Gertsamtkunstwerk

Bryn Terfel at Royal Festival Hall

This happened on Wednesday night.

I went into the concert somewhat apprehensive.

This was part of a concert tour promoted by Raymond Gubbay, the master of dumbed-down cheesy Classic FM-lite pops concerts. My apprehension came in the light of reports of the appalling Renée Fleming concert at the same venue (approximately 20 minutes on stage) and of the Angela Gheorghiu concert, too, where most of her stage time was shared by a forgettable and not frightfully good tenor.

The tickets were priced far more highly than the usual price of tickets at the RFH (as had Fleming and Gheorghiu) and the running order was not available on the Southbank website.

In order to discover the running order, one had to buy a glossy programme for £5, which contained nothing of substance - even the running order was amended by insertion of a piece of paper straight off the office printer.

The notes on the songs were short and dumbed-down, and much of the £5 programme contained glossy adverts for further Raymond Gubbay events, no doubt which would also charge £5 for a programme full of glossy ads for...(you get my drift).

Fortunately, the printed/amended running order was substantial and I knew that if Bryn was on form, it would be a worthwhile evening.

My seat was not in a bad position although it was too far from the stage to be worth getting out my camera. I had some rather unfortunate neighbours, although to be honest, I have had worse.

Let's just say I was surrounded by crossover snobs: the sort that announce loudly - while the music's playing - that the Forza del destino overture is from the Stella Artois advert; the sort that make sure everyone knows that they're from Wales (like I care - London is a multicultural multi-ethnic city: I spotted people from Russia and the USA, and people I guessed whose ancestors had come to Britain from Africa via several centuries in the Caribbean). Oh, and next to me I had a Welsh Wagner-hater who hummed along to the crossover songs.

It was a shame that, at the prices charged, there could not have been a good orchestra/chorus/conductor to match the world class singer on the platform. Perhaps I am being harsh with the orchestra - they were made up of students and young professionals, and although one should expect high standards, I guess when they are left floundering by a piss-poor conductor, they have fewer reserves of experience to over-ride the inadequacies.

The orchestra displayed very little contrast in tone or dynamics. The worst part for me was during Iago's Credo from Otello. I have numerous different versions of Otello under several different conductors, and, although I don't tend to acquire them for the Iago, nevertheless, I find the Credo to be an example of Verdi's genius.

Dark, sinister, foreboding, ominous.

But not as played by Sinfonia Cymru under the wet lettuce baton of Gareth Jones. This was, perhaps for the first time ever (and let's hope for the last) Iago showing his cheerful fun side, a light tra-la-la full of promises of rose petals and fairy cakes.

Most of the other pieces were little better in respect of nuance and interpretation. A lack of continuity in the Donizettian runs  in the L'Elisir d'amore aria; and a lack of grandeur in the Der Freischütz.

They lacked depth, a result of the orchestra being pared down to minimal levels consistent with a period chamber ensemble (for mainly 19th early 20th century Romantic pieces!). I wouldn't have expected them to be so loud, so consistently loud, varying between mezzo-forte and forte, with the occasional venture into fortissimo for dramatic effect.

I thought it was maybe my ears, or some unfortunate acoustic effect of where I was sitting, because for quite substantial parts of the programme, Bryn's voice was drowned out. But when I could perfectly hear his perfectly placed unaccompanied pianissimi, I knew that the problem was the orchestra.

The London Welsh Chorale were similarly mediocre, to put it generously. Mainly, the sopranos screeched in their efforts to reach their (not very) high notes - I would dread to hear an Hallelujah chorus from them.

The male voices were more convincing, but consistently failed to close their consonants together, and other basic flaws which screamed 'amateur*' in large print. I may once have posed the rhetorical question - is it possible to listen to the Te Deum from Tosca without getting goose pimples? On Wednesday I found my answer to be a resounding 'yes'.

Their star turn was the Welsh Male Voice Choir version of Faust's Soldiers Chorus (which because of my liking for Welsh Male Voice Choirs, is more familiar to me than the French version), and really, they didn't do it, certainly not in comparison to the versions I have on CD.

So, what of the main man? He was excellent, there is no disputing that.  The tour is to promote his  Bad Boys CD - a concept album of evil characters from opera and musical theatre. And, actually, I would say, a great concept, and a generally well-programmed evening.

He is a supremely talented man, a great voice, the ability to convey character through voice alone, an instinctive stage presence which makes him a great showman, a natural rapport with audience. He sings in tune (which is no mean achievement) and and his voice is well-supported with excellent breath control.

He brought each and every aria to life, and though he was obviously battling with the slopping timekeeping of his conductor (his choice, his problem...) he was just excellent.

He introduced each number with a little explanation or story, which I think tends to go down well with audiences in general. Unfortunately, for this audience member, it seemed just a bit too measured, too rehearsed, and I suppose that sums up my overall misgiving about the concert.

Despite all the justified praise I have heaped in the previous paragraph, he nevertheless left me with a feeling that it was all a bit over-rehearsed, measured, and, ultimately, slightly too mechanistic to convince me totally of the spontaneity and passion.

There wasn't a stand-out aria for me, which also is a bit worrying in retrospect. I was pleasantly surprised by his When the night wind howls from Ruddigore, until I remembered it is in fact my favourite G&S aria, indeed, the only aria I actually like, from the only G&S operetta I actually like. And I could have done without the encore from Les Mis, which managed in two or three short minutes to express every cliché in the schmaltzy Musical Theatre paint-by-numbers guide (and the crossover snob alongside me humming along on one note!)

So overall, an enjoyable night, but one that would count as good, perhaps verging on the very good, because of Bryn's talent and professionalism, but not one for the ages, as they say, and unlikely to feature as one of my highlights of 2009, or indeed the decade! I was grateful that Bryn delivered a full concert programme, and pleased that I had chosen to attend this, rather than the Fleming/Gheorghiu fiascos.

He did a signing session afterwards, and I was vaguely thinking of joining the tail-end of the queue, but preferred in the end to share a drink with a friend (recently returned from gallivanting to Berlin's Simon Boccanegra - who declared that Bryn is no longer her favourite baritone, and me, being the halfwit that I am, asked "Oh! Who is?"). There were not many of us left in the bar area when he walked through with his entourage, presumably heading for the backstage area, but we didn't rush him or throw ourselves at him or anything like that!

