Gertsamtkunstwerk

Wuthering Heights the Ballet

I went to see a couple of months ago, and, obviously, my memory is sketchy on the details. Also, I can't find my programme so cannot recall who danced in it, nor who provided the music. There is a Guardian review, written presumably by someone who knows what they are talking about, which I don't.

It took place in the Linbury, the smaller theatre in the bowels of the Royal Opera House. The audience assembles beforehand in a small bar/waiting area. It is in some ways fascinating, and in other ways intimidating,  to observe a ballet audience, especially one for a modern ballet, which is quite quite different than for opera, or concerts, or theatre. Intimidating, because I have never been an aspiring ballerina, and lack the chronically unhealthy underweight stature, nor do I walk with my toes pointed and my leg muscles extended. And I don't wear polo neck jumpers nor signs saying "I coulda been a ballerina don'tcha know".

Any enjoyment of the evening was ruined by the music, or, rather, the absence of music. The musicians consisted of a man with a cello. I don't think the notes he played were difficult, could have probably been managed by a teenager with Grade 5, although I acknowledge that the skill and professionalism lay in the counting and working with the dancers. He was accompanied by another bloke on laptop; I did wonder whether he was just checking his Facebook stream, but there was an noxious electronic noise emanating from somewhere.

Back in the Eighties I was quite into electronic music, admittedly mainly as it appeared in the pop charts - although I did dabble into its impact on contemporary music. Then I got very bored by too much unmusical innovation combined with absence of musical inspiration, almost as if the whole purpose was 'woot! We have these modern technology things and we're going to use them!'.

This Wuthering Heights music reminded me of all that Eighties wanky self-indulgence, but I think I would have found it passé and outdated quarter of a century ago. It certainly failed to capture the mystical atmosphere of the book, certainly falling a lot short of Kate Bush's seminal work.

I went in with an entirely open mind to the staging, choreography and narrative. There was no scenery as such, although there was use of several chairs, and, IIRC, a bench, which were sometimes used as scenery and sometimes as props for dancing with.

The ballet consisted of a series of pas de deux between several different couples, interspersed by a few solo dances. I could not fault the dancers - okay, they weren't Carlos Acosta/Tamara Rojo. I  enjoyed the physicality of the dancers, but I just could not see what it had to do with Wuthering Heights the novel, which was a shame.

Admittedly, it did occur to me that it is several years since I have actually read the book, which is now on my metaphorical pile of 'books to (re)-read. There was one scene which had me convinced that there was a fight in a restaurant, but I don't recall Emily Brontë writing of that.

I was glad I went, and I did enjoy it, because of the dancing, but I was glad when it was over, because of the music. I have been to several modern ballets in my time, and I do enjoy them, probably more than traditional ballet, although I tend to prefer the music for trad works. At twelve pounds a ticket, it was worth the risk, and perhaps I shall venture again to other modern/contemporary ballets.

Shouldn't it be 'fewer' emissions?

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51 weeks in the pool

That's how long ago it is since I got this strange idea in my head of going to Clapham Pool and attempting - unsuccessfully - to swim a length.  A few weeks later, we acquired bikes.

My main motivation was an awareness that I wasn't fitting into my clothes, and my face was looking fat, plus some general low-level concerns about stamina etc, and the doctor being concerned about my weight.

Forget the doctor, I haven't been back since. That will teach them to weigh me, never see me again. Forget the weighing bit, what does that show!

I can't actually say that I have gone down a dress size: my sticky out bits are just as sticky out as ever. When that's my hips and my boobs, I really don't care. My waist has shrunk, and my stomach is defined. Well defined. Quite possibly the best -defined sticky out stomach. And, I have to say, it sticks out!

It's at least a couple of weeks since I last went swimming. During the autumn, I was going as often as three times a week. I did not expect to keep that up, and I'm not losing sleep about it. This evening, when I was on my seventh length, I suddenly felt really quite knackered. I wasn't sure what to think - six months ago, six lengths was a warm up, I just managed ten this evening.

I'm afraid I'm not one of these competitive macho achievers - life is way too short, and, let's be honest, what is more boring than someone going on about their athletic prowess. It is so obvious that I am in such a better condition than I was last year, and better than I could really dream about. It's good that I keep going back, even after a break. If in, say, thirty years time, I'm swimming on average twenty times a year, that's no bad thing, but obviously, I ought to be aiming for ten times a month now, plus cycling.

I don't think I weigh any less than I did a year ago, but I have lost flab and my muscles are significantly firmer. I do need to go to the doctor soon for a repeat prescription, and I suppose. I expect they will weigh me, and it will be tedious.

Little over a year ago I had my knee x-rayed. Nothing amiss was found. What I have found is that the more I swim or cycle, the less the knee hurts. Whereas, when I take a break, I start noticing it twinging.

Walking is still a total pain. I can walk quite far, but then I find later in the evening, and the next morning, my feet are really stiff and achey. Damn good thing I don't do any of that jogging rubbish.

Days out in London Town

About a month ago, I know, it seems a long time ago, the weather was unbelievably hot. We were pretty clear we didn't want to go out cycling. I thought up several great ideas of places we could go. Actually, in the end, we didn't really go anywhere, other than Marks and Sparks, to get supplies for al fresco dining. There's a whole hilarious story behind my attempt (unsuccessful) to take interesting photos of dinner.

The garden table stands on a slightly raised platform. Jimmy had already warned me not to move my chair backwards, because it was so close to the edge of the platform that I would be sure to topple off. He came out with some pasta and warned me to eat it quickly, before it got cold. At that point, the home phone rang. I ignored it, assuming that anyone ringing at that time would be a cold-caller. I poured the Prosecco and, despite the phone ringing a second time, I decided to take a final photo before eating. I moved back slightly, one chair leg fell off the raised platform, the chair fell backwards, taking me with it.

I tumbled to the ground, sending Jimmy into panic. Despite the phone ringing for a third time, all I could think of was my camera. Miraculously, neither I nor my camera were injured. I decided it was time to eat, refusing to be interrupted by the phone ringing for a fourth time. Once I had finished eating, Jimmy said that it seemed like somebody really wanted to speak to me.

I checked the phone, and discovered that as well as the expected sales call,my brother's number was displayed. So, I called back, it was actually my sister-in-law, who was phoning to say that my mother had been taken to hospital*, so surely thought I was barking mad as I rambled incoherently about multiple phonecalls and falling backwards off my chair (the shock just hit me!)**

Well, after all that, we were determined to go out rather than risk the dangers of staying at home. The following week we went to Regent's Park. Amusingly, that had been one of the suggestions for the stay-at-home day. Amusing, because having decided to stay in, I read Katherine Jenkins tweat from the boating lake at Regent's Park. I am sure we would have headed for the lake, too, knowing the weather. Imagine if I had come face to face, or oar-to-oar, with her on a stagnant municipal pond! Perhaps best all round that we did stay home that day!

