Gertsamtkunstwerk

Dr Atomic is Da Bomb

I have just got back from this at ENO.

As a side note, it was a good thing I checked my ticket, because I thought it would start at 7 or 7.30; turns it started at 6pm. I was lucky that public transport was all in my favour because I arrived with just ten minutes to spare before it started.

I really really enjoyed it (well, except for the chorus of coughing and talking in the Upper Circle). The absolute highlight was Gerald Finley! No surprise there! And the highlight of his completely excellent performance was Batter My Heart.

If I thought this was good in mp3, and very good on YouTube and excellent in the cinema, I simply do not have the superlatives to describe how it sounded live.

It is a piece of sheer genius, one of those 'time stands still' arias. I find the words quite difficult to understand (I mean the way John Donne wrote them; Gerald's diction is excellent), but I am beginning to understand them.

The music is mesmerising, screechy strings and the syncopated drums, bringing Act I to a glorious climax. And Gerald's voice is gorgeous. Obviously. Gerald's voice is always gorgeous, it has this beautiful lyric quality combined with dramatic expression, and an impressive range of notes. On top of all that he is an amazing actor. Most of the time that he was on stage I kept my binoculars focused on him; especially during this aria, when he embodied the torment of a man struggling with his conscience.

I would be lying if I said the rest of the opera is as good as this aria. It isn't. I still don't think it's a great opera, although it's important and worthwhile. (And I'm not sure how I would feel about anyone else as Robert Oppenheimer). I think it's a bit long. I decided that I would cut out the scenes involving Kitty. I know it's an attempt to portray Oppenheimer as more than just a Scientist, but, actually, I think the work would benefit from a tighter focus just on the project - we know they're all human beings, we can assume that everyone working on it had some sort of private life.

I'm not sure it was the way the role was written, or the singer, but it was the worst part of the opera. I don't think that Sasha Cooke was particularly bad - I have heard her before, in the minor role of Second Priestess in Iphigenie en Tauride - but I don't like her voice and I think her portrayal suffered from an inability to project beyond the stage. The only trouble is, I think if the Kitty bits were cut they would also have to cut the bits with the maid, Pasqualita, which are important because they highlight the Native American connection with nature - and I do very much liek the rich deep contralto tones of Meredith Arwady.

The rest of the cast was strong, definitely one of the very best that ENO has turned out, in my albeit limited experience. And the orchestra was fabulous. I overheard someone saying "That must be the most difficult opera ever written for an orchestra". Of course, that comment immediately provokes me into a desire to counter it, but the way she subsequently talked made me think that she - unlike me - actually knew what she was talking about.

I loved the orchestral writing and I loved the orchestral playing. My favourite bits of the score were those that were most noticeably serialist. Of course, I particularly noticed the percussion; also some nice piccolo work and some muted trombones.

I can't stand it when people make out that opera is just about singing. Obviously, in a way, it's the singing, and the orchestra, that distinguishes it from straight drama. And it's the staging, costumes, scenery, lighting etc that distinguishes it from oratorio, and together with the orchestra, is what distinguishes it from Leider. And this is definitely an orchestra-driven opera.

I was asked yesterday to explain the synopsis, a question which defeated me - it's about people discussing the build up to the testing of the Atomic bomb in Los Alamos. There is no story as such. The libretto is growing on me. Like most people, I was inclined to regard it as the weakest point in the work. Put together from letters and diaries, and excerpts form the Bhagavad Gita and sonnets of John Donne, it's a gallimaufry of words rather than a structured drama.

I am not really sure what to think of the production. I have just remembered that I have been meaning to get the Amsterdam DVD; everyone who has seen both productions prefers the San Francisco/Amsterdam/Chicago version to the New York/London one. I don't find anything to criticise about the production, although I don't have the Amsterdam one to compare with it. But I don't think it's anything special. It has some interesting scenery and some clever effects, but it has to score a major minus point for the fact that I could see an on-stage light being manoeuvred by a stage hand whilst the stage was rotating.

I'm going again in a couple of weeks, and have a seat on Row A of the Stalls, so I shall write more about the production, and, of course, about the incomparable Gerald Finley. I

Blogrolling returns

On Monday, reportedly. Which is good news. They have announced that, unless I pay them some money, you will be faced with an advert every time you click on my blogroll, which seems fair enough. I expect I shall stump up.

I don't mind paying small fees for services, and I don't really see how, in a global economic downturn, advertising revenue will be sufficient to keep the internet going.

But I do feel a little uneasy about giving money to someone who explains the introduction of advertising with the phrase

This is the vision that you see instantiated in these screen shots.

I am currently writing a manual on how to write reports - which believe me is the most fun one can have whilst actually getting paid real cash money. I cannot begin to comprehend how anyone could possibly have come up with that phrase, let alone thought it would be a good idea to use it.

How about...You can see what I mean in these screenshots. That would work for me.

Tamerlano is now on DVD...

Handel: Tamerlano [DVD] [2008]

   and reviewed in The Times

Approaching the twilight of his career with just a whisper of concession to age Plácido Domingo marks his 126th career role with a surprising foray into the Baroque. But what a role. Bajazet ...is one of the first great tenor roles, in an opera containing some of Handel’s most exquisite, poignant music.

It requires serious vocal agility, and few singers would entertain it in their late sixties, let alone one whose repertoire is more usually the great lyric/dramatic roles, but then Domingo.. is not just any old tenor.

At 68, the great singer/actor’s voice still juts above the crowd — burnished, velvety and hugely expressive, if less so than in previous years. His heroic, flawed Bajazet dominates, although his Baroque style is idiosyncratic to say the least, and his first aria, Forte e lieto, somewhat wayward. If his technique doesn’t always match the cast’s Baroque specialists, his dramatic weight is ideal for Handel’s wonderfully dramatic, unusually dark masterpiece.

Having seen it live and at the cinema, this DVD is a must have for me, and I am already getting Ticket Acquisition Stress Syndrome - and hoping, probably unrealistically, that the Royal Opera House might have an online booking system that's fit for purpose in 2010. 

The expected delivery date is 3 - 4 March which seems a long time to wait for a DVD that's out on the 2nd. I shall of course go immediately to the end and see if I can spot myself in the crowd!

Slaughter in Gaza, at the Barbican,

Or, Handel's Samson at the Barbican on 12 February.

I have to say I am a bit annoyed at the scheduling of this. It started at 6.30 pm and they ran Acts II and III together, as well as having several cuts - mainly the failure to Da Capo several Da Capo arias - and then finished at 9.30.

I expect this is so that people can get their trains back to the provinces, but let's be honest, how many people working 9-5 in the provinces can actually get there comfortably for a 6.30? I know in reality most people don't work 9-5 but if you're making assumptions... And they didn't even announce what time it would finish, so you're left guessing how to manage food and drink from lunchtime onwards.It really does put a downer on what should be an enjoyable evening when you're hungry and thirsty.

As a subsidiary moan, the TfL Journey Planner refuses to acknowledge that the best way to get from Parliament Square to Barbican is via Victoria and Kings Cross. They suggested all sorts of stupid routes (bus to Great Portland Street...as if!) that would take an hour.

So, what did I think?