* I realise that almost all the choirs that appear on concert platforms are technically amateur, but they perform in a manner which appears, to me at least, to be professional

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.

Der fliegende Holländer

I attended this on 26 February, and, as a result of the Royal Opera House Ticket Booking Fiasco, I had arguably the worst seat in the House, albeit one that I paid only £9 for - at the very end of the Lower Slips overlooking the stage.

It was played through without interval, from 8 pm until 10.30ish, which psychologically is a challenge especially following a day at work where the inclination is to have many cups of tea. In reality I have a robust bladder but I also have disproportionate anxiety! It does tend to deter one from eating and drinking before the event, and I was a bit annoyed at the 8pm start. I know this was to make the finish close to the customary 10.30, but I can't imagine many people would have complained at the customary 7.30pm start and 10pm finish.

I can't say it's my favourite of Wagner's operas, indeed, other than the ones I don't know, it may well be my least favourite. 

I thought the production was interesting. I don' t think it was designed with the occupant of A113 in mind, though. There were many times when, even leaning forward, I could not see anything of the stage action. Acoustically it's a good seat, so I wouldn't avoid it in the future, especially if I am going to see the performance more than once.

The stage has a steep rake; at the front is a strip of water that is fed by a constant drip drip of water throughout the entire opera, which was directly opposite me. There was very little in the way of actual scenery. The middle act is set in a garment factory - so the Spinning Chorus becomes a sewing chorus, I suppose. The image of the Dutchman is represented by a toy model of his ship that Senta picks up and carries round from time to time, placing it in the strip of water and soon. Oh, and it's set in some indeterminate mid-twentieth century working class seagoing town "Peter Grimes! Peter Grimes!"

I have this on CD and I did watch on borrowed DVD (before I had the means to copy DVDs) the Welsh National Opera's version, set in Outer Space, which was shown on S4C the weekend we were having problems with satellite reception due to cranes...years ago. I have also had it on my mp3 player for years, so the music is all in my muscle memory, even if not necessarily in the right order - it has been suggested to me that it's a bit 'not right' to listen to Wagner on random play...is that so? Am I a lone weirdo?

The thing is, it doesn't do a great deal for me musically. There are no passages in it that create that special feeling. There are passages in all the others that instantly travel from my ears through my brain to my lymphatic system and make me want to clench and stretch my muscles simultaneously. But not Dutchman.

I have to confess that I was bored for large stretches. I didn't feel moved by the orchestra - I didn't get that Wagnerian blaze of complex sound; I didn't feel that there was an overall arch the work, which I feel instinctively is not only within Wagner's writing but is also crucial to one's enjoyment. I thought the Spinning Chorus and a lot of the stuff that surrounds it  resembles early Verdi or best-forgotten Donizetti. I was almost wishing there was an interval so that I could leave.

And then, something happened. It was just about the point that the Dutchman and Senta got together. I had just looked at my watch and clocked it as 9.40. It seemed that I had been there all evening, and there was still a long way to go. Something just clicked.

I saw the conductor wave his arms in that classic move also beloved by amateur conductors - All together now, loud! They all sat up and started giving it welly; meanwhile, on the stage, something special was happening. Bryn Terfel and Anja Kampe exploded, with some fantastic singing, and even better assumption of the characters.

The action moved on relentlessly, there were barnstorming choruses, and the rather confusing end - as far as I could tell, Senta did not kill herself. Apparently, this was to distance us from the misogyny of Wagner's interpretation of the myth, which merrily assumed that all's well with the world as long as women submit to men's needs. I think that rewrite is a bit patronising, actually. It's not exactly verismo anyway, what with the Dutchman having sailed the world for several hundred years only coming ashore once every seven years from his ship crewed by ghosts.

I enjoyed what I saw of the production, although most of it was out of my line of sight because of my poor seat. Throughout most of the first act I didn't really appreciate Bryn Terfel's character portrayal. He seemed to be somewhat detached from the action but I understood later how this contributed to his character. Not exactly a romantic hero, despite Senta's daydreams, and despite her infatuation at first sight, despite not knowing him to be her hero. He was sad and lonely, despairing and frustrated.

I had heard bad reports about his singing, notably that his voice had worn out in Act III on opening night. In Act I I heard some mediocre singing, that characteristic straining the words and notes through the side of his mouth, some sprechsang phrases low down in the register, and so did not look forward to Act III. To my delight he was mesmerising, his voice noble and beautiful. I am haunted by a still and measured presence, very spare yet naturalistic movements, as if he was an outsider looking in on a life he desired but could not have.

The most impressive singer was Hans-Peter König, whose vocal lines were effortless and full of legato. I warmed to Anja Kampe, once I got used to her steely tone. she had moments of shrillness, generally a no-no in sopranos, but they were few, and didn't detract from a strong performance, although I didn't think that she created or projected much of a personality. Torsten Kerl was disappointing in a relatively small but important role, especially having impressed me so much in Die Tote Stadt. I enjoyed John Tessier, perhaps as much for his athleticism as his singing, and Clare Shearer was fine.

In my special seat I had an unusual view of the stage, or, more correctly, the wings. The overture plays while a dirty white shower curtain hangs down from the proscenium. It waves in the wind and water streams down it, to portray the storm that so clearly sounds in the music. My view was a stage hand standing and holding it and wiggling it; no doubt he had a counterpart on my side.

Throughout the entire opera water drips audibly into the strip of water at the front of the stage; this seemed to be directly opposite where I was sitting; again and again my eyes were drawn.

Bryn makes his entrance (I think it's the first entrance, I may be wrong), by pulling a rope behind him. I was able to see stage hands in the wings reeling it out and in again. At one stage I noticed that, rather than being lit from the lighting gantry, the lighting came from a set up in the wings. From time to time I wondered about the purpose of a structure that resembled a small portable scaffolding set, also standing in the wings. It did not seem to be part of the lighting rig and I simply could not see its purpose. All became clear in the finale when the structure stretched upwards like an old-fashioned drying rack (or maiden) but metallic rather than wood. And out of it came a very steep gangplank, which, as far as I could see was the centrepiece of the scene where the Dutchman finally leaves land to rejoin his ship.

