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Tamerlano, Washington

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I scrutinise my site referral stats relentlessly. For some bizarre reason, I often get people coming here looking for 'topless holiday photos'. Always eager to please my public, I have decided to publish a picture of me topless, on holiday. This were taken as I lay in the jacuzzi in my hotel room in Madrid a few weeks ago. I also have a picture of me in the shower

Local elections

It was a good few years ago that the magazine of my Professional Institute ran a Leader column about elections and politics in general. The thrust of it was - why n earth are politicians bending over backwards to pander to the wishes of people who don't participate in the political process. It was a very black-and-white argument and superficially very attractive - along the lines of: as no one is preventing them from expressing their views and getting involved, it's their choice not to be involved and therefore why bother about them.

It's tempting to go along with that. I met people at University who shrugged that politics was nothing to do with them - although they moaned about the paucity of their grant. I have a recall of a woman whose door I knocked on in a 'Registration Drive'. She lived on the Valley Road Estate in Streatham - so we're talking about early to mid 90s, when a combination of lack of government funding (£4 billion backlog of council house repairs and maintenance) and an inefficient council running a corrupt Direct Services Organisation and inert housing department meant that council housing was dire. She was on benefits and had children of school age. she refused to register to vote because 'The government has done nothing for me'.

I can't believe the number of times I have heard direct or reported about people who found the London electoral system confusing. Granted, there will always be a few who can't cope - two years ago I was behind an elderly woman escorting her mother to the polling station. The daughter and the polling clerks were trying to get over to her that she had three votes. Sadly, I think she was well past understanding the concepts either of 'three' or 'votes'. I'm talking about people who hold down responsible jobs. I am amazed that there are people who can't understand three simple sets of instructions (first sheet - you have two columns, in the first mark an 'x' against your first choice for mayor and in the second mark an 'x' against your second choice; on the second sheet make an 'x' for whichever candidate - who are listed along with the name and picture of their political party - you would like to be the Assembly member in your area; on the third sheet mark an 'x' against which party you like best across London). These people are allowed to have their feet on the accelerator and clutch and their hands on the steering wheel while looking in the mirror, signalling and getitng ready to pull out. And yet they can't follow these simple instructions on how to vote.

( I can understand why people don't always understand the mathematics and the tactics of alternative vote and party lists. Having voted for Ken in the first column it was a waste of effort to put my X next to Sian Berry in the second column, just as in the Streatham Selection, having voted for Chuka 1 it was a waste of effort to vote Steve 2. But the maths and the tactics aren't the mechanics).

I know I am banging my head against a brick wall. My first election campaign was twenty four years ago. My favourite subject at both A-Level and degree level was psephology. But it annoys me like hell that people vote on National Issues in Local Elections. We had the ridiculous situation two years ago in the London Borough elections of certain idiot bloggers saying 'Vote Lib Dem' because of Iraq, displaying their political (and verbal) illiteracy - fortunately sufficient (and more!) of the voters of Lambeth decided 'vote Labour because of the horrendous mess the LibDems and Tories have made of running the council' - and yes, back in 94, many of them said Vote LibDem because of the mess Labour has made. So in each of 94 and 06 Lambeth bucked the national trend because of Local Issues in local elections, whilst in places like Croydon they voted on national issues. Yes, that allowed crowing emails to be sent round work to Conservative residents of Croydon, but I doubt it was really a reflection on how the Tories had been running Croydon Council nor on how Labour promised to do so. The same but vice versa in 2006.

It puzzles me how the closer an issue, and the more impact it has on people's daily lives, the less likely they are to engage. Reading through the 'comments' in the right wing newspapers on-line this week, people are sounding off about this and that and laying blame where it doesn't lie, or only partially lies.

Meantime, in their local communities decisions are being made about local schools, bin collections, planning strategy, social housing, traffic calming, pollution and noise control, parking, and all sorts of issues that affect people on a day-to-day basis. and, it seems, a large proportion of those who could even be bothered to vote decided not to hold their local councils accountable for those decisions, but, instead, participated in a great big opinion poll about...what?

All those who voted Tory on the swing, do they honestly believe that a Cameron government would have left Northern Rock to collapse, and with it the life savings of thousands of people? Do they honestly think a Cameron government would have not joined in the Iraq war which has been a major factor in soaring oil prices and the knock-on effect? Do they think that a Cameron government would somehow join the Eurozone and thus reduce the cost of our summer holidays, just like that? Are they taken in by the Tory promises of £20 billion pounds cuts in public services running simultaneously with vote grabbing soundbites of increasing services (uncosted) to the early-middle-aged-middle-class-prosperous who demographically ought to be voting Tory but haven't done so for more than a decade?

God help London

We have a buffoon as our Mayor. A racist sexist homophobic pig who knows fuck all about what he's in charge of and what he isn't, can't manage his way out of a paper bag, can't add up...

"Oh, but he's funny on HIGNFY..."

"We thought we'd give the government a kicking...", but you weren't voting for the UK government. You've chosen a lunatic to be in charge of policing, transport, strategic planning, and the minor matter of the Olympics.

The only slight consolation I can see is that every mistake Boris makes, every time he puts his foot in his mouth, every time he displays his foolishness, or his ignorance of London and Londoners, it will just remind us all why we don't want his chums from the Bullingdon Club running the country.

Roberto Alagna in Viva Verdi, Barbican

Oh dear, if it was down to Roberto Alagna, poor old Giuseppe would be dead and truly buried.

I can see the attraction of wanting to do an all-Verdi programme, but it wasn't wise.

Obviously, all the pieces performed were at least vaguely familiar and most of them extremely so.

I came away with an increased fondness for Verdi, knowing that he must be special to survive this onslaught.

I think I also came up with a new notch on the scale of awfulness. This was 'Exponentially better than that dreadful Icelandic last year'. I can see a future critique being 'Well, a lot better than Alagna but nothing special'.

I don't know what inspires a singer to come up with a programme which is beyond his capabilities. My verdict on the first half was 'no sense of pitch, no sense of rhythm'. One friend remarked that it's like as soon as he goes above the stave it's just random. And then another friend joined us, with the question "Isn't it usual for singer and orchestra to be in the same key?'

He was out of step rhythmically with the orchestra in 'Oh tu in seno agli angeli' and in Celeste Aida, he finished with an interpolated random high note which is neither in the score nor supported by tradition. It was just bad. People say he has no business singing Radames; arguably a singer can get away with an isolated aria from the wrong fach, not him.

I was slightly surprised that, having heard Va pensiero in the first half, the second half opened with the overture from Nabucco. I was struck by its similarity to Finlandia, and suddenly got a craving for Sibelius. Very strange in a Verdi concert!

Lunge da lei...De' miei bollenti spiriti (Traviata) and Questa o quella (Rigoletto) were just meugh. Not bad, but just very unspecial. When I consider the fine tenors I have heard sing these, in the past year alone, he simply doesn't cut it. Then a piece I hadn't previously heard, although it was familiar: Quadrille on motifs from 'Un ballo in maschera' arranged J Strauss II. I enjoyed that. Oh! fede negar potessi...Quando le sere al placido (Luisa Miller) was so-so, then a fun Anvil Chorus (Trovatore) made me sit up.

Up to this point, I had been willing to give Roberto the benefit of the doubt, reminding myself that it is easy to criticise someone standing there exposed on the concert platform; in a staged performance, because there are so many more stimuli I would be forgiving of a minor slip, or a less than ideal this or the other. I was perplexed that while I thought it was a second rate performance, the hall was full of people shouting and clapping and screaming as if they were at the performance of a lifetime.

