Gertsamtkunstwerk

German night with the Philharmonia

They didn't bill it that way, but it was:

Carl Maria Von Weber: Overture, Oberon
Robert Schumann: Symphony No.3 in E flat (Rhenish), Op.97
Interval
Ludwig Van Beethoven: Piano Concerto No.5 (Emperor)

Christoph von Dohnányi conductor
Jean-Efflam Bavouzet piano

Yup, well spotted, not a singer in sight, or, more relevantly, in earshot.

It struck me I hadn't been to an orchestral concert on ages. I'd got a bit stuck in a rut of not going out - thank you, the opera houses of London for offering on the one hand a direly unexciting season and the other one with such promise delivering so little.

Also there's the money thing. Very simply. Wages are frozen, prices are going up. No more living on easy credit - even though it's still cheap! And generalised non-specific anxieties about job security. Nothing more complex than that. Sorry...

And it struck me, a cheapish ticket for a routine non-starry concert at the RFH is dirt-cheap. So I booked, and I went.

Shame about the coughing, which served to all but mar the piano concerto. I have a threefold theory as to why it happens:

1. The RFH is particularly dry: my throat dried out rapidly even before the overture finished, despite me having a bottle of water - which none of the coughers ever seem to do, at any venue. Each portion of the concert was 40 minutes so weak bladders not really an excuse

2. The fools don't understand the difference between muffling and amplifying a cough. A balled up fist may muffle it, a loosely balled fist, creating a tube, will amplify it. A handkerchief, or sleeve or scarf, are even better at muffling it

3. Fear of tranquillity, or boredom. It happened more in the quiet bits. I adjusted for the fact that loud bits would be better at muffling coughs, but, still, it was quite clear the most persistent yet unproductive coughing occurred during the quiet bits.

I was also led to wonder why we have any need to import third rate French pianists when we have so many of our own second rate pianists. I'm sorry but he more or less killed the Beethoven. The odd wrong note I can tolerate: it reminds me that it's live and not a recording. But our pianist presented us with an unimpressive array of duff notes in a piece which surely must be bread-and-butter to any concert pianist.

I wonder what it is that gives Beethoven's 5th its distinctive characteristic. Not being technically savvy I can't pin it down. It seems ever so slightly sharp: whether that's due to the tuning of modern orchestras or actually the way Beethoven wrote the harmonies - sometimes it sounds almost as if there are split notes in the brass and/or low wind.

Lovely piece of music, shame about the too many duff notes from the keyboard.

Schumann's Rhenish Symphony has been almost a guilty pleasure for me for a long time. I got very indignant a while back, reading that Schumann was a bit rubbish at orchestration. Judging by this performance, actually he was. Lovely melodies throughout, but no depth to the orchestra. (This was written the same year as Wagner wrote Lohengrin). I could have sworn at one point the low strings were just playing 'oom pah pa, oom pah pa'

Unfortunately it wasn't a great or even particularly good interpretation. The first movement was so turgid it painted a picture of the Rhine having silted up, and during the fourth movement I had to do a sneaky check on Wikipedia as to whether the twin spires of Cologne Cathedral hadn't in fact been flattened in Allied bombing raids.

Overall it was an enjoyable relaxing evening, listening to pieces of music well within my comfort zone. And not to sniff at for £14. But if I was regular loyal attendee, I would have been disappointed by the indifferent performances -  'didn't rehearse enough', I overheard at the interval. And any relaxation I gained was soon ruined by the long wait for and the painful standing on the hellish Northern Line on the way home (yesterday was not the finest in London Underground's history, even within 2011).

Drumming

I went to the Queen Elizabeth Hall this evening for a nearly perfect week-night concert. £12 the ticket, an hour and five minutes of music, even allowing for the start being delayed by ten minutes, and biff bang boom home in time to make something of an evening at home. I mean, these operas and that are all very well but don't they go on? By the time you've shuffled and barged your way out of the opera house and into Covent Garden Station lifts (or given up on that and limped down to Leicester Square), you could be home and dry from a concert with the actual real composer alive and in attendance.

The piece performed was Steve Reich's 'Drumming' performed by The Colin Currie Group.

As the piece began with four percussionists each banging a bongo with one stick I began to draft a satirical blog post along the lines of 'all they did was bang their bongos with one stick - a child in nursery school could do that!'.

I do know the piece and I already knew that it was soon to gain momentum, and very soon I was sitting entranced by the repetitive rhythm - or, more strictly speaking, phased. I suspect that Steve Reich is a Marmite composer. I loved his music the first time I heard it. As I sat slightly rocking I did wonder if there is something in the music that appeals to the slightly autistic part of my personality.

I love the sense of rhythm and I love the music that is created from that. The bongos are different pitches (the man behind me joked rather sneeringly about them having to tune them), then the music is taken up by marimbas and voices, and then by glockenspiels, piccolo and whistle, and finally Tutti. Very clever, very mesmerising, and acoustically amazing.

The performance was amplified, not in a rock gig way but sufficient to give some feedback, especially from the glockenspiels. I was fascinated by the echoes bouncing off the lighting rig and round the hall , and the sounds I imagined to lie within them  - the aural equivalent of seeing definite shapes in abstract patterns on curtains and so forth. At one point I swore I heard the waves of a rough sea, another time human voices, as if a party is going on down the corridor and behind a closed door.

The whole thing was very civilised (I didn't stay for the discussion afterwards), just a shame about the miserable wet weather. In summer a short sojourn by the river on the way home would be perfect.

The only downer was the man behind me. He spent the 20 minutes or so before the concert started by trying to remember all the football trivia he had once known, probably as a set of exercises to try and halt the inexorable decline of his mind (years of drug abuse rather than Alzheimers, I suspect). That which he remembered he was getting wrong (the England manager is called Angelotti, no Ancelotti), and he was forgetting things like the name of that dark-haired Belfast boy who played on the wing for Manchester United and that manager of Liverpool who declared football to be more important than life or death.

Then he started snoring very loudly down my neck, causing the woman three seats away from me to look round and smile, well, trying not to laugh, nearly making me laugh. I shouldn't laugh, it's sad, maybe we'll all end up like that. Maybe the only thing that will keep us functioning is our little trips out, firmly escorted by our much older friend, who didn't look like he'd spent his entire life recovering from a bad LSD trip. I don't think you'd get that at an opera house.

Another thing that annoyed me. The thing about this piece is that it can end whenever the ensemble can decide it's going to end, not like a standard, say symphonic piece when anyone with half an ear for music can hear the climax being approached and keys being resolved and the end approaching. The end is really quite sudden. And then always has to be one, just one, arsehole who starts their clapping that fraction of a second too soon, as if he has been waiting poised to be the important person who can show off how clever he is to be the first to clap, rather than allowing for the music to end, the heart to beat, and then to clap.

More TV alerts

Somewhat in the manner of London buses, there are several programmes scheduled soon on BBC TV that will be of interest to fans of opera and classical music.

Starting tonight on BBC2 with Purcell: The Londoner and continuing in subsequent weeks with Handel: The Conquering Hero, and then Haydn and Mendelssohn (ie getting more tenuous on the 'British' as we go along!). It's just an excuse to wallow in anniversaries of years ending in 9, of course. I could be churlish but I can assure you I shall be setting my Sky+

This coming Friday - note, a week earlier than previously advertised - is Purcell's Dido and Aeneas from ROH, starring Sarah Connolly, with some other notable performances.

I guess the Acis and Galatea part of the double bill will be shown the week after. But I'm sure we'll get more info nearer the time.

The Sky+ will be set.

Also potentially of interest is Bill Bailey's Remarkable Guide to the Orchestra , also tonight on BBC2.

Finally, in probably the nearest that ITV will get to 'culture' (The South Bank Show is set to be abolished) - The 2009 Classical Brit Awards at the Royal Albert Hall will be broadcast on Tuesday 19th May, at 10.35pm on ITV1. I imagine my Sky+ may be set. I wouldn't be surprised if selected highlights end up on Rapidshare and/or YouTube.

Creation at the Barbican

2009, Bring it On!!!

The year is but 10 days old and the gauntlet has been thrown. We are already thinking about our Awards for 2009. Some of them will be hotly contested.

Best German Singer of 2009, a very tight category...Herr Kaufmann and Herr Pape, the heat is on. You have to beat the trio Of Thomas Quasthoff, Julia Kleiter and Maximillian Schmitt...actually, Julia was by far the weakest of the three and she was well above average.

Best tenor newcomer to me of 2009: give me someone better than the frighteningly young Maximillian Schmitt and I will be in Tenor Nirvana...what can I say about him - the worst I can say he is no Fritz Wunderlich. Lose  5 10 kilos and oh boy, you are set for Hunkentenor Status...he upstaged the remarkable and faultless Thomas Quasthoff. I worked out from his biog he might be as young as 25 and almost certainly not 30.

Best performance of 2009. there is still 11 and 2/3 months to go, but can I just say to all the opera singers who read this blog...the bar has been set at a very high level: emulate or exceed this performance and you will get my fervent praise

(yes yes, I know that technically Thomas Quasthoff isn 't really an opera singer, but opera/oratorio is interchangeable, and special circumstances apply to him who would be a very great opera singer if opera didn't have unreasonable physical demands...but I'd still love to see him as Don Giovanni, I think he would be excellent)

It was just fabulous. Far too fabulous to harp on the minor flaws and imperfections. Obviously they were off to a running start performing one of the most glorious pieces of music ever written. I could comment that at times Thomas Quasthoff surprised me by being not as loud as I thought he might be. However, the sensitivity he brought to interpreting the role was superb - highlight being the recitative in part two which describes the lion, the tiger, the stag, the steed etc. Jimmy decided not to read the text and, instead, just listen to the German, and he claims he spotted an elephant; I think that must have been the lion or the whale.