Overall it was a mixed bag. I think an hour and a half was a long wait to get forty five minutes of magic. If the entire opera had been like the final scene of Act II and Act III it would have been a superb and unforgettable night. I am a bit sad I didn't have the chance to see it from a full view seat (but I'll live). I thought it a thoughtful and effective production, but I can't say I like the opera any more as a result - in some ways it has only served to highlight its position relative to the Ring, Tristan, Lohengrin, Tannhauser, Parsifal, and even Meistersinger, another one I don't love.

Bryn Terfel to retire in 2011

BBC NEWS | Entertainment | Terfel sets retirement deadline.

Bryn Terfel: why I nearly fled the Last Night: As Bryn Terfel prepares for the climax of this year's Proms, he tells Jasper Rees about nerves, cancellations - and his plans to retire in three years

Actually, if you read the interview, he doesn't actually say so quite so definitely. And it is inconsistent with the interview published three weeks ago which says he will finally appear in the reprise of the Royal Opera’s Ring in 2012.

To which I say: whatever. Retire, don't retire.  Make your mind up.

And apparently he's going to be on BBC Breakfast at about 8.45 am today, like in less than half an hour. I won't be watching

Two very different cancellations

Royal Opera House regulars are reeling in disappointment at the news that two of the brightest stars of the operatic firmament have announced cancellations for this autumn.

Rolando Villazón cancelled a number of events during the summer and into the autumn and his management expressed a hope that he would be back for the run of L'elisir d'amore in London. Earlier this week he announced his withdrawal from this and also from the second batch (in addition to the first) of Romeos at the New York Metropolitan Opera, one performance of which I was hoping to get a ticket for.

There have been rumours circulating in the media and on the internet about his health. One rumour is that he has hyperthyroidism and consequent depression and inevitable vocal distress. Which sounds pretty gruesome to me. Apparently depression is a common side-effect of this, although, to my mind, it's a pretty common side-effect of every debilitating illness that leaves one whacked out and unable to follow one's normal pursuits in life. If by chance you happen to be reading, Rolando, I wish you all the very very best and even though I am desperately disappointed that I won't have the chance to see you in either role, I fully understand your reasons and also respect the fact that you have given the ROH sufficient time to look for a replacement but did not hastily cancel too soon back in August. I know that many of my readers will join in wishing a speedy and full recovery. And I am looking forward even more to seeing you in Don Carlo.

And Bryn Terfel has a dropped out of the Ring. Thankfully he was only due to play a minor role, that of Wotan, who only dominates for three quarters of Rheingold, an act and a half of Walküre and, disguised as Wanderer, appears now and then in Siegfried. See, he doesn't even appear in Gotterdammerung. It's not as if the Royal Opera House has built this production around him and has heavily marketed it using his image. (Not that it needed much marketing). Oh, but wait, it has.

It was originally announced as being because of an extremely stressful situation affecting one of his children. Being an extremely empathetic and sympathetic person, I was totally understanding, even going to the extent of defending his integrity on internet newsgroups. Although I don't have kids, I know plenty of people with children about the same age as Bryn's, and understand that there can be all sorts of issues going on: health, or victim-of-bullying, or behavioural problems, or academic struggles, that create more stress than is necessarily apparent to the bystander, and the details are nobody's business.

And then it emerges, the 'extremely stressful' situation is that his six year old son has broken his finger. Seemingly, badly broken, because it needed to be reset in an operation due last week. 'Operation' is always worrying, far more so than 'broken finger'. So, it would be entirely understandable if he had requested two or three days off rehearsals to be with the family at this time. And then Mrs Terfel, or Fricka to her friends, gives an interview to the Mail on Sunday, explaining that the real real reason is that she wants him home. She would prefer if he recorded more crossover albums and did concerts (which presumably pay fatter fees than opera). Which is all perfectly reasonable in making future plans.

However, the whole episode is unprofessional and entirely lacking in integrity. I can't pretend that I bought tickets because it was Bryn; I bought tickets for the Ring Cycle, and knew that I could only contemplate Cycle 2 or Cycle 3, because Plácido is not in Cycle 1. And I made a conscious decision to buy Cycle 3 tickets, because of Bryn. Many of his loyal fans will have booked to travel from afar, will already have booked hotels and travel, perhaps non-refundable, will have booked time off work etc, and will be faced with the choice of cutting their losses and salvaging some money and the time, or attending a Ring at considerable cost whilst dealing with the fact that the object of their admiration and the reason for them travelling such distance has treated them with disdain and disloyalty. Presumably Mrs Fricka Terfel has no idea that the tickets went on sale - and sold out - on 1 November 2006, or that ordinary people try to reduce their costs by booking cheaper, non-refundable travel tickets and hotels. He had a contractual obligation to learn and study the roles and to turn up. People will always understand that singers have to cancel, either because of their own illness, or because of extreme family circumstances - someone cited Montserrat Caballe cancelling when her daughter had meningitis. But when a singer, who is supposedly the lynch pin of a major saga, the biggest thing the Royal Opera has done in years, cancels and shows such contempt for the public - who pay for his affluent lifestyle - the public have every right to show contempt back. Those concerts he will be doing, well I can't see myself being bothered to turn up, to be frank.

In the down-market media, people who know fuck all about fuck all have been praising him for giving up work to spend more time with the family. Well, it isn't like that in the real world. He has had ample opportunity to be at home during the school summer holidays, a luxury denied to most ordinary people in ordinary jobs, who have to be at the mill day-in day-out. Admittedly, that was time he was supposed to have been spending studying his part, but he did give an interview to local media that he hadn't actually started learning Wanderer until August. I would dearly like to send a copy of my bank statement to the Terfels explaining how monthly income less mortgage and bills, less Ring Cycle Tickets, leaves a part-time worker* such as me with a financial deficit.

Norman Lebrecht echoed many of my thoughts.

* but as a highly paid professional with no dependants -- other than the Royal Opera House - I'm not pleading poverty or sympathy, just stating facts. It's not a problem - I remortgaged with Northern Rock at six times income...

Tenor (and bass-baritone) Stalking

Once again, on Wednesday evening, I found myself miraculously*  transported to Floral Street and I took my position outside the Stage Door of the Royal Opera House. Sometime next week I shall reflect at length at the stupidity of people who hang around Stage Doors for a fleeting glimpse of their heroes. I am of course top of the stupid list!

