Intermezzo

Back 4 Moar - Cecilia Bartoli at the Barbican - again

Cecilia Bartoli - Barbican, 21 December 2007

If Cecilia Bartoli can manage two nights at the Barbican, then so can I. Her visits to London are so rare, it would have been a crime not to.

Same show as before, even the same frock, but no encore of Yo que soy contrabandista. The voice, lighter and even more flexible. Presumably she'd cast off the cold announced before the earlier show.

To assert that much of the 'Malibran' material is second rate is correct, but kind of beside the point. As is claiming that we'll never know what her voice sounded like. This tour is about experiencing a great performer at the height of her powers, one who captures the music with fluency and generosity of spirit, and in that Bartoli has captured the essence of the legendary Maria Malibran.

It's that time of year - again - La Cenerentola at Covent Garden

La Cenerentola - Royal Opera House, 20 December 2007

I was privileged - or maybe not - for this performance to be seated right over the orchestra pit, at the side of the stage. So for once I could see not only what the orchestra was doing, but also what faces the conductor was pulling. It came of course at the expense of a clear view of the stage, and the orchestral sound was raw. But given that this production's action is concentrated centre stage, and the ensemble is small, these weren't huge disadvantages.  I don't think I have ever seen a happier face on a podium than Evelino Pidò's. Even when orchestra and singers slipped momentarily apart, he maintained the manic joy of a cocker spaniel out for walkies, and was rewarded with a brisk and lively response from his players.

Although on this evidence Magdalena Kožená's acting skills hover somewhere around the Jessica Simpson mark, it's not clear to me why reviewers (example) have been so ruthlessly critical of her performance.

She certainly looked the part, all blonde curls and downcast glances. Her perpetual goggle eyed bafflement wasn't always the right fit dramatically, but at least it supplied the endearing charm that Cenerentola requires. And her singing was one liquid ribbon of exquisite silvery sound - too languid to be truly Italianate but beautiful all the same. Non piu mesta seemed like hard work, but she got through it cleanly, if rather coolly. She's told interviewers that Rossini is not a favourite of hers -- that much was obvious from the detachment of her performance -- but it was no disaster, and I suspect that supplied with more direction she could have delivered a more credible performance.

Toby Spence was more convincing as a rather earnest Don Ramiro. His voice has more muscle than flexibility, and the coloratura was effortful, but he did (just about) manage all the high C's in Si, ritrovarla io giuro. 

Ranked against Covent Garden's last Don Ramiro, the phenomenal Juan Diego Flórez, of course he doesn't measure up, but then who would? The only part of Spence's performance which really didn't work was the opening to Zitto, zitto, piano, piano, taken so quietly that it was literally inaudible - and I was only a few feet away.

Simone Alberghini's Dandini, more of a confidant than a servant, was a splendid foil. His performance was all the more credible for the subtlety of distinction between his disguised and real personas. Considering he'd only joined as a late stand-in for the sick Stéphane Degout he slotted in remarkably well with the tricky vocal ensembles and this production's fussy blocking.

Alessandro Corbelli displayed immaculate comic timing and technique as the grasping Don Magnifico, though at times so manically underlined it was as if he'd wandered in from a different production. Elena Xanthoudakis and Leah-Marian Jones were endearingly repulsive as his daughters, and served up some of the best singing of the night.

The production's updating of the action to the 1950's is not simply an excuse for lurid costumery and a splendid Bugatti to serve as Cenerentola's coach. The outmoded notion of social advancement through marriage took on a more modern economic emphasis in Don Magnifico's dilapidated home. Don Ramiro managed his staff rather than ruling them, and Dandini was his master's quick-witted equal.

Frustratingly, the more controversial ideas, when the otherwise amiable buffoon Don Magnifico physically beats Cenerentola, then feels up the two sisters later, formed odd and uncomfortable punctuations rather than properly explored themes. The sparsely furnished sets, too, seemed unfinished rather than intentionally spare. It was as if time, money and inspiration had all fizzled out in the home straight. Only the eternal and unrelenting vitality of the music papered over the cracks.

Cecilia Bartoli dazzles at the Barbican

Cecilia Bartoli/ Orchestra La Scintilla Zürich - Barbican, 19 December 2007

We were told pre-concert not to expect too much. Cecilia Bartoli was recovering from a cold and flu. Was it just a ploy to dampen expectations? Because apart from the tiniest settling-in, her entire performance was as close to perfection as it gets, her fabulous triple-octave voice under immaculate control. Although I love her baroque work too, the romantic style she focussed on tonight seems more tailored to her generous and exuberant personality. Whether steeped in pathos or bathed in joy, every song was delivered at peak intensity. It's a high-risk strategy, and at times she skated dangerously close to self-parody, but never quite crossed that line.

Incidentally, in the audience was Vivienne Westwood, resplendent in apricot coat and matching hair. She's designed frocks for Bartoli in the past, but tonight's spectacular red silk strapless gown with beaded embellishment and trailing hem came from Nina Ricci.

Everything she sang was taken from her recent Malibran recording. There's some phenomenally technically difficult stuff in there, and I don't think anyone would have been too disappointed if she'd not matched up. The surprise was that, if anything, she was even more impressive in person, with a richer palette, greater vitality, a more daring fioritura. She tossed off the triple back flips and headspins of the finale from Rossini's La Cenerentola with easy-peasy grace and phenomenal accuracy, but was just as impressive with the dramatic intensity of Mendelssohn's Infelice (which incidentally she has rescued from obscurity for this recording).