He came out for Niun mi tema (Otello). Bizarrely, he removed his jacket in one of those 'let's get informal with the audience' moments. And he proceeded to hold his jacket throughout the murder of an amazing aria. In fairness, he did start in tune, and singing, but it just deteriorated. I suddenly remembered what my friend had said during the interval. If you can imagine Sacha Distel singing Otello, this would be partly it. The rest, well - I know it's not a very lyrical aria, but that doesn't mean it should be delivered in a talking growl. At the end someone shouted out "Bravo". I can only hope that they were actually bravoing Verdi, because the orchestral writing is tremendous, incredibly atmospheric and evocative. They can't possibly have been bravoing the singing, could they?

That was the "end" of the show, but there was more to come. The opening struck up and I got ever so excited: the opening scene of Otello. I had half-sensed it, because just before Niun mi tema I had noticed a wind machine in the percussion, and I had subconsciously thought about the opening, but didn't make that thought concrete. So, the orchestra and chorus started up. What they lacked in finesse and precision they more than compensated for in welly - it really is a wonderfully loud and raucous storm scene. And of course, then, our tenor comes in with "Esultate!"

Oh dear! I had already been ticked off in the interval for making comparisons with 'the Master' even though I hadn't said a word, and I firmly resolved to make no further comparisons with El Maestro, because, especially in Otello, they would be unflattering. But I have heard others than The Master singing it live and on recordings, so I have a good few with which to compare. Frankly, I would rather have heard a counter-tenor. It was a disgrace. Involuntarily I put my hands to my ears to block out the ugly sound of a tenor crashing and burning. And to my amazement most of the rest of the audience were beside themselves in sheer ecstasy.

Next we had Di quella pira (Trovatore), which was, if anything even worse. And was capped off by a random discordant high note (or rather several, such was the wobble) that brought the audience to its feet, screaming for more. By then I had had enough. I thought it might be over, save that the orchestra were rooted to the spot. I later discovered that I had missed 'La donna è mobile' (oh, my heart is breaking) and a cheesy dedication of a Sicilian song to his wife. As I wasn't there, I can only quote a friend of mine (who will remain anonymous unless they wish to claim credit!)

He turned to the audience and said something like "This is a Sicilian love song - I would like to dedicate it to my beautiful wife who I love so much. The words mean "How long will I love you for? = Until I die"

Morticia was sitting in the stalls, ridiculously over-dressed in a vulgar bright red satin cape with a glittery silvery Chav handbag and glittery silver Chav shoes. Clearly dressed to get the maximum attention and shout "Look at me, I'm a diva". She was "holding court" on the way backstage afterwards, being followed by her niece and Bobby's daughter who both looked embarrassed to be seen with their stepmother.

I can't put my finger on the problem. Clearly he has a first-class voice and a confident stage manner. He knows the pieces well. So, what is the problem? He often lost time with the conductor ie the orchestra. He inserted ridiculously long held notes for the sheer macho show-off of it (such as 'morendo' in Niun me tena, and, apparently, in La donna, he held one note so long the conductor just went on without him). He didn't give any great impression of really understanding what he was singing. Yes, the words (although I found his Italian diction to be mediocre) but not actually the meaning, the sentiment. Almost total lack of legato, and something wrong with his breath control that sometimes made the volume uneven and at others demonstrated a wobble. And there was a lack of natural beauty. Obviously, he's a big star; I got the distinct impression that many people had travelled from far for this event. They seemed to enjoy themselves, which is great, but I can think of any number of tenors I would prefer to spend an evening with.

As a result of this evening I am resolved not to go to Trovatore at ROH next season. I detest the voice of the soprano singing Leonore (I'm sure she's a lovely person), and I couldn't risk that and a crash-and-burn Alagna.

Roberto is due also in the future to sing the following in London: Carmen, Boheme and L'elisir d'amore. Boheme I will happily miss, Carmen and L'elisir will depend upon the rest of the cast.

Tamerlano in Washington

Building an Opera:  Behind the Scenes of Tamerlano -  a rehearsal diary, which is vaguely interesting in places, as is:

Blog: William Lacey Conducts Tamerlano at Washington National Opera

Placido Domingo takes on new challenge

In his rich-hued robes, the tenor presents quite an exotic sight - "I dress like this for all my interviews," he says with a smile that lights up his dark, penetrating eyes

Critique from Dominic at Musical Criticism

Outwest Arts was there last night

Tame Tamerlano

Amid the Baroque and the Bluster, Love Blossoms

Tamerlano @ WNO

Domingo, a Lion in Winter in 'Tamerlano'

Domingo Goes Baroque

Domingo delivers 'Tamerlano'

So, it's Chelsea

Manchester United now know it's Chelsea in the All-England final in Moscow.

Manchester United vs Chelsea? Blimey, they'll be dancing on the streets of Guildford...

To be honest, Liverpool were the better team. Denied an obvious penalty, after Chelsea had been allowed a dodgy goal. Liverpool were robbed. Still, they're used to that...

I am bit worried about Abramovitch's team being our opponents in Moscow. If he can use his contacts to bribe his way to the title, he will.

Austria, cellar

A pretty obvious search term, I suppose.

Not much point in providing links: everyone knows which online sources to turn to if they want to read more of the sordid details. I wouldn't advise it. From time to time, I get fascinated by a story, a "truecrime" story that suddenly appears in the News. Jimmy is entirely different, he has no desire whatsoever to find out details of anything gruesome. It's not that he's trying to pretend it hasn't happened, but he'd rather be spared the details.

I have read so much, which is strange because there isn't actually an awful lot to read. Once you've read one paraphrase of a police statement there's nothing more to find out from twenty other paraphrases of the same statement. There isn't really a great deal that a 'comments' feature can add to the more-or-less factual narrative. The odd hand-wringing or the ridiculous 'is there something in the Austrian psyche that compels them to put their children in their cellars?'.

Or the Daily Mail seems most outraged that this crime, like the last-but-one Austrian cellar imprisonment crime, occurred in a cellar built with a government grant. Almost as if, and perhaps this is the truth in Daily Mail land, the utter preposterousness of the all the other aspects fade into insignificance beside the fact that it was taxpayers money that funded the cellars being built. Although perhaps closer to the truth than the 'all Austrians have to search their souls (and then their cellars)' browbeating. Being pretty close to the Iron Curtain, it seems that grants were available during the Cold War to build nuclear bunkers. Perhaps the ability to build easily deep cellars depends on the soil or the type of rock or whatever. But I think it's pretty dangerous to accuse an entire nation of having a propensity based upon three or four recent incidents.

It's not clever to read the Press coverage too much. There is so little in the way of detail that it leaves far too much to the imagination. And the imagination fills in too many details but leaves far to much unanswered.

The woman, the mother of the children, is 42, not much older than me. I think back to August 1984. Without consulting my diaries I can't remember that precise day, but I know I had just got my O-Level results and was about to go into Sixth Form. The football season had started and United were stringing together win after win. I try and think what has happened in my life over that time. Far far far too much - I have lived in different places, progressed through education, worked for a living, travelled abroad to several continents, made and lost friends, and most of all, largely been in charge of my own destiny.

Then I try to think of what the concept of being imprisoned means. I suspect that I am less subject to cabin fever than many people, probably more able to cope with alone and reclusion than the average. Even so, when confined to quarters, through chicken pox and then because of CFS, at least I was able to go out in the garden, see the garden through the window, and I don't think I've ever been at home for more than a week without going at least round the block. Again, I don't suffer from SAD anything like many people but I do feel such a difference in my spirits when the evenings become lighter.

