Intermezzo

In the news - ROH recast, Bryn speaks, Kiri under fire

What's happening in the world of opera? Not much.

The Royal Opera House have announced that Anja Harteros will join the cast of Simon Boccanegra in May. She replaces Nina Stemme, who withdrew just a few weeks ago. As blogger MostlyOpera notes, Ms Stemme has most fortuitously and coincidentally managed to locate herself an alternative gig at the last minute - her role debut as Brünnhilde in the Vienna Siegfried. How lucky she was to find the right sized slot in her calendar at such short notice.

Bryn Terfel, thrust under press noses to stir up some whoopee for the WNO's imminent Falstaff, reiterates his explanation for pulling out of Covent Garden's 2007 Ring to attend to his child's broken finger. "Of course there was an angry opera house, but there would also have been an angry six-year-old little boy if Dad wasn't there." There was of course also an audience, but they don't seem to have been included in the decision process - or the apologies.

Katherine Jenkins, Lesley Garratt, and the deputy editor of Opera Now gang up to knock down brave Kiri te Kanawa. Dame Kiri's recent dismissal of crossover singers like Jenkins as "the new fakes for the new generation" may have been bluntly put and ungraciously worded, but the kernel of truth in her remark is undeniable. There is a patina of craft to crossover music, but it's devoid of intellectual or genuine emotional content. You can't even dance to it. So what is the point? It just robs the world of silence. It's not, as Kiri's attackers claim, an introduction to classical music. It's a substitute for it. It's about as effective an advertisement for classical music as Emmerdale is for Shakespeare. Dame Kiri, who's had a foot in both camps, is better placed than most to appreciate this.

Watch out there's a concert coming up - What's on in March

As ever, there's plenty going on in London in March. Here are some of the best on the opera and vocal side:

At the Royal Opera House there are a few more performances of Salome to go. Steven Pimlott's unexceptional Eugene Onegin is reprised starting 8 March with Piotr Beczala, Gerald Finley and Marina Poplavskaya (in her first big ROH role since her terrific Donna Anna last summer).

Then Carmen opens on 25 March in the livestock-packed Francesca Zambello production, with Nancy Fabiola Herrera in the title role, Marcelo Álvarez as Don José, and a horse and donkey as Themselves. This one is already pretty near sold out.

The ROH Linbury Studio hosts Birtwistle's Punch and Judy from Music Theatre Wales on 17-20 March (and there's another version on the way from the English National Opera at the Young Vic in April. Does going south of the river count as a tour?)

At the Coliseum, March is ballet month, but there are a few performances of ENO's fantastic Lucia di Lammermoor to go before the tutus take over.

English Touring Opera are always worth checking out for their high quality and sensibly priced productions. They kick off a national tour at the Hackney Empire on 13 March with Donizetti's infrequently-aired Anna Bolena, to be followed by Carlisle Floyd's Susannah and Don Giovanni.

At the Barbican, a solid line up of soloists join the Academy of Ancient Music for Bach's St John Passion on 14 March. Carolyn Sampson, Michael Chance, Ian Bostridge, Roderick Williams and James Rutherford all feature.

The Royal Festival Hall hosts the brilliant Mariss Jansons and his no-lederhosen-required-best-orchestra-in-the-world Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra on 8 March. Mihoko Fujimura is the soloist in an all-Wagner programme. Scary genius Diamanda Galas brings all four of her octaves to the Queen Elizabeth Hall on 18 and 20 March. Nearly sold out at the time of writing.

One of London's best kept secrets is the Temple Song recital series, now in its third season at the legal nest of Middle Temple Hall. This features Angelika Kirschlager on 15 March. Free interval drinks help distract from the wiggy portraits strewn around the corridors.

At the Wigmore Hall, Hannah-Esther Minutillo joins Philip Langridge and András Schiff for Janáček's Diary of one who disappeared on 19 March. Veteran Edita Gruberová makes her belated Wigmore Hall debut on 20 March, and Alice Coote tackles Winterreise on 28 and 30 March. There's an all-Brahms programme from Christian Gerhaher on 29 March. Some of these are sold out, but returns generally come up on the day if not sooner.

In Birmingham, BCMG are hosting a *free* open rehearsal of Gerald Barry's exhilarating The Triumph of Beauty and Deceit on 25 March, prior to touring it in America. If it's anything like their performance of this fast, dense and wickedly funny piece last year, it should be unmissable. BCMG also premiere a new work by Gerald Barry on 16 March.

And talking of free stuff, there's a *free* Xenakis concert (Thallein and Anaktoria) from the Philharmonia Orchestra at the Royal Festival Hall on 13 March.

Butt first for OAE's St John Passion

St John Passion - Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment - Queen Elizabeth Hall, 24 February 2008

The second best thing about Easter, after Cadbury Mini-Eggs, has to be the inevitable procession of Bach Passions through the concert halls of London. I'm restricting myself to two this season - the next is another St John, at the Barbican on 14 March.

Like London buses, the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment didn't have a conductor on board. (Also the tickets were overpriced and the journey seemed to take forever, but I'll leave that for now).

Consciously or not, they drew attention to the absence by leaving a large gap centre stage where the podium would normally be.

The idea was not simply to imitate original performance practice, but also, as Mark Padmore explains here, to interest the audience, and maybe even improve the performance by allowing the tempos to develop more naturally.

With a small ensemble of eighteen musicians and twelve singers, all steeped in this repertoire, there was little chance it would be a total disaster. But at the same time, thirty people cannot be expected to have the symbiotic rapport of a jazz trio or a string quartet. Intelligent decisions can be taken in rehearsals, but there's little scope for flexibility in the performance itself if there's no single guiding hand on the night.

