Gertsamtkunstwerk

JDF at the Proms

For me, this is one of the three 'Must See' Proms of the season.

Having skived off Siegfried (heat), had to leave Cosi fan Tutte (heat) and skived off Belshazzars Feast (domestic stuff, verge of nervous breakdown...), I was getting a little bit anxious about my ability to sit through a Prom. I went armed with drinking water, spraying water and a fan, which quickly collapsed, leaving me in the traditional Proms mode of using my programme as a fan. Actually, having a second tier box seat (ooh, all of £18) I found myself to be marginally but significantly cooler than in the Circle.

In the bar I perused the programme and began to get anxious all over again. It looked so tantalising that I feared for my high expectations. I had to laugh at someone who described Juan Diego Florez as a 'famous Argentinian baritone'. Peruvian, actually, and it's difficult to imagine a less baritional tenor! I hope their misunderstanding didn't mar their enjoyment!

update: Well, the Telegraph has him down as Chilean. Let me spell it out, he's from P-E-R-U. Like Paddington.

Programme in the extended entry; available to listen to on line for a few more days.

Very much a concert of two halves. To be honest, a little un-Prom-like in a sense, but tremendous good fun. the first half was the opera bits, particularly an exposition of bel canto singing. I love the overture to the Barber of Seville, very much an opera I regard as consisting of an overture and two arias - but it was a third, rarely performed aria that was on display tonight, Cessa di piu resistere, which was a splendid display of vocal gymnastics froma gorgeous and technically excellent, secure voice. It did strike me in a number of arias and songs that his voice didn't seem fully opened up until he hit a sufficiently high note, but I'm quibbling at the margins.

Una furtiva lagrima is a truly gorgeous aria, and a great showpiece for any tenor; they all like to stick it on their compilation CDs. It starts with a gently introduction, which is a cue for far too many people to have their whispered conversations....sigh...if the composer didn't want you to hear the music, he wouldn't have written it. Trust me on this one. It was a good rendition, one dodgy note, but otherwise excellent. It's one of those arias that tempt to me to do competitive comparisons between various versions heard live and on record; therefore I say it lacked some nuance and a plaintive quality. But that's not to say it wasn't pleasing.

I felt rather indifferent to the orchestral piece that followed, knowing it was just a filler before the Party Piece de resistance.

The party piece de resistance being Ah! mes amis, quel jourde fete (35 minutes into the Listen again, Part 1). The orchestra bits are nicely twiddly and militaristic without being bombastic. Most of the aria exists in order to provide a build-up to the fireworks of a climax*

Regular readers will know - or guess - that when it comes to tenors I am not a High C freak. I would hate to be the sort of person whose pleasure depends entirely on whether a C' comes out. But in an aria where nine are written, it really is a pleasure to hear them so securely tossed off, a stupendously visceral pleasure that sent the audience wild. I was not the only person screaming in a vaguely adolescent girlie way! Definitely King of the High Cs!

To be honest, I could have done without the Falla, even though it was played excellently. It just seemed a bit long for a concert which would have equally have been at home in an arena-type setting.

The second half made it seem even more like a commercially promoted-type concert, and was tremendous fun for that. Lots of Latino Pop. A couple of people on the net have complained about the miking, but I have to say it didn't bother me. In fact, although I instinctively felt things were different, it was insufficiently intrusive to get as far as articulating the difference. But then, I am quite used to subtle miking of classical singers at the Albert Hall; maybe some people simply avoid that sort of event in the name of purism.

I thought he sounded lovely singing those songs - to the extent that his newly released album Sentimiento Latino has been added to my Amazon wishlist!, despite the apparent lack of promotional video.

Of the songs sung, the most familiar was Granada which sounded really quite different from how I am accustomed to hearing it sung. Always interesting to hear different interpretations of a song. I think JDF is obviously opera's Prince of Latino Pop.

It was fun to observe participate in the audience going a bit crazy over him, and I felt very smug lending my superdouper binoculars to the people (Mum and teenage daughters) in the next box. Although as the Mum said "As if I'm not hot enough already..."

I took a dozen photos from inside the hall, and eight at the stage door, although I didn't actually get to speak to him, surrounded as he was by teenage groupies. I don't approve of teenagers being opera groupies, especially not the way they dress. Tut. And then there were the old ladies insisting on sharing their life story; the posh thirty-something woman anxious to impress her knowledge and wisdom on anybody who was in earshot outside the Stage Door "This is definitely a voice will hear..." Er, yes..! I'm not showing the photos yet because in an attempt to cope I am working slowly through my photos chronologically - I currently have a backlog of about 170! So I suggest checking back in about three or four weeks!

And finally hi to Caro who I met in the bar!

* in my not entirely serious opinion!

Stage Door post-Figaro

Main objective - to stalk Gerald Finley. Objective achieved, end of blogpost...!

I happened to be sitting next to a woman from Vienna; as we left the auditorium she asked me rather nervously whether 'people' go to the Stage Door. I said she had asked the right person, the answer was definitely yes! So we went together. There were five of us in total. She and me, someone I didn't know, Smelly-Psycho-Weirdo-Stalker (I warned her to avoid him; she said that someone had told her the same thing in the amphitheatre on Tuesday...!); and B. who is a very nice non-malicious person but exceptionally tedious and long-winded, in that she tells me her life story (post-Eugene Onegin, post-Cyrano de Bergerac and post-Nozze di Figaro). She's not an ideal companion for stage-door-stalking because of her long-windedness and her tendency to monopolise singers with her long-windedness to the point of visible (but not to her) irritation. On the other hand, it does serve to benefit me as being, in comparison, relatively normal.

I have to say, Stage Door Stalking is a helluva lot easier when there are five groupies, not five dozen!

In order, they came out Robert Lloyd, Isabel Bayrakdarian and Soile Isokoski - photos below the jump. B. is a massive fan of Robert and announced her intention to get a photo of him, then flaffed around with her camera. In consequence, he was getting edgier and edgier, as most people do when obliged to pose for a photo that is a long time in coming. So I said something like "Ooh, I think she wants lots of photos of you, so you keep on posing and she'll keep on snapping..." I think he realised what my line of thinking was; in any case, he relaxed and hopefully B. got her photo.

Isabel seemed a bit shy, perhaps her English isn't good, but she paused to sign and pose and did so graciously. Then Soile appeared. She comes over in photos and on the TV as visually quite harsh, and not very feminine, but on the stage she was supremely feminine. Impulsively, I said "It was wonderful! Thank you!" I did so enjoy her role. She smiled, and I thought "What a gentle person." and soft and feminine.

Finally, my favourite baritone. He came out and greeted me as if he recognised/remembered me. I asked him about the furniture abuse, confirming, as I thought, that it was inadvertent - and seeming to savour the phrase. I also asked him whether Dr Atomic was coming over here (thanks to Cunning Little Vixen for the prompt). Amsterdam 2007, he said. I queried whether there was any performance planned for England. He said maybe, in 2008. I asked whether he would be in it. He replied that he wasn't sure, he didn't know if he was available, and he might not want to do the part by then. "Amsterdam 2007," he said. I gave a smile, and he stressed again, "Amsterdam 2007..." I'm sorely tempted (but rather nervous of travelling for opera...).