I wonder if it is more difficult to adjust to that hellhole having known 'normality' than it is to have been born into it and lived one's entire childhood. Normal children go out to places; even the local shops are exciting when you're young. normal children mix with a whole variety of random strangers, see new and exciting things, natural and man-made. It was very sad to read of those boys staring awestruck at the moon.

I don't know what's worse, imagining the lives entirely wasted for up to twenty four years, or the privation, or the physical and psychological effects that will last for the rest of their lives. I wonder how they processed information coming from the TV. Did the mother ever tell them that there was a world on the outside. Presumably the older children will remember the upstairs children when they were downstairs - how did the mother explain their disappearance. How much will the Downstairs grow to resent the Upstairs. Will Upstairs feel guilty about having had a relatively normal life or will they in some perverse way resent the Downstairs

And as for their father - well, best not to think about him at all. I can understand an element of the actions - not understand as in 'forgive' but understand as in 'follow a narrative'. Father-daughter rape is neither new nor novel; locking children in a cellar or attic for short periods rarely gets even local news headlines. I suppose I find it easier to understand as in 'empathise' with wrongdoings that happen on the spur of the moment, even wrong doings of the most vile nature. I cannot begin to understand someone who could plan and sustain such an atrocity for such a long period. I sometimes plan bad things in my head - generally acts of revenge, triumph or sabotage. But part of the planning involves an assessment of what might go wrong, would I be found out, and what would be the consequences of that happening. Plus I find it difficult to cause physical harm, even to household pests, so while I might hit someone in anger, I couldn't do that to someone weaker and I couldn't sustain it.

And I can't lie. That's not a boast of virtuosity. I can't create and sustain a falsehood. I can twist facts -exaggerate a truth to provide a post hoc excuse. And I can be insincere without flinching. But I find it an enormous strain to keep even a good time-limited secret (a surprise birthday present, privileged early news of a job-move or pregnancy) so how difficult must it be to maintain a lie for 24 years to build up the evidence to 'prove' it, to have to change it to suit changing circumstances.

No, the whole thing is so horrible. I want it to have a fairy tale magic ending, but I know that the best the downstairs family will ever do is cope and survive - maybe the youngest will be able to socialise normally eventually (BTW, is it just me but is it strange that the mother had a pregnancy every two years or so, then 7 years between the youngest upstairs before the youngest downstairs - is she the mother, or is it the one who's in a coma, which if so just compounds the foulness of the incest).

And all human beings products of our heredity and our environment. The apple doesn't fall far; genes will out; bad blood will out. Imagine having that genetic inheritance.

My nerves are in shatters...

...but we're off to Moscow!!!!

Well, not me, personally, of course. But Bring on the Scousers, make it an all-Lancashire Final! Although it would have seemed more European if it was Barcelona.

It was a surprisingly entertaining match, until the final fifteen twenty one minutes when my pulse was racing and I was trembling. Was trembling...? Still am!

And who came good when it mattered, Scholesy. He's got "Manchester" on his birth certificate running through him like "Blackpool" in Blackpool Rock. And what a goal! Charltonesque!

I vowed that if United won this match,I would buy a shirt. I think I will have "68" on the back (copying my nephew who has a shirt with a shortened form of his surname and "95" on the back, which is well cool).

I am second in my family. I was born in 68; Manchester United won the European Cup in 68. My niece is second in her family. She was born in 99. United won the European Cup in 99. My new niece- or nephew-to-be will be second in her/his family. S/he will be born in 08. Manchester United will be in the European Cup Final in 08.

Other people's lives

The other day, I could not avoid overhearing a conversation between two women, possibly sisters, about my age. One of them mentioned that her friend Phoebe was due any day now. The other said, 'Oh she's the one who was having the affair..." at which point my ears pricked up.

Phoebe, who is a teacher (so not some chav!) was having an affair with the married man across the road. They have now split up and he is staying with his wife. Across the road. And Phoebe is large with about-to-be-born child. Across the road from the babyfather and his wife!

In the pharmacist, stocking up on Iron tablets, Vitamin B complex and Rennies (to go with my Tramadol, Mefenamic Acid, Valerian, Vitamin E, Starflower Oil, and Oil of Evening Primrose...yes, I rattle). A woman comes in and asks of the pharmacy assistant "Can I have the morning-after pill, please?" "Take a seat," said the assistant. And the woman said "Oh, um, I can't stay, because I've parked in a really awkward place on the estate, blocking in two other cars." I was sorely tempted to say:

"You're not very organised, are you, you're not really into planning ahead.."

But I didn't!

My view on the Chelsea vs Manchester United match

So, you know, we were sort of there, briefly.

And how did I manage to take such a photo?

I bought this trip months ago, for Jimmy's birthday back in August. With him working in the pub, there was never the opportunity to take it. Conscious that the voucher had a nine month life, I rang up just after we got back from Madrid, saying, can we go this weekend. The reply was, no, but you have a choice of 26 April, 3 May etc. I plumped randomly for 26 April, it was several days before I realised that it would clash with the Chelsea v Manchester United match, title decider, live on the TV blah de blah..

Then, earlier this week, we started to watch the weather forecast. And we were absolutely delighted that sheer chance had allocated us a day like yesterday, warm and sunny with an excellent view.

We booked with EBG helicopters, who are at Redhill aerodrome,  fifteen minutes by taxi from Redhill station which is 37 minutes from Streatham Hill. There was us two, and another chap, along with the pilot. We took off at about one o'clock and arrived back about three quarters of an hour later. We flew North, reaching the Thames at Barnes, having seen landmarks such as Tolworth Tower and the windmill on Wimbledon Common. From Barnes we flew above the Thames, seeing Stamford Bridge, Chelsea Harbour, Battersea Power Station, the Houses of Parliament and so on (Jimmy saw more North of the River, I saw South of the River, although for some reason, I don't remember seeing the London Eye, I think I was too busy trying to get a photo of my office, like how sad is that?). We headed over to Docklands, seeing very clearly the runway at London City, before turning right at the Isle of Dogs and returning to Redhill.

Take off was very smooth as was  progressing through the sky, until we hit some unexpected turbulence. For a moment I felt a touch of motion nausea, coupled with a sense of panic that we were in serious trouble. Irrational, and anyway it only lasted a few moments; after that it never even crossed my mind even  to worry.

Flavio at The Barbican

I went to this last week and really enjoyed Acts I and II. However, I had to leave early because of a call of nature. I accept that I misjudged - during a fairly intense afternoon at work I had two cups of tea, and during the fifteen minutes interval (advertised as twenty) I chose to have a drink and a fag rather than tackle all those stairs and spend the entire time queuing for the Ladies.

I don't know why the Barbican chose to run Acts II and III together. I see a similar complaint made by Handel expert Sue in respect of the recent Giulio Cesare in Lausanne. I recognise that the Barbican has to balance start and finish time for those coming from work and those needing to catch trains back to The Sticks, but the programme said it was scheduled to finish at 10, a full half hour before the Royal Opera House's habitual finish, so it wouldn't have hurt to have put in an interval between Acts II and III. I think this is a classic example of 'designed by men, used by women', timings decided by men who seem to have no idea about the queues that are typical in women's loos at theatrical etc events (I once went to a play with a then boyfriend who exclaimed 'what have you been doing all this time, the interval's nearly over').

When I go to an opera, I expect to be able to sit back, relax and concentrate on the music. That didn't happen, which was areal shame, because in respect of Acts I and II it was very enjoyable with a good cast and excellent orchestral playing by the Academy of Ancient Music under Christopher Hogwood.

The cast was:

Flavio: Iestyn Davies
Guido: Robin Blaze
Emilia: Karina Gauvin
Vitige: Maite Beaumont
Teodata: Renata Pokupic
Ugone: James Gilchrist
Lotario: James Rutherford

No weak links; the stand outs were Iestyn Davies who risks becoming my favourite countertenor, if such a notion wasn't oxymoronic, and Maite Beaumont.