So while the performers' responsiveness to each other created a feeling of intimacy and absorption, there were also no real risks taken (probably wisely - there were several minor fluffs anyway). The cautious uniformity tempos and dynamics failed to shape the work. This task fell to Mark Padmore as the Evangelist. Despite a cast on one foot and a hacking cough, his meticulously-shaded tenor could glow or gleam or glare, sometimes in the course of a single note. The crystal-bright soprano Lydia Teuscher was the other memorable soloist.

The chorus, which included the soloists, generally managed crisp entrances and general ensemble, but there was a distinct lack of balance in many passages, with some individual voices carrying far out over the others. Equally, I felt the bass and cello were over-favoured in the orchestral balance, but that may have been partly because I was sitting closer to them, and the Queen Elizabeth Hall acoustic doesn't compensate for such accidents of placement.

There was no interval in the two hour performance. Instead actor Stephen Dillane (also the double bassist's page turner for the night) gave a couple of readings, in place of the sermon which would have punctuated the original performance. I'm all for playing longer works straight through, but if you're going to split them like that, why not have a proper break? A few of the audience would have appreciated it, judging from the number who slipped out mid-second half, and some of the performers might have wilted less toward the end, too.

The free pre-performance talk by Bach scholar John Butt deserves a mention too. Obviously used to holding the mayfly attentions of undergraduates, Butt got top marks for not only for the title of his talk ('Butt on Bach') but for an entertaining, layman-friendly sweep through the main features of the work and current theories about its original performance style.

Another bleeding diva - Lucia di Lammermoor at ENO

Lucia di Lammermoor - English National Opera, 22 February 2008

It seems you just can't end an opera in London these days without some diva in a bloodstained nightie snogging a corpse. But while David McVicar's t1ts'n'todgers Salome at the Royal Opera House provokes, David Alden's Lucia di Lammermoor at the ENO has the endearing battiness of an early Kate Bush video.

It's set in an austere baronial pile in some buttoned-up Victorian-ish Scotland where you wear underwear beneath your underwear. Everyone looks as if they've just received some very bad news, and everything is the colour of porridge or granite. Portraits of tightlipped ancestors crop up again and again to show that no-one here can break free of their family ties, or their past.

The dark and brooding Enrico (Mark Stone) is the lord and master of all, including his younger sister, Lucia (a disturbingly child-like Anna Christy). He plays with his childhood toys, then he plays with her as if she were just another toy, undressing her, tying her up and groping her. No wonder when hairy Highlander Edgardo (Barry Banks) swings his sporran her way she falls for him, even though he's Enrico's sworn enemy. It must be the kilt that does it.

But for all the imagined psychological background, there's little in the way of menace. This is gothic melodrama, not Hammer horror. Lucia's bobbing crinoline and oversized bloomers suggest an Oscar night with Bjork rather than a passion-trigger, and Enrico's bullying and incestuous urges are swiftly reined in by his practicality and sense of propriety. Besides, with the chorus swarming through the windows and over the furniture every five minutes, no-one's ever alone.

The doll-like Anna Christy rose above the burden of her pantaloons to make a sweet and affecting Lucia, never more so than in her final blood drenched mad scene, piercing a hole through the heart with her laser-pure tones. Her coloratura was accurately pitched and acrobatically precise, and only a meanie could object to the five seconds of slurry trilling that flawed an otherwise brilliant performance.

Mark Stone's panto swagger was tempered with humanity, a softer side that made his final remorse all the more convincing. A dry sound crept in here and there as he pushed his voice out into the mighty Coliseum, but mostly his singing was plummy and incisive.

Barry Banks displayed a firm, ringing tenor, if a little pinched at the start, and great breath control given the amount of racing around he had to do. It was a surprisingly unsympathetic characterisation, a coarse and hairy oaf who shoved Lucia around and pinned her roughly to the floor, making him simply the least repellent of the men who want to brutalise and dominate her. 

Dwayne Jones made the best of a difficult job with Arturo, oddly presented here as a foppish southern gentleman type from another era, in immaculate white suit and cigarette holder. His voice was assured and flexible, and I think should make a good job of Edgardo when he takes the part over for a couple of nights later in the run.

Clive Bayley was a competent and effective Raimondo, fully recovered after a disastrous opening night in which he lost his voice and had to mime while understudy Paul Whelan sang the part from the wings.

In the pit, Paul Daniel's spunky and decisive conducting was barely compromised by slow tempos here and there. At least this enabled the singers to enunciate clearly. It was the first time in many ENO visits I've barely needed to check the surtitles.

A glass harmonica replaced the more usual flute accompaniment for Lucia's mad scene, in line with Donizetti's original intentions. At first fascinating - it's a more effective texture than the flute alongside the soprano voice - its needling dog whistle overtones soon started to raise my blood pressure. I realised why it was said in the nineteenth century to drive people mad.

This brief irritation aside, it was an enthralling and brilliantly performed production that raises the bar for the rest of the ENO season.

Who's the Special One now?

Carling Cup - 24 February 2008

Tottenham Hotspur 2 Chelsea 1

 

Juande Ramos: “I am happy because the people are very happy.”

Busking hunk gets his kit off for David McVicar

Tomorrow's Sunday Times reveals that the most eyepopping moment in the Royal Opera House's current production of Salome is provided by a Covent Garden busker.

In the opera, hunkular Duncan Meadows plays the silent role of the executioner who, naked and dripping with blood, presents Salome with the head of John the Baptist.

IRL he's more likely to be found coated in silver paint and surrounded by gawping tourists in James Street for his regular gig as a human statue - which is where Salome director David McVicar spotted him.