It was okay, but not great. It is a lovely piece of work, and a great story. I don't know if the powers that be at the Barbican had any regret about scheduling this, a decision they probably made two years ago, considering it's about an Israelite suicide bomber who slaughters many Philistines in Gaza, to the general rejoicing of the Israelite nation. Well, I say bomber, I mean temple-destroyer. All pretty much the same.

I say it's a lovely piece of work. I hadn't actually heard it in its entirety through before this performance, but knew that it contained two good arias (as featured on Mark Padmore's album) and a good aria/chorus, as featured on Kiri Te Kanawa's album. Indeed, my good friend Gail Forcewinds remarked that he was only there for Let the Bright Seraphim. It's rather a long time to wait for that! The great thing about these evenings at the Barbican is how sociable they are. I think in total I spoke with a dozen people, all of whom I have met directly or indirectly via the internet. Who says 'social networking' doesn't encourage face-to-face interaction! I mean, if it wasn't for the internet, I'd be going along to these Barbican things and being in lonely solitude. Actually, I probably wouldn't be going.

On paper it was a splendid line-up: Harry Christophers and the Sixteen, with a starry set of soloists: Gillian Keith, Catherine Wyn-Rogers, Mark Padmore, Roderick Williams and Jonathan Lemalu. In reality it was somewhat mixed. I wasn't at all impressed by Catherine Wyn-Rogers, who as I said soon after the event, managed to conjure up images of Beecham and the Huddersfield Choral Society circa 1950 performing Messiah with enormous orchestra syrupy strings and a chorus of thousands. Not that I have anything against the Huddersfield Choral Society but Handel performances have moved on considerably in the past quarter of a century.

I suspect that Iestyn Davies will be several degrees of magnitude better in the upcoming Proms performance (well, I say Proms, it's in an undisclosed London venue in August or September). I felt that she had no insight into the character she was performing and the events she was supposedly commenting on. To her it was just a display of vocal virtuosity, but without the virtuosity, the sort of singing that gives Handel an undeserved bad name.

I was not impressed by Gillian Keith who I thought was more interesting to look at than to hear. Definitely a babe, although not the sort to awake my dormant bi tendencies. To be honest I was more interested in trying to work out the support arrangements for the dress she wore as Dalila than hearing her sing (she wore a different dress when she appeared as Philistine Woman). And she was really disappointing in Let the bright seraphim.

So that's the women dismissed. What about the men?

Roderick Williams was the stand out. I do think that he's a very under rated baritone, although I do realise that I will be seeing him in L'Amour de loin in the summer.  As well as vocal security and a lyrical line, he also managed to convey a real sense of mature dignity. His singing of  How willing my paternal love was my highlight of the night.

Mark Padmore was generally very good, but to some extent I was comparing him to how he sounds on his sublime album, especially in Total eclipse and Your charms to ruin led the way, and he didn't match up. I do like Mark as a singer, but despite his excellent musicality and his fine voice and reasonable stage presence, I do think he lacks a certain je ne sais quoi. And I have heard him in better voice than I did tonight.

I was surprised by how little I disliked Jonathan Lemalu; again I knew his big number because I have Bryn singing it on CD, and, actually, JL didn't suffer too much by comparison.

My lowlight of the night was, perhaps inevitably, the flubbing by period horns. It almost goes with the territory, but at what point they all seemed to be playing different duff notes, and I am sure that Harry Christophers went red with embarrassment, unless it was just the exertion of being an amazing dancing conductor. I did manage to excise it from my mind, until I was reminded of it on a newsgroup the next day.

Overall, it was enjoyable evening. Not a perfect performance, but one with much going for it. My enjoyment was marred by the small-mindedness of whoever imposed a time limit on the performance and made it an unrelaxed evening. I want Wagnerian breaks in Handel operas, I mean seriously, I doubt any opera house, or concert hall of renown would run Acts II and III of, say, Tristan und Isolde together and cut out lareg chunks of the music, just so that people could get a 10 pm train. Handel deserves as much respect as Wagner. I want a 5 pm start and a supper break (although, obviously the Barbican isn't the best place to do supper). Okay. 5 pm starts aren't ideal, but then, nor is 6.30pm, let's rush it, let's cut the ornamentations. Dare we hope it will be given more respect at the Proms?

Hilary Finch picks up the Gaza reference and says the evening 'sped by'. She, like Gail Forcewinds and I, and Mrs Senztalento on a previous occasion, specially counted that the choir had 18 members. And reminds me also of how wonderful was the Dead March.

Robert Hugill comments on the ridiculous timings and the cuts, and also mentions the choir of eighteen, and also provides some excellent background information.

I forgot to blog

Simple as that.

No excuses like I am physically or mentally unwell. I did think of the 'slight crick in my neck' but that isn't exactly impeding my PC usage in general.

I did think of the 'writer's block' excuse, but I have been writing elsewhere.

I could say I am busy, and I am, but I'm not horrendously busy. I've been a lot busier and still managed to blog. I'm in a new temporary position at work, but although that is taking all my attention whileI am there, it's not encroaching into my own time.

I did think of announcing a hiatus, but not before I have written reviews of Samson, Die Tote Stadt and Der Fliegender Holländer, which have been seen, and Dr Atomic which I am to see tomorrow (and again on 16 March).

I also have loads of links I want to post. Perhaps that is the reason. I am just going to have to accept that Magnolia isn't going to work any time soon and I don't like delicious, so I am going to have to revert to adding links manually. Which is going to make a mess of people's feed-readers.

So, there's no particular reason for not blogging, indeed there have been several times when I have had draft posts in my head. I have also not been reading other people's blogs, but maybe on 1 March I'll clear down the bloglines, accepting that there are over 2,000 blogposts I shall never even skim let alone read.

And this is the traditional - write a load rubbish and publish - post to break the writer's block before getting stuck into

Stuff I do, like languages and that

There's this woman I know. I shall call her A. She is a very nice person, who has never done me any harm. She used to work for Jimmy, and she is a complete basket-case.

In a nutshell she is an alcoholic and crack-addict who is a long term relationship with some bloke who is seriously bad news. The sort of bloke who has spent more time in prison than out. The sort of bloke who beeps the horn of the car he's stealing to draw one's attention to himself as a threat not to grass him up. She comes to our door, or detains Jimmy in a pub, full of her problems, never a concern about my or his problem. She served time for smuggling crack into Brixton Police Station when Jimmy's son was detained there - because Brixton Police station are well naive about smuggled drugs... As if. When she was inside we basically paid her rent on the promise of being paid back, which of course, never happened. His brother-in-law in Australia is praying for her and has tried counselling her problems. Mind you, he's praying for me, too, 'cos I'm such a heathen.

We bumped into her this evening. She's trying to get clean and kick the drugs. Suddenly we're best mates, exchanging phone numbers. We're going to go swimming and cycling together; she's from Paris so we're only going to talk French together. It might be a good thing for both of us, maybe, possibly, although Jimmy says don't tell her our business, or else the boyfriend will know when we're away.

You know, if I was sober, I probably wouldn't have done the whole phone numbers thing. There again, because of my upbringing. I'm pretty shit at the whole 'friendship' thing, so maybe it will  do me good. Maybe I will get to speak French proper, rather than just having a crappy O-Level Grade A in it "J'habite au coin de la rue et pres de l'arrete d'autobus. Je suis sur le point de se mettre en route pour aller a Altrincham" Oh,  I'm fucking good at French which I learnt by rote.