And some credit is also due to La Scintilla, the period instrument ensemble from the Zürich opera house orchestra. Not only did they accompany Bartoli, conductorless, most sensitively, but their instrumental interludes in between her arias were a cut above what's often provided at this sort of concert. 

OK, so they sped up during their crescendos and slowed down in the diminuendoes, but at least they achieved some consistent dynamic variation, something very hard to do without a conductor. And they played with a real joy and relish for what they were doing.

The encores seemed a little calculated, but were no worse for it. For the first, Rataplan from Donizetti's La Fille du Régiment, a drummer magically appeared to accompany Bartoli.

And for the second, Manuel Garcia's Yo que soy contrabandista from El Poeta Calculista, there was a whole band of Spanish flamenco players waiting in the wings to take the orchestra's place for a few minutes.

Arm-twisted by a standing ovation to provide a third encore, Bartoli reprised Non piu mesta from La Cenerentola - but extemporised differently from the first time, and quite brilliantly. I shall find out tomorrow night if Magdalena Kožená (at the Royal Opera House) can provide quite the same sparkle to it - but somehow I doubt it.

Barbican programme notes here

The full programme:
Manuel de Populo Vicente Garcia Overture from 'La figlia dell'aria'; 'E non lo vedo...Son regina' Semiramide's recitative and romanza from 'La figlia dell'aria'
Giuseppe Persiani 'Cari giorni' Ines's introduction and romanza from 'Ines de Castro'
Mendelssohn Scherzo from Octet in G minor op. 20 (arr. for orchestra); 'Infelice' scene and aria for voice, violin solo and orchestra (1834 London version)
Rossini Tempest from 'Il Barbiere di Siviglia'; 'Naqui all'affanno...non piu mesta' Angelina's scene and rondo from 'La Cenerentola'
Donizetti Andante and sostenuto from Concertino for Clarinet in B flat
Rossini 'Assisa al pie d'un salice' Desdemona's Willow Song and Prayer from 'Otello'; Overture from 'Il Signor Bruschino'
Michael William Balfe 'Yon moon o'er the mountains' Isoline's ballad from 'The Maid of Artois'
Hummel Tyrolean Air with Variations
Charles-Auguste de Bériot Andante tranquillo from Violin Concerto No 7 in op. 76
Bellini 'Ah, non credea mirarti...Ah, non giunge' Amina's Aria and cabaletta from 'La Sonnambula'

Sshhh - top secret - LSO play 21st c music

LSO/Davis - Barbican - 18 December 2007

Is the LSO ashamed of new music? Tonight's concert started with a short new commission by Martin Suckling, one of an occasional series. As with previous commissions in the series, no mention of it on the Barbican website or in the programme. Perhaps they think some of the audience would be put off -- and perhaps they would, but isn't that a decision the audience should be allowed to make for themselves? No need to sneak it in like cabbage under the mashed potatoes on a toddler's dinner plate. And budding composers need all the publicity they can get. At the very least, the audience need to have a rough idea of a concert's end-time so that they can arrange to get home. There were mutterings on the way out about being released at nearly 10 after the programme indicated a 9.30 finish - is that really what the LSO want people's final impression of their concerts to be?

Anyway, the piece itself was appealing and unscary, if rather unfinished-sounding. The most interesting part was a central section where mating oboes sighed over a rumbling bass. An individual touch was not so clearly established in the choppy string opening or the expansive songlike ending.

The follow up was on safe ground -- Elgar's Enigma Variations, an LSO mainstay, last programmed I think only a few months ago. Sir Colin gave a characteristically lucid and intense reading, and there was some fine work especially from the brass section.

The second half of the evening was occupied by Tippett's A Child of Our Time, recorded for future CD release. This piece needs bags of emotional commitment to work, and it got plenty from the soprano soloist Indra Thomas, rather bare on her top notes but florid and affecting otherwise. Mezzo Mihoko Fujimura brought a more intellectual brand of intensity - singing beautifully, but, buried in her score all evening, barely communicating. Tenor Steve Davislim had the right light and pleasant voice, though he sometimes failed to carry over the orchestra. Bass Matthew Rose was technically fine, and very clear, but didn't sound particularly interested in what he was singing.

The London Symphony Choir sounded as if they'd been at the mulled wine and mince pies, a bit ragged round the edges. It was left to the LSO to pick up the baton - quite literally at one point as Sir Colin lost his grip, and leader Gordan Nikolitch had to scoop it up from the floor. Perhaps indicative of an evening that went nearly right.

In which Natalie Dessay fails to appear

Le Concert d'Astrée / Haim - Barbican, 17 December 2007

OK, I admit I booked for this concert mainly on the strength of Natalie Dessay's promised appearance, and her last-minute replacement by Amy Freston (sweet, serviceable, but decidedly unstarry) was a big disappointment. A couple of days ago, it was sold out online, but a fair number of empty seats on the night suggested my feelings were shared.

To tie in with the CD it was promoting, just two half-hour pieces were scheduled, Handel's Dixit Dominus and Bach's Magnificat.

Generally speaking, I'd take Haim's perennial enthusiasm and exuberance over a dour, over-reverential approach. But here, her one-size-fits-all puppydog bounce seemed more suited to a cheeky baroque opera than the psalm and prayer of tonight's performance.

There were few moments of reflective calm, and most of these came courtesy of the soloists. In particular, countertenor Tim Mead elevated the Bach with a sublime Misericordia in duet with tenor Paul Agnew, followed by a serene solo Esurientes. But how much less comfortable he looked in his tails than he had done in miniskirted drag as Ottone in the ENO's recent Coronation of Poppea. That's countertenors for you.