I knew I had quite a wait and I did go through all this "What am I doing here," and a feeling of self-consciousness, or perhaps a glint of self-awareness that such waiting is not the most constructive or sensible use of time.

The next passage has previously been sent by email...

I couldn't actually see the Stage Door as such, but obviously there was *someone* there. I say obviously, because people were calling out 'hello' and so on, but I didn't make the analytical leap that if other people are saying 'hello' there was a chance I might want to. Then I was conscious of two people walking along the pavement, and a vague thought of "I'm in the way" followed by "that man is tall!" followed by "I know him from somewhere" followed by "it's Bryn" and by the time my jaw had fallen open he had moved on. (Bear in mind that he was so close to me I think I actually damaged my neck muscles in looking up - the angle was acute!). And the woman next to me and I just turned to each other and said "That was Bryn! and she started saying how she liked him but she really doesn't like his crossover stuff, and I have this word association thing that goes Bryn - Crossover - Faye and I phoned Faye but her phone was on voicemail, and then about five minutes later she turned up, which was sort of excellent comic timing.

But although I admire Bryn Terfel, I wouldn't leave work early and cross the city just to see him walk down Floral Street. Whereas I would do that for Plácido Domingo. Who duly obliged by walking down Floral Street...! Needless to say, Faye spotted him first. He strolled over to where we were and asked us how we were, and I took a photo

I was just about to step forward and talk to him when Faye leapt in front of me (I should have had her arrested for obstruction) and asked him to sign her CD cover. So, that was another chance gone. Sigh...

The woman next to us had been saying - based perhaps on her TV viewing of the Classical Brits that he's not looking good - gaunt in the face -  but Faye and I politely demurred. Then a few minutes later this woman agreed that he  most definitely is looking good.

* in truth, the 77A bus helped with this miracle

Interview with Bryn Terfel

Bass-baritone and gentle Welsh giant plugging Brynfest.

Rolando did make reference to a concert 'somewhere in England'. Tee hee, middle of a field in Wales at August Bank Holiday weekend.

...Brynfest is a "well-oiled machine. People know what to bring - their picnics, their coats, their thermals..." When the issue of the famous Welsh weather rears its head, Terfel is typically lyrical on the subject. "They know they're not going to get the bright sunshine of Spain. We catch all the weather of North Wales." With a Dylan Thomas-esque flourish, he explains, "It's close to the Menai Straits and to the Snowdon mountain range - a beautiful wooded location with its own microclimate."

Bloody impressive line-up - Jimmy's been enthused about Shirley Bassey for weeks now - but nothing, nothing, not even wild horses, and certainly not even the combined talents of Bryn Terfel, Rolando Villazon, Angela Gheorghiu, Shirley Bassey and, er, Westlife, would entice me to stand in the middle of a field in North Wales. Gosh, "Camping facilities will be available at local campsites..."

Reviews

(don't worry, I'm about to go on blogging hiatus - £6 bn of expenditure to audit, and a zillion photos to edit...!)

Audience hits fever pitch for Domingo's Prom debut, and Standing room only at the Proms for Domingo and Wagner

Die Walküre (only four bloody stars, do me a favour...!)

Die Walküre

The Independent had another go at another review.

I'm so scared of disappearing links that I have decided to copy-and-paste every review of one utterly unforgettable night...With my favourite phrases highlighted in bold, for easy skim-reading...

Die Walküre, my definitive review

Having done the impressionist reaction and the girlie squealie bit, it's time to do a proper serious review of the Royal Opera House's Die Walküre. Just to recap, I saw it twice at Covent Garden and once at the Albert Hall. Unless indicated the remarks apply to all performances, except that specific references to the production - sets, costumes, lighting, action - refer specifically to the staged productions at Covent Garden rather than the concert performance at The Proms.

I have been procrastinating about writing this. I am nervous that I lack the words to do it justice, and convinced that no words can convey my emotional, physical, visceral, spiritual reaction. I am scared that my review will take on Wagnerian proportions and will require 16 hours to get through!

Let's quickly deal with the bits I didn't like.  The single worst aspect was the lighting. I tried to rationalise that my reaction to the lighting was an aspect of my squealing girlie self, sat in a not-great seat, I would have preferred  less noir so that I could see my Plácido better. But then the intelligent, educated, mature me also thought that it was too noir. Yes, a bit of darkness for contrast, but stage lighting exists largely so that the paying customers in the darkened auditorium could see what was going on.

Production wise, I thought it much better than the ENO's version - I am now firmly convinced that their Valkyrie was their weakest link, and not merely a casualty of me being at the depth of CFS when I saw it. Although ENO’s ride was better staged.

There were aspects of each Act I really hated. In Act I the worst aspect was the set. I don't really know why it started with Sieglinde in gentle repose halfway up the wall: surely as the victim of forced marriage and domestic violence she would have been in domestic slavery, not apparently watching Daytime TV. I was indifferent to the metal helix ash tree that dominated the set the first time, but I totally resented it the second time, especially because from where I was sitting, it more or less obscured Plácido for much of Winterstürme. I also thought the showering with Rose Petals was particularly lame.

The helix remained in the second Act set in Valhalla. I took this to be symbolic, showing the connection between the ash tree at Sieglinde's place and the tree from which Wotan fashioned his staff. But this also troubled me dramaturgically. I am not convinced that Valhalla was built round the tree; besides, why did Valhalla look so like the place the gods had assembled, and received the giants, and brought Alberich and the gold, before crossing the Rainbow bridge to Valhalla. I also disliked the fact that in the Second Act it was quite easy to see the conductor reflected off the rear wall. I thought this effect worked well in the mirrored ballroom in Un ballo in maschera; I felt it was unintended in Walküre, and as much as I love Tony  Pappano, I did find this distracting during Wotan's confrontations with first Fricka and then Brunnhilde, and his monologue.

I found much of Act 3 irritating. I did not care for the Valkyries being propped with horse's skulls, and I found the actual Ride to be a bit symbolic. The single worst aspect was the revolving stage aspect, which Wotan pushed round and various Valkyries darted around.