What is perhaps more surprising than McVicar's unusual casting method is the fact that, according to the Sunday Times, Meadows earns £300 a week at the Royal Opera House (that's around £100 for each 100 minute show - not bad going), but a massive ***£400*** a day for the statue act. That should keep him in raw steak and Kryolan for while.

Covent Garden unveils new Salome

Salome - Royal Opera House, 21 February 2008

I feel short changed. The Royal Opera House promised 'scenes of nudity and violence'  in their new Salome. A couple of topless extras loll about at the start as if they're waiting for a bra fitting. And when the beefcake executioner emerges at the end with the head of John the Baptist, he's coated in the prophet's blood and absolutely nothing else, a gory birth/death. But that's it, secks'n'violence-wise. Not even a glimpse of Salome in the celebrated seven veils dance - when she drops her frock, it's only to reveal a sensible granny slip underneath.

There are shocks in this production alright, but not the sort that will necessarily gratify the 'topless opera' googlers (and believe me there are plenty around). With a nod to Pasolini's Salò, it's placed in a huge and grubby tiled basement, wine racks one end, urinals the other. Nice. The setting is '30's Italy or something similar. Herod and his guests are in tired looking evening wear, the ladies in jewelled satin gowns. It's an environment so decadent that anything goes, everything is acceptable. Uniformed soldiers loiter and grope barely-dressed women. Immaculate servants tend silently to all needs. No-one really notices or cares when Narraboth neatly kills himself. Salome is not so much the wilful slut as the pitiable product of a fatally corrupted society and (strongly implied) child abuse. Her dance for Herod is played as a series of sick fantasies/games - or maybe a dream sequence of hazily recollections, it's hard to tell. Fatalism is her guide, not sensuality. Her death is inevitable. 

OK, so that's the clever bit of this production. On the dumb side, David McVicar has given his set an upstairs level. The wicked geometry of viewing angles meant that those of us way up top in Covent Garden's cheapest seats couldn't actually see what was happening there. From the feet and table legs on view I would hazard that Herod's guests were enjoying dinner. Possibly it was constructed that way as a blindingly ironic comment - the poor gazing upon the rich etc - but I suspect it's more likely to have been a simple design cock up. It would be more forgivable if this was some imported show designed for a different theatre, but at the premiere of an in-house production there's really no excuse.

Musically, Michael Volle (Jokanaan) was the unquestionable star of the night. Huge, wild and hairy, with a voice to match, he filled the stage and, perhaps intentionally, was the only character to project any real warmth. Everyone else had a less than human quality that just left me cold, indifferent either way to their fate.

Nadja Michael was otherwise a better Salome than I'd expected. A fine actress not afraid to throw herself around physically, she writhed gamefully on the floor for much of the night. She got most of the notes and kept her vibrato under control, but her delivery lacked refinement. I know this is a hellish role to cast with all its acting, dancing and visual requirements on top of the singing, but I would simply rather hear a purer, more youthful voice.

Robin Leggate was a last minute replacement for the sick Thomas Moser as Herod, and in the circumstances did a creditable job. The singing was all there, but the presence was neither regal nor imposing, and he faded away when he should have been terrifying. Michaela Schuster didn't have a great deal of sensuality, but the wheedling manipulative side of Herodias came across strongly. Joseph Kaiser's Narraboth was another that didn't make a huge impression, despite there being nothing particularly wrong with his performance. I just felt 'so what' as he stabbed himself.

I imagine if conductor Philippe Jordan could have any heads on a plate, he'd probably pick the horn section. Not his fault there were so many scrappy entrances and bum notes from that quarter. He generally did a competent if somewhat unadventurous job, lacking that sweeping opulence the score demands, though he managed to gather up some steam towards the end.

I'd like to go back and try this again - all the right ingredients are there even if it didn't quite come off tonight. Annoyingly, it looks like a near sell-out already though.

**Update*** - more (including photos) here

Vivaldi's Tito Manlio at the Barbican

Tito Manlio - Accademia Bizantina/Ottavio Dantone - Barbican, 19 February 2008

Is baroque opera losing its pulling power? A year or two ago, a concert performance of a rarely-done Vivaldi opera by respected specialists might have drawn a sizeable audience. Tonight I don't think the Barbican was even half full, with most of the audience huddled into the freezing cold lower level. With little musical competition elsewhere in London it was a disappointing turnout.

Ottavio Dantone and Accademia Bizantina recorded Tito Manlio a couple of years ago together with some of the singers he brought to the Barbican.

I hadn't listened to that (or any) recording beforehand. With next to no info about Tito Manlio unearthable on teh internets, and the least informative concert programme I've ever seen, it really was a step into the unknown.

So, as interpreted via the surtitles, this is the story: Manlio and Vitellia are the son and daughter of Tito, Consul of Rome. Vitellia and Geminio are secretly in love, and Manlio is engaged to Geminio's sister, Servilia.  Just to make things difficult, Geminio and Servilia are Latins, enemies of Rome - in fact Geminio is their leader. Sent on a scouting mission to Latium, but forbidden to fight, Manlio bumps into Geminio. Provoked by Geminio's taunting, Manlio kills him. Tito is obliged to order Manlio's execution - even the Consul's son cannot be above the law. The vengeful Vitellia eggs Tito on while Servilia pleads unsuccessfully for mercy.  As Manlio is taken for execution, the Roman legions insist that he should be freed, because in killing the leader of Rome's enemy he has brought peace. In the face of this opposition, Tito is forced to show mercy and let Manlio go free. Manlio can now marry Servilia. Geminio's friend Lucio, whose love for Vitellia was unrequited while Geminio was alive, can now marry her too. We also meet Vitellia's servant Lindo, and Decio, the Roman soldiers' leader, really the only fat on a fairly lean and coherent drama.