But when we did go, we set out in sunshine. The sky looked a bit ominous when we went underground, but when we go to the park, we were convinced that any shower would be light and passing.

There were some advantages in being in a park in July rain

 

but the attractions soon wore off, and not just for us

 

All but one elderly woman, who had come prepared with waterprooofs and umbrella, sought shelter under the trees. She continued reading on her bench and looked at us over her spectacles with amused disdain.

The rain showed no signs of easing off, and, in any case, we were soaked, so we cut our losses and made for Chinatown.

Last week we went to Kew Gardens. That was a really nice day out. We couldn't go cycling, because Jimmy felt really rough having been seriously hungover on the Sunday. On reflection he feels sure he was slipped a Mickey Finn on Saturday night, because he was only drinking for two hours, and that was wine, although he had had a skinful on Friday but felt fine, and didn't feel better until midweek.

The weather wasn't hot, but it was warm and dry, with a pleasant breeze. It's not very far from home, but he had never previously been, and I haven't been in about fifteen years.

I won't waste words on trying to describe what was there. Apart form anything else, I took over two hundred photos, and although some are immediate rejects, and many are, ultimately, unexciting, I think that when I have finished editing them, there will be tens to publish.

I possibly could also rant about two families encountered, one at the Gardens and one on the trains, both of whom where the children were so out of control. Maybe another time - there's still another five weeks of the school holidays to go.

I liked the Water Lily House and the Palm house, and really enjoyed walking on the Treetop Walk, but I think my favourite bit was the Dear Dead Diana Conservatory, especially the cacti.

 

Mother came to visit for the weekend. We went out on Saturday. I expect I shall write a review of As You Like It, but I still have Wuthering Heights, Waiting for Godot and Fairy Queen outstanding! Beforehand we went for a river cruise. Only from Westminster to the Tower and back again, but even there, which I have done several times, I still managed to take over 50 photos. Sigh!

I have to confess we left As You Like It at the interval, having achieved the objective of being inside The Globe. We walked back to London Bridge along the river route. Jimmy wasn't with us, and I tried to convince him I had led my mother through the dark through the mean streets of mean Bankside, under the arches, past The Clink, and a pub called the Mudlark. Mother said 'rubbish, Bankside is the other direction, it was still light, there were lots of people outside Nandos and around the Golden Hinde, Southwark Cathedral looks very nice, and many people were walkign the same route to London Bridge'. I must explore that area in more detail in daylight.

We took her to Euston yesterday. Setting off in the rain, we took our swimming kits with us, but by the time I had put her on her train, the sun was out, so we headed to Regent's Park. We pedaloed for a while - no sign of Warbling Barbie this time. But, as well as being over-dressed and without sunhats and sunglasses, we were also without camera!

Hopefully this coming weekend we will be back on the bikes.

* nothing too serious, well, she thinks it is, unsurprisingly, but it's not any of those scary things that happen to the elderly

** whilst my mother was in hospital my nephew was recalled to A&E for a query on an x-ray he'd had after a standard teenage injury, then my sister-in-law managed to cut her hand in a glass as she prevented it falling on my niece's face and had to have an operation, and later that evening my other niece ended up in A&E.

Otello, Don José, Cyrano

L'Arena.it - Fotogallery - Domingo, serata di gala in Arena.

Pictures from last night's gala concert in Verona

The man in my box for the Creation

He arrived with a woman just before the conductor was coming to the podium, and announced to all and sundry they had been delayed for forty five minutes because of traffic and not being able to park  (no, I thought, due to inadequate planning).

I assumed the woman was a wife, girlfriend or friend, but they did not seem to acknowledge each other at all even during the pauses betweens parts or at the end. Maybe they had had a row about their inadequate planning which had meant they had arrived at the last minute and didn't have the time to buy a programme.

He rounded on me and asked me "Are you a friend of Clare and Isabel?" It sounded like accusatory; apologetically I said I didn't think I was. "We got these tickets from Clare and Isabel, they couldn't come..."

I was tempted to reply 'like I care?' but explained that I had booked a single ticket, it isn't necessary to book the whole box. He looked thrown: I suspect he had been imagining that he could swank it up in a box with swanky friends of Clare and Isabel, and didn't like having to share air space with some Untouchable who had had no trouble parking, nor any delays.

At the end, rather than turning to his wife/girlfriend/escort, he turned to me and asked "Did you enjoy the concert?"

To which I replied icily "I don't see why you are suddenly being so smarmy when you spent the entire concert fidgeting around"

"I get cramp in my knee!" he bleated.

I had all sorts of replies lined up eg

'why is that you tall people have to moan and whine on the few occasions that favour short people but have no sympathy for short people on the numerous other occasions'

or

'If you have a knee injury which makes it impossible to sit still for two minutes, you probably shouldn't have committed to sitting still for two hours"

Instead I just said I would have enjoyed it a lot more if he hadn't been such a distraction, and walked out.

It wasn't really that he was fidgety. I think I could have taken fidgety. The problem was that he was a jerk.

Every couple of minutes he would violently move forward in his chair, or move violently backward.

It was a subtle, gentle or gradual movement, but a really quite violent shove, and each time I experienced a slight startle, each time increasing my pulse rate/blood pressure; each time they returned to resting, he jerked again.

He spent probably about a third of the time sitting skewiff in his chair, encroaching on my personal space.

I don't have unreasonable expectations of my neighbours at concerts, but I do think there is a basic level of consideration we all owe to others in public spaces.

Contrast the group I shared my box with on Tuesday night. A  woman next to me, in front of me two men one she described as her nephew, the other was probably her brother (in-law?) or husband.

Before the performance began I managed to kick my water bottle so it rolled down the step to the front row. The nephew picked it up for me but glared at me, as I was apologising. Meekly I said "Hopefully, having done it now, I won't do it during the proceedings..." and placed it in a different place out of reach of being kicked. All three visibly de-tensed, optimistic that I knew The Rules.

I barely noticed them during the first half. From time to time, binoculars or water passed between the woman and one or other of the men, but it barely grazed my consciousness.

We were chatting in the interval, the woman said she might get cramp, so I wasn't to be alarmed if she suddenly stood up. She didn't, as it happened, but I smiled sweetly and murmured something about it being a long time sitting. I expect they coughed from time to time, I can't say I noticed.

The woman in the box to my left fanned herself with her programme, I noticed but only in passing.