Unlike Italian O-Level, where we had to prepare three subjects. I chose la politica, la musica e il calcio. And the bastard examiner selected that I talked about La politica. "Sono un membro del Partito Socialista." I said.

And the examiner, bastard Clive G. Oh yes, I can remember his name to this day, asked why, as a socialist, I was a pupil at a grammar school. I couldn't have coherently answered in English, let alone Italian. WTF is wrong with Manchester United or Verdi? Or even Andreotti or Craxi, not Trafford MBC in Italian?  I got a 'C', which is not bad considering the context, but I am ashamed of my 'C' (Fail Grade) at Italian. B at Latin;  now that's the business. Marcus in horto est. Bellum bellum bellum belli bello bello belli belli belllos bellorum bellis bellis. Okay, I cheated, I cross-checked on the internet. Who would have bloody thought the internet would have removed the need to learn Latin Declensions by rote? What is the kudos* in knowing amo amas amat etc.or even more important, amo, amare, amavi, amatum when Google gives it to you, anyway?

Still, Latin was cool. We read Ovid. Ovid rocks. Ovid is the greatest writer ever. Especially if you're aged 15 or 16 and have been set excerpts from Ars Amatoria as a set text. Great because the thicko religious nutter parents didn't have a clue what is was about; those that did know, chuckled, assured that their daughters wouldn't be corrupted (note to Dr Caroline N: Hanging Dewlaps isn't obscene, it just always reminds me of you giggling; a woman with a wonderful filthy and chaste attitude to men and sex, hopefully an example she sets to her teenage patients today ).

Latin and Music, they were the subjects to study for utter depravity at a rather refeened Convent Grammar in mid-Eighties. Imagine if you will, being made aware of poems two thousand years old titles, in translation: Elegy IV: Ovid, His Mistress And Her Husband Are All Bidden To The Same Supper. He Gives His Mistress A Code By Which They Can Testify Their Love For Each Other, Beneath Her Husband's Very Eyes. When you are a pupil at a very refeened suburban provincial Convent Grammar School for Girls.

Bless 'em - people (specifically ex-Loreto Girls) might slag Loreto off but despite the repressive and ridiculous rules, the prissiness of certain teachers, and the unbreakable obsession with exams, in general it was a hoot, as they demonstrated their disdain for social niceties and their desire to corrupt and educate in equal measure.

I laughed out loud the other day reading a former schoolmate on the Underground. I believe that only a Loreto girl could publish, in the New Statesman, apropos of Schumann:

Personally I would quite dig the scenario, exasperatedly sending a text through to the living room - some fkng Brhms insted PLS DRLNG : ( - before rustling my copy of Grazia and wondering how long a girl must reasonably wait before putting the noodles on.

* Greek, natch

People

Or a case of escalating of "What the..." syndrome.

Wednesday evening, bus stop Brixton. Brixton is a very busy bus interchange, where a couple dozen  routes meet the end of the Victoria Line. Just after 6 pm. Busy.

A mother and child (4 or 5 years old) alight from a bus. Something minor happens, a bit of crowding or pushing, and the child bursts into tears and wailing. I guess she's overwhelmed by the throng of bodies, all much taller than she is, in the dark.

Mum continues chatting into her phone. Child carries on wailing. Mum continues chatting. As she does so, she scoops her hand under the child's chin to push her mouth shut. Not violent, not brutal, not tender. Not one word is said to the child, not one second of eye-contact is established. The phone conversation continues.

Thursday morning, waiting to cross Parliament Street by the Underground, on the corner of Parliament Square. I hear a siren and see an emergency ambulance on a blue speeding round Parliament Square. The pedestrian crossing shows a red person of indeterminate gender. I wait. Two men, not with each other, look to their left to see if there is any traffic turning from the Square into the street. As the only vehicle turning is the Emergency Ambulance on a blue, they judge is safe to cross and proceed to do so.

Thursday evening Westminster Underground. I am at the ticket barrier about to touch my Oyster Card and awaiting my turn to pass through.  In front of me, a man walks through the ticket barrier holding his daughter's hand (she's about 5).

The ticket barrier closes, hitting the child in the face. Her father carries on walking, then realises that she is holding back and resisting his attempts to walk on. He glances back and looks surprised at the child, now wailing with pain and shock.

He looks at me. I stand there, rooted to the spot, my jaw scraping the floor, trembling slightly with shock at what happened in slow motion before my eyes. He sees my face and looks away embarrassed. He looks at Mum who is struggling to manoeuvre buggy and baby through the gate, and struggles even more as she has to choose between her anger at her husband and her need to console her daughter.

Somehow the child struggles free and who is reunited with her father who stands there doing nothing. I go through the ticket barrier, the child's wailing gets louder, father stands there. I descend to the District Line. Above the hubbub of a busy Underground station at 6pm the child's wailing is audible, until the train arrives to drown it out.

He gave less care to his small child going through the ticket barrier than most people do to their suitcase or shopping.

Interview with Plácido

Plácido Domingo returns to Philadelphia after 25 years

Interview/feature in both written and aural forms.

Concert tonight, Monday

And the New York Social Diary announces: Metropolitan Opera Guild Luncheon Honoring Plácido Domingo.

¡Espléndido Plácido!

April 23rd, Waldorf-Astoria

Tickets 250 USD to 7,500 USD

More 'Adriana Lecouvreur' links

Shrinking Violet

I must confess now that I attended this performance partly out of morbid curiosity: to hear Placido Domingo attempt Maurizio -- his debut role at the Met in 1968. Amazingly, he can still do it. Domingo has become a walking object lesson in style, musicality and vocal technique and proves that age does not necessarily wither. The squillo -- that wounded animal sound -- still squeezes out of the upper register, the phrasing is indeed more natural than in his salad days, and he's gained the aura of a compelling stage-presence. That was not always at his command.

Metropolitan Opera

A protean singer by any standard, Domingo still has the sizzle and swagger to portray Maurizio, the aristocratic playboy

Recession special: three giants on stage for $15

In his slow decline, Placido Domingo can still convene a worldclass performance... His tours above the staff are understandably calculated, with some top notes on the verge of faltering, but with Domingo there is never fear of total meltdown. Thus, no matter how arduous it seems for him to scale the heights these days, the audience never feels uncomfortable or burdened. A true wonder that it's his 40th year at the Met. In the style department, he remains unmatched, bailing out this artless opera with rare elegance.

Plácido Domingo vuelve a ser el 'rey de Nueva York'

Como coinciden en afirmar todos los cronistas, resulta memorable y épico que un hombre de 68 años sea capaz de hacer suyo el papel con absoluta frescura, derrochando lirismo, emoción y cálculo.

Adriana Lecouvreur

The man is as dauntless as he is sentimental. At an age - 68 - when most divos retire to rocking chairs and puffy memoirs, he carries on stubbornly. On the side, he runs opera companies at both ends of the country. And here he was on Friday, competing with memories of his younger self as the would-be dashing Maurizio. Unfortunately, the younger self won.

Make no mistake. Domingo continues to sing remarkably well. His tone remains mostly strong and mostly steady, his vigour reasonable, his spirit more than willing. Still, the top range, never his greatest strength, has declined to the point where sweeping, disorienting transpositions (semitone, even whole tone) are de rigueur. And, for all his enlightened posturing, his imitation of impetuous youth demands a generous, forgiving eye.