If Vivaldi doesn't probe too deeply into his characters, they are at least rounded and credible, and there's some fantastic and really varied music.

But that wasn't too obvious to begin with. The first act fell flat as a Roman pizza. Some half-hearted playing from the orchestra was part of the problem, but it was more down to technically passable but bloodless and often under-projected singing. The only person who came out of this section with credit was Marina De Liso (Vitellia), an assured and velvety mezzo with a restrained dignity. She was a late substitute for the advertised Sonia Prina, an altogether more extrovert stage presence who might have succeeded in perking up the rest of the cast.

It seemed that quite a few people left at the interval - I even considered it myself. But Roberta Invernizzi (Lucio) opened the second act with such passion and energy that she got the first applause of the evening. This seemed to light a fire under the rest of the musicians. And just like that, the performance was transformed. Roberta Invernizzi just got better and better, with impressive coloratura and dynamic control shading her lines. Karina Gauvin's Manlio was noble and touching, her highlight a fantastically mournful prison aria, thinly scored and doubled by oboe. Ann Hallenberg's Servilia had a graceful coolness which complemented Karina Gauvin's warmth, and she managed not to be outshone by the riveting viola d'amore obbligato which accompanied one of her arias. When it came to the vengeful fury required in the second act, Marina De Liso was less outstanding than she had been earlier, but it was still a creditable performance. Carlo Lepore's Tito lacked the beefy presence and fullness of tone to be truly assertive, but his vocal dexterity in the gymnastic coloratura was never in question. Christian Senn gamely captured the comedy in the role of Lindo without over-milking it.

In the end though - and I never thought I'd say this of a Vivaldi opera - it is the richness and colour and sheer variety of the score which impresses. With every possible combination of horns, trumpets, bassoon, oboes and recorders in addition to strings and keyboards, it never just chugs along. Every detail is thought out. The sheer exuberance of Accademia Bizantina's performance, at least in the second half, raised it to another level again. It's hard to believe, as the programme suggests, that Vivaldi completed Tito Manlio in just five days, and rather sad to reflect that, with no sure record of a complete performance in his lifetime, he quite possibly never heard it in full.

Cecilia Bartoli returns to London

The Barbican have just announced some additional dates in their Great Performers 2008/9 season, including a visit from Cecilia Bartoli on 17 December.

Yes, OK, it's ten months away, but tickets will go quickly for this one, so best to get in while you can.

Full details and booking for all concerts here.

Kate Royal does French

Kate Royal / Roger Vignoles - Wigmore Hall, 16 February 2008

Brahms - Vier Gesänge Op 70
Debussy - Cinq Poèmes de Charles Baudelaire
Poulenc - Fiançailles pour rire
Strauss - Mädchenblumen, Ich wollt ein Straüßlein binden, Als mir dein Leid erklang

What has happened to Kate Royal's bewbs? Modestly corseted for her current role in Die Zauberflöte, it's hard to tell. Unfettered tonight in a stunning dove grey halter neck grecian gown they jostled for attention  like a couple of genetically modified grapefruit. Even in the Wigmore Hall, temple of song, it was enough to arouse interval remarks about 'shapeliness' from elderly gentlemen. I don't recall anything particularly eye popping in previous appearances. Industrial-grade bra padding, or has she been shopping in the same place as Katherine Jenkins?

Unfortunately, they weren't quite spectacular enough to distract from some ropey singing in her first all-Brahms song group. Intonation and diction were accurate enough, but the higher notes elicited a sound like a fork being slowly drawn across a saucepan. She never looked or sounded comfortable. These lugubrious songs are not easy or immediately appealing. Though the group slotted well into the programme, billed as part of the Wigmore Hall's French season, Royal was simply unable to supply any real insight into their elliptical texts.

With her voice now warmed up, she produced a much more attractive sound for Debussy's five Baudelaire settings. But Baudelaire's perfumed eroticism eluded her. Imperfect French accentuated the effect of knee-clutching English reserve. Her approach to the Poulenc group was similarly buttoned-up, her only hint of abandon the occasional tiny gasp. Royal performed without a score and appeared to know the songs inside out, so it was disappointing that she felt unable to take the risks she has demonstrated in her operatic performances.

It was only in the closing Strauss group that she seemed to find the right balance between expression and control, that unexpected blend of ice and warmth in her shimmering silver tones finally ecstatic.

Her eagerly provided encore was Lia's aria from Debussy's L'Enfant Prodigue, an oddly long and doleful choice to send an audience home with. But it was delivered with all the insight and engagement her earlier Debussy group had lacked - a promise of what might have been and an indication that eventual success in this repertoire is not beyond Royal's grasp.

It's all over for Daniel Barenboim - Beethoven sonata cycle part 8

Daniel Barenboim - Royal Festival Hall, 17 February 2008

Beethoven:
Sonata in E, No 9
Sonata in E flat, No 4
Sonata in F, No 22
Sonata in C minor, No 32

The sense of occasion accompanying each one of Daniel Barenboim's performances seemed magnified today for this, the final performance in his Beethoven sonata series.

For the whole three week period, a TV screen in the foyer has been looping a pre-recorded Barenboim interview. There was a horde packed round it before the concert, even though, with a limited number of free headphones provided, only a lucky few could actually hear it. Others had grabbed foyer seats for the free live relay of the concert itself. I gave up counting the returns queue at fifty, and this only minutes before the start time.