And the orchestra! The Freiburg Baroque under Rene Jacobs were incomparable. So many nuances. Initially, with my expectations set so high, I was disappointed that they failed to meet my demands for contrast in the bit that goes "And God said Let there be Light and There was"..."Li-i-i-i-i-i-ght" where I want pianissimo to become cacophony. I also want the concert hall to be in darkness until this point and then for all the lights to flood on. Still, the invisible hairs on my arm did stand up at this point,which was otherwise a low point. The choir - RIAS - was excellent, helped no doubt by their placement which had sops and basses to my left and altos and tenors to my right. They came close to polyphony or a Wall of Sound that reverberated effectively round the Barbican.

It is wonderful seeing Thomas Quasthoff. He comes on stage, and I register that he looks like a freak. Then the music begins, and he sings, and he is just an amazing singer. I would be a bigger fan if his repertoire coincided more with my taste - he does a lot of Bach and a he does a lot of Lieder, both of which are filed more under 'respect' than 'love'. But he's got a partial residency at the Barbican  between now and October, and I seriously urge anyone who can to hear him. He is never going to feature on Barihunks but he is a very great singer...if I can select one moment, he is the man who puts meaning into the phrase 'der leichte, flockige Schnee'.

I psent most of the evening with a smile of delight on my face and I really don't think I was alone. Needless to say, the audience was very very annoying in the intolerable anti-social stuff they did. Some people had the temerity to cough discretely during the loud bits. There was a couple in front of me when, every time Thomas went from spinto tenor to basso profundo - as he does - in one phrase, exchanged glances of approval. And then, in Part 3, when Adam (Thomas) and Eve (Julia) were declaring their love for each each other, there were couples who crept nearer to each other, were touching, some even had arms casually across their lover's back. Really quite an unruly audience!

Overall it was a stunningly memorable performance. Naturally there were flaws, but I really do not wish to dwell, because no live performance is perfect, and yet, every single factor worked so well and gelled so excellently that it turned out to be better than the sum of its not inconsiderable parts. I was so glad I was there.

Earlier today I had been exchanging emails with Alison who expressed a desire to arrive on the Atheist Bus as a suitable balance to the message. Guess what I spotted on my Northern Line train!

Hallelujah

Best version ever... (of Handel's, that is)

An order of Monks who have taken a vow of silence...

Crossover Brits

The nominations and line-up was announced yesterday: Classical BRITs Nominations Press Release

The presence of Anna Netrebko and Bryn Terfel might actually be enough to tempt me there. However, last year, some friends bought some cheap tickets and then entered a competition in the Metro or Sub-standard or some such and both won much better tickets than they had bought, so I'm holding out for Freebies. and if I don't get them, I'll live. Although, it is tempting to have a listen to Bocelli without paying the ridiculous prices he usually charges.

The nominations are strange. Female and Woman are okay, although I am perplexed by why Kate Royal gets cited for a 2006 album of no consequence.

But the male category is strange. I adore Rolando Villazón so have no in principle issue about him being nominated - indeed I have one of his CDs playing right now. But it is eighteen months since he has performed in Britain, and, I think the only album he realised last year was his zarzuela aria album, which I doubt registered many sales in Britain. I wonder why Colin Davis has been nominated. I am a big Colin Davis fan, have been since childhood, but I wonder why he has been nominated this year as opposed to any other year. As for Alfie Boe, I really have no strong opinions on him. I had no desire to see Kismet last year, nor do I wish to see the Merry Widow this year. He has a small part in ROH's Elektra next season, which seems a sensible return to his roots. I understand that he has released a couple of albums that have sold well, but as far as I can tell (I don't actually own them) he doesn't bring any startling insights of interpretation to the material. I've seen him a few times on TV and he doesn't seem a natural TV performer, looking like a rabbit caught in the headlights every time the camera focuses on him.

I can't really comment on the record of the year, two Janacek vs Bach, because I haven't heard any of the discs in question. I suspect the Makropulos Case might win as a way of honouring Charles Mackerrras.

As for the Lifetime Award...Except for his Requiem, what exactly has Andrew Lloyd-Webber ever done for classical music.

It's such a bizarre thing, because on the one hand, such as with the recording category they attempt to be serious, then they have a ridiculous play-off between the top ten selling 'classical' records of the year -basically pop records that slipped into the very wide, vague and inaccurate categorisation of 'classical' by the Official UK Chart Company, and then get Classics For Morons Listeners to vote, based upon tribalism, geography and factionalism. Obviously, Bryn and Anna, and indeed Nige, are serious musicians, but then throw in three pop singers, and what you have is neither fish nor fowl. I can't see Bryn singing O du, mein holder Abendstern; Tre sbirri, Una carrozza; and Ehi paggio!... L'onore Ladri, and I suspect Nige will go for the populist. Still, I think we can rely on Anna not to sing I Could Have Danced All Night, or a schmaltzed up Nirvana song in Portuguese. But I bet Both Bryn and Anna will be miked up, when they don't need it, not even in the Albert Hall.

100 albums you must listen to

It's a list

I've read through, and I would endorse some of the selections, and virulently reject others. Clearly, any such list will be personal. Some of the recommended recordings are so old I have to wonder about the quality of the sonics. Others strike me as being very old-fashioned choices eg for Messiah it seems ludicrous to recommend only a 'traditional' interpretation when there is such a difference between over-egged over-schmaltzy orchestration and the crisp excitement of period interpretations. Also, the subset called 'opera' entirely fails to consider DVD, a bit bizarre considering that very few operas at all (if any) were written as audio only, so to recommend an opera recording without pictures is a bit like recommending a bowdlerized novel.

Years ago, a then friend copied for me a list that the Telegraph had compiled of the 100 books one must read. For years it stayed on my kitchen wall, then I removed it, thinking 'I am not obliged to read any book merely because experts (or one expert, or one bored journalist) thinks it's a 'must read'. And, in any case, the list was very conservative and with rather narrow terms of reference. So I seized on this review of what appeared to be a Bluffer's Guide Pierre Bayard's How to Talk About Books You Haven't Read is an invaluable guide to subverting the reading classes. Setting aside that the review is written in appalling dense prose, it seems it isn't a Bluffer's Guide, anyway. Furthermore, I reflected, do I really want to be the sort of person who , at mythical dinner parties filled with erudite conversation about novels, rather than
a) staying quiet; or
b) saying I haven't read that book because:

• with so many books to read and such diverse tastes, it is a bit unthinking merely to follow the crowd
• I've probably read books that you haven't
• if you have read so many books you probably don't have a great deal else going on in you life

one attempts to sound knowledgeable about something one knows bugger all about - well, that's pathetic isn't. If I am so desperate to appear well-read, I am afraid the only way to appear so is to be well-read. And I question the value in 'appearing well-read', which is pretty shallow, when the goal ought to be 'to be well read'. Being well read would make one a more rounded and thoughtful person, with greater awareness of the pointlessness of pretending; it would bring some entertainment into one's life; and it would simply make one more knowledgeable.

However, I have found Penguin Classics's "100 Classic Books You Must Read Before You Die"

This kiss for the whole world

One of my all time favourite works. And by that I mean Top 5. It is definitely something that every self-respecting music lover should have at least one copy of in their record collection. I expect everybody has at least part of it in their collection, because the final movement -  or part of - tends to be in most compilations of "Best of what you can't live without" But contrary to what the typical Classic FM listener will believe, this actually has four movements. There is plenty enough written on the web, some of it by musicologists, so there is little point in boring with you all that.

I have three versions of this. As a hint I would say it's better to pick it on account on the bass soloist rather than any other voice type. For years and years my favourite version was the Herbert von Karajan version with the Berliner Philharmoniker, indeed this is the version that is recommended by experts as the definitive.

But just recently, a new version has overtaken this as my favourite. I got the CD because I had been to both performances where it was recorded in the Barbican and even though they rated as two of my favourite performances of 2006, I was, nevertheless, overwhelmed by the CD.  In addition to the fabulous singing - especially the bass (baritone, actually) soloist, I would highlight the timpani as being particularly special. I also like the way that the orchestra plays - an absence of legato, not quite staccato but with more or less every note precisely articulated - as opposed to the von Karajan version where there is, relatively speaking, quite a lot of eliding of notes, seeming, in comparison, to be quite slurry. And I love the way the Ladies of the LSC push right to the boundary, where to go beyond would be screechy...high risk strategy, immensely rewarding when brought off properly   

The final version I listen to is the first one I acquired, one that sits on a cassette I made after borrowing the vinyl LP from Nottingham library when I was a student. This was chosen for the tenor soloist, though this is not a work to be chosen for the tenor soloist! Sadly, for a number of years, this was the only Beethoven 9 in my collection, and due to the relative paucity of my collection, it is one that has been played so often it resides in my muscle memory.  It is just way too slow,way way too slow, and really, that now makes it very difficult to play and enjoy. The total playing time is 78 minutes with the fourth movement being 28:34 (with twenty years of cassette stretch bringing it to 33!)  Von Karajan and Haitink  bring  the 4th in at just over 24 minutes, with total times being 67 and 68.  Despite my reservations I am going to buy the CD.

I can't really describe music, and it would be such an insult even to try to describe this. Music transcends words. It would be trite to say - I like that bit, especially when it does that, and oh, that bit too, trying to take it apart and analyse it, when it is a grand piece conceived out of the vision of an extraordinary genius!