Perhaps he had his eyes on Salome Haller's curious ensemble, a flapping tube of black rubberized seaweed with zips. Amy Freston's coffee satin gown and sparkly black bolero looked positively prim in comparison. The men could hardly complete, though bass Robert Gleadow set off his piratical beard with a rather racy earring.

Back to the music, and it was Le Concert d'Astrée's superbly-schooled chorus which really took the musical honours. No wonder Haim is able to pluck soloists from their ranks with such regular success. Precise, fluent, and exquisitely balanced with each other and with the orchestra, they were as close to perfection as it gets, truly a joy to listen to.

And a word for the Concert d'Astrée cellist, who performed a delightful pizzicato obbligato with his instrument across his knee, guitar style. No substitute for Natalie Dessay, but fun all the same.

 

Thomas Hampson presents a cure for coughing

Thomas Hampson/Wolfram Rieger  - Wigmore Hall, 15 December 2007

Judging by the photos, it seems that Thomas Hampson wears the same suit for all his recitals. But then, he does so few concerts that it would be an extravagance to own any more. I felt duly privileged to be present at his first Wigmore Hall appearance for five years. And with something of a Schumann drought recently in London (no doubt in response to last year's 150th anniversary overload) it was a pleasure to anticipate his all-Schumann programme, which began with the Kerner Lieder.

Uneven intonation and a gruff delivery diminished the impact of the opening Lust der Sturmnacht. I wondered if the celebrated technician had a cold. But I guess it must have been just a public warm-up, because he was back on top with the next song, Stirb, Lieb' und Freud'! Hampson negotiated its tricky high-lying passage, the prayer of a young girl, in solemn and faultless falsetto, to breathtaking effect.

There is a moment at which you know if a recital is going to be a very special one, and that was it. Hampson has lived with these songs for a long time. Now it is as if he inhabits them. His voice has lost some elasticity and crispness of contour over the years, but it has gained in richness and colour. There is an underlying frailty, a vulnerability which Hampson could call up at will, but also an elemental power, operatically-scaled. Hampson deployed this fearlessly, notably in Wanderlied, but never simply for effect. Vocal and physical gestures never outsized the performance space. Any accusations of 'ham' would have been very wide of the mark. He didn't display these songs, he experienced them, from line to line, each word spun out afresh. And incidentally, a few of those words and notes weren't exactly as I recalled them, but such was the conviction of Hampson's performance, I couldn't say whether he was using an obscure edition, or was merely fudging with the most consummate of skill.

In Auf das Trinkglas eines verstorbenen Freundes, the contemplation of the wine glass of a departed friend, Hampson spun the elegiac and celebratory elements together into a warmly reflective whole. The trio of Stille Liebe, Frage and Stille Tränen was the high point of the first half, the final verse's sustained Schmerz ripping open like a fresh wound. Even the inveterate coughers at the back of the hall could do nothing but hold their breath after that one.

For the second half, Hampson presented a Dichterliebe with a difference. This was Schumann's original version, complete with an additional four songs (eventually published separately) to the final sixteen, and a few very minor musical differences. Although the existence of this original twenty song version has long been known, the shorter version is generally held to be the one Schumann himself considered definitive. Hampson's programme notes presented compelling reasons to consider otherwise. As did his performance, into which the extra songs slipped seamlessly.

He also proved that this is not just a young man's song cycle. Hampson could conjure up the wistful beauty of Ich will meine Seele tauchen with lightness and freshness.  And Heine's irony, so often conveyed as youthful petulance, was from Hampson a bitter snarl of frightening depth in Ich grolle nicht and Ein Jüngling liebt ein Mädchen. By the time we got to the final Die alten, bösen Lieder, the despair was absolute, no empty posturing. Wolfram Rieger was no less than an equal partner throughout, responding with the utmost sensitivity to Hampson, resisting any urge to grandstand the postludes. The attentive creation of every single note made the whole cycle utterly engrossing from start to finish, with scarcely a cough emanating from the transfixed audience.

Ear-shattering applause could only squeeze one encore out of them, a charming Du bist wie eine Blume. As Hampson explained afterwards (in a bizarre euratlantic accent, like a verrry posh German who's watched too many Hollywood movies), he's getting to the age when it's wise to leave the audience wanting more. More is most definitely wanted, though when he'll be coming back to London is up in the air. As he makes clear in an interesting interview in this month's Opera News, his intention is that his future now lies mainly in the US.

Watch Gergiev and the LSO online - free - and legal

The BBC are currently running a mini-series of Gergiev/LSO concerts recorded at the Barbican earlier this year. They're being broadcast on BBC4 at 7.30 on Friday nights.

And they're offered for free download via the BBC iPlayer site.

Previously this only worked for Vista or XP users, but as from today, it's Mac and Linux enabled too.

Available on the iPlayer until 7.30 tomorrow (14 December) is the first programme, featuring Stravinsky's Rite of Spring, Debussy's Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune and La Mer, and Prokofiev's Seven They Are Seven. There's also a little pre-concert chat from Gergiev, sitting relaxed in a checked shirt and rather less terrifying than his podium persona suggests.

Once that expires tomorrow, the second programme will be available for a week. This features Stravinsky's music for the ballet Petrushka and his Symphony in 3 Movements, Prokofiev's Violin Concerto No 1 with soloist Vadim Repin, and three of Debussy's Préludes for piano.