Placido Domingo reunites with the Met and 'Adriana Lecouvreur'

...Forty years later (well, 40 years, 5 months and 6 days... but who’s counting?)

(Can I just interrupt this review to say I can think of someone who will have been counting...)

Applause greeted him, before he even sang a note.  His first aria, “La dolcissima effigie,” was delivered with clarity and vigor, despite some tightness in his voice and was received by more enthusiastic applause.

forty candles

Placido Domingo’s voice remains a steady and well produced instrument with a slight decline in volume and breadth of line and a somewhat more pronounced vibrato. What was once a silver sheen to the voice has bronzed, but by Act 4 when he allowed himself to sing out fully the sound made any of the current crop of rising tenors pale in comparison. Every note he sang was carefully measured and calibrated for maximum impact and it was a strong vocal showing, even in transposed keys.

Controversial to some, his transposition of large sections of music did not bother me. I did find it a bit cruel to make Maria Guleghina sing in an uncomfortably low register in their Act 1 scena, but my opinion is it’s better to have Domingo as Maurizio in a lower key than not to have him at all. The two of them make a very sexy couple and their was a serious passion between them. 

The role doesn’t require much acting from Domingo, and so he did not act much. At least he knows how to carry a performance based on charisma and commitment. He was definitely dignified and involved if a bit surface and stiff (perhaps criticism that could be said of many of his roles). He also received a full standing ovation (at least on Orchestra level) at his final solo curtain call.

And Siggy emailed me on Saturday to say:

Our espanish gentleman was fabulous last evening, BTW, he finally got the voice to open up (the cold is over now) and filled the Met with his glorious sound.

Statutory noise nuisance in my bedroom!

Let's be honest, most of us have had a nuisance in our bedroom from time-to-time, but rarely we do get the opportunity for the powers-that-be - in this case, Lambeth Noise Squad, actually rule that it's a statutory nuisance. The excitement of it!

The noise squad arrived at 3.30, and sod's law declared that this was a time of pause in the loud electronic thud thud music being 'sung' along to in the room next to my dining/computer room (which is underneath the main bedroom). They listened in, and then they asked to go to the bedroom, where the noise from the back garden mingled with the noise from downstairs to be a Statutory Noise Nuisance!

The process is that they serve the abatement notice on them. That can have the effect of quietening things down...the 'music' has stopped (3.55 am) but there are still drugged-up morons shouting and generally having hysterics, although there have been clear signs of significant departures. The Noise Squad warned me that they have no control over what happens after they serve the abatement notice. I guess some people have to sense to call it a day, whereas others think it's the sign of a great party, think it's a laugh and start again, as they next door seem to be doing at 4.10 am.

They then follow up with a letter and I also get a letter. For a first offence they get away with a warning. Repeat offenders can get prosecuted - criminal record, fine, nice stuff like that. And if it persists into the night, I can call up the noise team, who close at 5 am, and log the fact that it has continued.

In theory, the noisy bitches won't know who has complained, but I would imagine it doesn't take genius to work out that it's most likely to be semi-detached neighbour. I did think - I wonder if some drunk or high attender will put a brick through my window.

I started this post at 3.55. I am finishing it at 5.25. The stereo is on relatively low but still very audible next door, and they are shouting, screaming, grunting, breaking out into occasional choruses of out-of-tune singing.

I hope they rot in hell. And they will hope the same as blessed relief after I have finished with them.

Neighbours, everybody needs good neighbours...

The single worst thing about living where I live is the 'buy to let' phenomenon. Because nobody can actually afford to buy round here, or at least, it's been out of most people's price bracket for a decade, what we get are 'house shares' on short term assured tenancies.

I think they are the single most damaging thing to a neighbourhood. If you have a - surprisingly - settled community with a mixture of owner-occupiers and long term leaseholders, you tend to get a bit of give-and-take. People restrain their natural arsehole tendencies on the basis that what goes round comes around, and you don't know when you will need a favour from a neighbour, or at least expect that they act with respect to you. People want to contribute to a community. But short-term leaseholders simply have no sense of community and no understanding of the complex lives of peole who aren't like them.

When the licensing laws changed to allow pubs open at all hours, it was accompanied by guidance that those in residential areas should respect the residents and close at 11pm. But of course there is nothing that prevents loud parties on residential premises. Civilised people recognise that if you live in a semi-detached house with other houses very close, it probably isn't a neighbourly thing to have a party going on at half two in the morning that involves loud thud thud music inside, people screaming and shouting inside and people shouting and singing off key in the back garden. It is actually the height of bad manners to have a loud party at any time and not forewarn your neighbours.

It is also the height of stupidity, especially if your semi-detached neighbour knows the number of the Lambeth noise squad (although has very little hope of 'an officer will contact you within the hour') but is also a vengeful cow who is currently mulling over ways - legally - of making their future lives unbearable.

You see, one of the things about neighbours, they inevitably come asking for favours. Sometimes it's just small things, such as parcels being taken in, or the lending of tools. Sometimes it's bigger things - I've cat-sat/garden-watered; I've allowed the girlfriend of a previous resident, locked out of the house in the rain, to sit in my place with cup of tea while awaiting the boyfriend to return. The thing is, with any of these favours, you tend to do them because it's instinct to do so and churlish not to.

But there comes a point where you just think - why should I do any favours for those wretches. In fact, considering their attitude why shouldn't I just make their lives miserable in numerous small ways. Things like - if their post gets delivered here (and it will, relief postmen seem to think it's legitimate to deliver the post to all four houses here) I will have a choice of dropping it round next door or popping it a post box marked 'not known here, return to sender'. And of course, refusing to accept deliveries on their behalf or direct people to their house. Perhaps knocking on their door and instructing them to tidy and weed their front garden might be an idea.

The difficulty is making it known to them that they have utterly queered their pitch and shot themselves in the foot without actually saying so, and also not to create a situation where they can seek to get revenge for revenge.  I shall have to ponder this one.

The trouble is, people who think it is somehow acceptable to have very loud parties in a residential area (not a council estate, not a holiday camp, not a student hall of residence) probably also think it is acceptable to behave in a generally anti-social and selfish way in other respects, too.

2.42 am: Lambeth noise have called me, but they have two visits to make first. Somehow, I don't see myself going to bed before 4 am. These selfish bitches will pay. And when they are least expecting it. not today not tomorrow but one day and for the rest of their hopefully short stay here.
Id it me, or is there something slightly immature about living in a houseshare with two other friends at the age of 30. I know economics and all that, but you do wonder about emotional insecurity and retardation. I mean, who would seriously want to share a bathroom and a kitchen with two other non-related non-lover women beyond the age of student squalor? Weird.

Opera in cinemas next season

The Metropolitan Opera 2009-10 Season. The Met: Live in HD series will present nine live transmissions in its fourth season. Tickets for the 2009-10 series will go on sale in September; Met members will have ticket priority before tickets are made available to the general public.