The New York Metropolitan Opera in Japan

Someone who is covering the role of the Marquis in La Traviata is blogging about his trip to Japan, which seems to me nice work if you can get it...! Meaningless ramblings

There has been a Press conference, and Wire Image has 132 photos of Joe Volpe, Christoph Eschenbach, Patrick Summers, Andrew Davis,  Debbie Voigt, Renee Fleming, and Erwin Schrott.

Oh, and some hunky (bearded, wedding-ring-wearing) tenor...

Met Opera Gala

The Metropolitan Opera in New York held a gala on Saturday. Reports from around the internet suggest it was a bit of a curate's egg.

There are newspaper reports in the Washington Post, the New York Post, the New York Times, which has a picture show. A couple of nice pictures on yahoo.

Update: Playbill Arts has a photojournal, including a picture of TooMuch, especially for Jane...

It's been broadcast on various radio stations, check local listings. In the UK, Radio 3 broadcasts and webcasts it Tuesday night and Sunday lunchtime.

Oh, heck, why not throw in a gratuitous photo...

There are other singers, too...

Carolyn Sampson: The bare-all diva - please stop releasing so many CDs...!

Deep Baritone: Dmitri Hvorostovsky

For tenor, bel canto comes naturally - about Juan Diego Florez

And Bloggers' Favourite, Gerald Finley, also gets stalked in Italy

One Night Only

Photos from the LA Opera Gala a couple of weeks ago

(Thanks to Zelda for drawing my attention to the link)

After the show

On Wednesday night I sent a text:

I just spoke to Rolando. I'd tried taking a photo a few minutes earlier but someone had moved into the frame so I asked if I could take another and he said "for your website?" OMG!!!

After Eugene Onegin, I went past the Stage Door and realised that there was a fair crowd but not too many, so I paused to think, and  I ended up going in.

Of the names, Amanda Roocroft was first out. She made straight for Smelly Psycho Stalker:  I was wondering whether she wanted to get him over with; she had her back to me and accidentally hit my arm and was profuse with apologies, even calling me "Madame". She looked ever so relieved when I did a "Don't worry, no need to apologise" face and gesture, and also that I was "normal". Either she was in a hurry or she is a bit of a whirlwind. But she seemed pleasant enough.

Eric Halfvarson was next. He seemed very nice, although reserved. The woman I was standing with told him that when he had played Claggart in Vienna she had gone to meet him but she had slipped and broken her arm and he was "I hope it wasn't my fault, I hope I didn't frighten you." She assured him it was just one of those things. I said I really liked the aria and thanked him. He thanked me for coming.

Next was Dmitri - more about him later. I did not get a photo, which is a shame because he is spectacularly photogenic.

Finally Rolando appeared and really did not seem in any hurry. He spent ages with the people near the automatic door, which was great because as he moved away from them they departed. I did try taking a photo but I sensed someone move into the frame.  So, as he was walking backwards towards the street door I asked if I had could have another attempt, which was when he said "For your website?" I did a double take step back, a bit embarrassed, and then we hugged. I took one:

He suggested that I took one of his t-shirt. I had a sneaking suspicion that it said something rude, and he explained to the woman next to me  (who I calculated was seventy plus although looking younger) that it was very rude, but to me he was saying it's okay if said among friends. So I'm going to publish the photo, even though I'm not really sure...

I asked him what he's doing next season, and he said "Nothing" so I went "Oh no!" in dismay (genuine spontaneous reaction) but he said the following season he will be doing The Elixir of Love and Don Carlo. I said "Brilliant" and that I absolutely loved the aria from Elisir on his first album (but its name slipped my mind - Una furtiva lagrima...duh!). I said "But I love the Donizetti on the latest album" which I've just realised makes no sense because L'elisir is also Donizetti. Stupid stupid stupid!

Someone asked him about his Russian and he said he spent two hour with the Russian language coach today and he's got more tomorrow and he did a slitting motion across his throat. But he's asked Gergiev if he can sing Lensky at the Marinsky...

Back to Dimitri: He was chatting a while to a very small number of people, then he came out of the door with the wall button, and Smelly Psycho Stalker addressed him in Russian and they were talking in Russian. Then he dashed away not pausing for the other six or eight people either side of the automatic door. I thought he glared at me but at the time I assumed it was a non-specific glare, but later I also wondered whether he has seen the SOSSLED Day Out post, and I feel kind of bad about that.

First of all, Faye is a massive fan of Dima, whereas I have slightly different feelings. I think he is a superb singer and excellent musician, and I have never come away disappointed in his singing. Conversely, the overall performance of his I enjoyed the most was the concert at the Barbican, when I felt he really reached out to the audience. I would certainly never avoid a production because of him and I am pretty damn sure that he would always be a 'pull factor'. But my natural reaction when with someone who really likes is to adopt cynicism, plus I'm never going to elbow Faye out of the way to get to Dima.

Furthermore, I firmly believe that once the final curtain has gone down, singers - or any other performer - owe nothing to the audience. The fact that some stop and talk to fans, and appear to enjoy it, maybe because they're on an adrenaline high post-performance, or because they believe that it is helpful PR, or because they're naturally gregarious. But there is nothing wrong with singers who choose not to linger or are brief and business-like. Furthermore, I understand Dima is a fellow-smoker and I would not be surprised if he just wanted to get somewhere and light up where he wouldn't get some nagging bat saying "You're a singer, you shouldn't smoke."

I also hope that the "Haughty Russkie" isn't seen as offensive. Again we are somewhat disrespectful about the names we give our favourite singers. No offence intended.

But I feel really bad that he might have read my post and been offended. That was never my intention and if it came across that way I can only apologise. Of course, how conceited does this read - as if world-famous baritone Dmitri Hvorostovsky is likely to read my blog. But world-famous tenor Rolando Villazón has, so who knows. And it certainly isn't anything to do with Faye, who really really likes Dmitri and is looking forward to seeing him soon.

Maybe we should have some cards made to hand to singers. On one side "You have been SOSSLED" and on the other "We are a group of respectable sensible women with considerable status in our respective professions. We just happen to like singers. We refer to stalking, but that stops outside the curtilage of opera house/concert hall. We are non-threatening, and don't have a criminal record between us, although Faye does have some Andrea Bocelli, which I suppose counts..."

Baritone stalking

Oh dear, oh dear. oh dear...

This evening, we went "baritone stalking" (It's not really stalking; we just waited for them at the Stage Door at the Royal Opera House....)

Erwin Schrott and Faye

Me, with Gerald Finley

I do believe there might be a circle of hell specially reserved for the sort of wanton woman who does such things.

And in the next few months there's quite a few delightful tenors scheduled. I thinkTenor Stalking merits an even lower circle...

Dmitri Hvorostovsky in concert

I made a last minute decision to go and see him in concert at The Barbican. The programme is in the extended entry, although one of the pieces on the second half was replaced by a Katchachurian orchestral piece.