You have to install the iPlayer software, and it takes a while to download (about 30 minutes for me), but the picture quality is excellent, every speck of the Gergiev stubble pinpointed. Other music programmes currently available there include a fascinating series on Brazilian music.

Xmas-period BBC TV broadcasts are scheduled for La Fille du Régiment from Covent Garden and the Simón Bolivar Youth Orchestra from the Proms. It's possible these may turn up on the iPlayer at some time too, so keep your eyes peeled.

***UPDATE***
La Fille du Régiment is scheduled for broadcast at 7.30pm on 30 December on BBC4. It's not yet clear whether it will be distributed via the iPlayer.

Sir Colin gives us the Good, the Bad and the Berlioz

LSO/Davis/Anne Schwanewilms/Tabea Zimmermann - Barbican 12 December 2007

Back together with the team that created the marvellous (some might say definitive) 2003 recording of Berlioz's Harold in Italy, Sir Colin Davis conducted another scorching account to close this all-Berlioz concert tonight.

The colourful and characterful viola playing of Tabea Zimmerman capped a ferociously lively performance from the LSO. Even the quietest part, the chorale theme in the second movement, fizzed with energy as Zimmerman rippled out her unearthly sul ponticello arpeggios. Elsewhere, her warm, rounded tone (and what a fabulous instrument she plays) pushed out readily over the orchestra.

The oboe and cor anglais moulded together exquisitely in the mournful respite of the third movement. The massive percussion crash that signalled the start of the last movement was followed by a frantic brigands' dance where Sir Colin managed to retain control and balance despite colossal volume levels. Even a few careless lapses here and there couldn't diminish the power of the overall effect. It was one of those rare occasions I longed to hear the performance again the minute it was over.

If only the first half had been as good. The opening King Lear Overture sounded tired and tepid, and surprisingly sloppy in places.

For Les Nuits d'été, soloist Anne Schwanewilms sported the same black halter neck dress she'd worn for the second half of her debut Strauss/Mahler recital at the Wigmore Hall last week. Unfortunately the intensity and insight she'd brought to Strauss's Ophelia songs didn't transfer to tonight's Berlioz.

She deployed her laser-sharp silvery soprano cautiously. A pure and even choirboyish tone (with a curious buzz over some of the high notes) seemed all she had to offer. After several fluffed lines and some unrecognisable French, I began to wonder how far she'd studied the text. Phrasing seemed more tailored to the physical requirements of the notes than the meaning of the words. A pretty sound is not everything in this repertoire. As she fluted through, I began to long for the pointed diction and bizarre Anglo-French of the version Ian Bostridge recorded with Sir Colin last year.

It was a limp performance from a singer who is capable of much better, and it was matched by a competent but rather colourless contribution from the LSO. I don't know what they did in the interval, but it obviously worked.

 

Luke Bedford - new work

On Monday, Radio 3 broadcast Luke Bedford's new orchestral work Wreathe, recorded in concert at the Wiltshire Music Centre.

Listen until 17 December here.

Beethoven gets a horny remix

As part of their ongoing 'Music Discovery Project', designed to lure young people in to the concert hall, Frankfurt's HR-Sinfonieorchester have invited Haus Musik supremo Mousse T ("I'm horny, horny, horny, horny So horny, I'm horny, horny, horny I'm horny, horny, horny, horny So horny, I'm horny, horny, horny tonight") to remix Beethoven's fifth symphony.

The special concert is to be held on 15 February 2008

Mousse T has already dipped a toe in classical waters - he's worked with Nigel Kennedy and written a pop/opera Alice in Wonderland for Hanover's Schauspielhaus. And the HR's chief conductor Paavo Järvi used to be a drummer in a rock band. So that should take care of that awkward first five minutes.

(mehr infos hier)

Get your Met this weekend - Netrebko hits the big screen

The New York Metropolitan Opera's big-screen season starts in the UK this Saturday, December 15, with a showing of Gounod’s Roméo et Juliette, starring Anna Netrebko and Roberto Alagna.

The Picturehouse chain (click link for locations) is showing the whole season, as is Hampstead Everyman. And the Barbican Cinema is showing every performance from January 12 onwards.

Tickets
Basic ticket price at Picturehouse and Barbican cinemas is (deep breath) £25, or £17.50 for members. Picturehouse offer a further £10 off the total if you book 4 operas, but the Barbican offer £10 off each, winning the prize for the cheapest tickets at £15. In the rather swankier Everyman (pictured above), it's £25-35.

Or you can just listen live on Radio 3 for free.

WTF ?!?
I'll be paying $26 (roughly half the London price) to see some of these performances live when I visit New York in January. In the equivalent of Covent Garden's (£60-ish) front amphitheatre.

Schedule
Saturday December 15, 6pm
Gounod's Roméo et Juliette - Anna Netrebko eats Roberto Alagna alive

Tuesday January 1, 6pm
Humperdinck's Hansel and Gretel - a Britfest of Alice Coote, Philip Langridge and Rosalind Plowright

Saturday January 12, 6.30pm
Verdi's Macbeth - Maria Guleghina go teh crazy in fuglicious new production

Saturday February 16, 6pm
Puccini's Manon Lescaut - Karita Mattila adds Marcello Giordani to her bag

Saturday March 15, 5.30pm
Britten's Peter Grimes - new production by musicals-man John Doyle, known for making his actors play instruments on stage. Gulp.