When we go out in public, we have to expect to encounter other members of the public, who have as much right to do what they wish as I do - but no more. The vast majority of people in any public space have a grasp of The Rules, and an instinctive understanding what they do may impact on others, and act accordingly, with consideration.

What you do notice is people who really should 'get out more'. It seems that being in a public space is such a novelty they can't really negotiate it. Or else they assume the world revolves around them, that they have an unfettered right to be or do precisely what they wish. Sometimes I wonder if I am over-sensitive, but there is plenty of evidence that I am far alone. For example, this evening a woman was standing in the bus shelter. Another woman walked past her; although she had plenty of space to walk past without touching, nevertheless she used her handbag to shove the handbag of the first woman. Not quite 'violently' but not far off it. I saw Woman #1's face turn to fury and she marched after Woman #2 calling 'Excuse me! Excuse me!' I was sorry she didn't catch up, because I would have been cheering her on (maybe silently!)

On the bus going home was a party being very noisy. I didn't realise until they got off that the oldest was probably only mid-teens, from a distance he looked well into his twenties. They were just being annoyingly loud, no more, but no less.

The woman behind me was on the phone. She was talking quietly, perfectly civilised.  As far as I could gather she was making suggestions for someone who hadn't yet received the details for an interview on Friday. At one point, she said irritatedly "Yes. I'm on the bus." Pause. "Some arseholes shouting...I'll call you in a few minutes..."

Haydn's Creation

I must avoid the temptation to rave on too much about the actual work, which is one of my favourite works ever written, and focus on the actual performance I attended on Saturday night.

It had a lot of good things going for it, not least Paul McCreesh as conductor, and his Gabrieli Consort and Players. I think Paul McCreesh is a bit of an expert on Creation and has rewritten the libretto.

This performance was sung in English, in the McCreesh version, which improves the familiar text eg "The wonder of his works displays the firmament" becomes "The firmament displays the wonder of his work"

My personal preference is for hearing this in English; I think it is a moot point whether English or German is more historically accurate. Although, amusingly, perhaps, when I hear it in English my head sings along in German! Some bits, anyway!

Naturally, I prefer it when played on historical instruments. And I do like the five soloist approach - replacing the soprano and baritone for Part 3. I didn't know one of the soloists, but the other four were an additional factor in attracting this concert to me.

I didn't have the best of seats in the RAH. I have a fondness for the 2nd Tier boxes. They are slightly more expensive than the Circle, but the increase in comfort - leg room, less heat, more facilities etc - make them worth while. But it can be a game of chance with acoustics; I was in a box so near the front of the arc that I was behind the soloists. And I was on the second row, which is less desirable. So, at times some of the singers sounded a bit thin and quiet to me, but I strongly suspect this was because of my position.

I also like it performed without an interval, even though that does mean sitting for two hours without break.

I thought all the singers - Rosemary Joshua, Mark Padmore, Neal Davies, Peter Harvey, and Sophie Bevan - acquitted themselves very well, although there wasn't one performance that was outstanding, to be remembered for eternity.

The choirs were outstanding: Chetham's Chamber Choir and members of Wroclaw Philharmonic Choir. Actually, I don't know if they were truly outstanding, or whether the material at their disposal just made them sound that way!

I thought the orchestra  sounded just wonderful, loved the period timpani, but the stand out was the flautist, almost certainly Katy Bircher

There are so many moments in the work that make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I love the opening, Chaos, which has this wonderful passage with the chorus singing "And there was light", which is gloriously cacophonous; out of chaos comes the heavenly voice of the tenor proclaiming "And God saw the light..."

As the days progress, I revel in the pictures painted by the music, 'rolling in foaming billows uplifted roars the boisterous sea' sounds so different from 'By flowers sweet and gay adorned is the charming sight'. And then the fun bit, with the animals, the  birds, the lion and, of course, the worm" until Part II climaxes with 'Achieved is the glorious work', a wonderful chorus that rings out and fills the Albert Hall.

Part 3 is completely different, recounting the story of Adam and Eve as a love story. In itself it is, surely, amongst my most favourite substantial excerpt of music. I find it fascinating how the pace starts slowly and steadily speeds up imperceptibly until you reach the end of a substantial passage which is happening at great speed. And the work ends with a great fugue.

So, it would have been a thoroughly enjoyable evening if it hadn't been for the man sitting next to me. But perhaps that is a separate blog post!

Tamato (sic) in Tesco

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Public sign, seen yesterday

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First night of the Proms

I watched this on the TV.

Actually, I have a confession. I had been out for a curry and got back just as the 'delayed live' broadcast was beginning. I came over all tired, which was exacerbated by the small quantities of wine I had had with dinner. So I had to rewind on the Sky+. So it was delayed delayed live.

The details are here with links to the unnecessarily Flashy programme notes ie fine from home but completely inaccessible from any workplace that doesn't have Flash, so totally pointless for any concerts I will attend after work.

I enjoyed it from the comfort of my sofa, and thought that all the performers were at least of a satisfactory standard. There was nothing in the programme that really attracted me beforehand, and nothing about the performances that changed that view. Glad it was on, glad I watched it, glad I didn't fork out to go in person.

Tosca at Covent Garden

I wasn't really sure what to make of this when I booked it. I looked at the cast:

• Debbie Voigt - although she features on what is probably my most favourite CD,Wagner: Love Duets I had read some fairly negative reports about her Tosca.
• Marcello Giordani  - I've never heard him live but what I've heard broadcast has not impressed me;
• Bryn Terfel - well, it would be just my luck for him to cancel, he has a bit of a reputation

Well, a couple of weeks back Debbie was announced as indisposed, to be replaced, for a couple of performances by Nelly Miricioiu and for most, including Tuesday's which I was due to attend, by Angela Gheorghiu (just to complicate matters, I'm writing this on Thursday night; Thursday's performance has Amanda Echalez).

On Monday we received an email informing us that Marcello Giordani was indisposed and was being replaced, confusingly, by Massimo Giordano.

So, Tosca! One of my favourite operas. In so many ways, the epitome of Grand Opera. I often think the music is exactly what you expect operatic music to be like if you don't know much about opera.

It's in three acts, and none of them is over long; the settings are such that it requires an interval between each of them . And yet it's less than three hours in total, including two half-hour intervals.

It has three singers of equal prominence - tenor, baritone, and soprano. There are several other comprimario roles which add colour, but it isn't one of those annoying works like Ballo, Cyrano or Fanciulla where there are lots of indistinguishable unimportant men hanging around.

All three principals die nasty deaths and it ain't actually over until the thin lady sings, then jumps off the battlements.

Last week I saw L'amour de loin and commented that it would benefit from tighter, maybe brutal editing. Tosca is just perfect, never any sense of any of the music being superfluous or inserted for its own sake. No unnecessary repetition, but appropriate use of quotation.