It's a cliché when people say - and to imagine that Beethoven was completely deaf when he wrote this. As if somehow that is remarkable. It is of utter sadness that he did not hear it being performed by full orchestra, even when he was conducting, but I don't suppose a deaf Beethoven was any different from a hearing Beethoven, or any other composer. They have the music in their head and they write it down from there.

Recanting my sneer at Classic FM types, I have to admit that despite the first three movements being better than just about any symphony by anybody, the fourth outdoes just about the whole of the rest of the corpus of Western music. A magnificent combination of extraordinary words set to mind-blowing music. Definitely one of those pieces that is far greater then the sum of its parts, even though the parts are, in themself, quite magnificent. I read a quote the other day that whilst Mozart believed himself to be God* whereas Beethoven was reaching out to God. Obviously, one's interpretation will depend on the extent of one's belief in a Higher Power. I feel that this is one of the very few pieces of music that encapsulate that spirit, and one of the most inspiring pieces of music, as it culminates in a celebration of Joy!

It is definitely a piece for pumping up the volume, pumping it some more for the Final choral movement, singing along as loud as one can, with scant regard for tunelessness, especially if one does tunelessness well. And then wallowing in the moments of repose. Cathartic and adrenaline-forming. Pure joy!

One can have a lot of fun on YouTube watching - and of course, listening to the numerous versions available there, by necessity only short excerpts. It's also nice to read the comments. such as "Where can I buy a CD or DVD of this?" ( to which the reply is, "Just about any record store in the world"). At first glance, it seems the comment of an ignoramus - but an ignoramus wanting to learn, which happens to be my favourite type of person. And someone else "Magical. From a guy who loves hip-hop, this is the greatest piece of music ever produced."

Ones worth pointing out - Bernstein's historic changing of Freude to Freiheit at that historicBerlin concert in the heady days of 1989.

And what a contrast with this clip under Furtwaengler from 21 April 1942. Think v. carefully about that date. Gallops along wonderfully whilst simultaneously making the blood chill.

So, if you've got an hour or so to spare, sit down and enjoy these videos, of Herbert von Karajan conducting the whole bang-shoot, with superb camera-work and editing, as well as great conducting of really great music, with soloists Gundula Janowitz, Christa Ludwig, Jess Thomas  and Walter Berry. Some of the comments make me well up - I suppose the music contribute as well -  as does the thought I suddenly had that it should have been Wunderlich singing the tenor part. Actually, I'm not really sure - was his voice of the right fach. I have to confess to being  a bit of a Karajan fan, I sort of grew up on him, never live, sadly. There are so many recordings where he gets it wrong, but so spectacularly wrong. And the soloists - isn't Walter Berry totally gorgeous. And Gundula Janowitz, too.  But I've just fallen in love with Walter Berry.

You won't get that hour of your life back, but trust me, you will not want it back!

I have to include this 1970 clip for sheer self-indulgence in the young tenor soloist who seems like he might have had a promising career ahead of him...!

Continues and again

And finally, there isn't a piece of music in existence that can't be played on a ukelele by a bloke in a South Park t-shirt

* not sure this is accurate, either in the precise phraseology nor in the attribution, but I understand it musically

Festival

I have these five cassettes. I taped them off my sister. And I think she taped them off someone's vinyl. Knocking on for twenty years ago. TDK cassettes. They have been played so very many often times, in all sorts of dodgy cassette players I have owned over the years. On the box is written "Festival of Light Classical Music" Tapes that have sustained me through every aspect of my adult life.

There is no way that I can be in the slightest bit objective or dispassionate about any of the music on these, because they probably represent seven and a half of the ten hours of music with which I am more familiar than any other. And familiarity is one of the main aspects of liking music. Music that brings back memories, yet conversely, because of its ubiquity in my life, brings no specific memories and thus speaks for itself.

I thought about listing every track but how dull would that be, so I thought I would just pick out a handful of my real favourites. But then I realised that that would be at least half of the tracks. So I shall try some more general thoughts.

One of my Guilty Pleasures is Compilation Albums. I realise that these days, with the ability to burn CDs and download MP3s and all that I don't really need to buy Compilation Albums, but it's a form of retail therapy. They're also good when you don't really know what you want to listen to.

The best compilation albums feature music that has stood the test of time. Not just music that is popular because it has been used in adverts.

I always have trouble with popularity. Just because something - a piece of music - is popular doesn't mean it's good. I would say this particularly applies to something that is 'best selling' at a specific time. Conversely popularity doesn't mean it's bad. Indeed, there is an argument that a piece of music that is acclaimed by the critics, and loved by professionals and public alike over a significant time period is, by definition, good.

But then, you are left with the Bleeding Chunks Syndrome. As I write, Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries has just finished. A piece known, I think, by most people with ears, even if they don't know they know it. But only a very few minutes, and not a typical few minutes, excerpted from a 16 hour work of genius. Is the Ride better than the Ring as a whole? Can that question ever be answered? But it is certainly more popular than any other piece of music that Wagner wrote. Yet one day I was playing this in Hall and someone actually came to my room and reprimanded me for my subtle anti-semitism. I was too cowed and too anxious to be 'right on' - and too ignorant - to argue the toss. I like the music. Live with it. She wasn't even on my corridor, just passing by.

I did a search on Amazon, CDDB etc for this compilation, and struck a series of blanks, so I'm not even sure whether I there is much point in blogging this. But it is such an incredibly important part of my acquiring musical knowledge. Because I had such a small collection at the time I taped these, they were played over and again and I absolutely absorbed the music into my marrow. I have recently acquired the means to digitise cassettes and I have done so with these (the bigger problem is track splitting; well, it's not difficult just tedious and time-consuming). If I took a logical approach I have just about every tune already in digital of one sort or another, but I am so fond of the compilation as well as (most) of its constituent parts.

It is an entirely intelligent compilation. I would say that every piece is well known, but actually, that's because they are my musical life's blood. For example, a few weeks ago, I was watching Weber's Frieschutz, a completely unfamiliar opera to me....and yet, I knew the overture and one of the main themes as a result of this compilation. So it wasn't difficult for Frieschutz to become immediately "I like" and, more importantly "I want to get to know better".

And in total indulgence, a whole side of a cassette is devoted to just two pieces of music - Swan Lake and Nutcracker. I mean, let's face it,they are f***ing ace pieces of music and a nice way to round off 7½ hours of glorious music.

Missa Solemnis

As part of my ongoing 'all the records by forty' project I listened to Beethoven's Missa Solemnis a few times with the intention of blogging it thoughtfully.

It is acknowledged as a great work, and like all the rest of Beethoven (that I know), I like it. I realised that I have very little intelligent to say about it. I thought that perhaps that absence of intelligent comment was merely indicative of a lack of understanding. Beethoven didn't write the work as Light Entertainment, and if I were to approach it as such, it would be a waste of my time and yours. Hence the reason why I listened a few times.

I don't need any explanation of the story and the meaning. Despite my ungodliness i am very familiar with the rites and structure of the mass, musically I find masses to be a particularly worthwhile musical form. I considered whether my understanding would benefit from listening with the score and decided that it probably would, but, to be honest, I can't be bothered. I am not intending to perform it any time in the near future, and I don't think it was intended that the listener should need a score to comprehend.

I am torn, because in a way everything you need to know about a piece of music should be discernible by listening. Active listening, that is. For listening reasons, anyway. Clearly if you are going to perform it, you need more. And yet, I also know that one can benefit from the insights of others. But at the end of the day, I listen to music for pleasure, not to earn a living. I am not interested in studying music as an academic discipline and I have neither the ability nor the inclination to perform outside my shower.

I like the Sanctus very much, especially the writing for strings. Why do I like it? It has a gorgeous tune. And I like the fugal-ish arrangement. And it builds to a splendid climax for 'Hallelujah'. Every Hallelujah should be climax-like. I have to admit, I am a very shallow person. The rest of the tunes do not move me sufficiently. Definitely a CD to play on occasion but not necessarily over and again.

Beethoven's 6th

 This is a wonderful CD. In fact, I used to have it on cassette and when that conked out, I had to buy the exact same production on CD. That was because of the other two pieces, the Fantasia for piano, orchestra and chorus, previously blogged (but this version is just so much more passionate crisply delivered) and, also the Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage, which I think liked more then than now! And also because I have a minor DG Yellow fetish.

But the CD exists mainly for the Sixth, the rest is filler.

I have been looking over my early efforts at blogging my entire record collection, and I didn't actually go into great detail beyond "I like". Which is perhaps no bad thing. I really like Beethoven's 6th - Pastoral - Symphony, but not as much as I like 5 and 9. 5 and 9 are the pinnacle of his genius, 6 is merely a manifestation! God, that sounds pretentious. For me it is so much better than most of the symphonies in my collection, and yet, for me, it falls short of his two best.

There is an excerpt that is often included on compilation CDs and, indeed in Fantasia - indisputably the greatest animated film of all time - which makes it very familiar to anybody with even a passing interest in music - and probably the reason why this symphony is no.8 in this year's Classic FM Hall of Fame (if you don't believe me, note that the Pearl Fishers is no. 1 opera...even though, like, nobody has ever seen the Pearl Fishers...). Some compilation CDs even include just that bit and call it "Beethoven's 6th Symphony", giving the impression that the compilers don't have a 'king clue that symphonies generally consist of approximately four complete movements.