The schedule is as follows:

Tosca, October 10 – Levine; Mattila, M. Álvarez, Uusitalo, Plishka

Aida, October 24 – Gatti; Urmana, Zajick, Botha, Guelfi, Scandiuzzi, Kocán

Turandot, November 7 – Nelsons; Guleghina, Poplavskaya, Giordani, Ramey

Les Contes d’Hoffmann, December 19 – Levine; Kim, Netrebko, Gubanova, Garanča, Villazón, Pape

Der Rosenkavalier, January 9 – Levine; Fleming, Graham, Schäfer, Cutler, Allen, Sigmundsson

Carmen, January 16 – Nézet-Séguin; Frittoli, Gheorghiu, Alagna, Kwiecien

Simon Boccanegra, February 6 – Levine; Pieczonka, Giordani, Domingo, Morris

Hamlet, March 27 – Langrée; Dessay, Larmore, Spence, Keenlyside, Morris

Armida, May 1 – Frizza; Fleming, Brownlee, Ford, Zapata, Banks, van Rensburg

Put me down as definite for Cavaradossi, and Hoffmann, a definite maybe for Carmen (if it were Kaufmann rather than Alagna I' d be a definite for Don José.

And even though I am barely 41, that looks like my 42nd birthday sorted with that opera where the baritone is the star, Simon Boccanegra.

Oh, and if you follow the link there's other stuff going on, too, some of which will be broadcast. The Boheme cast looks good. Shame about the opera.

Interview with Plácido

On Saturday, during the interval in Lucia di Lammermoor, Plácido was interviewed by the broadcast host Margaret Juntwait.

In case you missed it - or didn't record it - here it is.

You can either download it from Rapidshare or from my Yahoo Group (which I had completely forgotten about...!) - membership applications here (I wouldn't turn members down capriciously).

He sounds totally adorable...as ever!

If you have any problems with the download let me know, but bear in mind I can't do anything when I'm asleep or at work.

Adriana Lecouvreur

Music Review - 'Adriana Lecouvreur' - At the Metropolitan Opera, a Catnip Role for a Soprano as a Tragic Actress - NYTimes.com.

I say 'review' but I don't think that the writer actually had to be there to write this article. Really, just one sentence about Plácido's performance

He missed the dress rehearsal because of a cold and took time to clear his throat and warm up during the performance on Friday. But soon he was singing with vigor, stylistic insight and ringing top notes. Some of the music was transposed down to suit Mr. Domingo’s current comfort zone.

Adriana and reality TV

Gosh, I'm missing magnolia for quick-and-easy linking. I suppose I shall just create individual blog entries for links, like I used to in the old days.

So, apologies to people on FeedReaders who may see an exponential rise in the number of posts from me.

A profile of Svetlana Dvoretskaia, who "is president of Show One Productions, responsible for bringing such productions as AGA-BOOM! and Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo to Toronto." Most of which is actually just a shopping list of designer labels (zzzzzzzzzzzzz) but contains four intriguing sentences

She is just back from New York where she was taking a meeting with Placido Domingo...What is she doing with Domingo?

"It's not just a concert production, it is involved with reality TV. I do music; that is my involvement in the project."

No doubt we will find out more in due course.

Meanwhile, Katrina brings us a review of Adriana Lecouvrer - Opera...and an odyssey She went to see it because her friend was in the ballet. Her previous experience was La Gioconda!

Adriana was silly enough to be entertaining. Stuff happened (albeit silly, implausible stuff), and kept happening, and there were nasty catfights between two strong women. This one was lots more fun!

And Placido Domingo?

Even to someone like me who admits to knowing next to nothing about music, his voice was...heavenly. Truly. So crystal and clear and haunting. There was just something about it that raised the hair on my arms, gave me goosebumps, and made me want to weep. I'm serious! I didn't want to breathe when he was singing.

I don't know how to write about music. I can't even to begin to describe how beautiful, how reverent it felt to be in that presence, to hear that voice live.

What a stage presence, too. Anna said he was very nice, that he's a bit of a flirt, and that he told the dancers they were "delicious girls."

Plácido a bit of a flirt? I don't think there's any 'bit of' about it!

Update: Just in, from the Associated Press

Placido Domingo tries to turn back clock at Met

The fact that Domingo is still performing at all after 40 seasons (50,  actually) amazing. If it can't be said that his attempt to turn back the clock was an unqualified success, at least it was an honorable effort with considerable rewards...

...Domingo still moves and acts with enviable grace for a performer old enough to be his character's grandfather. But it does stretch credulity to picture him as a romantic idol for whom two glamorous women are willing to battle to the death. (oh yeah?  This reviewer really doesn't know women!)...

...What made it all worthwhile were those moments, especially in the final act, when that familiar Domingo sound rang out in the cavernous Met auditorium. At its best, it's still a thrilling voice — ardent and muscular, supported by a rock-solid technique that has kept him going all these years while so many promising younger tenors have come and gone from the scene.

Adriana Lecouvrer on t'internet

I listened last night on the webstream from the New York Metropolitan Opera's website.

Disclaimer:

• I don't know the opera at all. This wasn't my first time hearing it, but I can't say I know it.
• My PC/speaker set-up is not exactly cutting-edge hi-fi.
• The webstream was not good quality - a lot of wobble, flutter and sticking. And it switched off after an hour of playing (causing me to miss most of a big tenor aria in Act II).
• I don't find audio-only to be a satisfactory way of experiencing an unfamiliar opera. The 'Domingo Experience' is at its best when seen as well as heard. 
• It was 1 am to 4.30 am my time, and I didn't have an opera nap (although I had had a lie-in).
• I don't like the way the Met broadcasts sound - something to do with microphone placement, I think. At least with this one it wasn't made any more amateurish by the prompter's voice sounding louder than the entire chorus

It hasn't been a good week (or so ) for tenors in New York. There has been a great deal of discussion about Rolando Villazón's performances in Lucia di Lammermoor - a lot of dramatic overreaction from people who thrive on sensation and negativity, mixed with some genuine concern as a supremely talented singer did not fulfil his potential.

(If he has a cold, I think the whole discussion is pointless; we've all heard superb singers crash-and-burn when suffering from colds and coughs. It doesn't mean the end of their career. If the cold is a face-saving PR exercise to cover up the fact that he might be turning into José Carreras or Roberto Alagna, even though I would prefer not, there are worse things that could happen to a singer. If he singing the wrong rep or too often I am sure he has enough sense to think about those things)

Giuseppe Filianotti disappointed in Rigoletto. I didn't hear it, or even a clip, so I can't comment. Piotr Beczala is now being talked about as the Greatest Lyric Tenor in the World. I don't wish to be negative about Piotr, who is an excellent singer, but I have heard him as Faust and twice as Lenski, and if he really is the second coming of the Messiah, he must have undergone a miraculous transfiguration in a year since I saw him twice as a pleasing but forgettable Lenski. 'Fine and worthy' I said at the time. And reportedly he cracked in Kuda kuda on Thursday but is singing Edgardo today.

Then the fourth tenor mimed through the dress rehearsal (with the cover singing from the wings) because of a cough. So there was some inevitable internet speculation.

I know that arguments rage about transpositions. Some of the arguments are valid, some are not. They don't bother me, and I'm not just saying that.

I do think there is a lot of hypocrisy spouted in some quarters from people who think the ultimate heresy is lowering the music to make the higher notes more comfortable/attainable but insist that the key be changed to enable a circus-trick unwritten high C - to be held so long as to break up the rhythm of the music and interrupt the drama.