When I first saw this production three years ago, I felt disappointed that they had just replaced the famous old (1964) Zefferelli production with something equally traditional. But now I realise that it was a decision driven by the fact that the Zefferelli sets were falling apart, I feel more relaxed about it. I don't think it's a great production but it serves the work well, and with the right singing actors it can be very entertaining. I have now seen it five times and on each occasions I have had rather mediocre seats. Sigh.

So, how did the principals shape up?

Massimo Giordano entered and definitely looked the part. I actually had a slight double-take because he's a similar build and colouring to Jonas Kaufmann whom I had seen twice in this last year.

I remembered my golden rule about Mr Stand-In - he's going to take time to acclimatise to the house etc. I was not overly impressed by Recondita armonia. It was a bit dull and I detected a beat, a fast vibrato at the bottom of the range. But I decided that, in the circumstances, that he was good enough, I wasn't going to spend the evening wincing.

The next exciting bit was the arrival of Tosca "Mario Mario"; I was so thrilled to see Angela Gheorghiu, a very starry Ms Stand-In Woman, I almost applauded her entrance. LOL!

And then, suddenly, there was a moment in the duet between the two of them, when Massimo just let out Ah! m'avvinci nei tuoi lacci mia sirena and I thought, yeah, he's going to be fine! And from then on, I loved him.

He moved well round stage, seemed at ease in the (presumably unfamiliar) production, and had a pretty good chemistry with Angela. His Vittoria, Vittoria was of a high standard; just because it was not as show-stopping as Jonas's last year doesn't mean anything - we should never let the truly excellent be the enemy of the very good. And his E lucevan le stelle was a thing of beauty, a real sensitive heart-felt interpretation, good variety of dynamics, excellent breath control. All in all a very satisfactory performance, well worthy of the loud acclaim he received at the curtain call (he beat his hand against his heart to indicate he had been nervous!). I commented afterwards to friends that I would love to catch him in something more lyrical, or in that again in 3-5 years. Hopefully we will see more of him in the future at the Garden.I do so love the role of Cavaradossi, not just musically, but his character and his sexiness, so I am very hard to please in this role. But just because I have a clear idea of my ideal Cavaradossi doesn't stop me enjoying someone else who is capable of understanding, interpreting and projecting this lovely character.

It was wonderful to see Angela Gheorghiu. I think the role suits her down to the ground. I hadn't been entirely convinced three years ago, but I thought it was a beautiful, passionate and compelling portrayal. I have been known to nominate Vissi d'arte as a cut I'd like to see, but she was stunning, held my attention in the way it never has been before in that aria, which tends to hold the action up for me. One of those special moments that will stay with me.

And then there was Scarpia. Bryn Terfel. He was nasty. He dripped evil from every pore. Sometimes it was just the little details: descending the stairs in preparation for the Te Deum, he paused to look at a fading mural on the staircase, and ran his hand against the figure of a naked woman, right in her lady bits. Or when he sang La pvera mia cena fu interrotta after we had all seen the consequences of Cavaradossi's torture. Throughout, he was a dramatic tour de force, and vocally just as you expect Scarpia to be.

I can't really fault the orchestral playing. If I was less familiar with the work I would have been perfectly satisfied with the conducting of Jacques Lacombe; being so intimate with it, I found it to be a bit lacking in frisson at some crucial moments; especially in Act 1, when the soprano-tenor duet was not orgasmic, and the Te Deum, which I expect to swell in an outpouring that causes electricity (but I did get goose pimples). Nevertheless, overall, I did get a sense of intimacy and, at times, claustrophobia, which, I think, served the piece well.

Because of where I was sitting, I didn't do curtain call photos, but I did do afters:

Bit of a strange angle, but he is like fourteen inches or something taller than me!

And I'd like to say hello to Anna from Lodz, with whom I was chatting on the terrace (I hope I have spelt your name right!). Sadly, she is a Debbie Voigt fan, so was disppointed to miss Debbie. Also hello to Jane, Anna's London friend.

So, taken overall, a thoroughly enjoyable evening, starting with a pleasant dinner with friends, which had been preceded by chatting with more friends. A good atmosphere in the House, very little inappropriate clapping (in contrast, say, to last year, when ignorami had started clapping Trionfal, di nova speme l'anima freme in celestial crescente ardor;)   or three years ago when Marcelo Alvarez's glorious E lucevan was prematurely interrupted by some dolt shouting 'Bravo'. There was premature clapping at the end of Act II so the final chord, which completes the cadence, was inaudible. It may not matter to some people, but for me, an unfinished cadence is as frustrating as a shag without a climax.

And we had great fun laughing at some fairly outrageous outfits. I won't mention specifics, because it would be just my luck to be slagging off the favourite frock of a regular lurking reader! All I can say is, just because it's fashionable, looked good on the hanger and cost a fortune, doesn't remove the necessity of looking critically in the mirror and asking a) is it really me and b) do I risk looking ridiculous.

L'amour de loin

by Kaija Saariaho

At English National Opera

I think I enjoyed this. I'm certainly glad that I went, and I stayed to the end.

I have actually got this on DVD and I have watched it once. I do recall enjoying it, even though I suspect I might have been multi-tasking at the time.

It was certainly worth it for twenty quid in the second row of the stalls, and I can safely say that every aspect of it was technically of a high nature.

The singers - Roderick Williams (a very under-rated singer, IMO), Joan Rodgers and Faith Sherman - presented a cogent and pleasant evening, and were wonderfully supported by their body doubles/trebles, in a production by new wave circus director, Daniele Finzi Pasca. I enjoyed the acrobatics as much as I enjoyed the music, and I liked the general atmosphere of the piece, visually and aurally.

I suppose my main reservation was that it was too long. The music is pleasant but soporific, so I had an opera nap* in each of the two halves. I read something somewhere recently, it might have been apropos Rufus Wainwright, that said that writing an opera is very difficult. It requires more than just writing a long piece of music.

At a little over two hours, it certainly isn't long, not in contrast to Wagner and Handel. But it makes it much the same length as Otello, Boheme etc, which pack a lot of action and emotional range. They also have more identifiable characters and crowd scenes, too.

Like a TV drama series or a film, there is little to be gained by fleshing an opera out with atmospheric mood music, unless it is of such a high quality and provides sufficient contrast to be a feature in itself. 19th century composers moved away from opera seria because of the inherent problems of the recitative holding up the action for little effect other than allowing a key change; I don't want the same ponderousness in 21st century operas.

I think if you are making an opera last more than an hour or so you have to have a lot of good music, or have roles where the audience can experience their characters developing, or you have to have a lot of action. Better to have at least two if not three of those elements.  L'amour de loin lacked all three.

