score
The staging was very simple: a white set with little scenery. It curved round at the back, the back containing several doors. High up the wall was a sort of shelf, running round the back of the stage. Suspended from the ceiling was a large ball with a foot on top of it...oh, watch this video. Most of the time most of the characters were in white, or black, costumes, with just occasional use of colour to provide a contrast.
I can't decide whether I really liked the production, or not. I thought the sets and the colour scheme worked well. Throughout much of the first act, we watched a procession of small blue elephants process round the shelf at the top; towards the end of the first act, Irene arrived on-stage astride a life-size blue elephant which was wheeled onto stage (a rare example of when scenery is worth applauding).
During the second act, the suspended ball swung round to reveal itself to be a swing-seat. And in the third act the stage was dominated by a bench or pier at waist height (or a bit lower). At various times, the turbanned dancers appeared in stage, or on the shelf above the stage.
Other than the blue elephants, the most striking use of colour was when Tamerlano appeared in a bright fuschia pink outfit together with pink stiletto ankle boots. I particularly remember this because at one stage, Bajazet was lying down and Tamerlano put his/her stilettoed foot on his back, and it stuck me as being a bit, well, you know...
I can't really make my mind up about the general direction of the opera. It seemed that some participants were more able to act than others. Of course, it goes without saying that the former category included Plácido, and also Ingela Bohlin, who played Asteria, whereas both Sara Mingardo and Monica Bacelli (Tamerlano and Asteria) seemed pretty clueless in the acting department. I have to say also, that both are of similar build, were mostly wearing similar turbans and despite one being a contralto and one a mezzo, they sounded way too similar.
Indeed, I was generally disappointed in both trouser roles. I had been pleased when I booked that the parts were not being taken by counter tenors. I have stated many times that I find counter-tenors beautiful for about three minutes then I get bored by their lack of variety in tone and volume. I also argue that Handel wrote these parts for castrati who, despite being obviously lacking in certain departments, had the torsos of adult men and thus were able to use full lung power, stomach muscles etc to create volume and colour, which counter-terrors, for all their beauty, cannot because they sing entirely in falsetto. So I was disappointed to be confronted by a mezzo and a contralto lacking any variety in volume, tone or colour. And the fact that neither could act didn't help. Although, I did notice that both showed - as far as I could tell - perfect breath control and perfect phrasing, especially of the fioritura.
I liked the soprano a lot, although she did suffer in comparison to the recording I have from France with Carolyn Sampson in that role. Ingela Bohlin has a gorgeous basic sound but I did notice that when she was upstage her voice did not really project very well. Considering that I was on the second row of the 'patio', just behind the orchestra, I did find this a bit worrying. It was also noticeable with the mezzo and contralto, and I did wonder if it was a design fault with the set. And Plácido suffered a bit, too. I tend to be quite purist with set designs. Looking good is only the third consideration, after 'ensuring all action is visible to all non-restricted view seats' and most importantly, not harming and, preferably, helping the acoustics. The other two characters were reasonably well sung without setting me alight (Jennifer Holloway and Luigi De Donato).
And as for Plácido. Well, what can I say! Obviously he has the status that he can do any role he wants to, in any opera house he wishes. He doesn't have anything to prove, and if he wished, he could retire secure in the knowledge that he has a solid unassailable reputation. Alternatively, he could spend years combining pop-style concerts with an occasional lazy reprisal of a signature role. Instead, he has decided to explore new territory - the Gluck in the autumn, and now this, in Madrid, and then in Washington, Vienna and London; he has also mentioned Monteverdi's L'Orfeo and Ritorno di Ulisee in Patria. I have read hints and suggestions on the internet that he shouldn't, or, at least, why? I guess some people see it as some sort of vanity project, and even seem to be implying that he wouldn't bring it off. He has given interviews where he has mentioned how difficult it has been to learn the role, but anyone who has ever read My Operatic Roles will know that every role is difficult!