It was slightly odd having the first half of operatic arias and other classical pieces, and the second half Soviet war songs, but I enjoyed it more than I thought that I might.

The first half was pretty much unfamiliar to me, except for the Prince Igor, and even then it was the accompanying music rather than the aria that I know so well. And the second half was entirely unfamiliar. He used a microphone for the second half, although the amplification was not intrusive. The lighting was altered so that the orchestra and chorus were semi-lit and he shimmered in a relatively lighter spot. I wish he had used a period microphone, because he addressed the modern microphone in a style reminiscent of a 1940s crooner, down to the elegance of his stance and his body-language.

I am not a massive fan of Dima, respecting him rather than liking him. Other people were explaining to me that he is a lyric baritone, but I hear a voice that is quite gruff in the lower end of the range, and a lot of the colouring seemed (to me) at the lower end, towards the basso end where I start to find it quite difficult to hear music. That having been said, in one of the songs from the Great Patriotic War I had a momentary surprise that he didn't take it right up to the high C, then I remembered that he isn't a tenor. So I guess he must be a lyric baritone. It's a beautiful voice and superbly executed but it affects me on a cerebral rather than an emotional level.

I enjoyed the first half, a reminder that I have largely neglected Russian music of late. Which is silly, because Tchaikowsky is wonderful, and I really liked the Rubinstein arias, especially the Epitalama Vindex "Poju tebe Bog Gimeneja" from Nero.

I adored the second half. For some reason I had expected the songs to be turgid settings of unimaginative Soviet propaganda.The translations were projected on the surtitle screen And I found the words rather uplifting and at times moving. Frenkel's  'Zhuravli' Cranes was beautiful and Nozhkin's 'Posledniy Boi' The Last Battle brought tears to my eyes. I'm tempted to buy the CD. Perhaps I should have bought it last night and got him to sign it. Ah well...

What surprised me was how the songs inhabited the same sound world as many Western pop songs of the same era, think Casablanca, or I certainly did. One of my companions used the word 'evocative', which was spot-on.

In the interval, the One-Woman-Crusade-Against-Cr***o**r had expressed some dread at the thought of an entire half of cr***o**r, but I got quite animated in saying that folk isn't crossover. I did wonder whether it would class as 'World Music', then it struck me that World Music is other people's Folk. I don't know whether they are properly folk; I guess the litmus test would be whether they rose from the ordinary soldiers or whether they were commissioned by the Stalinist Propaganda Machine.

He was quite the Mr Haughty-Russkie in the first half, but he seemed to relax in the second half and appeared to be enjoying himself.

And afterwards he did a signing session, so we went baritone-stalking...

Photos photos photos

Looking for something completely different, I stumbled across the February Edition of Opera News

Opera News Awards for Distinguished Achievement

Lots of pictures from the awards ceremony held back in November in New York.

Le Nozze di Figaro

A really fabulous afternoon at Covent Garden.  Couldn't fault it. Well, I could nitpick, but that would be nitpicking.

Really amazingly fabulous music. Excellent cast. Very very good production.

And should I  mention the kisses I got at the Stage Door?

Shameless, me. Shameless. And, a year ago, I would have said I don't do baritones...

Just as Jimmy and I were walking past the Stage Door, he said he would go to the pub if I wanted to hang around in the  lobby to Backstage. Just as I got there, Erwin Schrott was leaving, so nervously I approached him, and explained that I  knew Giorgia in Italy who had asked me to give him a hug on her behalf. He seemed excited and pleased that I was a friend of Giorgia's, mentioning he had got a text from her this morning,  so I explained that she blogs, and I blog. So we had a hug and he kissed me on both cheeks. I said that Figaro is my favourite opera, so my expectations were high, and they were met, I really enjoyed it. So he hugged me again, and I got another kiss on each cheek. I don't do autograph-collecting, besides Jimmy had taken my programme off to the pub, and because I had inadequate preparation, I didn't even get a photo.

He departed, and I hung around for a while chatting with the dozen or so autograph seekers. I was wondering how much longer I should wait around, or whether I should join Jimmy in the pub, when Gerald Finley emerged (be still my beating heart...!). I waited while various people got his autograph, then I took a photo, and then I said,

"Erwin's given me a kiss for a mutual friend, so I was wondering if I could have one from you for me." There was laughter around me and someone said "I'll have to remember that tactic...". Gerald obliged. Oh my! I shall say no more on the matter on the internet, but I shan't forget that in a hurry...

I will do a more considered, and less girly-groupie, review tomorrow...

That Renee Fleming interview

My site stats tell me there is no point in putting links in comments to old posts.

So, having discovered that the interview with Renee Fleming that Sieglinde spoofed is still on freeview in Time Europe I thought I would stick the link in here.

But what does she mean by 'twisted'? 'Sexy' I get. 'Crazy', I'll accept. But 'twisted'...?

Three Tenors to sing again

Hardly news, in that Plácido and Josep have already indicated this to be the case. But now Luciano has said so, too, it looks like all three Tenors are singing the same tune.

That having been said, I'd be happy with just one.

Dissing Renee Fleming

I was amused by Sieglinde's very bitchy take on Renee.

If I had read it a few weeks ago, I would have been outraged at the bitchiness.

Then I went to her recital at the Barbican. Very disappointing. So disappointing, I walked out at the interval, fearing that otherwise I might have lost the will to live.

At the time I didn't review it here, leaving my sore words to rmo.

But why not stick it in here:

Quite frankly, I think I would have preferred to have heard a Cheryl Studer recital.

The first half consisted of some Purcell. (The Blessed Virgin's
Expostulation; Sweeter than Roses, from /Pausanias; /I Take No Pleasure
in the Sun's Bright Beams;
I Attempt From Love's Sickness to Fly, from Indian Queen; Oh, Let Me
Weep. from The Fairy Queen).

What would the headline be: "Fleming Comes to London and Murders
Purcell". Actually, it wasn't bad, it's just that it was no better than
one would expect to hear on the provincial semi-pro circuit.

Then there was Apparition by George Crumb. I have tremendous respect
intellectually for someone who decides to perform such banal pretentious
unmusical drivel. Walking through the bar I heard a fragment of
conversation "It was *performed* beautifully". Steady on, I thought:
yes, her voice sounded better in this than in the Purcell, but by then I
decided I wasn't going to sit through unfamiliar Previn and Berg on the
off-chance that the Schumann might sound nice. Or, in the words of
another overheard fragment "The first half of the first half was okay. Ish."

And as I was leaving the PA announced "Ladies and gentleman, please
take your seats in the Barbican Theatre, the second half of Michael
Clarke is about to begin."

Michael Clarke! I thought. Bad call. I did wonder if I could swap my
Renee Fleming ticket for a Michael Clarke ticket. But by then, I was
disengaged and uninterested. Oh well, some you win, some you lose.

and later:

There were a number of factors that added up to dismal. There's a particular quality I really like in Baroque singing, especially on the trills and ornamentations, which has a certain effortless sound to it (even though, no doubt, the singers have worked hard at achieving that), a sort of floatiness. Ms Fleming's sounded effortful and forced. From the middle of the range down the voice sounded very thick and too heavy with overtones. Her diction was absolutely appalling, with indistinct to non-existent consonants coupled with mangled vowels. The top sounded almost screechy, when it was audible, because most of the higher notes seemed to be taken sotto voce. And it did cross my mind that she seemed to be parodying a sort of Purcell-gospel crossover. Frankly, I did not hear one note that I could say was beautiful. And I felt that she was attempting to project a sense of drama that just came over as rather am-drams OTT. I didn't feel that any of it was coming from within. Lack of an Inner Voice perhaps.