Although it was a concert version, and they were in concert dress, they did inject some acting into it: moving around stage, and exiting and entrancing.There were some nice comedy touches. The oboist stepped forward to hand Flavio an envelope, which he opened. He took out a letter, which was the Governor of Britain tendering his resignation. He went into the envelope again and extracted a union flag, the sort given out for free at Classic Spectacular etc. He then handed it to Ugone, appointing him the new governor of Britain. Ugone's reaction of distaste was delightfully hammed, to the general amusement of the orchestra.

Sorry I can't bring you a more profound review, but it's difficult based on just two acts. Sometimes I choose to walk because the performance, or work, is poor, or not to my taste. So I was angry and upset that I had to leave, and could not re-enter, simply because the Barbican had moronically decided to run two acts together, making a second half of one and three quarter hours.

The Minotaur

On the whole I don't "do" modern opera. Last week, I was tipped the wink that this was definitely worth seeing. I perused the available reviews and decided to take the plunge, booking tickets for Jimmy and me. As I decided to take advantage of the 'best seats in the house for £65' deal, it wasn't a cheap evening, but sometimes it's fun to get a taste of how the other half live. (Normal price £180, rising to £210 for some productions next season). I gave Jimmy a let-out clause that if he really didn't like, he must tell me at half-time.

In the event, he really enjoyed it, exponentially more than whisper it quietly Tamerlano in Madrid.

It's due to be on radio in a few weeks. Having seen it live, I will probably listen to the broadcast, but I know I won't enjoy it anything like as much. I suspect I might find it peculiar, because the music and the drama went so well together. To be honest, even with very familiar operas, I find radio to be a poor substitute. I get so tired by the dinosaurs on Opera-hell and elsewhere who judge an opera, or its performance, by a radio hearing. It makes me laugh when people say 'at least with radio I can imagine my own pictures'. Yes, that works with books, but not with opera or stage-plays any more than it does for Fine Art. And it's contrary to the composer's intentions.

So, the Minotaur. I know the story pretty well. Or at least, I thought I did. What I actually know is the story as appropriately abridged in the Junior 2 (now Year 4) reading book. So this production was fabulous in filling in the rich detail.

Firstly, the music. By Harrison Birtwhistle.  I really liked it. I wouldn't pretend that I came out humming the tunes but that wasn't the purpose. I practically came on the spot when I took my seat and realised that both front boxes were filled with percussion instruments. Oh how cool is this going to be. There was never a point where I found the music unpleasant. I have read that it's atonal. Although I have read and theoretically understand what atonal means, I am not able to hear something and say sagely, "It's atonal". For me, either it works or it doesn't. And it worked. I suppose what I liked was the way the music was used in some places as sound effects. I also enjoyed the percussion for its own sake, and noticed the flutes in particular from the 'Other Instruments'.

The singing was of a universally high standard. Perhaps it helps in not actually knowing the work, but there were fine performances from the leading roles right down to the bit parts. It wasn't just the singing, though. It was like that was the icing on the cake. It would have been a fraction of what it was if they had just parked-and-barked, which is, of course, what we will get on the radio.

For me, the stand out was Christine Rice. She was sensational. Vocal expression and colour, really convincing as Ariadne, facially expressive and she moved superbly on stage. She portrayed different aspects well. The - albeit reluctant - loving sister, the dignified woman, the girl desperate to get away from a living hell. She was particularly impressive when she narrated the story of how her mother had lain with the sea-bull and then gave birth to the half-and-half. Earthy and literal, and very feminine.

John Tomlinson was a tour de force as the Minotaur. He played his entire role with a bull's head over his own head. It was a fascinating contraption, because from some angles you could tell it was a frame covered by a net, but mainly it looked like a solid bull's head. He was shirtless, his whole body from the waist up covered with hair - reportedly he was wearing a hair-covered vest although that wasn't obvious even from the fourth row of the stalls. I wasn't entirely sure what was going on in the trouser department, save that he had an large dildo outside his trousers. The outfit was complemented by the barefoot look. His movements were fascinating: well choreographed and well executed, often very convincing imitation of how cattle move. I don't think I could ever love his voice but the range of emotions he conveyed was startling, from anger and lust to self-pity and pathos.

Johann Reuter was good as Theseus. Not really in the class of Christine Rice and John Tomlinson, but never less than satisfying. When he went into the labyrinth he removed his jacket; when he got to fight, he also removed his vest. Definitely one to add to the barihunks list. He also displayed considerable athleticism.

There was strength in depth, including Andrew Watts as the snake priestess, singing whilst on stilts and wearing a set of comedy false boobs, Philip Langridge in a basically cameo role as the priestess's asistant (his son was the stage director). Rebbeca Bottone sang and acted superbly as the First Innocent; all the Innocents were good. And I developed a minor girly crush on  Amanda Echalaz as Kere, leader of the vultures. That is quite some voice, soaring high into the stratosphere. Also convincing dance moves and great looking.

The production was memorable. It would be interesting to discover, with a new opera like this, how much interaction there is between librettist, composer and director, how much it is a dialectic process. It opened with a video projection of waves as if shot from the bow of a ship. This returned at appropriate orchestral interludes.

Above ground much of the action took place at the front of the stage where there was what seemed to be a sand pit, and the head of a bull created by Daedalus. In the first act a ship was moored at the back of the stage; from here emerged the innocents.

Underground, the labyrinth varied depending upon whether the Minotaur was awake or asleep. When he was awake, a crowd of masked Furies, including two on-stage timpanists, were arrayed behind a low wall, urging him on to kill the Innocents. Asleep there was a mirror/video projection screen, at which various times appeared the Minotaur's reflection,  or his video projection, and Ariadne and Theseus. When people entered the labyrinth the descended down through a trapdoor into the bowels of the stage and in the next scene they descended ladders from the flies.

Most impressive was the choreography, especially of the Innocents and the Keres. The Keres in particular, a bit reminiscent of Valkyries.

It was a brutal and gory production, the third this year (after Lucia, at ENO, and Salome) where the stage was awash with blood. The Innocents were gored; at times this could have been sharpened up. I think the idea was that as they removed their hands from their wounds, the blood gushed forth. However, it seemed almost like a ritualistic bursting of stage-blood capsules.  The First Innocent was gored until she was convulsing a painful death; still alive she was raped, and when she was dead, the Half-and-Half eviscerated her vital organs. There was real attention to detail - for example, after he had raped her, he leaned against the wall, spent and sated. It is relatively rare for a dramatic depiction of sex to include the male 'roll-over and snore'.

Most of all, the enduring impression was of pathos and compassion. I would be interested to know the origin of this myth. Obviously, it would be impossible for a half-man half bull to have been conceived and born, but I would guess that this was based on some grotesquely malformed and mentally subnormal offspring, perhaps the product of repeat in-breeding, who had to be contained, and hidden from sight. Considering that the hideousness was apparent at birth, it is some surprise that infanticide didn't occur. I had previously considered the Minotaur to be a monster, not deserving of our sympathy, but I came away with tremendous sympathy; indeed I cried. His life was so miserable he just wanted to die. He attributed his anger and lust to his human half. Ariadne had some love for him. He never saw daylight, never had the chance to run around in a field, and certainly would never find love to give or receive.

Just as a bonus, I came face to face with Harrison Birtwhistle in the interval.

Before the interval there were some longeurs but the fifty five minutes afterwards flew by so quickly. In those very few slower bits i fell to contemplating how this could be performed in a Met-trash style. Later, I came up with the solution and posted to a newsgroup (I have amended it slightly, subsequently...)