But overall, the production was nothing like as bad as the critics had maintained (although I feel it looked better on the TV than in the theatre. Is that right? I don't know, but I guess it's the future with DVD being such a perfect  medium for opera). As I said, I found it far preferable to ENO's - modern dress - version and also much preferable to the Met's version, available on DVD, and resembling a rather indifferent late-70s children's fantasy/adventure TV programme, exactly the sort of programming which caused me to detest fantasy/adventure stuff.

I loved the fact that this gave Siegmund ample opportunity for rolling around on the floor, on the kitchen table, on the ash tree...I do like rolling around, especially when done well. I will also concede that the furniture tossing was par excellence. But in my opinion a bit of tenorial rolling round tops baritonal furniture tossing. And of course, Wotan tossing the chaise-longue conveniently provided a sort of wind-break for the twins to have a bit more, er hum, intimacy.

I felt all the gentlemen handled their weapons magnificently. Hunding's melodramatic arrival, banging his axe into the table caused an amused reaction from the audience both times, and I missed it at the Prom. Wotan's spear, of course, wielded with macho  godliness. And best of all, Siegmund's sword, won and named "Nothung" heroically and presented so nobly to Sieglinde as a bridal gift, and then shattered by that nasty Wotan. I just adored Siegmund's death, even though I was struggling to see it through my tears and my tear-streaked glasses.

And the Magic Fire was a masterful coup de theatre, finally justifying the silly helix thing as actual fire crept down the slide - reminiscent of Alberich's dinghy-powered slide into the Rhine at the beginning of Das Rheingold; then Wotan took the flame in his hand, and sent it shooting round Brunnhilde's rock, to that oh so beautiful music.

Ah, the music...! What a genius! Every picture tells a story, but every note every chord every leitmotif. From the opening strings of the storm to the final chords. Nearly four hours of glorious orchestration and evocation. Each act over an hour long, and each act through composed, no pauses for breath or applause. Absolutely marvellously well done to the sterling orchestra of the Royal Opera House. And a resounding Bravo to the magnificent Antonio Pappano. Some reviewers would take pride in pointing out the odd flubbed note here, the strange dischord there. And in twelve hours, yes, there were one or two. But overall, splendid!

There's part of me that would like to listen to an entire Ring in merely the orchestral version, and, certainly, recordings exist, at least in highlights forms. But then, how could one live without the fabulous singing, and the amazing story. Many years ago some silly fool announced pompously that Wagner is for the immature mind only. What nonsense! Every time I hear this piece - I hear something new.  I got very excited when certain leitmotifs leaped out at me and I was able to say "Hey that's Wotan" or "That's Siegfried" or the Magic Fire Music. But if it was just a series of leitmotifs strung together it wouldn't be what it is.  It's more than that; I can't explain it.

And then there's the singing. And the acting. How can the two be separated? On the phone to my nephew in Friday's second interval, he expressed surprise at this concept of singing and acting going together and almost stopped winding me up (ha! I jest, that will never stop...!)

We were blessed with a magnificent cast (in order of appearance):

Siegmund: Plácido Domingo
Sieglinde: Waltraud Meier
Hunding: Eric Halfvarson
Wotan: Bryn Terfel
Brünnhilde: Lisa Gasteen
Fricka: Rosalind Plowright
Gerhilde: Geraldine McGreevy
Ortlinde: Elaine McKrill
Waltraute: Claire Powell
Schwertleite: Rebecca de Pont Davies
Helmwige: Irene Theorin
Siegrune: Sarah Castle
Grimgerde: Claire Shearer
Rossweisse: Elizabeth Sikora

How can I single any one of them out?

I am sitting here trying to write a cold dispassionate objective review of the singers. And I simply cannot do it. there just wasn't a weak link. Of course, more experienced and expert listeners than me have made comparisons with great singers of the past, and found that this cast fell short. And so be it. They may be right; they may be influenced by the mists of nostalgia; they may be picking an ideal cast from a recording here and a recording there. None of that matters to me. This was the cast I heard and to me they were simply magnificent. I doubt I shall ever hear another cast this good. Certainly not in this opera. If I do, I shall have to count my blessings as manifold. I feel a bit like I did on 2 May 1997, when I was delirious with emotion at the knowledge of that magnificent General Election win, and simultaneously in mourning at the knowledge of never again in my lifetime. Just look at the comment that Chris left at Geraldine's blog

I think for weeks, months, years to come, I will keep having flashback memories of all those favourite moments. And oh so many. But it wasn't about the moments. It was about the overall effect. I feel a bit like Pavlov's Dog, almost as if I'm crying on order -  a particular phrase comes and I'm blubbing. I have just watched Act 1 from what I recorded off the TV. I was utterly spellbound. Sitting on my sofa. Mesmerised as it moved inexorably to a fantastic climax. (Although I have to say that I did think Plácido looked a bit rough. Still cute, though...!)

I feel so privileged to have been to this at Covent Garden twice, to have seen it staged, and then to have been to that amazing night last night at the Albert Hall. And then to have it captured on my Sky+, soon to be transferred to video*

I have thought long and hard and I have decided that my absolute highlight was Winterstürme. Either from 8th July, or as performed on TV. I've now heard him sing this four times this year, and assume that he will again in Berlin on 6 August. I have a sneaking feeling that for the rest of my life I might just single this out as my  favourite aria that he sings...!

And if there is one word to sum up this memorable and beautiful run, it has to be legato. Or bel canto.

*don't be entirely surprised if I buy a DVD-R very very very soon. Not that I can actually afford one, I'm pretty near broke, but the what the fuck, it's only money! And it's pay day a week on Friday - anyone got any advice on DVD-Rs?

A little bit of silliness

When I went to the first performance a week ago Friday I was - eventually - very excited. I had been so looking forward to it for well over a year, then the events of the previous day rather affected my perspective etc.

But by the time I reached the ROH I had a palpable sense of excitement, and with anxiety about whether my expectations would be met. I've already talked about the music, the performances etc.

Start of Act 1, and Plácido came on stage, I was thrilled, and I could sense a thrill around the Amphitheatre, the almost choreographed raising of binoculars. And I thoroughly enjoyed him, but there was a little part of me that wondered why I wasn't more tremblingly excited and hysterical.