Inside the auditorium, insufferably hot today, the lights were taken right down for Barenboim's entrance. Appropriately dressed for the 3pm start, with a short coat in place of the longer one he's worn for the evening concerts, he walked around the stage and acknowledged the welcoming applause for a minute. Not the least of the reasons for his warm reception has to be the the appreciation that he graciously demonstrates for any ovation. Too many performers simply stomp on and rush off, seemingly unaware that the audience has come to experience their performance rather than simply hear their interpretation, which, let's face it, we could all do with our CDs at home, but Barenboim has thankfully not fallen into this trap.

Today's programme, more than any other except perhaps the first one in Barenboim's series, demonstrated Beethoven's journey from classicism on to a new musical language. One of the revelations of this series has been Barenboim's deft charm in the early sonatas, and he didn't disappoint with the crystalline sparkle of the delightful No 9.

After this, we shot abruptly to the other end of the scale, where Barenboim played out the dramatic contrasts of No 4 with violent abandon, the alarming roughly-hammered con brio opening followed by a largo of such soporific repose that my opera-loving neighbour actually drifted off ("this is why I don't come to recitals..." she claimed "...too quiet").

Through all these reports, I haven't yet mentioned the concert programme, but it is an excellent one, with notes by the perspicacious William Kinderman. At only £4 and covering all eight concerts, it's a bargain by grasping South Bank standards. Professor Kinderman writes of No 22 that the first movement has "two contrasting themes - a gracious, dignified feminine theme resembling a minuet and a stamping, assertive, masculine theme". Beneath the manly mitts of Daniel Barenboim, both of the first movement's themes were thundered out in decidedly masculine fashion, but at least my neighbour was now awake and alert. And it formed a masterful contrast to the anxiously arpeggiated second movement and its successful resolution in the finale.

What would drain many performers seems to energise Barenboim, and despite everything he'd put in to the earlier parts of the programme, he seemed to have more left for Beethoven's final sonata. The violent declamation of the first movement formed a stunning contrast to the pensive opening of the second, which is a series of variations. The pin-drop silence maintained throughout was testament to its riveting effect on every single member of the audience. The expansive syncopations of the third variation displayed perhaps the most startlingly original point of Barenboim's interpretation, but the finale too, in its marmoreal sublimity, will be etched into my mind for a very long time.

The gap of several seconds between the final note and the start of the applause (and - inevitable? - standing ovation) was proof, if any were needed, that the audience were attuned as one to the performance. I had sort of assumed that the showman in Barenboim (and don't doubt this is a major part of his makeup) might leave his most spectacular performance to last, but never imagined that the artist in Barenboim might make it such a magnificent one.

In addition to the applause, today Daniel Barenboim received several personally-delivered bouquets from ladies in the audience. He looked surprised, but accepted them with the same grace that has dignified every other mark of appreciation.

For some reason (probably South Bank inefficiency), I didn't get the invite to the post-concert reception that other full-series purchasers had. But I blagged my way in (I loathe doing this, so undignified when you're over 19 ---- h8 u Southbank).

In the event, Daniel Barenboim only made a brief appearance (he said he had a flight to catch), but it was almost inevitably a memorable one. He said he'd thought this would be the last time he'd do the full Beethoven series, but this had given him the itch to do more. He thanked the audience for being quiet in the performance, but loud in their applause, and said it was usually the reverse, with a lot of noisy coughing. This got a big laugh, not least because each movement of the earlier concerts had been demarcated by coughtastic eruptions, but whatevs, the sentiment was appreciated, and what could have been a disappointment in the brevity of his appearance was magically transformed into a Moment, something that will remain in my memory as long as the performance itself.

This blog (in Japanese) has some more photos, taken from the platform:

http://ameblo.jp/peraperaopera/entry-10073509755.html

It'll all be over soon - Daniel Barenboim's Beethoven part 7

Daniel Barenboim - Royal Festival Hall, 15 February 2008

Beethoven:
Sonata in G, No 16
Sonata in C sharp minor, No 14 (Moonlight)
Sonata in F, No 6
Sonata in A flat, No 31

Martin Kettle says in this morning's Guardian that Daniel Barenboim's Beethoven sonata cycle at the Royal Festival Hall "is being lauded as London's musical event of the year - and even, according to the Evening Standard, of the decade." I wouldn't disagree with that. So why has the Guardian managed to review less than half of the concerts Barenboim has given so far? And I don't mean to pick on the Guardian - its rivals' coverage is just as skimpy. As far as I can tell, this blog is the only complete record of Barenboim's achievement. Why should that be when we have a number of national newspapers that purport to cover classical music?

Earlier this week, Guy Dammann claimed in the Guardian that "the cultural irrelevance of classical music... has now been officially recognised" on the grounds that a recent Guardian special contained "no entry of any kind on classical music". Discarding the bizarre premise that cultural relevance can be measured in Guardian column inches, isn't it the British newspapers themselves, with their ever-diminishing classical music coverage, and their general failure to contextualise it any way, which are becoming the cultural irrelevance?

The goverment's recent proposal to fund cultural activities for young people may be feeble, underfunded and ultimately unworkable, but at least it acknowledges that the near-disappearance of high culture in everyday lives is an issue that needs to be addressed. Why aren't the newspapers doing their bit? As regular readers of the terrific Milan-based Opera Chic blog will have cottoned on, the Italian press cover classical music, especially opera, in much greater breadth and depth than the British do, and whether as cause or consequence, have a keen readership.

Anyway, on to the seventh and penultimate concert in Daniel Barenboim's Beethoven sonata cycle. Is the law of diminishing returns setting in, or was Barenboim just a little bit complacent tonight? In the earlier part of the series, he's played as if he had something to prove, really fought for our attention. Tonight's concert had an air of the victory lap about it, as if he'd already said all he had to say. Technically, the focus wasn't always there either - poor articulation at pianissimo simply eliminated notes at random.