It was clear from the programme that this was an Ed Gardner project, and as, far as I could tell, it was another sterling performance from him. We are lucky to have him as Music Director, both for what he does in the pit and for having the courage to bring such productions to the stage. I suspect he will be sought after by bigger organisations before too long. I was closer to him than  I have been before, and he looks even impossibly younger than he does from the Upper Circle, although I am surprised that he is 35.

* this is a frequent and very sensual experience where I fall half asleep. It drives my mind into a hyperactivity of over-stimulus which it is unable to deal with rationally. So I end up being very trippy and having osme marvellous verbal and visual imaginings which are totally disconnected with the opera I am seeing but, surely, are stimulated and inspired by it. Better than drugs!

Concert in Moscow

I've heard him sing better, just this week, although a video of a minute and a half is no guide.

He has a concert scheduled in Chengdu in September (when I was on loan at work, my on-loan boss viisted Chengdu on business).

A wonderful headline!

Plácido Domingo "Nel mio futuro c'è la passione non la pensione"

He will be singing Oreste in Iphigénie en Tauride in Madrid in 2011. I will be there (DG, inshallah, touch wood etc)

Praise for colleagues:

E dei colleghi in carriera che dice?
«Secondo me, Ramón Vargas ha avuto un passato, ha un presente e ha un buon futuro, Juan Diego Florez appartiene a una categoria a parte e Vittorio Grigolo spicca per voce e presenza scenica».

Crede che il suo pupillo Rolando Villazón tornerà a cantare dopo l’operazione alle corde vocali?
«Sì, assolutamente. Lo sento spesso e credo che Rolando abbia una forza incredibile. Per ora deve solo riposare».

Jonas Kaufmann le piace?
«Molto. È un talento completo».

Also mention of a concert next Saturday with Andrea Bocelli (and also the blow-up Barbie Doll, who, if her Tweets are anything to go by has actually condescended to rehearse).

I have to say that performing in Quebec on Friday and Tuscany on Saturday is madness even by his standards!

Photo

A few months ago some so-called professional photographer visited Jimmy' spub to take photos of staff, customers and premises. He supplied Jimmy with a CD and I have to say, I was not impressed. He was an amateur. Either he had a good camera, or else he had the chutzpah to say 'I'm a professional photographer' which, somehow, makes people more co-operative.

A few weeks ago Jimmy's niece got married. We noticed the two photographers roaming around the reception and assumed they were getting candid shots without people being particularly aware. Claire sent out a message today linking to a site where, with a password, we could access 360 photos of the day, which is an excellent idea. Of course, they are fairly low resolution, good enough for the web, but not for prints. Clever!

Even though I don't like this photo because it's not flattering to me, I can really appreciate what the photographer has done. Or could, if it wasn't me.

Also, Jimmy gets absolved from not having taken one of me full length, even though, of course, any attempts at elegance on my part are ruined by:

• posture
• already perspiring in the heat
• as always, having my bloody camera in my hand!

Singing in the rain

Granada, from a very un-Granada-like Baden-Baden (weatherwise).

I suspect it was cold as well as rainy; I don't suppose his scarf and Virginia Tola's shawl were part of the original plans.

And a report from the concert, in German of course! (I love the headline!)

    Der "Marathon-Mann" trotzt dem Regen

He did a Press Conference earlier in the week, and, as the concert was held at a race-course, he was asked whether he bets on the horses. His answer was basically 'no', and his reason, his lucky number is 21 and you don't get many horse races with 21 horses-and-riders in them.

I found a report (in Russian) of the concert last Sunday in Astana

Vocal Fireworks

In summary, he was being Mr Wonderful, on-stage and off-stage. As always!

Tomorrow, Moscow.

Meanwhile I am getting TASS (Ticket Acquisition Stress Syndrome) or perhaps pre-TASS. I think booking opens in September for Tamerlano at ROH. Jimmy and I are intending to go away on holiday, probably in September. We haven't booked anything yet, for good reasons I won't bore you with here. But I have this vision of booking a lovely remote villa in a remote mountain location without electricity, and being away when booking opens, so having to cycle down mountain passes and fording streams to reach an internet café in some village; an internet café with just one PC, worrying about whether someone will have got to it first, just to check their email or touchbase with their office (both of which could wait). I know I could make a postal application (which would then result in a long anxious wait, not knowing if I was lucky) or could delegate the task. But delegation makes it difficult to make judgements - I'll take that seat because even though it's labelled as restricted view, I know from experience it's only a hand rail. Or I'll take Upper Slips standing on that date and front row of the stalls that date, rather than mid-range seats for both dates! And if there is a Friends' Rehearsal, that would mean two cases of TASS.

So, I'm not just stressing about acquiring the actual tickets but about when 'About the House' will arrive announcing the date for when booking opens. I suspect that is a such an extreme case of TASS it would be very difficult to beat that!

There's a couple of performances of Tamerlano scheduled where Kurt Streit is appearing as Bajazet rather than Plácido. I'm intrigued why; this has been the  plan for a long time (it's been on Kurt's website for well over a year); and there's nothing I can see in Plácido's schedule that would necessitate it.  Maybe ROH wanted a decent cover just in case Plácido decides to call it a day before then; you don't get decent covers without offering them a couple of performances (I don't know whether that means that Plácido is also covering for Kurt).

But I did notice that one of those dates coincides with Katherine Jenkins appearing at 02 (which is a big pop venue in Greenwich, probably better known as the former Millennium Dome). I sincerely hope he is not planning to make a guest appearance, singing A Mother's Wonderment with her. I mean, I wouldn't go even if I could get a decent ticket. And yet I'd be full of resentment that he's appearing in Sarf London, and I'm not there!

Tattoos

I've never had a tattoo and never had a desire for one. Jimmy doesn't have any either, and is wont to quote his father, that tattoos (and piercings) are for jailbirds and gypsies.

I don't agree with that view. Maybe it was true when Jim sr was young, but times have moved on.

I don't have strong views about tattoos, and I certainly don't have a 'moral' standpoint about them. I certainly don't think they are a sign of a 'loose' woman, and, even if they were, I would be more bothered with challenging the patriarchal approach to female sexuality than worrying about the semiotics of body art.

I know there are people who have lots of tattoos, maybe cover most of their body with them, perhaps even their faces. I don't like what this looks like and I can't understand why they do it. But, and I must emphasise this, it really isn't any of my business. They're doing no harm to others, and I doubt very much I would turn somebody down for a job solely on the basis of visible tats.

I presume that many people have tattoos in places where I would not (normally) see them. If they're visible only in changing rooms or beach wear, then as far as I'm concerned, they're hidden.