I can see why people dislike changes to the relations between keys and I think it is problematic if the composer chose a specific key specifically to convey a specific mood. On the other hand, it is well documented that composers would change keys and other aspects to accommodate the strengths and weaknesses of the singer on the day.

Pragmatically, would you prefer to hear a great singer singing beautifully a transposed work or a hack singer hitting a few high notes and otherwise turning in a journeyman performance?

I was listening and suddenly there was an outbreak of applause for no apparent reason, going quite against the music. Within a nano-second I heard Plácido's burnished tones and I just collapsed laughing! And then in the interval the radio host referred to the applause as the star arrives on Stage as if it were a good thing. Oh dear.

I enjoyed what I heard, from Plácido anyway. I don't regret not going to New York. Of four operas I have heard this week (On DVD, live and audio recording of a live performance) it is the least by a considerable distance. Perhaps I would enjoy it more if I could see it. Definitely I would enjoy seeing Plácido. Shame it's not being shown in cinemas, but surely they can put the cameras in anyway and show it on TV or just DVD-release it? Show some initiative, please, Metropolitan Opera. 

So far I haven't seen any mainstream media reviews. There were  live comments being left at La Cieca's place on non-obvious threads - another thrilling twist starting at #16 (#57 carries a brief reference to the 'after' party) and say it loud and there's music playing. You could start at #69 or scroll to 105.

My friend Richard, who has been serving the blogosphere well this week, provides his review under the title of Adriana - The Goldberg Variations

I was at the Adriana tonight, and ended up thinking it was the best tenor singing I've heard at the MET all year, and not caring about the transpositions at all...

...The last act, he just sounded to me like the old (as in, 'former')  Placido, with really beautiful and secure tone, and if it was lowered a step, I didn't think it damaged the impact. The size of the voice remains pretty ideal for the MET, which is one reason, I think, he is so popular here...

...So, Domingo is  not my favorite, to say the least, but who would have thought he'd get to this point at the extreme high level he has, and having given so many performances with so much pleasure for so many? I wish more of 'my' tenors could accomplish half as much. Perhaps he should stop now  - he's so far ahead, time will soon brush him a little too stongly with its wings - but this was a real night of deserved pride, and I was glad to be there.

I did try to find a picture additional to the one that I published the other day, but couldn't  so this will have to do...

Oh, and on a somewhat unrelated note

Serving Two Cities, Staying True to Each

- a feature on Plácido as General Director of Washington and Los Angeles Operas and Nigel Redden, the director of the Lincoln Center Festival and general director of the Spoleto Festival USA

In Los Angeles, being close to Hollywood, I can take more risks...In Washington people come and go with the party in power. Supreme Court justices come to the opera. Ambassadors and senators come. Over all it’s a more conservative public, and I have to be careful what I present. But in the capital of the United States, I think it’s a must to have an American opera every season.

I am a woman in my Prime

(Cue Maggie Smith with Edinburgh accent)

Today, I am

41

At the Prime of life

I shall be 41 for another year; I shall be at the Prime of Life for much longer than that.

I lay in bed until midday. I shall soon be going out for early dinner. Later (tomorrow my time but still today New York time) I shall listen to Adriana Lecouvrer on the internet.

Despite promises from fickle meteorologists it hasn't snowed in these parts. It's just dull and drizzly.

I think I shall drink champagne

Amore infinito = Turkey?

As CD reviews go, this one doesn't pull its punches...

CD Review for Ottawa Citizen:Placido Domingo - Amore Infinito (Deutsche Grammophon):Rating: One-and-a-half stars out of five

Ouch!

Placido Domingo is one of the greatest tenors of our time and a fine musician in every respect, though sometimes his taste is subject to question......Some of the tunes... are, despite their banality, vaguely suited to the texts. The majority are mawkish at best.

And then there are the arrangements - gimmicky, overblown and downright awful. Not wanting, perhaps, to take sole responsibility for this mess, Domingo enlisted the collaboration of Andrea Bocelli, Placido Jr., a couple of crossover artists and the London Symphony Orchestra.

You might want to pick up this CD if you can't find the late pope's poetry elsewhere. Otherwise, it can only be recommended to the esthetically and spiritually challenged.

With a blasting like that, I wonder what earned it as much as one-and-a-half stars. Presumably his voice!

If I was a different sort of fan - a different sort of person - or I was writing on one of those wretched record-label controlled fan-sites where free speech is not permitted, I probably wouldn't even link to this review. Or I would launch an ad hominem attack on the reviewer. But, at the risk of judging a CD by its cover, somehow this review sums up perfectly how I imagined the CD would be when I first read of it. The only thing that would tempt me to buy it would be obsessive completism, but there are still dozens of Plácido CDs I would get before this...turkey. I even have a link somewhere for an illegal download, but even if I downloaded it,  I doubt I'd play it more than once, if that.

He can be so annoying - such a superb incomparable musician (as well as singer) but, as the reviewer says, those lapses of taste...

Domingo ready to reprise Met role from his youth

Brief report from Tuesday's Dress Rehearsal of Adriana Lecouvrer.  He didn't sing; he had a cough. But on Thursday, he was 'feeling good'

Die Tote Stadt, in brief

I went to see this this evening and it was brilliant.

I suppose I chose to book this because Gerald Finley is in the cast - am I the only tenor nut who chooses to go to a tenor's opera for the baritone?

I don't know a note from the opera and am not familiar with Korngold. I did think that maybe I would swot up on it before going, but I'm rubbish at doing my homework, so I didn't.

I wasn't particularly looking forward to it in the end, thinking that maybe I would have to endure a long evening of unfamiliar music. Indeed, as I walked from The Strand to the Piazza, I actually did think that I might just turn in my ticket at the Box Office.

But you know, it was really really amazing. I just loved it. It was a fabulous production - Willy Decker is a genius. The cast was superb. Gerald was his usual adorable excellent self, although in a small-ish part - one of those small parts that requires a superb singer. I liked Torsten Kerl a lot. He has a beautiful voice, a real steely sound to it, and although there is a lot of wobble, I actually don't mind. I know a lot of people don't like Nadja Michael, but having seen her in Salome last year and now in this, I really like her, a lot. Not just vocally, either. I love the way she moves around stage; indeed I can't think of anyone who moves better (I understand that she 'trained as a dancer' whatever that means).

And the music is just sumptuously gorgeous. I have seen it described as Strauss-Lite, but I don't think there is anything 'Lite' about it. Some really extraordinary orchestration - there was a bit after the interval where the strings gave way to the flutes and then Nadja (as Marietta) took up the line.

A couple of overheard conversations - one was 'I know you took a dislike to Pelleas because of the way the voices float over the music, but this doesn't do that, does it' and another 'some hints of Wagner coming through'. Although I did hear one party as I was leaving agreeing on 'Never Again'. Their loss.

I am so glad I am going back again.

Best. Valentine. Ever.

 

On sale in Tesco.

Didn't anybody proof-read before production? Has nobody along the entire supply chain noticed?

O Sohne mio!

An interview with Plácido and Pláci jr (in German)

I don't know when that photo was taken, but the beard has gone :-(

Plácido was on TV in Austria at the weekend, without the beard. There are clips available on the internet but for complicated reasons I can't provide a link. I am hoping they will turn up on YouTube soon.