But the rhythmic management was as flawless as ever in the lolloping syncopation of No 16's first movement and the dotted contraflow over the Moonlight's ripple of opening triplets (given an unexpectedly 'objective' reading throughout). And Barenboim had no problem locating the humour in No 6, served up with a knowing wit. No 31 suffered in places from pedestrian pacing, but the finale at least was lucid and ultimately magisterial.

Of course Barenboim received a standing ovation at the end, graciously and lengthily acknowledged, as he has after every concert in this series, even if it was rather less merited on musical grounds this time. (Incidentally, I'd love to know what he said to individual audience members on the platform as he went round acknowledging their applause - most looked thrilled, but a few expressions registered something closer to shock.)

See here for posts on the other concerts in Barenboim's Beethoven series - and do check out this genius alternaview of the concert from 16 y/o Calvin too.

 

Getting tickets for Daniel Barenboim's remaining concerts.....

.....is going to be difficult, but as I've been emailed to ask about it, I thought it might be useful to share what I know.

There are two concerts to go, on Friday 15 February, and Sunday 17 February, and both are sold out according to the Southbank website. If the ticket office receive any returns before the concert date, then technically they should offer them up for sale on the website. But in my experience, it's unlikely anything will turn up.

The next choice is to queue for returns on the day. A *lot* of people have been doing this, chasing a very small number of returned tickets. Queuing has started early, and in an unaccustomed feat of organisation, the SBC have set up chairs for those waiting. I would phone the box office first on 0871 663 2500 to check what time you need to get there to be in with a chance.

There's also the option of listening to the live relay of the concert, which is taking place in the Ballroom beneath the Royal Festival Hall. I've no idea about the sound quality of this, but judging by the fact that there are no visible microphones near the piano, I'm guessing it may not be great. The area can accommodate a large audience than it's been getting for the last couple of shows.

And finally, rest assured you are not alone - Jessica Duchen and Stephen Pollard (thanks for the kind words Stephen!) find themselves in seatless misery too.

This might be a good place to point out that both the Southbank and Barbican have opened their 2008-9 season bookings recently, and however crazy it seems to be arranging your diary that far ahead, the most popular concerts are already selling well.

B1tchfight !!!

What could possibly be less dignified, less edifying and less professional than the increasing reluctance of certain opera stars to bother turning up for work?

Well, how about a pair of ageing arts administrators slugging it out schoolgirl-style in the pages of the continental press?

As reported by the ever vigilant and ever wonderful Opera Chic, it's handbags at dawn for La Scala General Manager Stéphane Lissner (55) and Wien Staatsoper's Director Ioan Holender (73).

"You don't rehearse enough!" squeals Lissner.

"You can't read music!" pouts Holender.

With examples like that, is it any wonder that singers imagine it's perfectly OK to cancel contracts on whim, cut rehearsals, or stomp off stage mid-performance?

Tony Hall, please carry on buttoning your lip.

Daniel Barenboim's quiet night in - Beethoven Sonatas part 6

Daniel Barenboim - Royal Festival Hall, 11 February 2008

Beethoven:
Sonata in D, No 15 (Pastoral)
Sonata in C, No 3
Sonata in F sharp, No 24 (À Thérèse)
Sonata in E, No 30

Tonight's programme, an exercise in languid repose, sat in contrast to the blood'n'guts bravura of the previous couple of concerts in Daniel Barenboim's Beethoven sonata series.

He began with the rolling lullaby of No 15's opening movement and ended on a similar note with the graceful finale of No 30. One of the revelations of this series has been his mastery of the modest gesture, his ability to shape and colour without imposing dramatics.

In between came the baroque poise of No 3 with its shroud of glitteringly brilliant outer movements. Barenboim's imperfect execution barely marred these, nor the equally testing passages in the two sonatas of the second half. By now I'm accustomed to his alarming dissonances, hollowed-out chords, gap-toothed runs and craftily improvised patch-up jobs. It's not even a trade off - accuracy versus expression or whatever - it seems an integral part of his approach.

There were moments of great daring - impossibly extended rests, so heartstoppingly long I wondered if he'd had a memory blank, a thundering prestissimo punctuating the serene expanses of No 30. But mostly tonight's concert was an opportunity for Barenboim to show that even when he's not painting in broad brushstrokes and bold colours he can entrance an audience. Who gave him a standing ovation, of course, as he's received for every concert in this series. And despite the needling comments I've read about this in some of the press, I really think the audience are genuinely applauding the performance they've just heard - not Barenboim's celebrity, and not his other work. I think you'd have to be there, to experience the atmosphere, the pin-drop attention, to really appreciate this.

(Incidentally - I saw Sir Ian McKellen in the audience - but was that him on the PA too, with the pre-show stfu and stop coughing announcement? Or have the SBC pushed the budget boat out for a Sir Ian soundalike?)

Zwei Zauberfloten at the Royal Opera House - all flash, no illumination - but what music

Die Zauberflöte (The Magic Flute) - Royal Opera House, 31 January 2008 and 7 February 2008

As Die Zauberflöte is one of my all-time favourites, and as the Royal Opera House has seen fit to assemble a 'B' cast so strong it should more properly be called just an 'alternative' cast, I decided I just had to see this production twice.

Admittedly it's not the most coherent or stimulating of productions. David McVicar tries just a little too hard to appeal to all corners. There's a lot of olde-style set dressing and costumery for the traditionalists, but enough anachronistic modern touches to counter any accusations of stodginess. The spoken sections are faithfully retained in full, in all their tedium, but any racist overtones are swindled out by recreating the black Monostatos as an ageing white fop. Man-held creatures offer a half-hearted nod to 18th century theatrical practices that isn't followed through or even integrated properly . And there's plenty of cleavage and thigh boots for anyone who doesn't care about any of the above. It's the eclipse of enlightenment by popular entertainment. Give me Nicholas Hytner's beautiful, thoughtful and inexplicably-retired ENO production any day. But Mozart has survived worse, and while the production may be superficial, it is at least not irritating. And it thrilled plenty of Amazon reviewers on its first, DVDd for posterity, outing.