Saturday March 22, 4.30pm
Wagner's Tristan und Isolde - Deborah Voigt and Ben Heppner are Wagner's walruses of lurve

Saturday April 5, 6.30pm
Puccini's La Bohème - a muff is not enuff for the tiny voice hands of Angela Gheorghiu

Saturday April 26, 6.30pm
Donizetti's La Fille du Régiment - the phenomenal Natalie Dessay and Juan Diego Flórez resuscitate last year's Covent Garden production

All hands on deck - Billy Budd at the Barbican

Billy Budd - LSO/Harding - Barbican, 9 December 2007

The huge crew of this Billy Budd just about squeezed on to the Barbican stage with the help of a bit of sophisticated musical chairs. With every elbow tightly choreographed, there wasn't room to even think about any staging. Just a hint of costuming - the officers sported full frack and the seamen all-black - though the significance of Gidon Saks's lurex tee and winklepickers is anybody's guess.

The sounds of the sea were gloriously evoked by Daniel Harding and the LSO. Here Britten brings symphonic-scale resources to a minutely-embroidered chamber orchestration. Crashing waves, rolling shanties, the thunder of battle exploded into life, sometimes ear-splittingly so. fff-ing loud does seem to be Harding's default volume, but here it seemed utterly appropriate, wrong-but-right, and never drowned the details. Nor the singers -- a few odd moments aside, Harding cleared a generous path for them.

This was the first (or the second if you count an identical performance two nights earlier) of a series of Barbican concerts fronted by Ian Bostridge, and it was also his first outing as Captain Vere. Vere's agonising choice between personal morality and public duty was laid out painfully and vividly, but his public face was less clearly sketched. Indeed, Bostridge seemed completely disinterested in presenting any kind of external characterisation, as if dissection was an adequate substitute for portraiture. But, dramatic considerations aside, his singing was flawless, lyrical, at times heartstoppingly beautiful.

Maybe I've been spoiled by recollections of Simon Keenlyside tackling Billy Budd, but I found Nathan Gunn was a little colourless in the title role, with more charm than real charisma. He improved as the night went on though, and managed in his dawn song (aided by a haunting piccolo solo) to be truly touching and not simply sentimental.

Gidon Saks, the burly, scary Claggart was imposing of voice and demeanour, convincing from head to toe. Brooding malevolence was tempered with flashes of the vulnerability that drives his persecution of Billy. It was a commanding performance, hinting that what lay inside Claggart was too monstrous to contemplate. Absolute perfection.

And the many smaller roles were more than adequately filled. Matthew Best as Dansker, Andrew Kennedy as Novice, Andrew Tortise as Squeak and Alasdair Elliot as Red Whiskers were all particularly impressive, but really, there were no disappointments amongst the soloists at all.

The London Symphony Chorus sailed on somewhat rougher seas, making a splendid job of many of their moments, especially the big shanties, but falling apart rather here and there. I had the impression a couple more rehearsals might have helped.

The whole thing was recorded for future release by EMI -- if they can edit out the first act coughfest it should be a remarkable recording.

Simon Rattle shakes some Schumann sugar - Das Paradies und die Peri at the RFH

Schumann's Das Paradies und die Peri  - Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment/Rattle - Royal Festival Hall, 7 December 2007

Speaking about this rarely heard Schumann oratorio earlier in the week, Simon Rattle warned that "to our very puritanical, middle-European ears, people think this is simply too beautiful, the dissonances are too extraordinary. People have a problem with ecstatic music".

And Schumann biographer Robert Haven Schauffler wrote in 1945 that it was “too consistently sweet. After an evening of it you feel as if you had taken a bath in liquid honey.”

Having steeled my puritan ears for the promised ecstasy, I was surprised at the graceful restraint of the scoring. More like being sprinkled with sugar than dunked in syrup.

And although it avoids the solemnity we associate with the oratorio form, it's not all froth either. Episodically ravishing, beautiful even, it is however fleshed out with too many orchestrate-by-numbers passages to deserve labelling as a masterpiece. The near-impenetrable libretto, a word thicket of typically Victorian density, doesn't help its case.

The simple story of the Peri (a Persian fairy) who must devise a gift in order to enter the gates of heaven was narrated by Mark Padmore with interventions from the Peri (Sally Matthews) and other characters, portrayed by Bernarda Fink, Kate Royal, Timothy Robinson and David Wilson Johnson.

The female soloists were thoughtfully co-ordinated in taffeta gowns (left) so it was a pity that only Sally Matthews and Mark Padmore sang from the front of the stage, the other soloists being tucked back with the choir.

I'd never thought of Schumann as a choral writer until now, but the Choir of the Enlightenment had some of the best music, and they made the most of it in a series of luminously coloured passages. The ethereal Nile Spirits chorus, beautifully executed, was exquisite in its detail, and the soaring Blessed Spirits chorus was a suitably ecstatic finale.

The lustrous, knife-sharp soprano of Sally Matthews brought an other-worldly radiance to the part of the Peri. It contrasted with Mark Padmore's grave demeanour, which sometimes seemed at odds with the music. He didn't seem to be on his best form tonight, losing some of the lower notes, and a bit shouty overall.

I've heard Bernarda Fink sing better too, but her second half was better than her rather wobbly first. David Wilson Johnson's rich baritone was a highlight, but unfortunately he didn't have a great deal to do.

Neither did Kate Royal, here on absolutely stunning form, but with only one aria to lend her shimmering silvery soprano to.

Timothy Robinson made a varied impression, never quite as focused and convincing as in his recent hugely impressive Turn of the Screw stint at ENO.