Excitingly, we were talking to Tony,  Elaine and Harry in the Marquis afterwards and they're hoping to revive it for the 2012 Olympic Season, which is going to be all Greek mythology. However, because they wish to attract tourists, they're going to get a different director in. So that all the Innocents will be wearing designer Empire Line frocks or breeches and brocade waistcoats. Rather than raping, mauling and eviscerating his victims, the Minotaur will tell them of his angst. The vultures circling for blood will be replaced by angels. Rather than  a black sail of death, the ship will have a pastel shaded sail. And the labyrinth will be less a subterranean hellhole and more Hampton Court. It's a bit tentative at the moment, but it's looking like Bryn will play the role of the very hairy bass-baritone bull (with Erwin Schrott on  standby for the inevitable Terfel cancellation) They're hoping that as Katherine Jenkins will be over thirty by then and thus an opera singer she can take on the role created by Christine Rice. Rather than slaughtering a live pigeon, fresh from Covent Garden Piazza, live, on stage and smearing the blood over the scenery,she could partake of a ritual offering up of rose-petals in lavender water. And because the music is quite loud, almost raucous in places, it could be performed on baroque instruments, with the percussion merely mimed.

There are still three performances left and I would seriously recommend a visit. I don't know whether it will be televised; I hope so. If not, I hope that it will be revived soon. I don't know much about the Olympic Season and I am totally making it up that it will be about Greek myths, but it would be ace if the Cultural Olympics got comprehensive TV coverage.

Photos at ArenaPal

Chaos in Brixton

I have to confess to stupid naive inappropriateness.

There were scenes of chaos in the centre in Brixton this evening when I emerged from the Tube. The main crossroads was cordoned off, with heavy police presence, as well as fire engines, ambulances, a prison van and even the air ambulance.

Buses were running, but spasmodically, and packed to the gunwales, so like so many other people I decided the best thing was to walk. Up hill. It took a bit over half an hour. Would have taken less time if I hadn't paused to twit and take photos rest. The photos are just from my phone, so not great. Obviously if I had had my real camera I would have forced my way through the crowds of people gathering to stand and gawp. I would have said "Let me through, I'm one of Brixton's leading bloggers".

Fortunately it was a pleasant evening to stroll up the hill. Indeed, I had caught the bus and Tube with a colleague and we had been having that self-same conversation. I was faintly amused to notice that everyone, up or down, was walking on the left hand pavement. I don't suppose many held a realistic hope of catching a bus; there comes a point where it's barely worthwhile.

I've been home nearly an hour now. Whether it's because I'm more alert or whether it's an actual fact - plus we actually have the back door open - but there seems to have been more than average sirens.

And then I get home, fire up the PC and discover what actually happened:  Woman is killed under prison van

A good idea messed up

Classic London street scene, cars parked the length of the road. In order to make life easier for pedestrians, someone had the very bright idea of creating pavement piers, so the pedestrian could actually see clearly in both directions, their view unobstructed by parked cars.

Hurrah!

However, presumably because, if not here, at other pavement piers, idiot drivers not watching where they are going have taken to driving into the piers (or because some idiot jobsworth has decided that that might happen), a warning bollard has been erected. Not a problem for lone ambulatory people; not so great for people with pushchairs. Although, the lack of a dropped kerb suggests it was never intended for that use. God forbid anybody would wish to cross from a block of social housing to a Primary School/Early Years Centre with a pushchair or holding the hand of a small child.

Every time someone makes a half-hearted attempt to claim back public space for people, some jackass comes along and reasserts the jackboot of the car.

Update: 2030 hours: My mistake, the piers don't exist so that pedestrians stand a better of chance seeing on-coming traffic. Clearly they are for the placing of commercial waste paladins:

photo taken mid-afternoon

Ice Station Antarctica

Jimmy and I have been squabbling for some weeks that we never do anything. We keep promising to go out 'for walks' but the weather has not been in our favour of recent.

Exasperated, the other day, I said let's go to Tate Modern. (We've never been). He turned up his nose. Perhaps too heavily influenced by my nephew, to whom I also made the same suggestion some weeks back. My nephew's response was "It's crap and I'm not wasting my breath arguing when I know I'm right". Jimmy's response was "How about the Natural History Museum?" Of all the museums he could have suggested, this would have been my last choice, but it isn't always about me.

I tasked him with researching in a guidebook which bits he wanted to see. He said all of it. I said that it's quite big and it might take some time to do all of it. I had a look on the website and realised that this weekend was the last chance to see an exhibition about the Antarctic. This seemed interesting to both of us, so we went along to South Ken and bought our tickets for this special exhibition. General admission to the museum is free; to special exhibitions costs.

What a total waste of money. Our money as ticket holders and taxpayers; also of sponsors' money, but that isn't our concern.

It wasn't clear beforehand that the exhibition was aimed specifically at 7-11 year-olds. Specifically, rather thick 7-11 year olds, those that lack the ability to absorb information and ask enquiring questions. It was really a low-rent amusement arcade. Some rather 1990s computer games, and that was about it. Being somewhat curious by nature, I decided I wanted to know, how big is Antarctica? How many people work there, from how many countries, on how many bases, doing what? There was a tent erected, and I was vaguely curious as to what distinguished it from the sort of tent one uses on a camping holiday in an European summer. They had an example of the food parcels they get, but no details on what they actually contain or the logistics of getting them there.

There was a game where you could pretend to drive a smowmobile. The sort of video game you would find at motorway service centres in the 1980s. So many kids were wanting to play this that they totally ignored the genuine snowmobile sat right next to them. Until I reasoned 'it has no sign saying "Do not touch" so I will straddle it and play a game of make believe'. At which point, of course, it became everybody else's turn, and I got furious glares for hogging the thing that had suddenly become attractive. There was a game where you could pretend to be a diver and catch fish. It contained less variety of fish than my 'Magnetic Fishing Game' vintage circa 1972, less exciting graphics, and considerably less skill. If I had been curating the exhibition I would have scrapped it and replaced it with an actual video of actual fish filmed under water in the Antarctic summer. There was a cupboard of Antarctic clothing that you could put on if you wanted - and assuming that you weren't knocked out of the way by an aggressive pre-teen shoved there by their even more aggressive parent. But there was nothing about the clothing, how perhaps it might differ from similar clothing you might wear for a stroll in the Cotswolds.

There was also a video which I assumed was filmed in the Antarctic but could easily have been filmed in my garden on a cold dark night. It was on constant loop, so when a loop finished, and a whole bunch of people moved off, I thought I would sit and watch, only to be bundled out of the way by a bunch of aggressive males, passively supervised by asinine adults. (By the way I was using my walking stick). I decided to sit on the floor, because in their world, that's how it works - spoilt brats get to sit on seats, especially when it involves shoving the middle-aged woman with a stick out of the way. I'm tempted to say that if I behaved like that at that age I would have got a sharp telling off from my parents. But it isn't about then and now, because I know plenty of children of the same age now who would also be given a sharp telling off, and have been brought up not to be so thoughtless and selfish.

In fact, I found the whole visit rather depressing. It seemed that the majority of people there rarely go out in public. Whole bunches of them without a clue of how to manoeuvre in crowded spaces. The speciality seemed to be targeting the elderlies or those with babes-in-arms. There's some savage place in England where the law of the jungle, survival of the fittest, rules. Of course, the people there were entirely unrepresentative of the population of Britain. Overwhelmingly white, overwhelmingly middle-class, noticeably "comfortable" if not especially rich. Poor quality entertainment for 'elites', where clearly if you don't have a retard aged 7-11 you don't matter. And that's what our taxes are being wasted on. The mentality that 'my child is entitled to run around and treat this as a playground and if you happen to be standing actually examining the contents of a display cabinet, you are encroaching on my brat's right to slide along each display cabinet and shout and therefore you are a horrible person who shouldn't be here.' And it wasn't just me. I saw at least three older couples looking bemused as they became the next victims of the bullying. And I overheard a couple of conversations that reassured me it wasn't my imagination or me over-reacting.