In the first cast, Simon Keenlyside's Papageno stood head and shoulders above the rest of the cast - as much down to weaknesses in their performances as strength in his. Rolling and tumbling like a trained acrobat, singing beautifully of course, his presence animated every scene he was in.

Christopher Maltman offered a different, and in many ways more touching Papageno in cast B. While there's something almost slick about Keenlyside's clowning, and something crafty about his evasions, Maltman offered a simpler, more vulnerable character, more of a witless fool buffeted about by life's complications. I admired the skill of Keenlyside's portrayal of Papageno, but I warmed more to Maltman.

When it came to the central couple of Tamino and Pamina, there was less of a contest. Cast A's Christoph Strehl and Genia Kühmeier would seem on this showing to be fine singers, and I look forward very much to Genia Kühmeier's debut recital at the Wigmore Hall in April . But neither had a great deal of presence, nor, it seemed, enough direction/rehearsal to get them much past the shuffling and hand-wringing stage. In Strehl's case, he took a very long time to get going vocally, with only his final aria really having the projection to reach my amphitheatre eyrie.

Cast B's Pavol Breslik and Kate Royal were in a different class. Tamino is a notoriously drippy role in the wrong hands. It takes real presence and charisma to make something of it, and Breslik asserted himself at once. The dashing charm and the big bright voice were perfect. Kate Royal's Pamina simply glowed. Aside from some intonation problems in her first aria, she gave a sparky, vital performance. These two were, properly, at the centre of the performance every time they were on stage.

The first Sarastro, Stephen Milling, is a singer I admire hugely, but I found him untypically subdued and unassertive in this role. Sarastro #2, Hans-Peter König, definitely shaded it in terms of dramatic presence, but neither really disappointed in any way.

Queens of the Night Erika Miklósa (in the A cast) and Anna Kristiina Kaappola (in the B) were both fabulous. Miklósa displayed greater ease with the coloratura (it was evident Kaappola was at top stretch), but Kaappola was a more vital and vengeful stage presence. The all-round greater dramatic prowess of the second cast made me wonder if they'd maybe benefitted from more rehearsal time than than the first set - certainly they all seemed to have a clearer idea of what they were supposed to be doing.

Kishani Jayasinghe (Papagena), the one constant in all casts, made the most of her brief part and suffered her '80's discowear bravely. Her acting skills weren't quite adequate compensation for the ineffective 'old lady' disguise of her closing scene, and as a result this was rather confusing, but she sang prettily and had terrific comic timing.

Other parts were very strongly cast all round in both performances, right down to the bisto-kid three boys, beautifully sung each time.

Roland Böer conducted both times, vibrantly and confidently. Co-ordination between stage and pit was perfect, and if the orchestra played a note wrong, then I didn't notice it. Why, I may even have to go back again.

The first cast:  

Pavol Breslik as Tamino with teh mother-in-law:

 

Beethoven's piano sonatas - the Andras Schiff lectures

This may be a timely point for a reminder that in 2006 András Schiff gave a highly informative and insightful series of lecture-recitals at the Wigmore Hall in parallel to his Beethoven sonata series. They are still available on the Guardian website, here.

Daniel Barenboim's Beethoven - part 5

Daniel Barenboim - Royal Festival Hall, 9 February 2008

Beethoven:
Sonata in E flat, No 13
Sonata in D, No 7
Sonata in E minor, No 27
Sonata in C minor, No 21 (Waldstein)

Daniel Barenboim looked, by his normal puppydog standards, a little tired and worn down as he stepped on to the stage tonight. Without pausing to acknowledge the fusillade of welcoming applause as he had done on previous evenings, he settled straight down on the piano stool. At least his indisposition or whatever it was seemed to be over - no coughing. The handkerchief came out for a quick dab and then it was back in his pocket for the rest of the night.

He began no 13 with the most audaciously minimal pianissimo, willling the entire attention of the audience. Barenboim's complete lack of self indulgence is a joy. The music comes first, of course, but he is always aware that performance demands communication, not just bare execution. Watching him never feels like a voyeuristic nose into someone else's private reverie. This sonata is a delightful example of Beethoven's inventive genius with very slight thematic material, just a handful of notes really, and an improvisatory genesis was suggested by Barenboim's exploratory touch. 

Looking back at Sonata no 7 via two hundred years of musical hindsight can make it hard to appreciate its original shock value in the era of Haydn, but Barenboim's angular reading gave an extraordinary vision of how very rock'n'roll this must have sounded at its birth (in the 18th century!), and the closing presto combined knife edge tension with wit.

Was it my attention or Barenboim's that wandered in no 27, played straight after the interval? There was something perfunctory about his performance. Was he perhaps holding something back for the closing Waldstein sonata?

He dug straight into a weighty reading of the Waldstein with a robust opening Allegro movement, more majestic than serene. Here Barenboim the dramatist was on display for the first time in the evening. A tentative, exploratory Adagio with daringly suspended tenutos demonstrated how much more Barenboim seems attuned to the visionary than the reflective. The final movement became a forcefully-delineated battle followed by a victorious prestissimo finale, Barenboim punching the keys as he slid across the stool and slapping his feet against the floor. A brutal, riveting and astonishingly novel account. No surprise that the audience reaction was - yet again - a standing ovation.