Simon Rattle drove things along with a characteristic enthusiasm, drawing a vigorous and committed performance from the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment. Their raw-textured sound went some to countering any charges of excessive prettiness in the music, but ultimately the writing gripped only sporadically. When it did - there is some strange and wonderful harmonic exposition tucked away in there - it convinced that at least part of the work is worth further exploration.

It wasn't quite enough to persuade that Das Paradies und die Peri is a neglected masterpiece - and it certainly needs a top drawer cast like tonight's to give it any chance at all - but Simon Rattle deserves credit for organising this airing.   

Leave the swan, shoot the director - Parsifal at the Royal Opera House

Parsifal - Royal Opera House, 6 December 2007

An origamied teatowel skids down a washing line and flops to the ground. I am reminded of Laurent Pelly's tittersome lines of dancing underpants in La Fille du Régiment, but no, this is Parsifal, and these are, in theory, the death throes of a wounded swan. Beyond gluing feathers to a jack russell terrier (which I wouldn't put past the ROH these days) it's the crappiest way to handle the swan issue I can possibly imagine. Sir John Tomlinson's face registers the proper shock and disgust. It is a notion typical of this production, which alternates the cheap and the ridiculous, and now and again, as here, combines them. It was the first of many moments I found myself sniggering inappropriately. The next was seconds later, as Christopher Ventris, a man with the hulking build of a Norwegian truck-pulling champion, appeared -- squeezed into stretchy green pyjamas, like a grotesquely overgrown baby ready to be put down for the night.

Parsifal is not an easy opera to stage, and it seems as if this production team barely bothered to even try. It moves through a succession of bleak and ugly tableaux where the mostly static cast simply declaim their lines downstage centre. The staging attempts little in the way of communication or contact -- when one of the cast touches or even looks at another, it's an Event. It's virtually a concert performance in (silly) costume.

But the upside of this is that the singers are mostly optimally positioned, facing the audience, and able to concentrate on the singing rather than the 'business'. And with this cast you really want to hear every word, because they are without exception fantastic. 

Starting with the Gurnemanz of Sir John Tomlinson, a characteristically detailed and generous performance that saw him in fine voice. OK, so the vibrato is on the wide side and the top rather bare, but he has all the power and fullness he needs. And he remains the finest actor on the opera stage, even when he's not singing -- his slowly unfolding realisation of the identity of the stranger in the third act was perfectly nuanced and utterly riveting. This performance just further cements his position as the Queen Mother of British opera, as loudly recognised by the audience at the curtain call.

Falk Struckmann's performance as Amfortas was hampered by a silly floor-length table leg covering one arm, which not only looked twitty, but also made disruptively loud clicking noises every time he moved. Some of his performance was a little dry, but his tortures in the presence of the Grail were alive with pain and despair, truly riveting.

The third ex-Wotan of the night was Sir Willard White as Klingsor. Not even a red velvet bathrobe and a knuckleload of pimp rings can rob him of dignity. His magic garden looked like something Captain Kirk might have landed on in 1966, complete with wobbly rocks and wacky mobiles, but the bottled energy of his performance successfully evoked his evil empire. The sheer power of his voice remains a thing of wonder.

As does Gwynne Howell's. Trussed up in a full suit of medieval armour, including full-face helmet, it's a wonder any sound escaped at all, but he made a gravely imposing Titurel.

Christopher Ventris might have been forgiven for fading into the background amongst all these elder statesmen of opera, but instead he proved a commanding stage presence, vocally and dramatically. Restricted of gesture, his Parsifal was a serene and self-contained character. I could have done with some more contrast between the impetuous youth of the first two acts and the enlightened knight of the third, but it wouldn't have sat well in this arid production. He sang wonderfully throughout, secure and well-placed, not a hint of strain or even effort.

Any dramatics in the production were left to Petra Lang's Kundry. Her eye-rolling and grimacing struck a somewhat false note, but her voice was fabulous -- bright, plummily full, with none of the screechiness often found in singers of this role.

Some of the smaller parts were less successful, but the Flower Maidens, cryptically marooned on the floor in chaste nightgowns, sang beautifully, if without any convincing sensual allure.   

Conductor Bernard Haitink was in many ways the real star of the show. He tortoised through the Vorspiel, and generally took it slow, but the reward was an account of gravity and serenity, no histrionics in sight. The Royal Opera House Orchestra played with great finesse, some ugly brass sounds here and there aside, with some wonderful timpani work in particular. Crucially, Haitink achieved balance, an orchestral equilibrium that made his subtly nuanced shifts as powerful as big dramatic gestures. A production this silly on the visuals needed nothing less on the musical side to make it work.

Nelson Goerner - a quiet wow

Nelson Goerner - Wigmore Hall, 4 December 2007

Scarlatti 4 Sonatas Kk.466, Kk.454, Kk.109, Kk.39
Beethoven Piano Sonata No. 31 Op. 110
Brahms Piano Sonata No. 3 in F minor Op. 5

I've been feeling rather piano-deprived recently. There just haven't been that many appealing recitals scheduled in London.

And with the Wigmore Hall only half full for tonight's concert by Nelson Goerner it's hardly fair to accuse promoters of ignoring public demand. It seems that only aging legends have a guaranteed audience in London. But Nelson Goerner deserves to be more widely-appreciated.