We ate and made the mistake of entering South Ken station just after the museums closed, and thus were held for five minutes or more behind the barriers because of 'platform overcrowding'. Jimmy asked me if this was common. I said it happens occasionally at Victoria between five and six on a weekday, and I think it also happens regularly at Kings Cross. I later remembered it had happened at Earls Court after a concert, and I daresay it's common at anywhere there's a large number of people all heading for the Underground at the same time. It wasn't helped by the District and Circle being closed for planned engineering works.

I observed that when we got down there, the majority of people would crowd on the platform near the entrance, blocking others from entering, then we'd get on the train and people would crowd near the doors (we get off in ten stops' time and don't want to miss our station), not letting people move down the carriage where in any case every child would have a god-given right to a seat in preference to middle-aged woman with a stick, any elderly infirm or pregnant person, or anybody who had been at work all day. Lo and behold, when we got to the platform, I said we should move down, in order to be near the escalators on exit. A whole crowd bunched by the platform entrance. At subsequent stops the driver kept asking people to move down the carriage, not lean on the doors, let passengers off first and so on, which sounded odd in our half-empty carriage. I expect most of them will return to Middle England vowing never again to use public transport 'because it's over-crowded' nor ever go into a crowded place again, because people don't bow down and worship their spoilt spawn.

On the way home, we were at the bus stop in Brixton, a mother made her son stand back and let me on the bus. There was no necessity; the bus was nearly empty and there was only a dozen or so people waiting. Naturally I thanked her, and him. It's easy to spot those with class and those that are bullies (it has no connection with skin colour, household income or where you live; it has everything to do with how you behave and the example you set to your children).

Los Angeles and Boston

Some pictures from the 40th anniversary gala in Los Angeles. This was broadcast on local radio and is available for download from the internet...I read somewhere, forget where, that it was also being captured for later TV broadcast.

There is a clip here from some Boston TV programme. I would suggest that this is only for the very obsessed fan. I'm trying to work out what is worse, the substance or the form. Far too much of the clip is taken up by some halfwit in the TV studio interviewing the reporter; the studio halfwit's research seems to have been purely from the article in the local rag written by someone who attended only part of the concert (if he attended at all). They both make references to 'the soprano' without ever naming her - Ana Maria Martinez. They express surprise that she was 'strong', obviously oblivious that she sings regularly in the top opera houses in the world.

As for the form, in order to see it you have use the media player of the choice of this TV station, not of your choice. They choose to force you to use a virus. Download the virus if you must, but don't attempt to do anything else on your PC once you have downloaded it. Watch the clip, and then go to your 'system restore' and delete all traces of the virus from your PC. Otherwise you will find that some of your programmes and plug-ins have been hijacked, others deleted and others will fail to work. Don't say you haven't been warned that you won't get back that hour of your life.

Placido Domingo performs the "Panis Angelicus" at papal Mass

Scoredesk asks Who's that guy with Domingo?

But, Placido Domingo singing Panis Angelicus stole the show in my eyes. It was the most uplifting and spiritual moment I've ever felt at Mass.

Finally, after the dross and muck came pure gold. Placido Domingo sang Panic Angelicus and miraculously the problems with the sound were fixed. He was magnificent and Pope Benedict seemed to really enjoy it. He even got up and went over to Placido who was really emotional when he knelt to kiss the Holy Father's hand.

There was a nice moment at the close of the post-communion meditation. My beloved Placido D sang Panis Angelicus. That rascally group in the mid-level bleachers started to applaud; I was shaking my head in embarrassment, especially as the applause started to spread. But then the Pope himself stood and went to embrace Domingo and --be still my heart!-- the maestro knelt and kissed the Pope's ring. Maybe opera stars just have a knack for dramatic gestures, but it seemed to me that in kneeling Domingo did a wonderful thing --he put his singing back at the level of service to the Pope and ultimately to Christ in the Mass.

if I were to complain about anything, it would be the fact that Placido Domingo unavoidably upstaged the Pope himself with his rendition of Panis Angelicus. Of course, I am just kidding. It was operatic, but thoroughly appropriate for the occasion

For the Faths the highlight of the Mass was a performance by tenor Placido Domingo, who then knelt before the grateful pope.

These are excepts from the blogs that are fit to excerpt. It was singularly soul-destroying reading through so many others that managed to combine scary hysteria, faux piety and a rabid hatred that women and hispanic and black people were permitted to participate in a Mass which, apparently, ought to have been a celebration of American culture, not immigration. I usually manage to stay blissfully ignorant of the nasty underbelly of the internet, then something happens to reveal the blogs that are written by the rednecks and the  haters (in this instance who happen also to call themselves Christians. Delightful).

More from Boston

Wide-ranging Domingo wows Wang

Yanks’ fan’s loyalty a bit Tenor-ous

and some photos up on Flickr

Content Theft

If you are reading this post - or any other by me - on a site called Newmusic/reblog, please note that the content has been stolen from http://www.madmusingsof.me.uk/weblog/ without permission.

They are also using the content from many other bloggers. With or without permission, I don't know. But if you have a music blog, chances are, it's being swiped by these nefarious thieves. I don't suppose they asked your permission, either.

I have no desire whatsoever to have my site scraped - in full (but without my readers' comments) where it will sit alongside content over which I have no editorial control.

The unscrupulous culprits names are Jeff Harrington and Joseph Drew.

I do not mind excerpting and aggregating, but I object very strongly to these individuals swiping the entire content.

Plácido in Boston

A strange review  - Domingo picks up a mantle (sort of).

(When I say strange, I mean amateurish and half-hearted...). A sort of vague allusion to some of the items on the programme, some passing surprise that

while it was billed as Domingo's first-ever full concert appearance in Boston, the program was shared with the Puerto Rican soprano Ana María Martínez, who sang almost as many solo numbers as Domingo did

As far as I can gather from the information supplied it was the standard, oft-repeated formula that has happened successfully many times before. I would wager that the first half also contained Winterstürme and Gia nella notte densa, not unimportant numbers from a couple of his signature roles. A programme that has appeared last year and the year before and the decade before...And in several US cities.

Then we get

Even if he did not whip the crowd into a frenzy, at least before the night's deadline forced me to leave following the first encore

- well, at least it's honest. But I do think that reviewers, as well as concert goers, ought to grasp that encores, especially for this sort of 'numbers' concert are not an optional extra. If you miss three encores, you miss a substantial portion of the concert.

The formula is: First part - opera; Second part, operetta, musical theatre, zarzuela (almost certainly finishing with No puede ser).  Third part, time to be light-hearted and have (even more) fun. Almost certainly Granada, another 'signature' song.

Still

there was a lot of intelligent and deeply committed singing with Domingo, at age 67, in remarkably healthy voice. On the first half, among others, Domingo delivered the selection from "Le Cid" and one from Francesco Cilea's "L'Arlesiana," with his trademark heft, power, and smoothly burnished tone.

and really, one can't argue too vociferously with

Domingo's unpersuasive yet still somehow endearing attempts at Broadway standards

And I can't be too critical of an article that publishes this picture

Meanwhile, the Gloucester Daily Times reports A Rockport man found himself in the middle of a "collision of two entourages" as he welcomed a member of international opera royalty, and some real royalty, to the Boston area.