There was a a photo somewhere on the internet, but I can't find it now

This weekend, live from New York

I think I have missed a trick this weekend. This birthday weekend of mine.

If I had put my brains on I would have been flying out to New York New York to catch, first Adriana Lecouvrer on Friday night (with Plácido) and then Lucia di Lammermoor on Saturday afternoon (with Rolando)

Mind you, could you imagine the angst and hand-wringing on this blog as I checked for minute-by-minute updates to the weather forecast for Heathrow and the wails as I feared another snowstorm might leave me grounded, miserably spending my birthday in Terminal 3.

No, far better that I will be tuning into the internet at 1 am London time on Saturday morning to listen to an opera I don't even like live from the internet - that's Adriana Lecouvrer, yes, that's right, live on t'internet. He's going to transpose, so what. Live with it, get over it, whatevs.

And Saturday evening, I shall be at the Brixton Ritzy to see Lucia di  Lammermoor, live in HD. In Brixton I said (they still have tickets left, unlike Clapham).  I have everything crossed in a fervent hope it all goes well for Rolando.

Snowday Day II

Today was a normal day. End.

My journeys to and from work were actually easier than they normally are, no doubt because of schools being closed and the knock on effect of that. I wore my walking boots. I had wondered whether this would be absolutely necessary, whether I would look a prat, indeed whether it would be a bit embarrassing walking round snow-less Central London with robust shoes (and an impressive tread).

They were needed! Just about every pavement I walked along was mainly compact ice. Most people seemed to very sensibly shod. A lot of walking boots, and other sensible shoes. What amazed me, though, was how many people were wearing stupid shoes. I don't mean in the office, where it is likely (highly likely)  that people will have changed, but out on the streets. I cannot understand what must be going through the head of someone who sees the weather conditions, knows how it was yesterday, and still makes the decision to wear three inch stilettos, canvas sandals, or wedged-heeled open-toe backless sandals. How insecure must someone be to put fashion before the safe negotiation of pack-ice pavements?

My hairdresser phoned me at about two minutes past nine full of apologies for yesterday (I told him not to apologise). I have an alternative appointment tomorrow evening, and, without prompting, he told me to remind him to give me the 30% Monday discount. Good customer service!

I went swimming this evening. I am really in two minds about my progress. I did twelve lengths, and I really had to push myself to finish the twelfth. Six months ago, I would have been very surprised and inspired at the thought of doing twelve lengths. But that really isn't particularly impressive in absolute terms. Twenty would be good, sixty even better. I don't know what normal reasonably fit people do. Still, on balance I enjoyed my twelve lengths, then I had a long soak in the shower, and then I felt a very warm feeling of satisfaction as I travelled home.

It's always fascinating to watch people's behaviour. Generally the pool is divided into three strict lanes and one area twice the width of a lane. In the general area, there are no specific rules, it is anarchy. Except that, the overwhelming vast majority of adults invent and obey an unspoken set of rules. These will be about courtesy and consideration, not starting a length in the direct trajectory of someone else, giving way to let a faster person set off first, giving priority to back-strokers as steam gives way to sail.

But then you get one bloke who I can only describe as passive-aggressive, without the passive. Ploughing up and down, overtaking people far too close, displacing a lot of water.

I wonder what is going through the minds of men like that. Are they trying to show that they're Master of the Universe? If they're so successful and powerful, what the heck are they doing at a crappy Local Authority Pool? Do they piss up trees as well? 

There was another one like that a couple of weeks ago. He barge dinto me twice. Once is accidental, twice is too much. I told him to stop being so aggressive "The fast lane's over there, this is for weak swimmers." As he slunk away cowed, I added "And cut your toenails..." Perhpas I am a bit of a bitch, but I do get sick of these sexist ageist aggressive twenty-somethings with zero emotional intelligence. They are so full of themselves and their physical superiority, but they soon prove that they can dish it out but they can't take it. And I'm not just being a bitch, I am also a crusader. Intimidating grunts like that are a reason why inexperienced or unconfident people avoid sports venues.

It's like on buses. I am now on a one woman campaign to stop people standing on the stairs. Sometimes, it deters people from going upstairs, thinking there are no seats, and eventually people are left standing needlessly at bus stops. Some of them are up to no good - dippers perhaps. I see no reason why I, a lady of un age certain*, should have to push past their smelly unwashed bodies. Sometimes I resort to enquiring sweetly (and loudly) whether they are pickpockets or pervy gropers, at which point they have to move, to get off the bus in shame. Mostly it doesn't come to that!

* ie old enough to be their mother and not a lot younger than their Gran

 

What I did at lunchtime!

Snow triumphs over capitalism

Whenever something like a Big Snow Crisis day happens,there's always something in the media about how it has cost The Economy £3.5 billion.

I think it's a load of bollocks.

So many people have commented on how nice yesterday was, chatting with people in their neighbourhood and enjoying an unexpected holiday. Surely these things are to be savoured. They improve mental health and they increase happiness. These things don't have to be justified in monetary terms. They are good for their own sake.

I wonder what is going on in those organisations which contribute to that £3.5 billion cost of yesterday. I accept that there are certain businesses such as farming or the theatres that went dark that will not fully recover the lost produce or income. But I don't see where the problem is elsewhere. For example, some offices may have had to pay out to put staff up in hotels or travel by taxi. But that's firm loss is the hotel and taxi firm's gain. Probably fewer people went shopping  (or maybe not, perhaps some people who would have been working found a displacement activity), but most people have finite disposable income anyway, so will just buy that dress or that sofa next week instead. I accept that for some small businesses, the loss of a day's trade is what will send them under, but let's be brutal,  they were going under, anyway.

Most of us who have to work to deadline usually end up meeting it one way or the other. For example, I am currently arranging a replacement mortgage. This involves the old lender (Alastair Darling t/a Northern Rock) and the new lender, the mortgage broker, the conveyancing solicitors, and me, and as it will also pay off my personal loan (Alastair Darling t/a RBS NatWest). Ultimately, the mortgage will go ahead, or if it doesn't it won't be because of any snow delays, so it makes no difference to The Economy.

But even without doing the sums, I still can't help thinking - so what? Life isn't all about profit-and-loss. We aren't just Economic Machines. I know I chose to play Drama Queen about my cancelled hair appointment, so you might wonder how I would react if I had an elective operation cancelled. Well, pretty upset, and pissed off. And I would have been pissed off if I had booked for Die Tote Stadt last night, because it was cancelled. (I'm going Thursday). But you know, we are also adults, and part of being an adult is to accept that sometimes things don't go the way one expects them to. Operations get cancelled for all sorts of reasons. Favourite singers drop out despite our best efforts to be there. Sometimes one just has to live with disappointment and relish the benefits. I mean, what has been nicer than seeing the smiling faces of children playing in the snow? The sense of fun, and for many of them awe at something they have never experienced before. I suppose I was like that at age 11 when we had Big Snow and the Winter of Discontent.

Most importantly, it's going to snow on my birthday*. Yippee!!!!

* it often does, actually, I'm convinced it's the snowiest day of the year, on average

The "Get in Shape" Project

NB: This is not a diet blog. If anyone comes and tells me how they lost this or that on the South Park or the G&T diet, I'll be like, whatever. Diets do not work. Count how many fat people have been on diets.