As does Domenico Scarlatti, a composer we hear painfully little of. Goerner's thoughtful romantic interpretation crafted the four tiny Scarlatti sonatas into a single slow-quick-slow-coda sweep with intelligence and taste. Highlighting the structural and harmonic idiosyncrasies with dynamic nuances that are beyond the capabilities of a harpsichord performance, he displayed just how staggeringly inventive Scarlatti was.

His Beethoven sonata no 31 advanced with a studied inexorability. Cool but not detached, Goerner's restrained palette lent it a tragic dignity and poise.

There were hints of the exuberance Goerner is capable of in his final Scarlatti sonata. But the full picture only came with the Brahms sonata no 3, written with an uncharacteristic youthful vigour that in Brahms flashed only briefly. Goerner dived in with what amounted to a physical attack on the piano, and drew out the work's violent contrasts fearlessly. But he could draw back into dreamy introspection instantaneously, and with enormous charm. Virtuosity was so modestly deployed, so thoroughly absorbed into the texture of the work, that it was never mere display.

It's rare during a piano recital that I don't drift off at some point, but Goerner's performance was so entirely engaging that I was drawn in to every second. Sequinned-jacket showmanship may put bums on seats, but integrity and musicality will win in the end every time.

Copenhagen Opera House - photos

Copenhagen's new opera house, Operaen, is right on the harbour's edge, with a view of the city across the water. It was only opened a couple of years ago, and any local controversy over its inelegant oil filter looks was outweighed by the outrage over the massive tax break given to the private donor who funded the project.

It's not to be confused with the old opera house (Gamle Scene) in the heart of town, an exquisitely traditional house complete with candle holders and painted ceilings, sadly rarely used for opera these days.

Here's a view from the opera house of the landing stage for the ferry boat (the easiest way to arrive from town centre), and beyond it, the city. It was already pitch dark at 6.30 (well, it was November):

Huge windows wrap around the building. The giant pumpkin looming behind is the outer shell of the auditorium:

Here's what it looks like from inside. The whole structure's been opened up, so that corridors and passageways become balconies and gangways that feed the pumpkin with operagoers. Not for vertigo sufferers -- the clear glass sides give the impression of traversing a diving board. The sparkly crystal footballs look a little less magical close up -- they seem to be made of twisted plastic:

The auditorium itself is dark, and as cosy as a 2000 seater can be. Spectacular lighting creates tiny shimmering pools that transform the utilitarian stained pine and blue tweed into something more magical. This is a view looking up and across from the back of the stalls:

This is the view from the very back row of the uppermost tier, where I sat for the performance of Don Carlos. Probably the worst view in the house, but I could still see everything clearly, partly because the seats are vertiginously tiered (even more than Covent Garden amphitheatre I think). The sound was also excellent from up here. The only problem was the coughing, chatting, sweet-munching, getting-up-and-coming-back-in-again audience, who made the family circle of the Met seem like Trappist nuns in comparison:

An exciting shop in the town centre:

Rattle and Harding go head to head in Friday night battle

"Anyone with open ears is going to be stunned by the overwhelming beauty of the piece"

says Simon Rattle of Schumann's super-rare oratorio Das Paradies und die Peri, which he brings to the Royal Festival Hall this Friday, December 7.

Though he hedges his bets with
"to our very puritanical, middle-European ears, people think this is simply too beautiful, the dissonances are too extraordinary. People have a problem with ecstatic music".

He's gathered a fantastic cast - Bernarda Fink, Sally Matthews, Kate Royal, Mark Padmore and David Wilson Johnson - so he may just prove himself wrong there.

Same night, different place, the Barbican offers stiff competition with the gay jinks of Britten's Billy Budd.

But there will be no rigging, no jigging and definitely no frigging on Captain Daniel Harding's ship - it's a concert version. Which means (I am presuming) we will have the rare privilege of seeing Nathan Gunn (in the title role) with his shirt on. Ian Bostridge and Gidon Saks (a late replacement for the sick John Relyea) fill the other principal roles, but the casting is chiefly interesting for the quality it brings to the smaller parts - Matthew Rose, Andrew Kennedy, Darren Jeffery, Andrew Staples and Roderick Williams to name just a few.

Fortunately an agonising decision can be averted by opting for the repeat of Billy Budd on Sunday 9 December.

For anyone interested in finding out more about the Schumann, Misha Donat leads a talk on Thursday 6 December at 6pm in the Sunley Pavilion of the Royal Festival Hall. Though here there's no way round the fixture clash with the first night of the Royal Opera House's Parsifal, so I'll be giving it a miss.

Muti and Lupu celebrate in style

Philharmonia Orchestra/Muti/Lupu - Royal Festival Hall, 2 December 2007

Maestro Riccardo Muti is so popular round these parts that he got as much applause at the start of this concert as most ordinary mortals would at the end. Well, it was a special occasion -- the 35th anniversary of his first performance with the Philharmonia in fact.

Reprised from that first concert, and with a nod to the recent reopening of the Royal Festival Hall, the starter was appropriately enough Beethoven's Consecration of the House Overture. Not quite Beethoven's finest moment, but the Philharmonia gave it a sprightly and attentive run through, Muti extracting a light but disciplined sound.

It's impressive - and mysterious - how Muti continues year after year to resemble an only-recently retired footballer. A great haircut and plenty of vegetables perhaps? Radu Lupu, who joined the orchestra for Schumann's Piano Concerto, is amazingly four years younger than Muti, though his wispy silver hair and lush beard lend him a far more venerable appearance.