David Gibbons, general manager of the Taj Boston international hotel near the Boston Public Garden, was there Friday when renowned tenor Placido Domingo bumped into a member of real Spanish royalty in the lobby: Her Royal Highness, the Infanta Cristina Federica de Borbon y Grecia.

The Spanish maestro was on his way to a press conference when the elevator door opened up to the lobby and he found himself face-to-face with Princess Cristina.

"It's peculiar, I was just in Madrid yesterday where I saw the king and queen, and today I see their daughter," he said to an international press corps

Janice Mancini Del Sesto, general director of Boston Lyric Opera, said Domingo is as beloved and admired by all those who work in the industry as he is by his fans around the world.

If the press provides any indication of that admiration, at the end of the event, many members of the media rushed to the podium for his autograph.

"He is legendary for his missionary zeal, not only contributing to the art form as a performer and a singer, but also as conductor and an impresario who has responsibility for two large and important opera houses in this country. And the work he has done with young singers through his Operalia contest you have seen on our stage because there are many singers who made debuts with us that were winners and finalists in that competition," she said.

Sharon Daniels, director of the Boston University Opera Institute, said Domingo has had a phenomenal career because he is a great performing artist, who is as convincing on stage as an actor as he is as a singer.

"Placido Domingo is beloved by a new generation because he is a true supporter for their cause," said Daniels. "He supports the creation of new works, new artists, and new audiences. This is a tremendous gift for an artist to give back to the world. He just keeps on giving."

All-round good guy!

Buster busted

BBC NEWS | Magazine | How do record holders prove their age?

Well, bugger me backwards with a traffic cone, Buster isn't 101. And remember, you read it here, first,. Nor is he 94. Funnily enough, all those 17 kids he's supposed to have fathered have suddenly disappeared. Mind you, so has the criminal record.

All this news coverage rather devalues the bottle of beer that Jimmy has been hoarding for the past seven months. I told him he ought to drink it; not that he's going to, just in case.

Update - must be read in conjunction with  OAP's £60k Porsche crash escape

Back to the future

I am currently going through this blog eliminating a lot of old entries. Mainly ones that contain broken links, some that allude too directly to work, and others that are just, well, far too current, then, like who United got drawn in the Cup or whatever...

I have got as far as the summer of 2004. Yeah, I know, long way to go yet. Trouble is, I keep getitng distracted and reading the actual blog entries. This was back in the days when people would leave comments. Actually, I'm being unfair then, but often quite trivial entries attracted eight or twelve comments.

I was reading about the Olympics, and thinking, they're about due now, aren't they, I wonder where they are. Then I decided it was time to beat myself over the head with a wet fish, because, duh, the torch relay, and protests against China's brutality in Tibet have been somewhat in the news recently. It's funny, I consume news voraciously, but you'd never guess it from the blog.

Also quite a few posts about Waking the Dead and the scrumptiousness of Trevor Eve, tempered by my desire that he would be even more scrumptious without the beard. And, oh my god, it's back on the telly tonight, how excited am I? A proper new series, too, which surprises me because I thought the Beeb had run out of new series until Autumn. If the trailers and the pictures in the Radio Times are anything to go by, it looks like he's shaved off the beard. And, you know, in the intervening nearly four years, I have learned to like, or maybe even love, beards.

Jimmy's apologising because he wants to watch the Chelsea match, so I'm explaining to him the concept of modern technology where one can watch one programme and record another. He has conceded that modern technology has its uses. Perhaps because I have been sending texts (or faxes as he calls them) to Barbados with details of a telephone number in Jamaica I got off the internet. He's coming over to the view that modern technology has its uses.

Premiership run-in

We're getting to that time of year when I get very tense and really start hating football.

Actually, I am fed up with the Sky Sports commentators. Really are quite close to scum. I don't like that ghastly Andy Gray, full stop. I especially don't like the fact that he is so very anti-Manchester United. I would have thought that in a domestic match, a commentator should be neutral. He isn't. And when it comes to European match he so obviously wants Johnny Foreigner to win, it's disgusting, certainly not what I pay my licence fee for.

I detest the way that they really hype everything up. I don't really care about the mazing fact that such a player is breaking all records for appearances in European competition, or that such a player will soon have made more appearances than any Premiership appearances than any other. These facts are bound to happen. There are more matches en route to the final than back in the Old Days, and it's a lot easier to qualify for Europe than it was back in the days. The Premiership is only sixteen years old, so we are only just reaching the point where a player will have played out their entire career in it. Giggsy's longevity, and relative lack of injuries and lack of form is not unusual. It is relatively unusual that he played so regularly at such a tender age, to just be establishing himself as an automatic first-teamer the season the Premiership started, and to continue until - at least - 34½ - and all with one club. Okay, so I salute Giggsy, he is exceptional. Yet in a way it annoys me that he has carried on being a genius all these years, yet these morons at Sky don't ever go orgasmic about him in the same way they do about headline-grabbing lesser talented flashes-in-the-pan.

I was annoyed this afternoon. Reportedly Fabio Capello 'controversially left' Anfield before the game ended 'he has been criticised for that'. He left on 90 minutes, presumably to escape the crush leaving the stadium and the traffic chaos that would ensue after the game, to head down the East Lancs. If he had waited until the final whistle he wouldn't have got to Old Trafford before half time. It's a no-brainer. But those jerks at sky want to whip up the hype and hysteria in order to create controversy, to get the adrenaline and testosterone flowing in pubs, in order to relentlessly sell their product with no concern for balance, moderation, objectivity or perspective.

And with the final whistle, one could have been fooled into thinking that United had won the title. No, they haven't. Yes, they happen at this moment to be 6 points ahead if Chelsea, but Chelsea play Wigan tomorrow night, and, sorry Pie-Eaters, are so likely to win, that the real state is three points with twelve to play for. I might not be an expert in numbers*, but that doesn't look done-and-dusted to me.

And then there's Europe...

I missed the first leg of the Roma match because I was at Tamerlano. I did see the second leg on the TV, but only because I got totally confused and didn't realise that that was the night I had booked to go to Carmen, which was extremely annoying. That I missed Carmen, that is, not that United beat Roma. Next up is Barcelona, and I'm a bag of nerves. I keep reading that Barcelona is not the team that they were, but, still, they are Barcelona.

As for the Liverpool - Chelsea fixture, their second leg is the day after United's, so I will have twenty four hours to decide which I want in the final. If united beat Barcelona, I will definitely want it to be Liverpool, because, 1974 Local Government reorganisation notwithstanding, I am a Lancashire Lass, and my heart will swell up with proud at my native county's utter domination. But if Barca beat United, if I can get over my grief I think I will be supporting Chelsea, because much as I hate** Chelsea, I regard them as here-today, gone-tomorrow fly-by-nights, whereas I grew up with a primordial hatred** of Liverpool.

* I lie. I am
**naturally, I use the word 'hate' in its strictly limited football tribe way

Eugene Onegin

It's now a while since I went to see this. I did a brief review after my first attendance, and intended to do more, which was rather stymied by Gerald Finley being not too well on the second night that I went.

In any case I wanted to say more than just an appraisal of the singers. However, I do think that Gerald was masterful. Vocally, on the first occasion only; dramatically on both occasions. He is a stupendous acting singer, and having now seen him in two different productions he is, for me, the definitive Eugene Onegin. Not that I'm knocking Dmitri Hvorostovsky, far from it, but I do find that Dmitri in character is less compelling than Dmitri in concert.