Robert King jailed

Child sex abuse conductor jailed and Conductor jailed for abusing boys - the latter mentions that

(Judge Hezlett Colgan said) while he would have to register as a sex offender for the rest of his life, the "radical change" in King's life since the offences - marriage and parenthood - meant he did not feel it necessary to ban him from working with children in the future.

which strikes me as perverse. I can see an argument for not banning someone who committed offences only as a youngster themselves, or (logically, not morally) if the offences were only committed away from any sort of work environment.

There have been quite a few comments on the various opera newsgroups. I know the story has been around since last summer, but to be honest, I didn't think it would lead to a conviction - partly because sexual assault cases tend to have a very low conviction rate anyway, and this is a case going back several years, (although generally assaults on boys are seen as exponentially worse than assaults on girls), and because it is not unusual for false accusations to be made against prominent people.

So it feels rather unpleasant to me. I have a number of Kings Consort CDs and have attended a number of their concerts; I am lavish with praise. But I don't know whether I could ever listen to those CDs again with quite the same. The TKC website says nothing - as yet - but does carry a long list of CDs that seem very desirable. Or do they? I don't know.

And the Torygraph have managed to surpass themselves in asinine offensive stupidity

I really do wish justice had not been done...for me...his golden recordings have put him beyond reproach.

He was also about the only person in Classical Music who, when he opened his mouth, could actually be funny. He was the supreme raconteur and always had the audiences in the palm of his hand.

Mind you, that's what these types actually believe - being a Good Chap who plays the Game makes one above the masses for whom hanging and birching is too good, what oh. Gosh, perhaps there were, you know, common people on the jury. Wouldn't have been allowed in my day.

Beethoven

The other reason for stalling in my "all the records by 40" project was Bach. I honestly don't know what to say about Bach. I don't be the sort of moron who calls Bach "sewing-machine music". Not least because I like Bach, but I don't know how. SO I'm going to pass by Bach for the time being, confident that by the time I reach 40 I shall be far more mature and be able to express how I feel about him.

I have moved onto Beethoven in my systematic playing but forgot to blog most of it, so we shall return to the bulk of my Beethoven collection, too. However, I am currently playing the Choral Fantasy in C minor Op 80 for piano, chorus and orchestra, which is just one of the most amazing piece of musics ever written. I often say that Beethoven is one of my favourite composers, but, symphonies apart, I don't actually have very much by him.

What I like about this particular piece is that it encapsulates the quintessential Beethoven, for me. See again the title - fantasy for piano, chorus and orchestra. So we start with a grand virtuoso piano first movement, which, as well as being pleasant in itself, also signals that it is building up to something. the second movement is a conversation between piano and orchestra. Beautifully lyrical and worthwhile in itself, simultaneously telling us that there is more to come.. The movement closes with a significant temp change - from Adagio to Marcia, assai vivace - and always there is underlying sense of moving forward. The third movement with solo voices singing with piano and background orchestra, building up into full choir, orchestra and piano, a real goose-pimple moment. And for ever building up to a manic finale.

When there simply isn't enough time for Beethoven's 9th Symphony, the Choral Fantasy serves as worthy alternative in quarter of the time! It's not the sort of piece that gets pushed by ClassicLite FM, nor included on compilation albums, but in my opinion, no record collection should be without it. I have never heard it live, I wonder if the need for six soloists for a four minute movement militates against live performances.

The triple concerto on the same disc is pleasant, too, although never likely to be a contender in my hypothetical Greatest Pieces listing.

The Joyce Hatto Fraud

Fascinating

Piano ‘genius’ is branded a fake

Masterpieces Or Fakes? The Joyce Hatto Scandal

Some help and understanding needed

Joyce Hatto: compelling evidence of an elaborate musical hoax

Reviews and stuff

It was hardly worth going Rupert Christiansen going to Theodora

At the Barbican, Emmanuelle Haïm conducted Le Concert d'Astrée in a grave and slow reading of Handel's Theodora that unwittingly seemed to emphasise its lugubrious sanctimoniousness. The soloists' singing was uniformly good – even if Anne Sofie von Otter's Irene couldn't eclipse memories of the late Lorraine Hunt Lieberson's interpretation – yet only in the stunning choruses did the drama come to life as it did in the celebrated Glyndebourne production.

At least I can believe that the Guardian was actually there. More thoughtful and detailed review at MV Daily

A is for Amadeus, B is for Beethoven. Presumably C-Z are yet to come. Can this adolescent-drive-by biographing with deliberately provocative statements rise to Zemlinsky or Zandonai? Or will the Grauniad's characteristic ADD peter out at Korngold...Is it me ageing or is the Guardian becoming increasingly juvenile?

Review of Soile Isokoski's CD and links to a free download (probably only valid today).

Preview of Magdalena Kozená tonight at the Barbican. An all Mozart programme looks enticing; bizarrely, there are still alot of tickets left, from £9 - £35. I can't make it.

Haydn's Creation

A seriously gorgeous and special piece of music. I was trembling in anticipation this morning as i stepped into the shower. I fairly recently came to the conclusion that it is amongst my top five pieces of music ever.

So tonight, Barbican, mounting anticipation. I tried to order an interval drink but barstaff told me - no interval, and you know, I was pleased - nothing to interrupt the experience.

Names in the frame, as per the website:

Gabrieli Consort & Players
Chethams Chamber Choir
Paul McCreesh conductor
Sandrine Piau soprano
Mark Padmore tenor
Neal Davies bass

I opened my programme and learned that Part 3 would star Miah Persson and Peter Harvey. So, separate singers for Adam and Eve. In the general milling beforehand I saw a man who was an absolute doppelganger of René Jacobs. I thought, either that is René Jacobs or there's a man who bears an uncanny resemblance to him who has a liking for period instrument music....

What a splendid evening. Such beautiful music! Story taken from Genesis Chapter 1 - you know the 7 days*, plus poems from John Milton's Paradise Lost. Three parts: first creating the world, and the land and the sea; second, creating the creatures and man and woman. Third part Adam and Eve blissful in the Garden of Eden before The Fall.

It was a large orchestra - perhaps the largest period instrument orchestra I have witnessed, except for Rattle's Das Rheingold, of course, and a sizeable choir. Massed ranks probably equivalent in size to the LSO for Beethoven 9. A lot of doubling, two sets of timps, two quite separate wind sections and so on. Sadly, no theorbo: there was a theorbo last night, none at La bohème (quel surprise...!), one at Theodora last week, and one at the last Prom I went to, so I was getting into thinking theorbos were standard orchestral instruments...

The orchestra sounded absolutely fantastic. A wonderful tone, and brilliantly conducted, I thought, by Paul McCreesh. It proceeded at a spanking pace and was full blooded, but without the sentimental over-egging of lush strings in the style of Karajan. Sadly, there was a horn flub very near the beginning and I thought, with dread, it's going to be a period horn night. But thankfully, it wasn't. It's hard to single out which bit of the orchestra sounded best. To me they all sounded marvellous. I particularly liked the tympani, which was loud and passionate, I liked the flute evoking the dove and I loved the bassoons evoking the heavy tread of animals. There was a lovely horn passage, and the trumpets were bright and ringing. The strings were bright and acute and sharp (but not in pitch...!)

However, despite the superlatives, there is a catch to that. It's an oratorio, not an orchestral piece. And whether it was the orchestra being too loud, or the soloists not being loud enough, I don't know. It definitely wasn't just me, or my seating position, because two other people made a similar comment before I even asked them.

I was disappointed in Sandrine Piau. I have never heard her live, nor fully on disc, just excerpts, and I'd heard rave things about her. I didn't like her. She squalled the top notes, most excruciatingly in an embellishment in one da capo aria. Not loud enough, except when squalling. I found her rather boring. If my mind wondered at all it was during her arias.

Neil Davies was pleasant, but again not over-loud. A rather generic voice, but delivered his pieces with finesse and precision. Often with feelings. Mark Padmore was definitely the star of the first two parts. I think he has a lovely voice (very English tenor, not the sort of tenor that generally gets much kudos on mmofm), good technique, commitment, passion, and a degree of stage presence, yet, frustratingly he seems to be less than the sum of his parts. And he's certainly no Fritz Wunderlich (but who is...?). Coming out of Wigmore last night, someone said apropos his photo on display in the foyer "Doesn't Mark Padmore look like Tony Blair?" I thought on that particular photo he did seem to bear a passing - but only slight - resemblance, but seeing him tonight with this in mind, I had to agree. But not Sexy Tony so much as Tired Beleaguered Tony.

Peter Harvey was pleasant as Adam, and I could find no fault although I find it hard to pick out the highlights of his performance.

But the singing star was undoubtedly Miah Persson. She looked every bit the star in a turquoise** evening gown, sleeveless and strapless, with a delicate decoration, flowers maybe on the skirt, and as soon as she opened her mouth I fell in love. If Creation is one of my all time favourite works, then the Part 3 Scene 2 Duet and Chorus must count as one of my favourite numbers (By thee with bliss, O bounteous Lord, the heaven an earth are fill'd....The Heav'n and Earth Thy Power Proclaim; we praise thee now and evermore) Miah's singing brought tears to my eyes it was so beautiful. I think I have fallen ever so slightly in love, in a diva-worshipping sort of way. It's not only that she has such a beautiful, clear and musical voice, but she has a dignified stage presence. I don't know how she old she is; she only made her international debut three years ago, but she really is going to be a big star.