The Crump was just a gimmicky mess, I'm afraid. Lack of anything that
resembled a melody, and when it includes whispering into the body of an
amplified piano, well, I'm not really sure what that was about.

I will freely concede that one's concert-going experience can be
affected by a whole range of factors such as the environment of the hall
or indeed how one is generally feeling. But there were no obvious
factors I can identify - the temperature of the hall was just fine, it's
a hall I know well, I'd had a good day at work and a decent journey, I
was feeling physically fine and was quite mellow and had been looking
forward to the concert. I've heard her before doing arias and liked her,
and I have a CD of her arias that I often play and definitely enjoy, and
I have a couple of performances on DVD or video which I find satisfactory.

But last week I was heard a gorgeous performance by a gorgeous soprano,
with a crystal-like effortless voice with shimmering coloratura and
immense musicality, and Renee Fleming, in contrast, just came over as
third rate. There are plenty of third rate sopranos around who turn in
creditable performances on the concert circuit, but when someone is
billed in a "Great Performers" series, I expect them to be something a
little bit special. I'm afraid I was just left with the feeling of
someone who is over-hyped. And I shrugged.

Postcards from Vienna

Last week, Faye (aka Mrs T) went to Vienna and this is what she did...

Thomas Hampson

Faye and Bryn

Your tour guide for November

Perfect Mozart

An evening at Cadogan Hall, to which I have never previously ventured.   A lovely compact little hall, just off Sloane Square, refurbished and opened as "London's newest concert hall" less than two years ago.

Tonight was the opening concert in The King's Consort season, an exclusively Mozart evening with soprano Carolyn Sampson, who I completely adore. Also in the audience was Blogger Simon - our diaries often coincide and we share a taste for singers.

It was an exceptionally lovely concert, a mixture of familiar and unfamiliar. In full:

Regina Coeli, KV 127
Sancta Maria, mater Dei, KV 273
Epistle sonata in C, KV 278
Exsultate, Jubilate, KV 165
Symphony 34 in C, KV 338
Regina Coeli, KV 108

The Epistle sonata was extraordinarily familiar to me, and I was puzzled, because the name meant nothing, but a quick flick through my CD collection has shown that it is inserted into the Coronation Mass which features on my most favourite Mozart CD. The first Regina Coeli was slightly familiar, as if I might have heard it more than once previously. The second Regina Coeli and the Sancta Maria were entirely unfamiliar. I thought I knew the Exsultate, Jubilate, but when it started I realised I didn't, but then it progressed and I realised I did - a programme note states it is "the rarely heard Salzburg version of the famous Exsultate Jubilate..."

I sort of  know Symphony 34, although it is not in my collection. The Andante is reminiscent of my beloved Clarinet Quintet, the final movement reminiscent of the famous horn concerto. But the fabulous thing about Mozart is that it doesn't matter whether or not you can hum silently along.

The orchestra were fabulous. There was a small flub from the period horns - how precarious are modern horns, let alone old ones - but otherwise no criticisms. The sensitivity was moving. I think Robert King is a wonderful conductor, and I have rarely heard Mozart played with such delicacy and feeling, with some amazing contrasts not just in dynamics but in touch, if you get me. The orchestra was perfectly sized for the space  - interesting feature in the Guardian (and apologies to the couple next to me - this is where I read briefly about the history of the venue...). Bigger than a chamber orchestra, but not so vast as those wonderfully enormous symphony orchestras that fill the big halls.

The Choir of the King's Consort, small but beautifully formed, sounded just right, too. My only criticism was that I found their opening salvo to be quite difficult to understand, but maybe that was me adjusting to the acoustics of a new venue, because after the first few minutes, I thought them excellent.

If it had been a purely orchestral and choral concert, I would have come away delighted, but in addition to all that we were treated to a sublime performance by Carolyn Sampson, her of the crystal voice - "the leading British soprano of her generation" said the programme. There are so many aspects of her voice that I enjoy. Most of all the sheer clarity, and added to that the even-ness of tone from the very high to almost the bottom of her range. The ability to vary dynamics, the mezza di voce, and the coloratura she displayed. All this and a wonderful sense of music and the ability to project herself to the whole audience, when not singing meeting all corners of the audience with her eyes.

At the end Robert King mentioned that they would be spending the next three days recoding that programme and some other pieces in preparation for Mozart's 'big year' next year, and, if we didn't mind, they would practice one piece with us. This was Laudate Dominum, already one of my very favourite arias. The way it was performed tonight, especially by Carolyn, but also by the choir, the orchestra and conductor was something very special. And the final 'note' was a perfect appreciative silence by the audience, not under the direction of the baton, but because the music deserved it. I had experienced goosebumps at periods throughout. Laudate Dominum made the hairs on my arm stand up. I turned to the woman next to me and said "That's one CD sold, already". As I was walking up the gangway to leave there was an elderly couple behind me in tears. They had never heard Carolyn before and had never heard anything like her, especially that final Laudate Dominum.

As well as a perfect choir, orchestra, conductor and soloist, there was an almost perfect audience. At one point the woman next to me delicately rattled a packetof mints, but I suspect it was only me that noticed, and then only momentarily. Otherwise, perfect. Except that in the distance I spotted a man so repulsive that I once entirely resisted his attempts to seduce me despite his evil use of Plácido Domingo records and copious quantities of red wine direct from the chateau. I did consider taunting him about some other matter, knowing that I was surrounded by Lambeth residents (I'm such an earwigger) but there's no snappy way of saying "Where's the three million  defrauded from Lambeth Housing on your watch...?"

Met Opening Night

A Triptych With Two Leading Men at the Met's Opening

Then came Act III of "Samson" with the ageless Plácido Domingo in the title role. Of late Mr. Domingo has been dropping hints about retiring as a singer. Yet here he is at 64, sounding remarkable. In the opening scene, when the blinded Samson, chained to a mill, pours out his anguish, Mr. Domingo sang with amazing ardor, poignancy, insight and plenty of power. Many tenors half his age would covet sounding half as good. As Dalila, the mezzo-soprano Denyce Graves, was not at her best. Yet despite some shaky moments, her phrases rang true when it mattered, and as always, she looked gorgeous.

For those keeping score, this was the 21st opening night at the Met with Mr. Domingo participating. In second place, at 17, is Enrico Caruso, and no contenders on the scene seem likely to have Mr. Domingo’s longevity and prominence in the company.

Some Welsh geezer also sung.

In other news

A bust in honor of Spanish tenor Plácido Domingo was unveiled here Monday in appreciation of his rescue work after the (1985 Mexico City) earthquake.