I actually think that Eugene Onegin is a work of something approaching genius. The more I get to know it, the more I think that it would be an ideal introduction to opera for just about anybody. It has some amazing tunes in it, although conversely, there is nothing that I take away as an earworm, and, apart from Kuda, kuda, there is no tune that I conjure up at will.

The more I see it, the more the story affects me. A reflex action would be express frustration at the futility of the duel. Have a disagreement with your best mate, and the only way to resolve it is pistols at dawn. I am afraid it strikes at immature macho posturing.

Some people say that the opera should be called Tatiana. I am not convinced*, but I can see the thrust of the argument. In Act I, Tatiana is a dreamy, bookish teenager, easily enraptured by a romantic hero who rides into town in a pair of white breeches. By the end, she is expressing her happiness at being married to Prince Gremin, who is considerably older and not especially dashing or glamorous. I happen to find that very romantic and simultaneously realistic. It's okay to have your dreams and romantic notions when you are young, but as you mature you throw off such superficial notions. Indeed, that it was both Mother and Nurse tried to impress upon Tatiana in the early act.

I think that Gremin's aria is one of the most romantic in all of opera (special praise to Hans Peter Konig in this production). It is enduringly simple, and reflects that, although he maybe called 'Prince', he is an uncomplicated and sincere man, and I believe that Tatiana's marriage with him is enduringly happy because of this. Perhaps I am betraying my essential bourgeois nature, perhaps I ought to be making more of a case for dashing, Romantic, fucked-up up Onegin.

If the opera is about how Tatiana grows up and changes, it is even more about how Onegin fails to do. Above all, it's about him as an outsider. It is easy to be attracted to such an exotic figure if they are fictional, but throughout, he displays his own emotional autism. Some people think that at the end, he finally grows up when he realises that Tatiana won't have him, but I don't think he does. Intellectually, he realises that he was a fool to have turned her down way back then, but I don't think he fully grasps why Tatiana makes a positive choice to be with Gremin.

I think the music is unbelievably gorgeous. I find it difficult to identify my favourite piece, but I think the set pieces for the chorus are rather special. It would be wrong to ignore Tatiana's Letter Scene, a tour de force for the soprano in question. I love Lensky's aria and Gremin's aria, too. Which leaves us with Onegin himself. Bizarrely, I can't name an outstanding piece of music from him, but he is so dominant throughout it takes a special singer to do it justice.

Regarding the production, I have mixed feelings about it. I reject some of the criticism as ill-founded. For example, some people object that the dance for Tatiana's nameday is held in cramped provincial surroundings, well, it should be. I like the skating party for the Act III Polonnaise. Again, people have criticised it for its lack of authenticity. I can't say I am bothered by a slavish adherence to setting. It doesn't change the linear narrative and it looks good. I don't know for a fact whether the aristocracy of St Petersburg would actually have organised such a party at such a time, but I am prepared to accept is a possibility.

What I was more aware of in seeing it his year than two years ago was a fundamental contradiction. The programme notes discussed the essential intimacy of the work, saying that Tchaikovsky wanted to break away from the then current fashion of grandly staged spectaculars, and create what was essentially a domestic drama between ordinary characters. If it wasn't for that programme note, I probbaly wouldn't have spotted the essential absence of intimacy. Even when the famous Covent Garden box was utilised  - for Tatiana's bedroom and for Gremlin's library - it ultimately became necessary to break out of the box in order fully to play the drama.

My abiding memory, at least of excursion 1, will be Gerald Finley's total portrayal of the character. I can't adequately describe the overall effect. It's not just that I love his voice, it's not just that I recognise a fine musician who seems to have an instinctive understanding of how to portray the music. He was inside the character, portraying the change from a rather aloof yet impetuous young man to one more worldly and experienced and yet still not comfortable in human relations. I don't know what it is he does, I couldn't really single out any particular example of how he used this device or move din such a way in order to illustrate a point. I suppose that's what is called acting!

I am already looking forward to seeing him as Dr Atomic next Spring at ENO, and I will also got to Die Tote Stadt at ROH, although, at this stage, not knowing the opera, I can't really feel very enthusiastic, except for him. Hopefully, I will remedy that in the interim.

Here are my rather pathetic curtain call photos.

      

If you want a host of decent photos, look here

* obviously, in my world, it would be called Vladimir Lensky

Chalk and cheese

A few weeks ago Jimmy and I were sitting in the pub messing around with my camera. The resulting photos really illustrate how very different we are...

20 Greatest Tenors

  Before I forget, I scanned the entire article from the BBC music mag and uploaded it to the internet. Feel free to download. The link is here. It's about 20 megabites, in a zip file.

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.

A new CD, a webchat, and next week a concert in Boston, and

If he rested, he would rust, but, just sometimes, I think, give me a break:-)

Plácido Domingo suelta su pasión española con un disco de coplas

Plácido Domingo pone voz a la copla en un nuevo disco de homenaje al género 'hecho con pasión'

'Pasión española', el tributo a la copla de Plácido Domingo

Live webchat, translated into English by Parsifal

Photos from the Press Conference

Video from Press Conference

Tireless tenor: Hard work and practice fuel Plácido Domingo’s passion for music

Plácido Domingo, de cerca: Lea la entrevista exclusiva al tenor español previo a su concierto del próximo 14 de abril en Boston

After Tamerlano

After last Tuesday's performance of Tamerlano, naturally I went to the Stage Door at the Teatro Real. Not immediately. I had time to check the final scores on my phone (Roma 0 United 2), nip to my hotel room for a cardigan, knock back a large glass of wine in the bar opposite and still wait for Plácido outside the Stage Door!

Of course, I wasn't the only person there but I honestly thought that there would be more. Not that I'm complaining. I was getting just a little bit cold standing outside, waiting. We could see his car and driver were there. And then I knew we wouldn't have to wait long because I saw Marta, so I knew Plácido wouldn't be far behind. (Jimmy later said he was a bit surprised that Plácido was being so blatant leaving the opera house with a woman; I pointed out, 'that's his wife'. Incidentally, we saw Alvaro on Saturday).

Plácido came out of the stage door looking lovely, but in retrospect a little less flirtatious than usual...possibly because Marta was there!  Jimmy instructed me that I had to request his autograph in order that Jimmy, my cameraman, could try and get a photo of the two of us together. But I didn't have a pen, because I'm not a habitual autograph seeker. Fortunately, one person did have a pen, so Plácido used that to sign the programmes of several of us. (Jimmy later said I should have brought along Katherine Jenkins' biography and get him to sign the photo in that. As if...).

One person presented him with a hand-held to sign; which he did, but he didn't look comfortable doing so. Maybe it's just the auditor in me but I actually think it's the height of bad manners to present a celebrity with a handheld to sign. I know that electronic signature gathering is commonplace now, but I do see a difference between handing it over to a delivery company for example (or in the USA, signing a credit card slip - they don't seem to use PINs for plastic cards) and handing it to a random stranger, who might use it for forgery. Not that I think Plácido's signature actually has much monetary value, on account of him being so approachable and so amenable to signing so many things.

Anyway, I approached him and as I handed him the programme, and he was signing it, I asked him whether he would be singing that role in London. He confirmed he would, 'but not until 2010'. He sounded almost apologetic. Perhaps because he won't be at Covent Garden next season, which is disappointing, but heck, I have the travel bug:-)

Obviously I didn't get much time with him, but it's always such a pleasure to meet him. I'd hate to be one of these people who go on at great length and in boring detail about...nothing...just to keep his attention, when he'd been in the House 7 and a half hours, and his wife was in the car, and he probably just wanted to get away and get something to eat. And, anyway, I consoled myself that it's not long til Barcelona, and Die Walküre (woot! yay!)