So I actually went in with an open mind prepared to be critical if required. And I shall be critical. I thought he took a while to warm up. In his first aria in Act I Scene 1, Forte e lieto a morte andrei, I thought 'I've heard him sing better'. Even in, say, the Act II Scene 7 aria A' suoi piedi padre esangue, I didn't think he was perfect. I was deeply impressed by his vocal and dramatic performance, he sounded really gorgeous. I love it when he opens his shoulders, puts back his head and seemingly totally relaxed, this beautiful sound pours out. I was delighted by the trills, by the intelligent variation in volume and colour. He was so impressive on stage, raging around, his eyes flashing with passion, so physical. Even so, in one phrase I did a notice bit of hoarseness and slight breathlessness. Not significant, but I did get the feeling that this was a work in progress. This aria had me transfixed, just gazing at him, later realising that my mouth was hanging open...it was a bonus that I was sitting so close to the stage.
If he was good in the first act, and very good in the second act, he was superb in the third act. A great tenderness with Asteria (although I later remarked that the way they were embracing wasn't noticeably father-daughter, not that I'm complaining, and I don't think she was, either). I did think the death scene a bit reminiscent of Otello, so I was amused to read in one of the articles I linked to yesterday that that was deliberate! Every bit as searing and heart-rending as Otello.
I wasn't sure about the costumes. Plácido's especially.Most of the photos show the elegant tailed jacket, the brocade waistcoat, the open neck shirt and the ponytail, all of which were fine. I was not sure about the Moorish sandals, even if they did allow a glimpse of bare foot. And as for the trousers - harem pants is I think the technical term - they just weren't flattering. At one stage, he was sitting on the stage directly opposite me and I ought to have had a perfect view of his gorgeous thighs, but all I could think was, why waste such lovely thighs in baggy trousers...sigh
I am so looking forward to getting the DVD when it is released. Even if I hadn't seen it in the theatre, I would want it anyway, but, obviously, there's an added interest when they're actually filming it in one's presence (I'm waiting for the New York Romeo et Juliette to appear on the internet). It seemed on the Wednesday that the TV van and cables weren't moving, so I don't know if they were filming Friday's performance, too. It will be interesting to see whether a couple of bits that weren't supposed to happen will stay in. One was when Asteria produced a dagger concealed in her clothes, Tamerlano grabbed it and threw it at the swing-seat and it bounced, being a stage dagger mad eof rubber with no sharp points. Also, in his death scene, when Plácido was raging along the bench-pier thing, about to throw himself to the ground, again, (only to have to get up again, because no one dies on stage in Handel..I think, I might be making that bit up!), his hair slipped out of his ponytail and he was frantically brushing it off his face, whilst simultaneously singing and raging.
And the music. I was well impressed by the orchestra. I assume that they are not in the habit of playing in the baroque style, and I like to think I have heard a lot of period ensembles live and on record, and there wasn't once when I thought,ooh no. I had a good view of the wind, especially the wind quartet in Vivo in te, mio caro bene. Later, we were chatting someone (actually in the shuttle bus to the airport, as one does) who hadn't seen a Handel opera staged before, and was wondering what was the string instrument, like a large lute, that played the continuo. I guessed it was a theorbo, and I was a bit disappointed that I didn't see it, because I do like theorbos, even though I don't recall them getting a mention in my sister's Observer's Book of Music, from which I originally learnt the instruments of the orchestra.
Although I sometimes joke that Handel was a hack composer and that all his works sound the same, once you've heard one you've heard them all, I think they all benefit from repeat listening, such gorgeous tunes, and despite the small, limited orchestra, lots of variety in the sound-world. For the time being I shall satisfy myself with the recording off the radio, until the DVD comes out. And I am already looking forward to the performances in London in two years time.