Domingo worked several weeks alongside other rescuers in search for possible survivors in the aftermath of the disaster. 

Update: Some more links Plácido Domingo recuerda el sismo, La tragedia los une, Montan instalación sobre la avenida Álvaro Obregón Artistas plásticos recuerdan a víctimas del terremoto , Develan busto de Plácido Domingo en plaza donde murieron cientos, Desvelan un busto de Plácido Domingo en una plaza mexicana donde murieron cientos en un terromoto

Dom Sébastien, roi de Portugal

The opener to the new season at Covent Garden; a Donizetti semi-rarity. Last Saturday's was the first performance at Covent Garden, ever; I went to the second one on Tuesday. A concert performance, with all the singers relying on their scores, a sure sign that this isn't a repertoire staple. Synopsis is available on the ROH website. Dom Sébastien was a youthful king. A helpful programme note said

Chronic inbreeding between the Spanish Hapsburgs and the Portuguese house of Avis was the likely cause not just of Sebastião's father's premature death but also the premature death of all his uncles. It was also the likely cause of instability in Sebastião and in his cousin, the deformed Don Carlos (qv) of Spain. In fact, so inbred were the two families that Sebastião, who should have had eight great grandparents like the rest of us, could only number four

In fact, in some ways there was a slight reminisce of Don Carlo (s) perhaps mostly in the appearance of the Grand Inquisitor (No one expects the...Portuguese Inquisition.

I had never heard this work before. I have strong memories of there being some very beautiful music, but, really none of it memorable, and I feel that if I don't hear Acts 1, II, IV, V again it really wouldn't bother me overmuch. Opera Rara were recording it for release in February 2007; perhaps I shall buy the CD on account of having been there - assuming they manage to correct a few howlers in the studio.

Act III was absolutely superb, though, especially the Requiem. And I had one of those moments - I was sat in the Slips, ie front row along the side of the auditorium, and at the end of Act III I was leaning over, with my arms extended clapping and a big grin like a lunatic on my face, and Mark Elder saw me, caught my eye, and smiled and nodded (he had a bit of a lunatic grin, too).

I thought that the Stand-out performance was from Vessilina Kasarova. Alastair Miles was excellent as the Grand Inquisitor. Simon Keenlyside was impressive in a relatively small role. Some people argue it wasn't a small role; I contend that he made it seem much bigger than it was, but he spent relatively little time on stage. Renato Bruson had withdrawn and was replaced by a chap by the name of...Caruso. Carmelo Corrado Caruso. He wasn't bad, notwithstanding a wobble at the start of Act 4.

The strangest thing was the tenor in the title role, Giuseppe Filianoti, reportedly the next big thing. Intriguing. A very beautiful voice. Good-looking. Engaging stage presence. But, in his showpiece aria at the end of Act 2, it was very strange. I had been warned that he had sung it flat on Saturday so I was alert. In the first verse I was thinking - I can certainly say he's not sharp - and when the second verse came I knew he had been flat in the first. Each verse finished with a vocal pyrotechnic, which was sung twice at the end of the second. On the first two attempts it was a bit strained and unpleasant. On the third attempt he just missed it entirely, and the auditorium took a collective breath. The very elderly chap next to me jerked bolt upright and banged his fist on the padded rail in front. It seemed such a shame because for the rest of the opera, I kept hearing this absolutely gorgeous voice and wondering where it was coming from (I had a slightly restricted view so couldn't see him without leaning forward).

As well as Filianoti cracking and Caruso wobbling, a 'period' horn flubbed a solo passage (much as I like period instruments, maybe there's a reason they invented modern horns) and a mobile phone went off.

The orchestra otherwise were superb and the chorus sounded wonderful. I shall remember the Requiem for a long time, but it seems that there is good reason that this opera has been buried in obscurity for so long. I didn't feel able to care greatly about the story or the characters, and the music had its moments rather than long periods of sustained loveliness. And the Final Act ended as a dramatic wet squib.

Professional reviews: Never mind the quality ..., from the Guardian, Treasure trove in the grand style, Independent, Times.

Currently listening to...

When my niece rang to nag me about blogging her mother's birthday, she asked me what music was in the background.

The answer

Fritz Wunderlich

Wonderful!

Interview with Alice Coote

Alice Coote: Against all odds

The mezzo-soprano Alice Coote is determined to make it to the Proms, even though she is standing on sticks after being injured in a fall. It's not her first setback...

...As for the more physical pain of those two slipped discs, she says: "I've just been singing Octavian in Der Rosenkavalier in Los Angeles. The company's general director, Placido Domingo, made a very flattering speech after the opening night and asked me to step forward. I misjudged the edge of the stage and tripped, falling face first into his trousers. Not long after that my back went."

I'm not an agony aunt....

Slightly bizarre situation this evening.

I arrived really quite early for Rigoletto and went to the terrace. Each table was occupied by at least one person, so I asked someone if they minded, and I strategically sat diagonally; he made polite conversation, and we got chatting, and we agreed we'd meet up in the interval.

For a while we chatted about operas we had seen, and so on, the occasional passing reference to life outside opera, nothing special, nothing heavy. We were chatting for nearly ¾ of an hour beforehand, and the best part of a half hour interval.

Towards the end of the interval, he outlined his dilemma. Basically, 'she's' given him a sort of fuck off; should he ring her again, he doesn't want to a pest, and I suggested that maybe cooling it for a while, but don't actually drop her. But she's only in London a short time, and she's 'not here alone', and he gave me this deeply significant look, and I did a fast rewind through our previous conversation, and realised who his 'friend, sort of, well', was and remembered whom she is very very very good friends with and I just thought "No! No! Give me the facts straight, and I can propose a solution" (I think Jimmy's proposed solution would be to punch the 'other man' in the face, and Jimmy's not a violent man, but I couldn't be having that).

And I expect I shall see my drinking companion on Friday, by which time I want to have come up with a solution. But if you look at a chain of connectivity I would really like to be at the far end, not the end I'm at.

I'd mention names, but the www is googlable.

In the meantime I missed the opportunity to say hello to a correspondent visiting from the US, who might have been able to assist in the solution, but it might have been difficult because his date for the evening was a quite famous singer whose voice-type I'm so not into I had to google his image.

Whilst I was watching the debauched first act, I got a trifle irritated by the couple alongide me who were talking rather, and, especially, at the chap, who seemed to be reacting a little like an overgrown schoolboy, which seemed a bit unnecessary in a man of pensionable age. At the end, he explained that their daughter was in the chorus and had been instructed by the assistant director to get all of her breasts out. For a moment I wondered if she was a Boleyn-esque freak with more than two breasts, but then realised he meant 'get them out completely' so here was this poor father watching his daughter cavorting topless in front of 2,000+ people.

I got the bus at Clapham Common, and three young Australian women got on, rather the worse for wear, one of them with a Smirnoff Ice in her hand. One of them declared she was going to sit in the Disabled Seat.