I suppose I am intrigued by women, especially young women, who have tattoos on their arms, backs or cleavages. I assume for many it is because of fashion, and because of fashion, I assume it is because they want to enhance their appearance.

It was something I first started thinking about last year. I was at an opera house, and saw a woman dressed up in an evening dress. I certainly wasn't wearing anything like as posh, nor were most people I saw, and there certainly wasn't any stated dress code.

So, we can assume this woman wore the evening dress because she wanted to look (and feel) good. Turn it into a special evening out, a bit of class, stylish, and so on. Perhaps she was dressing mainly for herself, or for her companion. But, surely, also, one of the purposes of dressing up (and doing the hair and make-up) is to get passers-by thinking - she looks nice, stylish, classy, whatever. And she did.

Until she turned round.

The dress was cut in a low v-shape at the back and skin between the shoulder blades was clearly visible - along with about three quarters of a large tattoo. She was in her mid-to-late thirties and I guessed that maybe she had got the tattoo ten or fifteen years ago, when she was grungy, and she was still stuck with it now, older and wanting to dress up (but why the deep v-back, then?).

A few weeks ago I was at a wedding.  All of the women had nice dresses on, many of them looked very good, some of them looked great. Not chavvy, not posh.

What really struck me time and again, was the really nice dresses, often on nice figures, strapless, spaghetti straps, cut away, skin-revealing, as is right for summer. And on many of them, tattoos, again often half-obscured by the material.

I've seen it round work and on the Tube and buses, too. Women wearing nice floaty slight summer dresses, sleeveless or spaghetti straps. And the tattoo. Maybe bifurcated by a strap, or peering out from a bodice. To me they look like blemishes or dirt.

And it makes wonder. If one is wearing a posh frock or a floaty dress, part of the reason is to project an image, to look stylish, to be aesthetically pleasing. It ruins the look to wear trainers or an anorak,  or carry a ruck sack, even though we end up doing so when in transit.

These are The Rules, most women (and many men) know them and either follow them, or dress in a way that doesn't invoke The Rules. I'm sure most of the women in those frocks would die rather than accessorise them with under-arm hair, and would want to cover up bingo wings and operations scars and de-emphasise big bums or tubby tummies.

Maybe it's just my perspective as a rare untattooed woman but while I am aesthetically indifferent to tattoos with casual wear, I have never seen one which doesn't detract from the look of formal wear. I wonder whether the women with the tats frown at them peering out from under the dress, as I frown at the prominent stomach and the operation scar. Or do they treat it like my burns scar, still visible (just) in certain lights but not enough to influence how I dress.

* jeans, shorts etc - I would be happy with someone wearing smart trousers/skirt and shirt/blouse; I'd probably expect a tie from a man unless the tie-less shirt looked like a definite statement of style, which would also be reflected in haircut, shoes etc. Or if they were dressed neatly in non-Western clothes.  I wouldn't be concerned about a woman without make-up or tights (depending on the weather).

** 'expensive' being relative: regardless of your means, I bet the dress you only wear a few times costs a lot more than the trousers you wear three times a week

images from the internet

Public Transport, access and egress

I don't go round especially noticing how people behave when boarding or alighting from buses and Tubes, but sometimes there's a rush of incidents in a few days.

Last week, bus. About to terminate at Brixton, so everyone had to get off. I was in the aisle, to my left a woman was pushing and shoving (subtly), so I moved closer to the man in front of me to frustrate her. To my right, a man waiting patiently, not fussed if he had to wait for the entire queue to pass before he moved to the aisle. I let him go in front of me.

In the evening I was carrying two heavy bags of shopping. I stood at the bus stop. When the bus came I noticed a woman of somewhat advanced years* so I paused to let her go before me. I noticed that she was elegant. Not posh, but everything about her appearance was just right, perfect indeed. I thought 'I bet she was a dancer' then I noticed a big Portcullis Brooch on her dress. It was Madame Speaker! She smiled charmingly at me and indicated that I was to go first (naturally, I walked past the most convenient seat on the bus, leaving it free for her).

When the bus arrived at Clapham Common there was a bit of a surge because of the wait being over-long. I noticed a woman with two children of Infant School Age. She had them firmly by the hand and looked a bit anxious. I paused to let her go first and somehow managed also to provide a barrier to prevent other people pushing past. She said thank you to me; her expression indicated "At last, someone who realises that it's not always easy".

As I was getting off the bus, I'm not sure what I did, but in putting on my rucksack I managed to hit the woman in front of me. She said 'ow!'. I'm not sure whether I had clipped her with my ring or had hit her sunglasses. Naturally, I apologised but I did think 'Stupid Clumsy Gert'.

Changing trains at Oxford Circus (the busiest station on London Underground that isn't a Mainline terminal interchange, I believe) some lout pushed onto the train before anyone had got off. I glared at him, he scowled back defiantly. I said "Wait till people have got off." He said "Fuck off bitch". Jimmy, who was behind me said that several people glared at the lout.

This morning, I boarded the bus at Vauxhall and heard that too familiar sound of Primary School class coming from upstairs. I decided to sit downstairs. Several people presumably also thought the same as me, not all of them got seats. Two in particular came to my notice.

There was plenty of standing room but one woman insisted in standing in the door well. At the next two stops people had to squeeze round her as she was planted firmly in the way. At Tate Britain it rapidly came clear that the school party was coming down the stairs. After a teacher and two small children had got off, one woman, previously seated, calculated that by the time they had all got off, she might as well walk to the next stop, so she stood up, pushed the children (aged 7 or 8), as well as stoutly planted stout woman, out of her way. But stout woman continued to stand there, in the way of the small children, and the adults who were counting heads. Two stops further on was my stop; even though the bus was emptying, she still stood in the doorwell. She was a squeeze to get past.

At work, I followed a man into a lift which held his companion and one other person, although can hold more (12? 20? I'm really not sure). He stopped just inside the door and I walked into him, my boob hitting his elbow. I apologised, and then, I thought, that's his fault, he could have moved inside the lift. I should have him for sexual assault! And his trousers were too tight round the tackle (that seems to be the fashion all of a sudden, I wish it wasn't).

In Brixton this evening, I saw a 45 coming. The 45 is a special bus. Not in that way, but it takes me closer to home than other routes, so I prefer it. There are too many buses for the space available outside Brixton Tube (but insufficient to meet demand; it's an insoluble problem, short of extending the Tube southwards). I stuck my arm out to make it stop and realised to my horror I had whacked a woman in her stomach. "Sorry sorry sorry!" I exclaimed. She burst out laughing, and exclaimed "I want that 45!" (She had walked out into the road in her determination to get it, and she got off at the last stop, as I did).