Start of Act 2 and I'm suddenly startled - gosh, it's Bryn Terfel! I had been so excited about seeing Plácido, I hadn't really considered that I would be seeing another Big Star, who, normally, would be the Big Star I would pinpoint as being the star attraction.

Start of Act 3 and I suddenly realise it's that music, and I'm startled. I know there's a clue, the opera is called Di Walküre, so it shouldn't be a surprise to hear Ride of the Valkyries. Intellectually, it wasn't a surprise - I have seen the opera live before, on TV and DVD, and countless times over the years on radio and record. But it was an unexpected thrill, nevertheless.

And my reactions this past Friday were almost identical.

In between times I met Plácido, who is just totally lovely, and I was so pleased to meet him, so excited. I mean, I could go on; I just want to savour my memories.

Last night, I got unbelievably excited. I do so love the Royal Opera House, but there is something very special about the Albert Hall, in particular the Proms. There's a lot peripheral I hate about the Albert Hall - there's a grottiness about the milling areas, not enough milling room, I hate the walk down Exhibition Road when far too many people leaving the museums fail to grasp the concept of not spreading out across the entire pavement. I could go on, and probably will between now and 10 September.

But walk into the auditorium and what a wow! feeling. I had a seat in the Stalls, on the 7th row, behind the arena, if the conductor's podium is 12 o'clock, I was at 5 o'clock. Good view. Not the best view I've had in the Albert Hall, but good. It was fabulous watching the place fill up. And I mean fill up. Not just the fact that every seat was full, and all Promming places, but there was a buzz, an excitement. I flicked through the programme and began to tremble with sheer utter excitement. I wanted to turn to my neighbours and tell them how excited I was, I wanted to hug random strangers.

The orchestra walked on to warm applause. Then, more applause. "Here comes Tony" I thought. Then the applause started going a bit mad, and into my view came Tony Pappano, Waltraud Meier, and Plácido Domingo. So I was applauding madly, too, and never taking my eyes off Plácido, who looked actually really quite taken aback. He's sung just about everywhere, and all sorts of venues - opera houses of various sizes, concert halls, arenas, stadiums, historic sites, and more, in a long and very successful career. But when he was interviewed in the interval (what? You surprised I watched it as soon as I got home?) he said he was really really nervous - he looked it!

Start of Act 2, and I had that feeling again - oh my god, it's Bryn Terfel! Not just because I had confidently predicted that he would cancel - there are rumours he can't hack the pressure of live telly - but because he's a superstar.

Halfway through Act 2, after that wonderful exchange between Wotan and Brunnhilde, and Wotan's monologue, we see the return of Siegmund and Sieglinde.

And suddenly, I had a completely totally girly adolescent attack of trembling hysteria. Oh. my. god!!!!! That is Plácido Domingo, my hero, on stage, and I am sat here listening to him sing, and watching him. I was nearly beside myself with trembling awe-inspired hero-worship!

My crazy fortnight and a bit is over, and nothing good is ever going to happen again - well, I'm off to see Plácido in Berlin in less than three weeks.

And there's the rest of the Proms, and some other eagerly anticipated events, too.

But my crazy 17 days in July are over, never to be forgotten. Although Live 8 seems a long time ago...

Damn camera shake...

He's on there somewhere, you know...! But he has that affect on me.

I took nearly sixty photos this evening, and I might possibly have got one half-okay one of Plácido.

But I got four good ones close up of the man* I've been accidentally stalking (whom I also made laugh...!)

* A Mr Terfel

Die Walküre Prom

Wow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

More considered comment later...

Wotan

For all the Bryn fans out there!

Taken the night I became a Bryn Terfel fan. Actually, I've always liked him, and I have a couple of his CDs, but last night I became a big fan!

And I know he's not looking very Wotan-like there...!

Die Walküre

I wonder how many posts there will be with this title!

Proper, considered review over the weekend.

Just a quick reaction now. Oh, by the way, I met Lisa Gasteen, Bryn Terfel and Antonio Pappano.

I think tonight's performance overall was not quite as good as last Friday's, but, to be honest, that would have taken some beating. I think the cast were probably as fired up as the audience and determined to make it a special night. Tonight's was extremely good, though. Funnily enough, I found different highlights tonight than last week. I think I cried even more this week than last week. It is such an incredibly sad story. Indeed, someone was saying that when Plácido addressed the Wagner society on Wednesday evening, he said that Siegmund is one of the saddest roles he's played. He tells this story of this incredibly sad, tragic, lonely childhood. Then he meets his twin sister, Sieglinde, they fall in love to the most erotic music*, and the next day he gets murdered by his own father. I'm welling up just writing this.

And then there's Act 3, when that horrible, nasty, brutal Wotan totally rejects his favourite daughter, Brunnhilde, and says he wants nothing to do with Sieglind and the grandchild who will be Siegfried. And that whole scene between Wotan and Brunnhilde is just so moving.

Bryn was completely magnificent tonight (although he seemed to tire slightly towards the end of Act 3). People say he improves during the course of a run. I can't wait until Monday! Shame it's not staged. I was chatting to a Bryn fan, who says it just won't be the same without his spear. I shall miss Nothung, Plácido's sword.

I just love that bit at the end of Act 1 when he grabs the sword and names it. I don't think his performance tonight was quite up to last week's - still utterly wonderful, though. I overheard someone say they reckon that Siegmund is Plácido's best role - his signature role? A brave assertion to make. I've developed a 'thing' about his legs, his thighs in particular. I think he died even better this evening than last week, more rolling around the floor. In opera, when all's said and done, it's really the death scene that matters most(!). But I don't suppose we'll get much rolling around on the floor in the concert version. Shame.

Mrs Pappano (who seems a really nice person) says Monday should be 'fun'!

* okay, not as erotic as Tristan und Isolde, but close...

Die Walküre reviews...

...and an interview with Siegmund

The Guardian are extremely good at keeping a comprehensive archive of their articles, so, hopefully, this really is a permalink and I feel no need to breach copyright and copy-and-paste here (We ♥ The Grauniad!)

The Guardian has a review, perhaps a bit bland...

The Telegraph combines with a review of Rigoletto and Mitridate, both of which I'm also seeing this week (did I mention I was having a crazy fortnight and a bit...?). 'Stupendous' is their adjective of choice...

The Times

You really must beg, borrow, steal or preferably buy a ticket to see Plácido Domingo as Siegmund. One doesn’t wish to be morbid, but the tenor is now 64. And the way he’s singing, he can’t have more than another 30 years of Wagner in him.

Simon, with whom I met up on Friday, also reviews it, and appears to have a ticket going spare for Monday...

You do know it will be on the TV on Monday night.

Update: Five stars from the Independent

And Steve's written an excellent review at rmo.

OMH presents an excellent review focusing on the singing and music.

The Stage

Die Walküre

What was that crap yesterday about not looking forward to it?

I think I have an attitude problem where the prospect of getting ready to go out, including eating, can sometimes overwhelm me. So I need motivation to get over that...

And what a reward for 'getting over it'!

A truly wonderful night at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden. I said 'no reviews' until I go again next Friday, but I will say it was bloody good. I think my review might contain a lot of criticism of the lighting. Otherwise, it won't seem balanced and objective! Actually, I wasn't madly keen on the set, but it did nothing to interfere with the story; on the whole the production was fine, with just one or two instances where I felt the stage directions had been written with scant regard to what was being projected on the surtitles.

The music. Ah, the music...! It's bloody good. Lush majestic orchestration, with some fabulous tunes. I got a thrill from time-to-time when hearing various leitmotifs I was able to think "that's Valhalla" or "that's love" or "Siegfried" or "Magic Fire Music". And it was a very magic fire. I loved the bit where Wotan just put his hand in the fire and had a flame coming from his hand. When we watched on the TV, Jimmy told me how the effect is done. I forget now - good - but it looked really spectacular from Row R (Right at the back) of the amphitheatre. Yeah, I didn't have a great seat; the stage seemed along way away, but the amphitheatre is steeply raked, so there was no problem in seeing the big picture, and I think I was in an acoustic whitespot.

Then there was the singing...!

Oh my!

What a cast!

I think I had a slight attack of 'audience fright', when you suddenly think 'I have really high expectations? Suppose they are not lived up to?' Met, and exceeded...

Act I was just superbly wonderful, with fabulous singers as Siegmund and Sieglinde and an excellent Hunding. Then Act II started and I was "Oh my god! It's Bryn Terfel." That's right, he didn't cancel...! Joking aside, if it had been Bryn Terfel and a bunch of nobodies, I would have been highly satisfied. (Yes Jools, I know, he's wonderful! He is Wotan!)

but it wasn't a bunch of nobodies. Eric Halfvarson was a strong Hunding, vocally flawless and a wonderful baddy. Lisa Gasteen as Brunnhilde was vocally and dramatically ace, better than Kathleen Broderick who I felt to be the highlight of ENO's Ring. Sieglinde was Waltraute Meier who is an extremely good singer and a convincing actor.

And Siegmund was some Spanish tenor with a beautiful voice which left me breathless. Frankly, at 64 he has no business flinging himself round the stage with an agility of a man half his age. There were some exquisite moments. He died spectacularly, I do like a good spectacularly melodramatic death scene. Falling onto the ash tree and rolling onto the stage did it for me.

And the Valkyries? Wonderful! If two bloggers are watching another blogger on stage, does it constitute a blogmeet?

The audience went nuts at the end of Act I, and the applause at the end was long, sustained and raucous. I suspect an element of it was due to this being London on 8/7, but most of it was a visceral reaction to a fabulous evening of opera.

I did quite a lot of crying, especially in Act II.

So, no review for now, but I will after next Friday's performance...

Interview with Bryn Terfel

'I'm not sure I have many things to do after Wotan'

At the end of the article, there is, helpfully, the phone numbers you can ring to be told there are absolutely no tickets available for Die Walküre...

Did I mention that I have tickets for three out of the four performances...?

The Proms - Official

All the events, listed by week start here -Week 1

Would like to go to first night - Child of Our Time. However, I shall be at Die Walküre at the Royal Opera House. And I know where I'd prefer to be...!

Fairy Queen - maybe, we'll see. Die Walküre. Yeah, I wouldn't mind going she says, getting increasingly hysterically excited. Berkely, Britten and Vaughan Williams looks attractive, but I suspect I might be in need of a rest by then...

Week Two - Mozart and Mahler, maybe; Mendelssohn and Vaughan Williams, ooh yes; Dream of Gerontius, yes.

Week Three - Saturday eveing looks quite fun, but is bound to be over run with children. Give that a miss. Berlioz, maybe. Sibelius and Brahms, maybe, but it's Jimmy's birthday, so probably not. Rameau and Handel - why not?

Week Four - well, I'm away that weekend, seeing Plácido in Berlin. (Did I mention I was going to see Plácido in Berlin. - you know, that could be four times in one month...you really won't get any sense out of me...); Vaughan Williams, Tippett, Holst - why not?; Songs of the Sea and Enigma Variations - yeah!; Brahms, Beethoven and Wagner - yup;

Week Five Mendelssohn and Beethoven -yes;

Week Six Tippett and Beethoven - yes; Beethoven 9 - yes; Schumann, maybe, but leave before the Stravinsky...; Julius Caesar, definitely; Ravel, Walton and Gorecki, yeah, make a night of it;

Week Seven; Rossini, Wagner and Rimsky-Korsakov, maybe...; Verdi Requiem, definitely; Wagner, Beethoven and Strauss, definitely; Missa Solemnis, definitely;

Week Eight: Lutoslawski and Brahms, maybe; Copland, Vaughan Williams and Berlioz - definitely...Symphonie Fantastique...I've got March to the Scaffold as my ringtone on my new phone...; Brahms, probably; Haydn, maybe, but leave before the Stravinsky...

Gosh, that's a lot.

Maybe I should get a promming season ticket, and decide on a day-by-day basis what to go for. Maybe go to works with which I'm unfamiliar.  I don't think I want an arena prom ticket because I'm too small to see anything. If I get a gallery ticket I think the view is unobstructed if distant. But then, would I want to, be able to, Prom for something long like, oh, you know, Die Walküre, or would it be better to try and get a ticket in the Stalls which are, you know, close to the stage...But at least a season ticket guarantees admission. Hmm, thinks about this one...

You know I'll cry if I don't get to Walküre

I've just found the Proms TV schedule Lovely, lovely BBC4.