They started going on and on about cheese, and how cheese-rolling is a really stupid sport. I felt like saying "Don't you know, it's traditional, don't you come over here criticising our customs" but I couldn't be bothered. Some bloke queried what she had against cheese. One said "I don't even eat cheese". The one on the 'disabled seat' said if it were a choice between cheese and not having a broken back she'd avoid the cheese. I thought, don't people say some stupid things when they're drunk. She then unzipped her tracksuit jacket and showed off a metal contraption round her chest, saying "It's a back brace...Three Aussie girls come over here to follow their dream and instead they meet their destiny." Then, I noticed the one who doesn't even eat cheese had her arm in a cast.

By the time I got home I decided I'm surrounded by delusionists - one guy who reckons he's fucking a slightly famous singer who in turn is fucking a very famous singer, and three Australian girls who claim to have been seriously injured in a cheese-rolling competition.

I expect I shall wake up tomorrow and learnt that Paris are, in fact, to host the Olympics. (My spare room has already been spoken for...!)

Three Tenors may reform

So says the super soaraway Sun.

When did they split up?

Diva speaks

A Life in the Day - Renee Fleming

via

I shall be see Renee as Desdemona, the start of three crazy weeks about which I might find time to blog!

Beniamino Gigli

I am not too sure why I bought this CD - possibly because I saw it in a shop and it wasn't expensive. My father was a Gigli fan - paid to see him at the Free Trade Hall, then, the next day, having heard on the grapevine, heard him again, for free, at Mass in the Hidden Gem

A great singer, of course; conventional wisdom states so. These tracks were all recorded in the 1930s or 1940s, so, of course, the quality suffers through primitive recording. But despite all that I don't especially care for the voice.

There isn't actually a great deal about him on the internet Grand-Tenori,  Opera Italiana are worth a look.

It's strange that I have this in my collection but nothing by Jussi Björling, Richard Tauber or Fritz  Wunderlich, something that needs to be remedied...

I am not getting a great deal of pleasure from listening to this CD. The first disc is filled with arias that feature in the repertoire of any half-decent "Italian" tenor, much of them lovely tunes. But I am enjoying them, despie the voice, rather than because. Far too much sobbing - sobbing, along with scooping and over-emphasising are trademarks of Gigli. But there's also something about the actual voice I don't like. Basically, it's a style of singing that has gone out of fashion, a sort of taking the higher notes in a sort of falsetto. I can't adequately describe it. But I don't like it.

There isn't a single track that I don't have a better version by another singer in my collection*

* and to pre-empt comments, not exclusively one other singer!

Handel and Haydn

Simon's posting Westminster Abbey, Carolyn Sampson reminds me to write a review of a concert I went to at Westminster Abbey, mainly to hear Carolyn Sampson - I had booked the ticket after I had been alerted by Simon...

I had booked the ticket, then about ten days before the concert, an email circulated at work, saying that it was about time for a night out. If the concert had been at the South Bank or the Barbican I would have had to decline the drink-up, but the wonderfulness of working at the heart of Westminster Village was the ability to nip to the concert as an interval in the works' drinkies.

I was stunningly underwhelemed by Westminster Abbey as a venue. Indeed I had a rantette on Usenet:

I do not make a habit of going to Westminster Abbey...This evening I had a a £5 ticket, in the Quire Stalls, no view. Fine.

In the interval we make to go out. Some silly Jobsworth questions why we want to go out; one woman suggests that she really doesn't want to be treated like a caged animal. Jobsworth insinuates that if we go out we might try and take over empty seats with a view. (I would have been angry if they existed; I would have been willing to pay, but they were all sold out)

I say "I need a cigarette; without a cigarette I can go really quite
mad" Jobsworth gets scared and lets us out. Halfway down the aisle, a woman turns to me and says "You know that man said 'Some people want to have a _cigarette_ during the interval'!" (reminiscent of Lady Bracknell's handbag). Yes, well, what of it? Some other people wanted to pee.

I stood in the courtyard and was told to go out the gate. I checked I
would be allowed back in. When the bell sounded for the end of the
interval and I made to go in, another Jobsworth snootily said "Yes?" I said I was going in. "To the concert?" he enquired with utter
condescension and snootiness. I felt like saying "Look, arsehole, I know I am fifty years younger than you , and obviously quite the wrong gender, and I'm wearing a fleece, and carrying a rucksack, but don't you dare condescend to me like that." Instead I just glared. I had a suit on, it wasn't like I really looked a student (perish the thought). I'm tempted to write, 'and I'm not young', but, frankly, that's irrelevant - if someone aged 14, or 9, had paid to be at that concert, they shouldn't be treated the way I was treated.

It made me quite angry. I'm going to be snooty. In the Quire Stalls (no view) we didn't clap in between movements of Haydn's Nelson Mass, unlike the corporate people in the £28 seats. I have never been treated with such utter contempt by any venue in my entire life.

People say that Covent Garden is snooty; I have never experienced that - in fact, the staff seem to like common people like me.

There are so many venues round London used for concerts, but the way we were treated by the Jobsworths at Westminster Abbey was just appalling.

I don't know what their problem is; I'm tempted to say, fear of women. I wonder just how much profit they got from tonight's concert.

There weren't even any toilet facilities provided, which is scandalous. I can hold it in, but I have not experienced multiple childbirths nor do I have a prostate, ageing or otherwise, to give me trouble. But when I rejoined my colleagues in the pub and went to the loo before ordering a drink, they all laughed at me.

It is the twenty first century, and it's about time these religious nuts started to understand that we have paid money to be in their sacred venue, and whilst they continue to treat middle-aged women with contempt, they are demonstrating why so many people have rejected Organised Religion.

So it was a good thing that the concert was so enjoyable. It would have been more enjoyable if I had been sat out front with the voices projecting towards me, but I accepted that limitation when I bought a 'Quire' seat with no view.

The performers were:

Carolyn Sampson (s)
Ann Murray (m-s)
James Gilchrist (t)
James Rutherford (bs)
Robert Quinney (organ)

The Choir of Westminster Abbey
St James's Baroque
James O'Donnell

The programme was Handel: Chandos Anthem 'As pants the heart for cooling streams HWV251c; Salve Regina HWV241; Organ Concerto in F, op 4. no. 4 HWV292

Interval

Haydn: Mass in D minor (Missa in angustiis, 'Nelson' mass) Hob.XXII:11

I wasn't overwhelmed by the Organ Concerto, but the rest was delightful. I still haven't worked out what I like about Handel. Logically, he's very predictable and samey-samey, but he just does something for me. I especially liked the Salve Regina.

But nothing like as much as the Haydn. I'm going through a bit of a Haydn phase at the moment. Currently an unfashionable composer, under-rated and underperformed. Possibly not epoch-making, and thus, not leaving the legacy of influence that Bach or Mozart or Beethoven did. But I don't, on the whole, listen to music to go pointy-headed about 'legacy' and 'influence' but to hear the music. If I could only use one word abut Haydn I would use the word 'lyrical'. But that would suggest that I was ignoring that bright clear soundworld.

Carolyn sounded gorgeous, as always. I won't comment on the other singers, because none of them sounded impresive from where I was sitting. But that highlighted phrase is the key - I really was not in a position to judge the fine details and nuances.