I suppose someone is going to pick up the incidents of bad manners and say "Hey, that's London, it won't happen in my small dull town," while ignoring the good manners and the camaraderie, and refusing to acknowledge they are also London. But I think what is more remarkable is that I just seem to have had a run of these incidents; normally, one negotiates around skilfully, not hitting people, barely noticing the people who play by the rules, and, of course, acknowledging the small acts of kindness.

* 80 this year!

Miscellaneous YouTube

For some stupid reason I am having trouble posting embedded YouTubes on here, but that doesn't prevent me from posting links:

Die Walküre curtain call, Valencia

On German TV show Wetten Dass (from Mallorca, a couple of weeks ago)

On the same show, singing Y viva España (yes, that Y viva España)

Interview from Finnish TV, about 1992 (actual interview in English, although presenter's voice over in Finnish) La Marcha de Zacatecas (from April of this year)

A clip from the concert in Almeria of him singing Granada. The clip is amateur and handheld, from the audience. The visual is very poor, but the sound is excellent - and he sounds excellent, too

And remember this! Nineteen years (ouch!) ago today, at Caracalla in Roma! O Sole Mio and Nessun Dorma

Un ballo in maschera

Last Thursday.

Casting. How does it work?

Bear in mind that the Royal Opera House is one of the very top opera houses in the world. All the top singers sing there, not necessarily every season, but frequently.

Of course, none of the top houses can fill the casts for all the different productions with the dozen or score of top top top singers, but one would think they would choose singers who could actually manage to sing the roles.

So, we had a Renato (Dalibor Jenis) and an Oscar who only really sounded good in comparison to the rest, and probably would have sounded just ordinary alongside decent singers. We had an Amelia, Angela Marambio with an ugly voice. I heard her squawk, the man in front of me moved his arm up and down like a piston every time she missed a note, two blokes on the terrace in the interval were cruelly but amusingly mimicing her. Other people heard the same on different nights. But yet no one in the actual Royal Opera House noticed? We had an Ulrica, Elena Manistina who was all over the place.

And, finally, we had Mr Stand-In Tenor, Roberto Aronica. Ramón Vargas had called in sick, and, frankly, who wants to be near a Mexican with a cold. So Aronica was flown in that morning to substitute. I am very forgiving of Mr (or Ms) Stand-In. They haven't been to rehearsals of that particular production, so can be forgiven for not knowing the blocking. They may never have met their co-principal, so can be forgiven for an absence of chemistry and spontaneity. They may be unfamiliar with that theatre and almost certainly have no recent knowledge, so may take time to acclimatise.

But, I do expect them to be able to sing the part. Ultimately I don't care if they do so from the wings or the pit, reading from a score on a music stand. And he was poor.

I am not sure what the ROH does regarding covers. They must expect that any one of the cast could go off sick, at short notice, on any given occasion. It's easier if they're running two casts, or at least, have someone who is already scheduled for a couple of performances.

The New York Met retains singers to 'cover' every role, just in case. I think they more or less have to in New York because of the distances involved in flying someone decent in from elsewhere, so I suppose it works there (although management there seems still to want to use a 'name' who may be in rehearsal or passing through or whatever, if possible).

I can't say I would like that system in London; who wants to hear someone who isn't judged good enough even to get a couple of performances scheduled, or to be engaged by a provincial house. And, yet, they can't keep decent singers on stand-by, just in case. So I appreciate that it isn't an easy problem to solve.

Maybe I would have been more forgiving of the tenor if there had been someone in the cast whose singing had been worth the price of the ticket - Dalibor Jenis's Eri Tu was gorgeous, and Anna Christy was chirpy and tuneful throughout.

But it's one of my favourite operas. It wasn't even like I was hoping or expecting it to be as gorgeous as the two versions on DVD (ROH 1975 and Salzburg 1990), I mean, come on. But I had seen this production in its initial run with Alvarez, Mattila, Hampson et al, and its early revival with Margison, Stemme and Hvorostovsky, both of which were all round good casts. Whereas this, it was provincial and aurally painful.

Fortunately, the conductor, Maurizio Benini,  was sensitive to the score and the orchestra was on good form, so I did enjoy the evening, on balance. Gorgeous music.

There were a lot of early departures, and I did consider being one, but I did feel that I had paid a lot for my seat (although only half the price of the seat I eventually sat in!). I was glad I stayed until the end (although I was out the door as soon as the curtain came down).

With an influx of visitors from overseas, it was amusing irritating to witness applause before the end of an aria (note: that comes after the singer finishes), applause for the curtain descending, and, of course, applause for the scenery. Thankfully, as there weren't any stars in it, I didn't also have to endure the applause of the star(s)' entrance(s).

Paris photos

At one point I was in a good rhythm of uploading them about one an hour (whilst I was at the PC), then I got distracted.

But now I have my full set of photos I took in Paris. I suspect that 117 photos for a long weekend is slightly OTT. On the other hand, it's unlikely I shall return to Paris for sightseeing (maybe for a performance, possibly to overnight and go to Versailles), so I am glad I took so many.

Although I say it myself, I am pretty pleased with the set overall. I am so pleased that I finally got round to shooting in raw and to using an editing programme that is more sophisticated than the previous excellent but entry-level one I have used for about 7 years.

I got a good mix of the predictable tourist sites - Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame - and a whole load of others I like to think of as being my personal interpretation of what I saw. Many of these are not especially about Paris, but are a commentary on what I saw when moving around a random city.

And, of course, naked statues...

Full set

Toyboy Diaries

I have to say, I like my literature distinctly middlebrow. I'm far too old for Chick Lit. I really do not want to read novels about the Yummy Mummies of Clapham; it's bad enough having almost to share a postcode with them. No thanks.

But whatever possessed me to buy a book with "Toyboy" in the title. I simply don't do Younger Men. I did, sort of, go out with a younger man once. Well, maybe a handful of times in several years. A couple of years my junior. Really nice guy, actually, and the last time I saw him, on a 45 bus, I still that felt that frisson. But what attracted em wasn't his youthfulness, anyway, but his comparative maturity. What ended it; it having hardly begun was his immaturity, his inability to commit (he's married with at least one kid now).

But me, I do older men. Why, I don't know. Basically, I always have. Even random strangers: older men are such fun to flirt with, younger men can't - it's all about them, busy checking out whether you fulfil their magazine-inspired checklist. Older men, the wise ones that is, they look into your eyes.