Paul McCreesh explained in the programme notes how he had re-translated the words from the rather clunky translation we know so well. One of the things was to be more true to the German and fit in better with the music, and also to correct some errors of very poor English. This was most apparent in The Heavens Are Telling where I am familiar with "The wonder of his work displays the firmament" which Paul altered to "The firmament displays the wonder of his works" which of course makes more sense, and, actually fits the music better, with 'wonder of his works' being the oft-repeated phrase, rather than 'displays the firmament'. But it really jarred for the first half of the chorus, until it hit me. And now I suspect I shall never be able to enjoy properly a performance or recording that uses the old original mistranslation...

Overall, a splendid evening, because, despite shortcomings from the some of the singers, it really was a Great Performance of a truly Great Piece of Music! And it's been a splendid October to end my near-hiatus. October ends on Tuesday with the minor matter of Rolando Villazón and Anna Netrebko. I've been told they will be doing a signing session; I shall be going armed with money. There's a reason...

Update: MusicOMH review

This was not the greatest Creation that London has seen, but when the choir opened their mouths and the orchestra surged in a great forte swell, it seemed to be not far off. The CD looks to be a necessity.

* it's not literally true, you know, but in this setting works as a beautiful allegory

** I say turquoise; It was more this sort of colour*** - which doesn't seem to show up well, but I've approximated it as an RGB of 4 54 60 (customise colours in Paint)

*** I suspect I might get linked from the Miah Persson fan bulletin board

Carolyn Sampson at Wigmore Hall

Or rather:

Carolyn Sampson (soprano)
Stephanie-Marie Degand (violin)
Alexandra Bellamy (oboe)
Jonathan Cohen (cello)
Lynda Sayce (theorbo)
Robert King (harpsichord, organ)

under the title of The King's Consort.

There we were sitting in the foyer of the hall when a couple arrived pushing a pram. Strange, I thought. I know that bloke from somewhere. "That bloke" was chatting to someone selling CDs and introduced Johannes, and said he had lain through all the rehearsal, and I suddenly realised that 'that bloke' was Robert King. Handy to be able to parade one's 'normality' when a court case is hanging over one. I do so like Robert as a conductor, or, as he was this evening, director from keyboard.

The programme is in the extended entry. All the 'titled' pieces are one or other of Handel's Nine German Arias, to texts by Barthold Heinrich Brockes. Rather nice texts, concerned with seeing the glory of God in nature. These were interspersed with three oboe sonatas, two of which had movements that seemed familiar...I suspect that I have or had recordings of them performed on recorder or flute.

Other than Messiah, Handel's music doesn't have a great emotional impact on me, but it is always delightful, and I keep going back for more. Carolyn's voice was as lovely as ever, fresh, sweet and engaging, and soaring, and with excellent phrasing and interpretation. I just adore her voice. There is due to be a CD of these works. It will certainly go on my wishlist but I'm not sure that the pieces grabbed me enough to make it a 'must buy on the day of release' piece.

I love the sound of a period oboe and enjoyed the playing of Alexandra Bellamy, especially in the coloratura bits...I expect I don't really mean 'coloratura' but it's a more impressive word than 'twiddly' and more succinct than saying passages of rapidly executed semi-quavers and demi-semi quavers.

Overall, a very pleasant evening. Not Handel's greatest works, but nevertheless, in accordance with that winning formula, and performed very well. We agreed that the highlight of the evening was a heartfelt and moving Lascia ch'io pianga, from Rinaldo (and from Harrods TV ads...).

Update Simon's review in MusicOMH

Sunday night concert of English music

Sharp-eyed readers might be a surprised that I have taken so long to write this up. I went to a concert last week at the Barbican. To be honest, I'm not really sure what to write about it. I arrived about three hours early but that was because I was meeting up with Faye, who was in the area but, probably wisely, didn't fancy the concert. It was a glorious hot day and we sat by the lake, although by then it had clouded over in the late afternoon. I had inadvertently caught the sun on Saturday in the back garden; I caught more on Sunday although I didn't realise until I got home exactly how red my face was. (Although it had cleared up by Monday morning.)

When we sat back the lake knocking back our drinks Faye happened to glance around and said, "There he is..."

"Who?" I asked.

"Gerald Finley," she said.

Our star for the evening was just strolling into the Lakeside Terrace. Well, I say 'our' star. My star. Faye didn't go to the concert.

And in the first half I was rather thinking I wish I hadn't. It started with Vaughan Williams Wasps Overture. I had this surreal thought that it would be much improved if they unleashed a swarm of wasps in the auditorium. Of course I immediately realised that that would be wrong on so many levels. But it was pretty dire.

Then was Elgar's Cello Concerto. There was nothing wrong with it and it is a lovely piece of music. But it has to be played really well to make it worth my while. And it was just an adequate performance.

I had only booked the concert for Vaughan Williams' Sea Symphony. No, not even that is true. I have the Sea Symphony on CD and whilst it's okay, it's never really grabbed me. So I have to be honest and say that the only reason I booked the concert was for Gerald Finley.

Well, the Sea Symphony was marvellous. London Symphony Orchestra were singing; London Symphony Chorus were zinging. Susan Gritton was splendid in what someone pointed out to me is a punishing soprano role. And Gerald Finley was everything I hoped he would be, and much much more. He makes it all seem so easy, and yet it is always such a striking reading. And I so love his voice. I really believe he is incapable of singing a wrong note or making an ugly sound.

Live, it really is a great piece of music. From where I was, practically on the floor of the Barbican, I felt surrounded by the sound of the orchestra, and the ever-wonderful LSO Chorus. And, you know, it was so evocative of the sea. But, still, I didn't feel any great urge to play the CD when I got home and I haven't done so in the intervening five days. Perhaps some pieces are just not suited to live performances.

Afterwards, the fairy godfather of SOSSLED smuggled me backstage. Without my partner-in-stalking, I felt a bit self-conscious and was a bit scared at the thought of hanging around looking like a lemon. I easily found Gerald's dressing room - which is more than can be said for him, so I showed him to it. I explained that I had been smuggled backstage and didn't want to hang around like a fan girl, because I'm not a fan girl. I thanked him for the performance and said that I didn't know the piece very well, but I enjoyed it and he sounded great. I didn't want to detain him, because he was en route to his dressing room, even though I would really love to spend some time in his company, over a drink or whatever. I said I'd see him at Figaro. Twice.

The Times carries a review

Choral at the Cathedral

It is a matter of deep regret that the Royal Festival Hall is closed for business for another year.

Hmm, thinks carefully...no regrets that I voted in favour of the planning permission for the total refurb!

So when a big choral work is planned, the Philharmonia decamps down to the grotesque Gothic Westminster Cathedral. Last Wednesday they did so with the Bach Choir, under David Hill, and soloists Carolyn Sampson, Anna Burford and Grant Doyle. The programme was not a 'must-see' for me, but I wouldn't miss Carolyn Sampson without good reason. And the Philharmonia and Bach are reliable forces.

The programme started with Wagner's Good Friday Music from Parsifal; and the body of the concert was Szymanowski's Stabat Mater and Brahms' German Requiem.

It struck me as being a bit mistimed, actually. It would have been excellent for Good Friday, not for the Wednesday between Ascension and Pentecost.

I was in an excellent seat, second row from the front. I acted irrationally and questioned why. When I arrived, the woman in the seat next to mine had her crutch propped on my seat, and I indicated politely that it was my seat, so she moved her crutch, and without any sense I suggested that she might prefer the aisle seat. After I sat third seat in, I wondered what on earth possessed me to do something so pointless. But then the soloists came out and I realised that I was sitting directly opposite Carolyn Sampson, with no one in front of me.

There was an empty seat next to me, on which I laid my programme. I realised that the man to the left of that seat was craning his neck to get a free read, so I nonchalantly gathered up my programme and held it so that he could only see the advert on the back. Upside down. Out of my extreme peripheral vision I could see him hurriedly looking away at being caught. Never underestimate my peripheral vision: it compensates for my spacial unawareness! He proceeded to spend the rest of the concert nervously sniffing.

Simon was also present and got bad acoustics and bad neighbours.

My acoustics were fine - very much enveloped-by-the-orchestra which I have found happens at many venues. Even so, I will express the caveat that my judgement may be affected by the generally appalling acoustics of the place.

The Wagner was the most insipid Wagner I have ever heard and I could only regard it as a necessary opener to allow the Latecomers (from the long toilet queue) to take their rightful seats. I hope that Wagner, especially something like Parsifal will sound grand, almost pompous. I was out of luck.

Then the Szymanowski. I have never heard it before, but I definitely want to hear it again. I really liked it. I'm writing this review five days later so I can't remember why i liked it was big, raucous and thrilling. I think it was probably quite a difficult sing for the soloists; at times I noticed that both Anna Burford and Grant Doyle were having a few strains at the extremes of the range (him at the top, her at the bottom) and at one point I caught an characteristically breathy sound in Carolyn Sampson's usually crystal clear top. But please don't let those quibbles detract from an overall good performance. I haven't heard Anna Burford before but would hear her again. Interesting voice - a wonderful rich and dark sound near the bottom that made me think she was a contralto, but then she didn't really get those really low notes, so she can't be. So, I suppose a dramatic mezzo with a curtailed range. Perhaps, what do I know. But definitely a voice that's pleasant to listen to. Grant Doyle had a pleasant sounded voice and put plenty of expression into what he was singing, although I sensed that there was not a great amount of natural colour in the voice. Still, he's young.

And Carolyn was gorgeous throughout.

After the interval was the Brahms German Requiem, which is mainly a choral piece with occasional passages for the soprano and baritone soloist. I don't possess a CD of it, but I do have various extracts on various compilation CDs. And although I enjoyed hearing it live, I can't say I'm in a hurry to rush out and buy a CD. It seemed to go on for an eternity. And although I enjoyed the performance of orchestra and chorus, I do feel I have been spoilt of late by the LSO/LSC.

Matthias Goerne Recital

Last night found me at the Queen Elizabeth Hall for a transvestite recital by baritone Matthias Goerne, with Alexander Schmalcz on piano

- And hello to David and Frances who said 'hello' beforehand in the foyer and to Stephen who I often see at things -

The programme was a selection of Schumann songs, including Frauenliebe und -leben; Berg's Vier Lieder; and Wagner's Wesendonck Lieder. All of which were written for, and are more generally sung by women; the performers wore normal male concert dress of dark grey suits and matching shirts.

An enjoyable evening. To my surprise, of the lot I enjoyed the Berg most of all. This singer has not grazed my radar at all and I thoroughly enjoyed his voice. Not necessarily beautiful, but to my ears technically excellent, perhaps even flawless (to my ears). Musically intelligent. Funnily enough I cannot now recall whether there were shadings of colour and tone. On the other hand, I didn't once think that the sound was monotonous. Fabulous to listen to. Although, and I'm sure I shall be mocked, when I hear native German speakers singing German, I find it quite difficult to follow the words. But I recognise that that is my problem and shouldn't be regarded as a substantive part of the review.

Before the recital, I read in the programme's biographical notes that 'he chooses his opera roles carefully' and I felt that to be slightly pretentious. By the interval, I had come to the conclusion that it was actually euphemistic. This was someone with an extraordinary stage presence, and I do not mean that as a compliment. He spent most of the time side on to the audience glancing at his score which rested on the piano. He very rarely looked into the audience; when he did, even at the applause, which was warm and sustained, I felt that he was scanning the rafters rather than connecting with people. I felt no sense of him inhabiting the 'roles'. Even his deportment conveyed a sense of not wanting to be there. So I ended up spending most of the recital with my head buried in the programme - which contained the words in German, and English translation.

I concluded that this is somebody with mild Aspergers*. I have encountered very many of them in my life as an accountant/auditor. Perhpas it is unfortunate that he bears a physical resemblance to one of the bus-spotters of Streatham Hill. It seems curious to find a singer so obviously so. I would imagine that most musicians with Aspergers would tend to something like percussion or double bass, or perhaps organ, where audience communication is less of an issue than singing.

Still, a thoroughly pleasant aural experience, and someone I would definitely wish to hear again - he's doing Mahler's Ruckert-Lieder in the same venue in December. If it was any week but that awkward 'Just Before Christmas' week, I wouldn't hesitate to book, but because of the timing, I will decide nearer the time.

* not that I have any expertise is such a diagnosis - this is a mere observation of an impression

Elijah

A surprisingly enjoyable evening for me.

I booked this ages ago on the basis that I really like Elijah, by Mendelssohn. Tthen I started thinking. I might like Elijah, but I don't really know it. It's in Westminster Cathedral, a venue I have already discovered to be completely antipathetic to music.

Then I looked at the list of soloists. Kate Royal, I know little about except that she's the next Big Thing in British Opera, and I heard her as Woglinde in Rheingold about eighteen months ago. I have always found Timothy Robinson to be satisfying and reliable without ever hitting my T-spot.* I have seen Iain Paterson in a few minor roles here and there and have not been displeased, and he was impressive in Curlew River on the TV. But, to be honest, when I saw his name, I thought, 'he's the one who looks like someone I used to be involved with...' rather than thinking about his voice. As for Jean Rigby, the last time I saw here I wrote

I've found her disappointing before. Once I can forgive, twice I draw conclusions.

I sat down with the CD over the weekend and played it in my ears today, and concluded that it is indeed a fine piece of work. But still I don't know it.

I took myself along to Westminster Cathedral and prepared for an evening of misery.

As the conductor walked on someone on my row said "Ooh, it's that gorgeous one...!" I racked my brains to think of a youngish gorgeous conductor. I t dawned on me it was Paul Daniel. I would say 'Easy on the eye' rather than gorgeous, but I would be a sad woman indeed if that mattered to me. You know, conductors, the ones with their backs to the audience.

It was definitely a performance of two halves. In the first half the orchestra, chorus and three of the soloists battled heroically against the appalling acoustic. I moved forward after the interval and heard a splendid concert, conducted wonderfully, played magnificently and sung gloriously by chorus and three of the soloists. I think I might have been in an acoustic whitespot, on the aisle, about Row 10 of Block B. Timothy Robinson hit my T spot, notably in his closing aria; Kate Royal sounded good, but far from the finished article, I would say. And Iain Paterson was amazing. I really like his voice, and I resolved that I do want to see him again. As it happens, I have tickets to see him four times in May but, knowing nothing about the opera Cyrano de Bergerac, I know less than nothing about Le Bret. I'm wondering whether I should, after all, go and see Sir John in Love, but again, I'm not sure how significant is the part of Sir Hugh Evans.

I'm sorry but I'm going to have to say it. Jean Rigby was awful. Maybe it's just me, because she has an impressive CV, but at one point, there seemed to be a lot of fidgeting when she started singing, whereas the next time Iain Paterson began, the only stirring was people sititng upright to pay attention. And it can't just be me, because when she had strangled 'O rest in the Lord', a sumptuously beautiful aria as written, and as sung by Janet Baker on the CD I own, the chap behind me exhaled the word 'crap'. He didn't know the music - he said so afterwards, although he did know the story, because he wrote an essay on it once. However, you don't have to be familiar with the music to recognise brilliant singing, nor do you to recognise, well, crap. So maybe I shouldn't go to Sir John in Love, after all, because she is in it.

Elijah is an extraordinarily beautiful piece of music, with some fine arias and some rousing choruses. I doubt it will ever overtake Messiah or the Creation in my affections, or that of the Great British Public, but it's a great piece of work. Quite possibly the missing link between Haydn and Wagner. Mendelssohn died at 38, the same age as I am now (7 November will be my Mendelssohn day). Another great Aquarius. Him, Mozart and Schubert. All Aqaurians, all geniuses. All died young.

And I will say this for Westminster Cathedral. The bizarre acoustics muffle the strings and allow the brass and timpani to sound out. Admittedly, it was Mr Noisy on the timps,but I like him!

I feel a lot happier about the final concert I have in the Westminster Cathedral series. My seat is in Block A, and hopefully it will be somewhat warmer at the end of May, so I won't have to sit shivering in coat, pashmina and gloves. And I will book the Riccardo Muti Verdi Requiem for next March.

*it's a spot specially reserved for Tenors; sort of the aural equivalent...oh, you get the picture.

Parasitus Rexus (Future)

I have just come back from spending the evening in the company of the future King Charles III and Queen Camilla.

And you know what, I am now a firmer Republican than I have ever been before.

Actually nothing to do with them personally, I barely noticed them. And I don't actually have a problem with the fact that there were about forty uniformed and I suspect a few plain-clothed police officers on duty in the tiny Queen Elizabeth Hall. Nor the fact that metal detectors had been installed and one had to go through a process very similar to airport security. I went through it three times - outdoors smoking, you see. (Now, if Camilla hadn't given up, she could have joined me and a tiny elite bunch for a quick puff behind the bike sheds).

What actually really really bugged me was the attitude of a significant part of the audience. Even when I arrived, direct from work, I thought 'oh my god, people are Dressing Up for the tatty but rather loveable QEH'. I was only wearing a suit because I had had a meeting this morning. There were grown adults getting excited, buzzing like, oh I don't know, a bunch of teenagers at a McFly concert. I overheard snippets of conversation that led me to think that people had come for C&C rather than the music. Which kind of annoyed me, because I had booked so long ago that my ticket is advertising Patti Smith's Meltdown, a high Summer event!

We were first instructed to take our seats fifteen minutes before the concert began, when it's usually ten. Then we were sat - in my case - like lemons waiting for the Royal Party to arrive, well past half seven. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the people behind me as their excitement grew, palpably. They had bought a programme, because it was a special occasion. Special occasion, I kept hearing over and again.

There was near hysteria which I assumed signalled the arrival of the happy couple. I didn't actually really see them, because I was engrossed in reading my programme notes. Then to my horror, the man behind is instructing his companions to stand up, and, blow me, four fifths of the hall stands up. Not me, obviously, nor, as it happens, the couple to my right. And then people clapped. The vomiting sounds coming from Row MM were me.

When the Leader of the Orchestra arrived on the platform I applauded her enthusiastically, just in case anyone was watching me. When the conductor arrived I was half tempted to start a one-woman standing and screaming ovation. Just to make a point, you understand. I'm not in the habit of cheering the arrival of conductors, unless it's following the second of two boozy intervals, when loads of people do. But, I ask myself, why do these morons show this simpering toadying deference to a parasite and his mistress wife who have done absolutely nothing to earn the place where they are?

Then the whole charade repeated itself at the start of the second half; the man behind said "Oh do we have to stand up again?". I really felt like turning round and saying "Look mate, you don't have to do anything. If you wish to, do, that's your choice. I will mock in you my blog, but it's your choice." And four fifths of the hall stood. But not me, nor the couple to my right. I remarked to the woman next to me - "I think we're surrounded by sheep" "Oh, it's pathetic!" she said vehemently. "Still, it's all quite exciting for the staff..."

And the music - the Philharmonia under David Parry. A disappointing Elgar Introduction and Allegro for Strings. Started well, I almost exhaled with ecstasy at that wonderful chord just near the beginning. But it's a piece that, in my opinion, needs a disciplined structure, else it disintegrates into a soggy mess. Which it didn't, so it did.

Then there was some eminently forgettable piece by Richard Rodney Bennett, commissioned by the Peter Moores Foundation on behalf of Parasite Charles as a tribute to the late great Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother gawd bless her. A fitting tribute I felt - superficial, saccharine twaddle. And soporific. I am not sure whether or not I am grateful to my seatmate for keeping me awake by clicking her spectacles.

After the interval was a rather disappointing Vaughan Williams Fantasia on a Theme of Thomas Tallis. I don't know, maybe it's the hall, but my attention just wandered.

However, the evening was salvaged by a splendid Britten Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra. The more I hear Britten, the more I think "Genius". I so love that piece, and as I am yet a young person, I think it only right that I should love it. He wrote so splendidly for percussion. I counted six players plus timpani. Scored for: bass drum, cymbals, tambourine, triangle, side drum, chinese block, xylophone, castanets, gong and whip. A fabulous end and a wall of sound that made the rest of the dreary evening worthwhile. Not that it wasn't without the odd hiccup, but it's such a lively, almost raucous piece, hiccups can be overlooked. The brass and percussion were fantastic.

As the Great and Serene and Noble Highnesses took their gracious departure, some voice from behind expressed a mixture of disgust and disappointment that the National Anthem wasn't played. Jolly good thing, too. That bloodcurdling scream would have been from that woman sitting resolutely in her seat in Row MM.

And on the way home, I reflected that I had not actually seen Chas and Cam. And no, I didn't take any pictures. What a bad blogger I am zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Although I did reflect. It must be fairly ghastly to know that everywhere you go all these dreadful people gawp at you like you're some sort of circus freak. I do believe that Charlie is quite a music lover, and I don't suppose he can just slip anonymously into a concert hall to listen to the music for its own sake. Still, I don't suppose they hate it that much, otherwise an exit strategy would have been devised years ago. And it sure as hell beats working for a living.

Music in London

I keep forgetting to include Music OMH in my regular reads. It has a London Classical and Opera Preview for March and April

Of those listed, I have tickets for Eugene Onegin, Gotterdammerung and the Beethoven 9th - and I must absolutely concur with the comment there!

The article serves as a timely reminder to get a few ENO events booked as well as the Handel and Rossini (possibly - I'm not a huge Rossini fan) at the Barbican.

This week's CD...

This CD arrived this morning, so I made haste to transfer it to my mp3 player, and I have been listening to it. Very nice, too!

A few minutes I was standing outside the office, as one does, and headbanging to Why do the nations so furiously rage together?, as one does, and some smug little git of a Tory MP walked by and looked at me with utter disdain and contempt. For a nano-second I was vaguely tempted to say "I'm headbanging to Messiah, actually" then I thought - it's irrelevant. If I was headbanging to Iron Maden, it would not give the prig the right to look at me in contempt. It must be awful to be an elected representative of the People and hold the People in such disdain.

Best of 2005

Although I still have two concerts to attend, it's time to reflect on a year of concert going. Silly to include the two that happen this week, because any objectivity will be impaired by propinquity.

If I was sensible I would just do a list of ten and leave it at that.

But it's not that straightforward.

Firstly, I will syphon off Live8. Five-and-a-half months on, I am tempted to joke that We have made Live8 history. For good and for bad it was a Sui generis event and a fabulous day out.

We were lucky enough to win tickets in the text message lottery. I am glad that I didn't fork out mega moolah for a ticket, even if that would have put me closer to the stage and actually able to see the Slebs. There was a great deal of standing around; an awful lot of posturing and smugness. There were some truly awful acts appearing. It was full of a very much-of-a-muchness musically where light rock meets heavy pop, all nicely safe and middle-class.

There was enormous cultural imperialism, with barely an acknowledgement of non-white performers; indeed, without doing a check, I think the entire London line-up, except for Youssou N'Dour, belatedly included as a veneer of multi-culturism, was either from Western Europe or North America. The audience was overwhelmingly white, with barely a sighting of any black or Asian person. And by being there, we were able to fast forward through the appalling TV coverage (Jonathan Ross). But I don't think that I shall look back in twenty years time and see it as an epoch-making event. I will remember it, and I will remember some of the acts that played, notably REM, Scissor Sisters and above all Robbie Williams. Also Madonna, Pink Floyd and Paul McCartney. I can't even remember the names of many of the instantly forgettable bands that strutted their ignorance. A formulaic calculation of music enjoyed would not merit this a place probably even in my top ten. But it was greater than the sum of its sometimes appalling parts.

I also must separate out the five times I saw and heard Plácido live, twice in concert, three times in Die Walküre (one a concert performance). Of the five, the Dublin concert and the Prom were absolutely simply the best, but I also thoroughly enjoyed the two ROH Walküres and the Berlin concert. Indeed, if I had only seen him in Berlin, this would rate as my favourite concert of the year. And I met him, which was a wonderful unforgettable experience!

As for the rest. I have belatedly come to the conclusion that going to concerts and operas with Jimmy is not always a wise thing, because we tend to imbibe too much alcohol, before, during and after, often rendering me unable to remember sufficient detail to write a meaningful review, even though I have a clear memory of the levels of enjoyment and the reasons why. This applies to La Traviata; Thomas Quasthoff; the Fauré etc after which I met Teddy Tahu Rhodes; a Mainly Mozart (And Bach, Haydn and Handel) featuring Carolyn Sampson and The Sixteen, La Fanciulla Del West and Un ballo in maschera last week (much better than I had had reason to expect).

I bought and failed to use far too many tickets, but, interestingly, I do no regret my non-attendance, except perhaps for the Alice Coote Dream of Gerontius, which came over marvellously on the TV.

I attended a few turkeys, but only walked out of one, the disgraceful Renée Fleming (Flappers please note that I reserve the right to delete anonymous comments and ignore Flaming emails).

So the best of the rest, in no particular order. Neil Diamond at Earls Court, Beethoven's Ninth at the Royal Festival Hall; Steve Reich at the Barbican; Silete Vente etc at St George's Handel Square, featuring Carolyn Sampson; Mozart at Cadogan Hall, featuring Carolyn Sampson; Eugene Onegin at ENO, starring Gerald Finley; Gerald Finley and Julius Drake at Cadogan Hall; Rigoletto at Royal Opera House and Giulio Cesare at The Proms. I still have a Dream of Gerontius at the Barbican and a L'Enfance du Christ at Cadogan.

And the winner is, after careful consideration, Die Walküre, at the Proms. Or Plácido in Dublin.

I think my ultimate concert would have to involve Plácido, Carolyn and Gerry sharing a platform.

Contempt

I have sent the following email to the Philharmonia and to Westminster Cathedral after I returned my ticket and walked out half an hour before a concert this evening. (Names removed...)

I wish this to be drawn to the attention of , the Concerts Manager of the Philharmonia, or an appropriate equally senior manager, and the Master of Music at Westminster Cathedral. I expect a reply from both organisations addressing the issues I have raised.

Dear ...

I am writing this at ten past eight on Thursday evening despite having purchased a ticket for this evening's Philharmonia concert at Westminster Cathedral. On my way in, I asked the volunteer doorman where the toilets were; he suggested that I went to McDonalds. I was shocked and decided that I had no further wish to attend a concert in this venue. I returned my ticket to the Philharmonia representative inside the cathedral explaining that I thought it was disgusting. I pointed out that I am relatively young (in my thirties) and I am not pregnant, nor have I ever given birth, nor do I have an ageing prostate. I did not add that I also do not have any bladder or bowel ailments which make it necessary to be near a toilet. That, therefore, puts me at an advantage over most of the audience, if it were to be any way typical of previous Philharmonia concerts I have attended.

I have severe concerns about people being directed to McDonalds. Not specifically McDonalds (although I do have issues there): I know other alternatives in the vicinity - House of Fraser and various pubs - because I have spent most of my working life within walking distance of Westminster Cathedral. I imagine that many of the audience were less familiar with the area.

My objection is that, in general, when I use the facilities of a commercial premise I feel a moral obligation to buy something. As it happens, there is nothing in McDonalds I would wish to buy; just to buy a cup of undrinkable tea is a very expensive way to spend a penny, and would exacerbate the problem. I do not know whether or not Westminster Cathedral or the Philharmonia informed the manager of McDonalds that hundreds of people were being directed to use their toilets, to the detriment of their customers. I dread to think what is happening in the interval. I also believe that, as the evening progresses and most working people have gone home, McDonalds on Victoria Street is not a salubrious environment, not one I would wish to enter, and certainly not one where elderly ladies from the suburbs and beyond would feel at ease. I do not know whether the toilets in that McDonalds are even accessible - it's not unusual for that kind of "restaurant", especially in prime city centre locations to have toilets in the basement. Even if they have a disabled toilet on the ground floor, this in inadequate provision for the many infirm people who frequent concerts on the South Bank and elsewhere.

I appreciate that the Philharmonia has venue difficulties whilst the RFH is being refurbished, but I do not believe that Westminster Cathedral is a suitable venue for a concert. I will be writing separately to Westminster Council to find out whether the Cathedral has a licence for public performances, or whether it has managed to find a loophole that exempts places of worship from such requirements. When I served on the licensing committee of LB Lambeth we never granted a licence for entertainment unless the organisers could demonstrate they would be providing toilet facilities. Even the most amateurish rock festival is obliged to provide toilet facilities.

However, I would not describe the Philharmonia, and especially, Westminster Cathedral, as amateurish. The latter is the Headquarters of the Roman Catholic Church in England and Wales, which yet again, has demonstrated its cynical greed and total contempt for the basic dignity of individual people, not least the elderly and disabled.