Westminster Abbey is a gorgeous building but I suspect I will not be visiting it again in a hurry, unless there's a concert that catches my eye grabs me by the scruff of the neck. Next stop, St John's Smith Square.

Silete Vente and other Handel

A gorgeous evening this evening at St George's Hanover Square for a concert in the London Handel Festival.

The programme was:

Handel Concerto Grosso Op6 No2 in F major HWV 320
Handel Silete Venti for soprano and orchestra HWV 242
Vivaldi Violin Concerto in D major op8 no11 RV 210
Interval
Handel Concerto Grosso Op6 No4 in A minor HWV 322
Vivaldi Violin Concerto in B flat major op8 no10 RV 362
Handel Saeviat tellus for soprano and orchestra HWV 240

The London Handel Orchestra played under the Direction of Adrian Butterfield, violin.

Hanover Square is a delightful quiet little square lying between Oxford Street and Regent Street, close to Oxford Circus. John Lewis is visible from it, Liberty is almost visible. When circumtances force me to go shopping, I often turn into Hanover Square to escape the inanity of shopping and shoppers and to recapture my sanity.

St George's was Handel's Parish Church nearly two hundred and fifty or so years ago. It's a pleasant enough church, although visually nothing out of the ordinary. A nice sized venue for a selection that is hardly chamber music, but would not work in a full size hall.

I am not overly enthusiastic about Vivaldi. I do not suffer pain in listening to him, on the other hand, I would not select a concert on the basis of it including Vivaldi. I didn't know any of the Handel pieces. I may have heard the concerti grossi, but maybe not. I did know Opus 6 no6 well at one stage and hated it; for a long while it rather put me off Handel. It must have been a dismal recording.

The Vivaldi pieces were all pleasant without inducing me to become more interested in Vivaldi (sure, I have the obligatory Four Seasons, who doesn't, but that's quite sufficient for me). I did have one of those moments in the violin concerto when I wondered whether the violin was tuned sharp, or whether it was written that way, or whether I was being Ms Cloth Ears. But I don't especially care.

The Concerti Grossi were really quite delightful. I think one has to listen to Handel in quite a different way that one would listen to music from my favoured classical/romantic periods, or indeed later works. I am not even sure what the attraction is. But I do like it, even though I couldn't rave about the melody, nor the orchestration, nor the way it paints a scene. I guess that the word I'm searching for is 'soundworld'

The highlight of each half was the vocal number. The reason I booked this concert was specifically to hear Carolyn Sampson. I adore her voice; each of three times I heard her last year, I liked her more. So, naturally, I was a little anxious this evening.

What can I say? Well, during the orchestral pieces my attention did wander slightly - not onto mundanity, which is a sign of defeat, but it wandered. It did not wander once during either of the vocal pieces. As I was walking out, I heard people using words such as 'splendid'. Even as far away as the Tube station, the woman behind me on the escalator said to her companion, "The orchestral pieces were good, but she was simply magnificent". For the orchestral pieces, the applause was warm. For Silete Vente, it was enthusiastic and sustained. After Saeviat tellus, a demure and somewhat elderly audience went nuts, a reaction repeated after an unplanned encore of the Alleluia from Silete Vente.

They are both very beautiful pieces, both musically and lyrically, and her voice is just gorgeous. My only criticism is that it's a little on the small side, yet, curiously, I did not find that to be a problem in either of the Royal Albert Hall nor the Colisseum, both of them sizeable venues. And she's young, so, I would guess, it will increase in time. I cannot think of any voice I have ever heard that is so pure, sweet and clear, with a wonderful top, and with such rich colours lower down the registry.

This is Diva Worship, although I am clearly an amateur at the game.

Well, I shall hear her again in a fortnight's time - although I shall be in one of the cheap seats with no view, as a result of all the others having sold out. I shall hear and see her again at the end of July.

Florence Foster Jenkins

I have finally broken the Rule of my "Blog All the Records By Forty". I think I can honestly say that even if I get to 80, or 120, I will never, ever play this record again except with the express intent of irritating people.

It's dire. Everyone knows it's dire. Well, everyone except Florence Foster Jenkins

At the age of 76, Jenkins finally yielded to public demand and performed at Carnegie Hall on October 25, 1944. So anticipated was the performance that tickets for the event sold out weeks in advance. Jenkins died a month later.

Click on the first link, and you'll be able to hear CD audio samples. Never be so thankful for a webpage that doesn't start the music immediately on opening, but requires you to click another link...

Renée Fleming

I seem to have gone into a slight hiatus in my 'Blog All the Records By Forty'. But as I'm not 37¼ until Friday, I still have plenty of time.

I bought this CD soon after seeing her live at the Royal Festival Hall last year. Of course, if I had been smart, I would have bought the CD there and then and joined a very long queue and got her to sign it. But I didn't. However, I shall be seeing her as Desdemona next month, and in recital in November.

Since that concert and buying the CD, I have read manay of her detractors describe her style of singing as swooping, much to the consternation of very many "Fleming Flappers", who argue it's portamento But once something's been drawn to your attention, you can't help notice it.

It's more noticeable in some arias than others eg Rachmaninov's Vocalise. But it doesn't especially bother me, and certainly not to the point of marring the album. There are some truly gorgeous arias on this, such as É strano...Ah, fors'è lui...Sempre libera from Traviata, which are evry difficult to ruin, and Renée certainly doesn't. I also adore Je marche sur tous les chemins...Onéissons quand leur voix appelle from Massenet's Manon, even though I translate it as 'I march on the railway, obeying as your voice calls' (I have a similar problem in Nium Me Tena in Otello which is mindblowing music but I have an irritating habit of thinking that he's singing "I've come to the end of the railway line").

I just love the way she sings Come scoglio. And of course, the Song to the Moon from Dvorak's Rusalka, which is sort of her signature aria.

Overall a really pleasant album, especially for a warm Sunday afternoon that's pretending to be summer.

Un ballo in maschera, part 2

Tonight, live from the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, starring Marcelo Alvarez as Riccardo, Karita Mattila as Amelia, Thomas Hampson as Renato, Camilla tilling as Oscar and Elisabetta Fiorillo as Ulrica.

This is definitely Verdi's best opera (though we shall revisit that opinion in June and July...;-) Musically, fabulous, a very clear demonstration that Wagner did not invent the leitmotif, a really superb example of how the story is told so well by the orchestra. There are some great arias, fine ensemble pieces, and choruses whose effect is visceral. The Orchestra of Royal Opera House under Antonio Pappano were at their very best - I have never loved strings so much as I did tonight, at time dramatic, at times romantic, always precise, and yet, with enough rubato. The horns, especially in Act 3, were searing, and the clarinettist deserves special praise.

The singers were all praiseworthy, to a greater or lesser degree. I particularly noted the basses of the chorus as they sinisterly intoned the conspirators music. Elisabetta Fiorillo was pretty much as one would expect of an Ulrica, with dramatic colours in the lower third of the range, although less heft higher up. Camilla Tilling was disappointing. A small voice, although without doubt a beautiful voice. At times she was barely audible over the orchestra, at one point - in Ulrica's cave - I thoght she must have been singing from offstage, until I spotted her - she had her back to the audience. Her colaratura was executed excellently, but I felt the voice lacked much variety, or any colour, and I wasn't sure whether she had anything else in her amoury.