I was glad to be seated close to the stage for this evening. Lupu snuggled up to the keyboard and treated the barn-like Royal Festival Hall to a performance that would have been equally at home in the most intimate of salons, orchestra notwithstanding. I don't know how well this travelled to the balcony. But from where I sat, his gentle touch and delicate shading brought a reflective, autumnal quality to the work. The few moments of volume or virtuosity truly dazzled in contrast.

Lupu is not a pianist who bludgeons the listener with his talents -- he simply radiates his serene empathy with the music and allows us to share in the glow. Such a shame that his London appearances these days are so scarce. The toned down orchestra tiptoed around him with a contained grace that revealed all the subtleties of the scoring.

Another repeat from Muti's very first Philharmonia concert was Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition. Ravel's orchestration spreads the spotlight around the whole orchestra like a multi-part concerto, and the tremendous discipline of the Philharmonia's playing ensured there were no weak links, with particularly fine playing from the horn and trumpet soloists. It was a well-drilled account, lacking a degree of spontaneity perhaps, but immaculately balanced. Muti whipped up plenty of energy and a few moments of real fire, but ended the evening as he'd begun it - not a bead of sweat, not a hair out of place.

The Royal Festival Hall at chucking out time:

Lupu plays from Beethoven's 32 Variations in C minor in Italy, not long ago I'd guess. Despite the not so great sound and picture quality, this is a marvellous portrait of his technique at work:

ENO end the season with a good Screw

The Turn of the Screw - ENO, 1 December 2007

At last something decent from ENO. They score on all fronts with this coherent, gripping and musically potent interpretation of Britten's opera. The unsettling drama is played out in a spare, monochromatic, Victorian setting which immediately roots it in the time of Henry James's original tale. The grubby glass panels creaking across the stage and dead leaves fluttering underfoot suggest neglect and decay. Intimacy and an unknown beyond are simultaneously evoked by bathing the corners of the huge Coliseum stage in darkest shadow.

Britten was repeatedly attracted to ambiguity, to texts which lack a clear resolution. Director David McVicar preserves this aspect to some extent. He doesn't do absolutely all the audience's thinking -- crucially, he never clarifies whether the whole drama is taking place in the Governess's head, though heavy hints are dropped. But he decides for us if and when the ghostly Quint and Jessel are visible to the other characters, and why -- at one point contradicting both text and music when he seats Miss Jessel at the Governess's desk while Britten has her slowly approaching it. And McVicar is much more blatantly assured than Britten could ever have dared to be about the possible paedophilic element underlying the work -- he even has the child Miles plant a suggestive kiss on the Governess's lips as he sings "I am bad aren't I" at the end of the first act.

The corruption of the children is boldly underlined by the clever use of one of those grotesquely human Victorian wax dolls -- a toy disturbingly abused by the children as they first dress it in a pig mask, then bury it furiously beneath the leaves. And the restless inching-around of the same furniture from scene to scene in same basic set neatly underscores Britten's musical structure of theme and variations.

Musically, everything worked well, starting with Garry Walker's sensitive and detailed orchestral contribution. Rebecca Evans was a fluttery and neurotic Governess, exquisitely lyrical, confounded by the alarmingly adult Miles of fourteen year old Jacob Moriarty. Both Jacob and Nazan Fikret (Flora) were shockingly good, easily a match for the rest of the cast in vocal and dramatic ability. And casting these parts with slightly older children than normal allows them to display a knowingness entirely in keeping with McVicar's ideas.

Timothy Robinson played Quint with subdued but ever present menace. His singing was resolute, powerful, and in places surprisingly Pears-like. The sensual harshness of Cheryl Barker's Miss Jessel made her more accomplice than victim, and her voice took on a firm, almost strident edge. Ann Murray brought together vocal steel and feather lightness in her chilly and assured Mrs Grose.

ENO may struggle in some areas, but like their last couple of Britten productions, Death in Venice and Billy Budd, this could be counted pretty much a total success. And it's not audience poison either - I would guess the Coliseum was at least 90% full on my visit. Something for the schedulers to think about? 

   

Daniele Gatti goes Dutch - Concertgebouw Orchestra at the Royal Festival Hall

Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra/Gatti/Repin - Royal Festival Hall, 30 November 2007

Many of the packed audience in the Royal Festival Hall for this Concertgebouw visit bore telltale lapel tags indicating they were guests of the concert's corporate sponsor. Perhaps that accounted for the safe programming choices. It was no excuse though for the lacklustre performance of the first item, Schumann's Manfred Overture. We are accustomed to expect a degree of polish from the Concertgebouw, and to be fair they were technically adept (though the stage's unfriendly acoustics caught them out with a couple of early ensemble lapses). But Daniele Gatti seemed content to let them drift along in workmanlike fashion, as damp, cold and grey as the weather outside.

They seemed ready to tackle Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto in similar fashion, but here soloist Vadim Repin leavened proceedings with an enthusiastic and lyrical performance, even if the fireworks of the virtuosic finale exploded in a rather orderly fashion.

Gatti ventured rather more boldly with Tchaikovsky's Symphony No 5, showing with his extreme tempo shifts and daringly suspended silences a willingness to engage with its dramatic element. But it wasn't until the fabulous horn solo in the slow movement that there was a real sense of anything more than scrupulously following the dots. This seemed to galvanise the performance into real bite and drive, even in the dolce con grazia waltz which followed, sweet but not over-sugared. The grandeur of the finale unrolled inevitably.

Perhaps there was a little too much Italian flash and not quite enough Russian soul about the performance - and the Concertgebouw without maestro Jansons are like chips without ketchup - but it was an satisfying performance if not a particularly memorable one.