I would be interested to know how much money Westminster Cathedral is receiving - from taxpayers, donors, and the ticket-buying public - to host this concert series.

I note that the websites of neither organisation nor the ticket contains any information about the limitations of the venue, which is indicative of both organisations' contempt for the public. I can only surmise that there were also no arrangements for even basic refreshments.

In a wider context, I am surprised that the Cathedral has no toilet facilities for worshippers and casual visitors. I would imagine this must be in breach of the Disability Discrimination Act - or do religious organisations believe themselves to be above the law? What was it that Christ said - render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's; render unto God that which is God's. I also recall an incident in the Bible when Christ ejected the money lenders from the Temple.

I shall be posting this on the Usenet groups rec.music.opera, and rec.music.classical, and on the Yahoo Group Parlour of Opera Lovers, as well as on my personal blog, (with names of individuals removed) - although the concert is not directly relevant to opera, many opera lovers are also lovers of choral music, especially of great opera composer such as Mozart.

I shall be contacting the Box Office in due course to confirm that I will receive a refund of my ticket price, and to return my tickets for the remaining concerts in this series. No doubt I shall be charged a handling charge. I trust there will be no difficulties regarding the refund.

Yours sincerely

Conductors

Sitting in a restaurant on Saturday afternoon, I commented to Jimmy that I do like looking at conductors from behind, and, the older they get, the more impressive they seem to be from behind. Conductors' Shoulders, I call it.

Have you noticed the longevity of conductors in general? So many active in their 70s, even into their 80s. There's a theory that conducting combines cardio and cerebral exercise, the key to a long life.

Jimmy commented that his right arm is noticeably bigger than his left, because he uses his right arm all day.

So I sniggered and said

Conductors do it with both arms

He said it depends on the size of their baton.

Bach

I have quite some Bach in my collection, some of it bought years ago. Which is a bit of a surprise, because if you had asked me, until fairly recently, whether I liked Bach, my reply would have been "No..............except for the bits that I do like!"

Bored at school once, I proclaimed "Bach was a mathematician!" I think my intention was to be disruptive. Let's be honest, it normally was at school. Unfortunately, my Maths teacher seized on my comment and enthusiastically agreed, rhapsodising on the pure mathematical genius of Bach.

Strange that I never reallly liked him, because, in general, I like my music to be mathematical. However, as part of my "All the records by forty" blog, and listening, project, I am just embarking on my playing all my Bach CDs and tapes.

First comes some organ music. The tape is titled "Toccata  & Fugue BWV 565", a bit of a misnomer because it also contains Canonic Variations, a Fantasia, Prelude-and-Fugues, and a Pastorale.

The opening T&F in D minor is the one that everyone knows. One of those pieces that is part of the ether. And a fine piece it is, too.

Goes away to educate herself on what a fugue is. I sort of know but I'm not sure that I can really explain it even to myself.

Good heavens, I did know that. No point reading it, let the music explain what a fugue does, listen to the music, and it's obvious. I knew that, didn't I? It's fundamentally mathematical, meaning that somebody like me could have enormous cerebral fun working out counterpoints etc. But, and this is vital to understand, the beauty of Bach is in the triumph of substance over form. She says, trying to convince herself...

This tape is of diminishing quality, and by rights, I ought to replace it. But this is where my Bach 'thing' comes in. I can listen to the music as an exciting and stimulating cerebral mathematical experience. I can listen to the organ, an instrument I love to hear, and indeed, this tape instantly evokes the intoxicating smell of incense. But, when this tape finally knackers I shall probably put a replacement CD on my wishlist and not pursue it. The simple fact that , to me, Bach, although clearly a mathematical genius, doesn't contain the other-wordly inspiration of Mozart or Beethoven. Without Bach there could not have been Mozart or Beethoven.

Reading more on Baroque I remember that Bach was born just 26 days after Handel and just a few miles apart. Extraordinary. It makes it difficult not to believe in astronomy or some such force. My Oxford Companion to Music refers to Baroque reaching its apogee with the very different temperaments of Handel and Bach. I have always been a Handel girl.

Nevertheless I have decided that the next few weeks will see me making a concerted effort to understand the Bach in my collection. Which doesn't amount to much, but in the auto-didactic spirit I will also seek out miscellaneous pieces on compilation and artist albums.

I publish this piece about this album and welcome comments aimed to educate and enlighten me. Basically, it's pleasant wallpaper music, and I know I should be listening intently, perhaps with score, to follow those marvellously complex patterns of counterpoint and harmony. But, frankly, I'm glad that Beethoven comes next alphabetically.

Evelyn Glennie

Not surprisingly, one of my  heroes! And one of, if not the, greatest percussionists ever. I'm a bit surprised that I don't have more than a couple of albums by her.  I do like this Rhythm Song album, one of only fifteen classical vinyl LPs I own. Reading the sleeve notes, I am surprised that she only actually emerged after I stopped being a percussionist. But, obviously, in my heart and soul, I am still a percussionist.

Some people are very dismissive of percussion, saying "Oh it can't be that hard to play a triangle" but they totally miss the point. For a start, if you get your cymbal clash wrong, everyone notices, unlike the odd missed note from one violin amidst the sea of strings. Secondly, people don't play the triangle. Percussionists have about 250 instruments at their disposal in the orchestral repertoire. A roll on the timps is easy (IMO), but on a tambourine...no way...

Evelyn Glennie meets the Black Dyke Band is for me the glorious epitome of 'crossover' or fusion. I love the sound of percussion and I adore the sound of a traditional brass band. To combine the two is genius.

That having been said, there really is no standout tune. Some of the tunes I don't otherwise know, others I have in other versions. I would prefer to hear the other versions. However, this album is worth listening to for the virtuoso percussion and the pleasant sound of a top brass band.

What strikes me in listening to both of these albums is the extent to which I prefer untuned percussion to tuned percussion. Each sort has its place, of course, and probably my favourite of all is timpani, which is tuned but often - usually - not scored to play actual tunes. It's interesting to hear tunes played on glockenspiels, marimbas etc, but what I really really like is drums and other things that need to be beaten or shaken. I really must search out more beating/shaking music - and that is where the 'transcending genre' comes into its own.

The Creation

(or Die Schöpfung). Almost without doubt my favourite Haydn work. Probably the first of his I knew, and knew well, at least in 'highlight' form. As a teenager I was very fond of Haydn, and I am currently going through a 'Haydn is gorgeous' phase. I played the CD I have three times over the weekend - it's not a CD that is satisfied with one play.

Both the concert programme and the BBC Building a Library recommend the von Karajan Version. The BBC also mentions three other versions. None of which include the one I have, which HMV states has been deleleted: David Willcocks/Academy of St Martin-in-the-Fields, Choir of King's College Cambridge/Heather Harper/Robert Tear/John Shirley-Quirk. To be honest, the male soloists are nothing special, but Heather Harper is to die for on this.

Anyway, back to Tuesday night. The Philharmonia and Philharmonia Voices under András Schiff with Ruth Ziesak, Helge Rønning and Christian Gerhaher.

I knew, really, with that line-up that it would be sung in German, but I kept trying to convince myself - no, this is London, it will be in English. So, I was disappointed when reading the programme that it would be in German. As far as I can gather, Haydn set it to two different libretti, one in English, based on Milton, and one a German translation of the English, so it seemed perverse to me to perform it in German in London. As I made my way to my seat I reminded myself not to let the language get in the way of my enjoyment. And it didn't.

There is a performance at the Barbican in July, followed by Lakeside Fireworks, that looks like it will be in English. I'd be there like a shot if I wasn't already booked for Die Walküre at ROH*

My overall impression of the concert: Haydn won with utterly gorgeous music - to quote the Barbican site

...musical gold. As one indelible number follows another, it seems as though the composer’s invention could go one forever.

There were a couple of things that irked me. I wasn't sure whether it was supposed to be period or modern - the timpani and trumpets were period instruments, the rest, as far as I could see were modern. And the style of playing was definitely Romantic, whereas I think it deserves a Baroque interpretation, more crispness and less lushness. My preference - your mileage may vary. The chorus sounded gorgeous - they all looked terribly young, (and thus, sounded fresh and light), or am I just getting old - but I would have preferred a larger choir - 38 are listed in the programme - especially for my favourite chorus - The Heavens are Telling. And I have to say that I found the dancing of the conductor to be very off-putting.

I thought Christian Gerhaher was very special and I would definitely pay good money to hear him again. Sweet, lyrical and with subtle nuances of shading and colouring, I felt that he was feeling the role. Helge Rønning was acceptable, if a bit generic. Ruth Ziesak started reasonably well. As the work progressed I found her increasingly disappointing. Then in the third part, she seemed to totally bliss out and deliver some blissful singing.

Although not a great performance, and one I am certain will be bettered at the Barbican, it was lovely, because the music is so beautiful, so accessible. What isn't there to like about Haydn? Beautiful tunes and orchestration, lovely contrasts between the different voices, changes of mood and tones. And the words. Although the work is religious, I really don't think you have to be religious to appreciate it, as you don't for Handel's Messiah. You have to have a 'soul' (or whatever you wish to call it), but there again, you need that to appreciate a good proportion of secular music.

The Guardian carries a review. Ooh, she describes Christian Gerhaher as mellifluous. I love that word; it's almost onomatopoeic.

The Times also carries a review. Funny, I agree with the overall conclusion but not all the details!

*And no, none of my Walküre tickets are up for sale, not for love nor money nor all the tea in China. Eye teeth and right arms also not accepted