So this self-centred rich snob keeps shagging younger men, and then wrote a book about it. I have to say, it was well written in that it romped along. But I didn't like the character at all. I have to assume it was fiction, even though she made out it was real, with just the names changed. I just feel that the situations where she described being picked up rather stretched the bounds of credibility. Unless she wore a sign saying 'Desperate for a ffff' and, frankly, who wants to ffff a bloke who responds positively to desperation. As for the bit where she got mugged at gunpoint, come on, do me a favour: guns aren't used like that

She rejected one man because he lived in Clapham and travelled halfway across London on public transport. Clearly, she's an idiot. And a drunk-driver. She lives in Maida Vale, in a flat, for heaven's sake, hardly something to be snobbish about. And doesn't seem to have the slightest scruples about driving after an evening's drinking. All her so-called friends are loaded, and it's pretty clear she just hangs round them to ligg and freeload. Claims to be educated and experienced but clearly has no opinions or no knowledge with which to form the opinions.

It's rare that I have read a book where I took such a dislike to a main character who is supposed to be sympathetic. I rejoiced every time her toyboys dumped her. It seems that she scrubbed up well, but she must have been tedious company. She judged everybody by appearances. the most hilarious thing was when a one-night stand went disastrously wrong because she farted in bed - when the bloke was asleep. Frankly, if the guy is so shallow he dumps you because of that, he probably isn't worth pining over, anyway. But I doubt it was that reason he dumped her - she was an easy lay, he'd had her, it was time to move on.

I suppose she validated herself by her obsession with her appearance and her clothes, and it was hilarious how she equated 'richer' with 'better' even though the 'richer' came over as pompous self-satisfied bores. And as I say, it was very well written and also well edited, but it did nothing to attract me to toyboys. Give me an older man any time.

And it looks like she's written another one

Plácido in Beijing - and Astana

 



source

and two from the concert





source

Crossover concert electrifies Bird's Nest

and video (he gets about three seconds!)

Also, he's going to be awarded an Echo Klassik award for lifetime achievement. To be presented in October in Dresden

He'll be doing a concert in Cancun at the end of August, as part of the Mexican bid to bring back tourists who are staying away because of swine flu (and maybe drug gang gun battles, too). More details

And on Sunday, a concert in Astana, sadly in the Palace of Independence


rather than the Opera House



The concert will be for the Day of the Capital, celebrating Astana's 11th Anniversary. Whether the Kazakhstan National Anthem will be performed remains to be seen ;-)

I was sorely tempted - by pictures of Astana's architecture - to go, but the cost and length of flight, plus my inability to find any info about actual concert tickets rather deterred me!

Three Stand-Ins at the Royal Opera House

Last Wednesday

Best if I get my carping out of the way first.  As I'm sure everybody knows, this concert was originally meant to be Rolando Villazón accompanied by Tony Pappano on piano. When Rolando had to withdraw for health reasons, I felt disappointed;  Dmitri Hvorostovsky being announced as replacement largely mitigated my disappointment.

But on Monday, a further announcement: Dima was withdrawing, due to a throat infection, or an injury, or a publicised alimony case, or something.

Of course I accept that such things happen; of course I know that the ROH was offering full refunds, no questions asked. I declined that refund (although, being in a box with friends complicates the matter!).  Of course I know that to pull together a programme at two to five day's notice takes some doing. So my moans are very much a case of grumbling, rather than 'I've been wronged and demand redress.' No blame, just a honest account of my feelings.

I can't say I was bowled over by the presence of three singers, none of whom float my boat. Each of the three is widely praised, so this is very much a 'taste' thing, not some silly notion of confusing my personal preferences with objective assessment of ability. And, in fairness, none of them are singers that have ever driven me to cover my ears in aural pain. But I have chosen not to attend the operas they are in this summer, which perhaps says what has to be said

Beforehand in the pub, a group of us had a sweepstake going on what would be in the concert. My guesses were so wide of the mark as to be embarrassing. In the hiatus between announcements of Rolando's hiatus and Dmitri's replacement, someone had suggested Ian Bostridge, on account of a Lieder recital she had heard him give with Tony, at Edinburgh I think. I was firm, I don't go to an opera house to hear Lieder.

The programme wasn't available until we arrived in the house, and my heart sank. It was almost as if the only item I knew was 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow'. And I certainly don't go to the opera house to hear pop songs.

Another quibble was that as far as I could see the performers were not centre stage. I suppose it's customary for the piano to be to the side; singers often cling to the area round the piano. But for a house notorious for its poor sight-lines from the side, I think a more central position would have been better.

As for the performers. I am a bit naughty saying the Three Stand-Ins because it was billed as Antonio Pappano and Friends, the friends being singers Joyce Di Donato, Joseph Calleja and Thomas Hampson, and Vasco Vassiliev, violin.

I can't really criticise their performances, well, I feel it would be nit-picky to do so. I did not like Joyce's programme one bit. Various Rossini arias I didn't know (I don't like Rossini) and, as well as 'Rainbow', some Jerome Kern, also not my bag. I thought she should have left the jazz-style stuff well alone, although Tony demonstrated he has great Jazz hands. But she didn't seem to realise that you have some swing, some syncopation, to sound like you do jazz.

I thought Joseph Calleja was clearly second rate. I won't dispute that his basic voice contains a beauty that, on the whole, he uses well. But he simply didn't do anything for me. I soon bored of his O souverain O juge O pere; he didn't seem to want to convey a story to me. He had started with some songs that interested me not, and his final solo piece was 'Because', which, I think, takes considerable balls to perform without any sense of irony. And I was not the only one who noticed that he seems to have had a hair-transplant or be wearing a wig, or something. And on the style front: black suit, black shirt. Should have ditched the white or silver tie and worn the shirt open at the neck.

I suppose if I came away with a positive, it was Thomas Hampson. Not that he actually sang anything from opera, which was remiss in an opera house (but see above). He sang a Mahler song cycle, which was all well and good, but in the absence of surtitles or printed words, and without any prior warning, those of us who didn't previously know the cycle were left guessing as to what it was about. It sounded impressive and I got the distinct impression he was telling a story. I also liked the two songs he sang from his upcoming American song CD.

I know a lot of people have tended to be understanding and forgiving to the ROH in what were trying circumstances. And I stress once again that they offered a full refund at every stage of this saga.

But I did think - suppose I had paid £80 for a stalls seat, and ended up with a recital I wouldn't have paid £30 for at the Barbican. Because of the circumstances, it would have been far better to cancel than to present a ragbag of unconnected works without anything that resembled a structured programme, and, with the exception of a rather fine Pearlfishers' Duet from Hampson and Calleja at the end, nothing that actually involved the various non-Pappano participants singing together.

And of course, I am very grateful for the artists who agreed to perform at such short notice, although I assume they also got an appearance fee none of them would have budgeted for.

Despite what you may think from this review, I did enjoy the show, although I am sure that is largely due to the convivial company, and the several glasses of wine rather than to the substance of the concert.