At the start of the month I weighed myself. This is purely for the sake of the blog. The scales tell me that I have lost 9 kilos in six months and still need to lose 11 kilos to reach the maximum acceptable weight for my height. This now means I weigh just about what I did when I moved into this house 13 years ago and was told by an endocrinologist to lose about 10 kilos.

I went swimming on Sunday. I am not really sure what to say. I felt good afterwards. I enjoyed the endorphins pumping through my body. I think I enjoyed being in the pool, especially when I felt I was pushing my legs to work. But I do feel a bit despairing at the futility of it all. Before Christmas I had firm muscles in my legs and biceps and even my stomach and now I don't.

I want to recapture the late-summer and autumn enthusiasm for exercise. I tell myself to chill, it's winter, it's understandable that I do not want to be out and about like I was six months ago. I did actually have a minor inner panic when I decided that that excuse had gone on too long, that winter is 'nearly over'. Then I thought, no it's not.

I am not sure whether it is sufficient to tell myself that things will be different as it gets warmer and lighter (especially in the evenings). Am I fooling myself? It's easy to say now, that when the clocks go forward and Spring is in the air, I will get the bike out. Having got so much enjoyment out of just two months cycling last year, how can I not want to do that again?

The scales measuring my weight is what keeps me going. I did blog  something about going back to my doctors' and 'proving' to them that I am lighter than when they last weighed me. I am not sure why I have that mentality. We are not in a confrontation.

As my doctors, they would be negligent if they didn't mention the topic. They have suggested a gradual approach, choosing an exercise I enjoy, doing a little regularly. 'Told you so' is not really the right response in this case.

But I haven't been back since. I never got round to getting a repeat prescription of Tramadol. And I haven't missed it.  I think also that is a positive that spurs me on.

I think that the CFS was like a bad dream. It's almost like, now, I am thinking it was all in my head, which is stupid, because, believe me, it wasn't. You don't wake up one morning and decide you're going to pretend to be ill for four years. You do wake up and realise that you simply cannot go on, cannot function, cannot do what is expected of a normal person. You certainly don't pretend that you want to go onto nil sick-pay, part-time working, final attendance warnings, career stagnation, loss of friendships.

Perhaps, like acute pain, the body has a way of removing chromic exhaustion and the associated pain from muscle memory. I don't suppose people would think I'm mad for having no muscle memory of dislocated shoulder or burns, so why should a chronic pain be any different?

I do still get tired, but I can see a reason for that - lack of sleep, doing a lot. And I can drive myself to do more, I don't just collapse into a wet nelly. It may well be that I am now perfectly back to normal, cured, but I'm scared to say that. And, quite possibly, for the rest of my life, I will be reluctant to push myself to acute exhaustion, fearing the return of chronic exhaustion.

The most frustrating thing is that, having lost nearly a stone and a half, I am not sure what I have to show for it. I do feel a slight difference in my waist bands, at least in the morning. I think I expand during the course of the day, more than I used to. I don't feel as though my clothes are falling or hanging off me. And, actually I am not sure how far I owuld have to go to go down a dress size or three. My trousers and skirts are dictated by my hips which have never been fat. My blouses and dresses are dictated by my boobs. I suspect I actually need to go up a cup size, and my back muscles have strengthened. So maybe I shall turn into a solid lump rather than a fatty lump. I see people, know people, with very slight frames and even with what I consider to be a healthy-enough layer of body fat, andI think - their frame plus fat takes up less space than my skeleton would.

Concerts in Taiwan and Baden-Baden

I've just noticed that Plácido has added a couple of concerts to his schedule. One in Taiwan with Veronica Villarroel and one in Baden-Baden.

Is Baden-Baden worth visiting as a tourist?

Atheist bus

Bus slogan generator

Snow photos

I have published a bundle, more than doubling the size of my 'Winter' Album. Obviously, this album would have been bigger if I had got out my camera when taking a horse-drawn carriage ride round a snow-covered Central Park, NY last winter. But I didn't.

Combatting Cabin Fever

Actually, there are few people in the world less likely to suffer cabin fever. It's not that I'm agoraphobic, just agora-can't-be-arsed. I am ever resourceful in amusing myself and savouring my own company. And it's not like I could ever be bored, with infinite riches of housework to occupy me.

But desperate times call for desperate measures. There is nothing wrong in being a drama queen from time to time. And when there are no buses running and my satellite dish refuses to receive a signal, and cycling seems a less then attractive prospect, I will be as dramatic as I wish!

So Cabin Fever needs to be averted. I have a collection of DVDs which have been somewhat neglected of late. Being that I am half-woman half-anorak, I have a system for playing them which seems to have stalled on 'Figaro'. So I went to the shelf and picked one randomly.

Oh my God! Turn off the lights, cancel the porn!

I have a habit (sometimes good sometimes bad) of multi-tasking. Hey, I'm a woman, I'm can! (insert big smiley)

So during the overture and opening chorus I was drafting an email and not actually looking at the TV. Then I heard this extraordinarily gorgeous voice singing Esultate! and desire shimmered through my body. I looked up and, if anything, my desire increased.

I finished off my email during the drinking and fighting chorus and again, was drawn by Abbasso le spade! Be still, my pounding heart! A prime example of why it's not advisable to meet one's hero! The reason I say this is because meeting Plácido face-to-face as a fan,  he is very sweet, kind, patient, humorous, courteous. Seeing him on this DVD, with his gorgeous eyes flashing with anger and authority and looking somewhat frightening, it can seem a bit strange. Not that I am unable to separate the off-stage persona from the character on stage.

This is, of course, followed by Già nella notte densa. 

Seeing and hearing him sing Già nella notte densa has a much more marked effect on me that any erotica or porn. It's like having the arousal with someting more added. I suppose like the difference between different sorts of sex.

This is, anyway, one of the most erotic duets in music, and of course, much of that can be attributed to Verdi, Boito and Shakespeare, but I have heard lesser tenors sing it with less thrill. It can be enjoyed on several levels: music and words, the foreshadowing of what is to come, the delicate but profound love between Otello and Desdemona, including the 'Ancora un baccio' and the leitmotif which both occur at the end of Act IV, and for me, the way that Plácido performs this. Live, it can take me right to the edge. I don't imagine I am alone in finding this fantasy-provoking. I don't fantasise that I'm Desdemona, nor do I fantasise that I'm Kiri Te Kanawa (or whoever is the supporting soprano). He has this wonderful way of acting these love duets which has me convinced. Tenderness, desire, and staying just this side of a line. I think if I were to list my favourite Domingo scenes, a disproportionate number of them would be duets, which may seem strange - some woman (or, indeed, later, in Sì, pel ciel marmoreo giuro, a man) sharing the limelight. But maybe it just demonstrates how well he reacts to the other person. There is one particular phrase, where she sings Tarda è la notte just before he sings Vien. . .Venere splende - the look on his face. OMG.

Sometimes I go through phases when I don't listen to a lot of music. Sometimes I go through phases when I don't listen to Plácido's voice every day. And it's been a while since I actually sat down to watch an entire opera DVD. So, sometimes I think 'Am I going off him?'. 'Going off' is a relative concept. Sometimes I go off football, or photography, or chocolate. Nevertheless, I occasionally question the ardency of my fervour, the totality of my obsession.

But it only takes one act of this DVD to remind me that I will never go off him. Just superb.

And there are three acts to go yet!