For anyone unable to get a ticket for the remaining concerts in the series, there is a (free) live screening in the ground floor Ballroom of the Royal Festival Hall. I've no idea of the sound quality of this, but it might be worth a try if the returns queue is too daunting.

No swan required - Lohengrin in concert, in Paris

Lohengrin - Salle Pleyel, Paris, 5 February 2008

Jaap van Zweden / Klaus Florian Vogt / Anne Schwanewilms / Netherlands Radio Choir / Nederlands Radio Filharmonisch Orkest

Wagner is no less popular in Paris than anywhere else, so it was a bit surprising to see a couple of hundred empty seats at this concert performance of Lohengrin. Of course the Nederlands Radio Filharmonisch Orkest is hardly a name to draw a crowd, and it was a wet, wet night.

But the 8pm start (or more accurately, the 12.30am finish) seemed to be the root of most grumbles on the night. Several people left (reluctantly) at the intervals, more (irritatingly) during the quietest parts of the last act, and there was a mad dash for the doors at the end.

The Salle Pleyel is a starchy, institutional-looking cavern with a correspondingly big, boomy acoustic. The empty seats must have accentuated this. The hall is noted for the projection it can bring to even the smallest of ensembles. Stick 200-odd musicians on stage and imagine how that effect is magnified. Not quite surround-sound, but I was in the middle of the stalls and could close my eyes and imagine I was in the centre of an orchestra pit. It made this the perfect venue to experience Lohengrin, which really benefits texturally more from the dense tapestry rather than the filgree web approach.

The Nederlands Radio Filharmonisch may not be the most refined of orchestras, but their energy and enthusiasm go a long way, and they were focussed and attentive towards conductor Jaap von Zweden, a small purposeful-looking man resembling a stray Nibelung.

They tore into the Vorspiel like wild dogs on a rabbit, an indication of what was to come. Shimmeringly radiant strings be damned, brute strength seemed to be the template. Like many in the audience, I was taken aback by the sheer force of their delivery, magnified by Jaap von Zweden's megadecibel Motorhead dynamics. This was one night when I wouldn't have noticed if any mobile phones went off. My neighbours' conversations were completely inaudible beneath the wall of sound. 

But it was a power harnessed with great discipline, not an uncontrolled rampage. He was attentive to the demands of the score, and could turn the volume right down too. Crucially, he controlled the orchestral balance, and never drowned out the singers, even the delicate-voiced Anne Schwanewilms.

The exceptional all-round quality of the singing was the real highlight of this concert though. No Wagnerian elephants bellowing at each other across the vast plains of the stage tonight. Their classic concert positioning in front of the orchestra permitted greater subtlety for one thing.

Klaus Florian Vogt's unusual combination of strength and purity makes him surely the greatest Lohengrin around right now. It's a role he's so familiar with that he was the only one of tonight's cast who performed without a score.

His charismatic performance, unwaveringly direct and honest, flawlessly precise, was simply astounding, and the stadium-sized cheer he got at the end was no surprise. Definitely worth a visit to Vienna for in May.

Anne Schwanewilms gave me some doubts to begin with. It took her a long, long time to settle in and stop pecking cautiously at notes before landing on them. But she has a sweet, silvery innocence to her voice that makes her a delightfully girlish Elsa, even if her diction is not as clear as it might be.

Her deep red velvet frock lent a bit of medieval flavour amongst all the tailcoats, but what was with the 1€ plastic butterfly clip in her hair? Why do so many singers wear these gorgeous, pricy dresses, then go and pluck their hair accessories from the bargain bin at Douglas?

Eike Wilm Schulte and Marianne Cornetti were the bad guys, Telramund and Ortrud, and a very effective couple they made. Physically as well as vocally they were perfectly (mis)matched - I would love to see these two together on stage.

Schulte was a bit shouty, which at times rather obscured otherwise very fine singing. Maybe he thought he needed to throw his voice over the orchestra, but Zweden was in fact hugely considerate of his singers, and I didn't notice any overwhelming orchestral waves.

With her Cruella de Vil dip-dyed hair - blonde at the front, flaming red at the back - and her swirling black velvet cloak, Cornetti looked more sinister than she sounded.

A wide vibrato took a while to settle, but it was her Italianate delivery, unexpected in this part and initially jarring, which proved one of the most inspired and revelatory aspects of her casting. Richly dramatic, powerful yet polished to a dark sheen, it was stunningly effective laid next to Anne Schwanewilms' ethereal lustre.

Ronnie Johansen as King Heinrich and Geert Smits as the Herald proved competent and reliable, if not as dazzling as the rest of the cast. And the Netherlands Radio Choir, all 100-ish of them, provided an incredibly high standard of support all round, with a power to match the orchestra's and an assured, accurate delivery. Presumably they had a five hour road trip straight after the concert; there was a fleet of Dutch coaches with engines running outside the Salle Pleyel when I emerged at half past midnight.

As mentioned earlier, there's a full video recording available here of the same concert as given in Amsterdam a couple of days earlier. It doesn't have the overwhelming visceral force of the live experience that makes me soooooooo glad I got to see the real thing, but at least it gives a good idea of how incredible the singing was.

 

    

Sometimes it's the background that makes the picture.....^ and v .....

Barenboim back on top with Beethoven part 4

Daniel Barenboim - Royal Festival Hall, 6 February 2008

Beethoven:
Sonata in C minor, No 5
Sonata in B flat, No 11
Sonata in G minor, No 19
Sonata in G, No 20
Sonata in F minor, No 23 (Appassionata)

One of the most impressive aspects of this Beethoven series has been the consistently satisfying and intelligent programming. Tonight Barenboim laid the ground for the raging Appassionata by opening with the C minor sonata, in