I ♥ BBC4

Walküre live on the telly. Listen up, Bryn Terfel fans, don't even bother to buy tickets, he will pull a sickie. You can bet on it. Well, you can't, because William Hill are refusing even to take bets on it. 'Twould be best all round if the Terfel fans didn't buy tickets... ducks

Das Rheingold

So, last night to Covent Garden for the last in the run of the prelude to the tetralogy.

As already posted all over the internet, here is a summary of what happened:

Picture the scene. Parked outside. Not one, not two, but three great big BBC lorries.

Reading the cast list sheet, a note that tonight's performance was being recorded for radio AND TV broadcast (oh, the excitement...). A brief note that one of the minor parts had had a role change.

Taking one's seat, note that the curtain is slightly late to rise. Prolly cos of telly I thought.

The woman who makes announcements walked onto the stage. The woman behind me said "Oh no, don't let it happen, Bryn's going to cancel". Don't be silly I thought like saying, it would have been on the cast sheet...

"Bryn Terfel" begins the announcing woman, to a very audible groan round the auditorium.

Long and short of it - Bryn woke up with a sore throat and headache, no singers could fly in from Germany because of gales causing chaos at airports (I can vouch for that having had to wait for two extra hours Saturday night at the worlds newest and most boring airport, Taba, where we were reduced to smoking in the loos)

But landing at Gatwick was Donald McIntyre. Bryn finally pulled out an hour before curtain, was going to appear and act, whilst Donald McIntyre would sing from the pit, having had no rehearsal. Later, consulting my programme, I saw that he had sung the role in 1974. It seems that he is well into his 70s.

It was really quite strange. As the man next to me said, he was a shadow of his former self but what a heroic effort to pull it off. (And what an enormous cheer he got). As a woman on the stairs said, it must make it doubly difficult for the conductor. If I were being objective, I would mention wobble and weakness, but that would be extremely unfair of me.

Back to the BBC. Random people preceding me were confronting various BBC folk and questioning them, and I dutifully earwigged. One said that Rheingold will be televised live on Good Friday (presumably with no live audience???). Another BBC man said something about using the visuals from tonight and the sound from last Friday. We shall see...

And for good measure I saw Michael Portaloo walking along with an expression on his face that slightly famous people wear when they are conscious that they might be recognised, secretly would love to be, but are pretending to be all self-effacing.

Oh, BTW, I loved the production, enjoyed the music, although I've heard it better, and thought that some of the cast were excellent, especially Philip Langridge as Loge.

I avoided meeting the eye of my Bryn Terfel-loving colleague _all_ day, in order to resist telling her whom I was going to see....Well, I saw him, but I think her main interest is his voice.

As an afterthought, all those arsehole Christian lunatics who protested about the televising of Jerry Springer - the Opera - what will they do about that tale of incest coming up later in the year?

More generally, I thought that the critical panning of the production and staging was misplaced. I think, perhaps, there are different parts of the brain that different people apply. I think also that there are people who are hidebound in tradition and resistant to innovation, to the point of pre-judging. There were a lot of interesting effects in the staging, lots of ladders were used, as was promised.

The opening scene was particularly criticised, but I liked it - the use of lights and shadows gave the definite impression that the Rhinemaidens were In the Rhine. I liked the way Alberich arrived by dinghy.

I was fascinated by some of the props - why did Wotan take a model aeroplane down into Nibelheim? Wasn't that Nothung that Wotan was yielding at the end, a nice look forward to Die Walküre and Siegfried.

Some of the singing was better than others. As well as Phillip Langridge, mentioned above, I also enjoyed Jane Henschel as Erda and Franz-Josef Selig as Fasolt. It was a real shame that Bryn didn't get to sing, because he has tremendous charisma and stage presence.

It is my third Rheingold in a year, in addition to a DVD of the Met a few years back and a a Met broadcast from last year. I think it is my favourite of the four - although I haven't seen Götterdammerung live - I just adore the lushness of the orchestra. So, I was somewhat disappointed by parts last night. I had a distinct feeling of the brass being a bit off at the beginning, and another poster on rmo said much the same thing. I felt the orchestra sounded often more crisp tham lush. That having been said, there were some utterly gorgeous moments, too. There is a belief that Antonio Pappano is showing the potential to be a very great conductor (at 45 he's relatively young), certainly a view I would support. But I would suggest that perhaps Rheingold is a work in progress.

Ode to a vegetable

I have a number of different versions of Handel's sublime Ombra mai fu aka the Largo from Xerxes. But which is the best?

Ombra mai fu
Di vegetabile
Cara ed amabile
Soave piu

Never was the shade
of vegetation
more dear and friendly,
more sweet

I have whittled down to a shortlist of three, based on the goosebump factor.

Bryn Terfel - sings too falsetto in the recitative, but in the aria, the timbre of his bass-baritone is so rich and so nearly pure. And the lower strings resonate like velvet. Definitely three goosebumps.

Plácido Domingo - oh heck, there's no contest, his voice is richer and more resonant than Bryn's, as he caresses the ears. Itzhak Perlman's stupendous violin plays the recitative gorgeously, but in the aria, to my surprise, I don't like it as much as Bryn's Scottish Chamber Orchestra. Five goosebumps. This morning I would have predicted Bryn Terfel to be the overall winner.

Kathleen Ferrier - do I make allowance for the technically primitive recording? That aside, I don't rate her at all in the recitative. In the aria, she sings much more slowly than the other two, and her voice has an ethereal quality. The LSO under Sir Malcom Sargent is unimpressive, which is a shame, because there are moments of four goosebumps, but I would have to settle for an overall three.

I'm not sure about old recordings. I suppose they have a curiosity value, and, of course, it means that we living today have the privilige of listening not only to the current top singers, but also to those who died years ago. There was a programme on telly recently about Caruso. They played one of his records, and I thought, "I'm sure he had a good voice but I simply don't hear it on this,", and, frankly, that's all how his legions of fans would have heard him sing. Then there was a film clip and I went "Oh! Wow!" Then I find Vesti la Giubba on the interwebnet, and I am undecided. Yes, it tells me that he must have had an amazing voice, but, when it boils down to it, there are so many more recent, technologically better versions of Vesti la Giubba, do I have to waste my time listening to Caruso?