And in the meantime, there will be other Handel operas in London: Acis and Galatea and Partenope next season at Royal Opera House and English National Opera respectively. Flavio next week at the Barbican, and next season, Samson, La Resurrezione, Arianna in Creta, Jephtha, and Joyce DiDonato in "'Furore' Scenes of madness from Handel" (not ot mention Thomas Quasthoff in Haydn's Creation...). Damn, I've just spent £350, but buying in bulk has saved me £33.50...Oh, and there's also the London Handel Festival and Lufthansa Baroque
At the curtain calls, people were throwing flowers onto the stage, so he did what he always does, spend a lot of time gathering them up and distributing them to the other cast members, including the dancers, the orchestra, the conductor, anyone, really. He's very sweet the way he does that; of course it just encourages people to throw flowers, and the more they do, the more it encourages him! And I think he spotted my camera because he was definitely flirting, with the camera, that is, not me...
On Saturday we had met Plácido outside the Stage Door at the Teatro Real as he arrived for that evening's performance. It was almost a chance encounter, although I would be lying if I didn't say - I wonder if anyone will be waiting outside the Stage Door; if there is, I'll be there, too. As we returned to our hotel we saw a group of people gathered, including some familiar faces. He arrived earlier than I expected. On Tuesday I resolved to be there again, and in good time.
It is handy being in a hotel so close to the theatre. We had decided to get ready for the evening, go out to the stage Door, and then find somewhere to eat. I was ready and Jimmy was not (which is unusual, but reflected more on his slowness than my eagerness. Honest.) He told me to get lost, that he would follow me down when he was ready. So I left the hotel and crossed over to near the Stage Door, arriving at exactly the same moment that Plácido did. I had my camera slung over my shoulder, not even switched on! Plácido was in conversation with a Spanish couple, then he turned to me and took my hand. I can't actually remember if either of us said anything; if so, it was hello or somesuch. I do recall gazing into his eyes and trembling!
He then walked towards the actual stage door and suddenly he was mobbed by an entire coach party, so I just stood back and watched, amused, as he charmed them, talking to them and posing for photos and so on, completely unfazed at being mobbed.
It was patchy. Handel was excellent, the orchestra and the conductor (Paul McCreesh) were very good, the supporting cast were...really not more than adequate. And Plácido was fantastic. Really, when he wasn't on stage, it dragged - except for the non-Plácido highlight, when Asteria and Andronico had a third act love duet accompanied by wind quartet (two flutes and two recorders). But when Plácido was on stage he was utterly fantastic. One particular aria in Act II he sang directly to me!
The performance was being filmed for DVD release, so when we arrived we were told that we couldn't have the seats we had bought on the end of the first row - a camera was there instead. So we were given seats on the second row. They were more central so it was a bit of swings and roundabouts, but I was a bit annoyed that we weren't told until we arrived. It was a bit embarrassing, considering my (non-existent) Spanish so I couldn't really understand what was happening. Just an email to explain would have been nice.
Faye will be delighted that even in a production with no furniture, Plácido managed to abuse a microphone stand as he descended into the orchestra pit (a lot of the stage exits were via the orchestra pit). I lost count of the number of times he was on the floor: he started on the floor with the weight of the world on his back. He fell to the ground three times during his mad death scene. And at various times he was on one knee or the other, or both. If anyone asks me if there's anything Plácido Domingo can't do, I'll have to say 'be a human statue' because during an aria from Asteria, he was supposed to be sitting absolutely still (back to the audience, displaying his conductor's shoulders), but every now and then he moved.
It did sound strange hearing him sing Handel, and I am not sure that the obsessive purist Handelians would approve, but I definitely enjoyed him in this role. I have to say that it's the least favourite of the three roles I have heard him sing this season, but, nevertheless, I was delighted when he confirmed afterwards that he would be singing it in London "but not until 2010..." (he'll still be a young man then). Believe me, I will be there!
I fly home tomorrow and will be at work on Thursday, so I'm not sure when I will write more, and publish curtain-call/stage door photos, but here's one for now...
| Mon | Tue | Wed | Thu | Fri | Sat | Sun |
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| 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 |
| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 |
| 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 |
| 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 |
will know that every role is difficult!
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