In acts I and II I felt that Thomas Hampson was generic, at best. I certainly couldn't see the Tommy Handsome soubriquet, although I was without my binoculars. He has had his hair cut since I last saw him, and looks better for it. But in Act III he rode the stage like a colussus. I think fans of Mr Hampson are in for a treat. In his voice I could find anger, anguish, love, regret, and his physical acting was convincing. I was very impressed by his showpiece aria in Act III Scene 1.

I found Marcelo Alvarez disappointing, perhaps because my expectations were so high. I have to say that he has great looks for opera. He's nothing special close to - in photos and on DVD - but from the Amphitheatre he is very striking and projects facial expressions clearly. I felt that he took time to warm up - in Act I Scene 1 I could have sworn he was flat. Not by very much, but enough to disturb my non-expert ear. At times, especially in Act II, I was impressed by his seemingly effortless ability to vary the volume and colour of his voice, often sweet, often, well, not dramatic, to be honest, he lacked the dramatic. But, after the first scene, musically very good.

I can't say I was taken by his portrayal of Riccardo. Whether it was his acting, or whether it was the director's fault, I don't know, but he seemed two dimensional and uninteresting. I couldn't really feel any great sympathy for him, and felt rather indifferent to his fate. He was neither romantic hero nor (benign) autocratic ruler, just a rather ordinary geezer aged about forty. And, to be honest, he did not seem to be that agile as he moved around stage.

The star of the show was undoubtedly Karita Mattila. I have heard great things about her, so set my Sceptic Radar to high. She wowed me. Nothing special in Act I Scene II when she comes to Ulrica's cave, satisfactory, but no more, although elegant. But in Acts II and III she was amazing. I speak of Alvarez's and Hampson's ability to shade their voices, but she out-classed both of them put together. Her voice is great throughout the range, sweet and true at the top, rich and significant at the bottom. During her Act III aria I actually got an insight into how it must have felt to see Callas. Don't ask me to explain or justify, it was just the way I felt. And she got the most rousing applause. I really can't find a word of criticism. At the end of the Act II Love Duet, she and Alvarez received prolonged applause. In order to maintain the dramatic momentum they snogged (I daresay it was acting, but it was convincing). I don't think I was the only person with the wicked thought 'the longer we go on clapping, the longer they have to do that...'.

The production was okay. Naturally, it opened with 13 men sitting on plush velvet toilets, as is now traditional...(joke, BTW). Actually, I had a real issue with the beginning - as the Overture played, Riccardo was seen sitting on his throne, although, obviously it wasn't a throne, it was just an ordinary chair, as befitting the Governor of Boston. I thought that was musically wrong, because when Act I proper gets under way, his entrance is accompanied by music marking one of the grandest entrances in opera, therefore to show him beforehand betrays an ignorance of the music. Rude ignorant people talk during the overture regardless; one of the highlights of Hugo de Ana's otherwise pisspoor Forza last autumn was the fact that we sat, with curtain down, listening to the prelude. The Ballo prelude is not lesser music.

I felt the sets and costumes for Act I Scene 1 were nothing special. Scene 2 worked dramatically, with the crowd of onlookers ranged behind cages, on three levels, looking into the cave. However, this was illogical, and the presence in the cave of Ulrica's bed made nonsense of this effect. Plus she did not have an actual cauldron, which was disappointing. The scene just happened, with nothing special worth mentioning. But in the closing, glorious chorus I had a moment of insight - I think - this chorus inspired the entire oeuvre of Gilbert and Sullivan.

Act II, at the gallows' field was, on the whole, well done, although I felt it might as well have been an urban junk yard. I was utterly convinced that there was 60s-style one bar heater abandoned there, complete with electric flex. But I figured the flex was actually a rope, for hanging, and the electic fire just junk. It was a decent setting for the gallow scene, but it didn't work for the interception by the conspirators. I blinked and missed the bit where her veil fell off (at the time I was suffering craving for smoked salmon sandwiches - Covent Garden does that to me). The love duet, and the build up to it, showed Marcelo Alvarez at his very best, and I just went crazy for Karita Mattila.

The first scene of Act III had an appalling set. Before curtain up, there was a rocking chair horse in front of the curtain, which seemed silly. In fact, it was one of the few props that made sense, because at the end of the scene, Renato was able to carry it off with a piquant poignancy. His desk did not look convincing, and rather than a portrait of Riccardo, to which he directs part of his aria, there was a bronze statue, lying under a dust sheet on a paint-spattered trestle table, which made no sense at all. No matter, these were cleared away for Scene 2, which was facinating. I loved it - I think...

The only set to speak of was a giant mirror, in which we could clearly see Maestro Pappano and his band, and much of the front of the orchestra stalls and the stalls circle. I was fascinated with the view, and was delighted to be ale to see Tony in action. But it was a distraction when Marcelo came on to sing his showpiece aria. It is a piece of music I adore, but I wasn't able fully to appreciate it, because I was silently oohing and aahing at the mirror effect.

This partially lifted for Scene 3 to reveal the scene of the ball. In some ways it was clever, affording us unusual views of people going downstairs, of the onstage band etc. But despite the cleverness - and it was clever, and in some ways a coup de theatre I felt it made for a lost opportunity. The ballroom seemed cramped and sparsely attended, and, incidentally, the masks were rubbish, straight out of a Christmas cracker. As the guests moved off to allow Riccardo and Amelia's secret tryst, I was distracted by the reflections of the movements of the chorus and actors. I also nealy missed the assassination, which was a bit of an anti-climax. There was no blood, which was a shame. The music is stupendously melodramatic, but the stage directions were not. Riccardo sings for ages - quite gloriously, incidentally, well done Marcelo - but the drama seemed to be just him rising out of and slumping back down into the chair.

Overall, though, I thoroughly enjoyed it. It wasn't perfect, but it's definitely added to my list of possible Best Performances of the Year. I shall definitely be booking for the revival in November, and would be delighted if it were, on the whole, this cast. I took some photos at curtain calls, but they're not great. I'll have a fiddle with them and see if they're worth publishing. But probably not before the weekend.

Reading through this, I seem to be damning Marcelo Alvarez with faint praise, which was not my intention. He is said by some to be the best tenor in the world right now, at least in this sort of rep, so I am judging him against that criteria. If he fell short of my high expectation, it wasn't by far.

But, as far as I'm concerned, the night belonged to Karita Mattila and to Tony Pappano.

Update: The Times is the first of the Dead Tree Media to publish a review.

Guardian Review

Passion arrives eventually - The Telegraph

This ball lacks bounce

I'm Starstruck

I'm not supposed to post to t'internet when ever so slighty squiffy, but WTF. Tonight I met Teddy Tahu Rhodes, and he's lush, and when he's famous, I'll be able to say I met Teddy Tahu Rhodes. Guess what! He's an accountant!

And also a pretty good singer.

Update: