Intermezzo

Sweaty Eddie's La Clemenza di Tito at the Barbican

La Clemenza di Tito - OAE/Gardner - Barbican, 26 July 2008

The Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment immediately sounded a lot better on this outing than they do at their native South Bank, confirming my suspicion that however questionable the Barbican acoustics might be, the Royal Festival Hall's are (despite the refurb) still worse.

As for the rest of the evening, this concert performance knocked the spots off David McVicar's recent ninja yawnathon for ENO (in which conductor Ed Gardner and Alice Coote also featured).

The OAE were immaculately prepared - perhaps a repeat performance this weekend at the Lincoln Center , marking Gardner's New York debut, justified a little extra rehearsal time. They were on thrilling form, playing as if their lives depended on it.

Even though the daily ENO grind is turning Gardner prematurely grey, his floppy-fringed cuteness endures. If only that was enough to move orchestras. I've found his ENO efforts patchy - too often pallid and uninspired - but he surprised me tonight, working up a sweat on the podium and a fire on the stage.

Tito seems to have built up a chorus of apologists recently, all ready to proclaim that it's unjustifiably sidelined, one of Mozart's finest, etc. But it's not. Unlike Die Zauberflöte, so eminently resistant to even the most cack-handed of treatments, when Tito's given a second-rate performance, it sounds like a second-rate opera. This is the first time I've heard it dispatched with the sort of passion and commitment that do it justice.

Of course the soloists played a huge part in this, none more so than Alice Coote, who gave so much more than just singing. In the central role of Sesto, agonisingly torn between self-destructive love for the selfish, ambitious Vitellia and loyalty to the Emperor Tito, she inhabited her part fearlessly and totally.  This was a concert performance, but nothing except the music stand gave a hint that this was anything less than Coote would deliver on the opera house stage. She looked utterly spent as she sank back into her plastic chair at the end of each aria.

Toby Spence as Tito was dressed for St Moritz in January with his white polo neck and thick velvet jacket. But this was London in July, with British (i.e. rubbish) aircon. When he whipped the jacket off and sat astride his chair (to the apparent surprise of the other performers) as he started to interrogate Coote aria-style, I wondered if it was a spot of heat exhaustion. But no - dramatic licence (and very effective) - he put it straight back on again afterwards.

There was a range to his performance that suggested experiment as much as expressive breadth. Not all of it came off - in particular I felt he stressed Tito's benevolence at the expense of his authority - but it was clear he has an ever-growing range of vocal tools, not to mention the ability to keep an audience on the edge of their seats.

Next to the white-hot intensity of these two, Hillevi Martinpelto's studied and refined portrayal of Vitellia inevitably paled a little. Vitellia's mean streak needed a harder edge. But she sang beautifully, every note appropriately shaded, the voice still lustrous and almost girlish. It was 'Mozart singing' in the classic sense, and a pleasure to listen too.

Sarah Tynan was wonderfully cast as the sweet Servilia, the plaintive innocent, and Fiona Murphy too as the doughty Annio.

Matthew Rose's Publio seemed rather lugubrious in comparison to the spirited performances elsewhere, but there's something of that in the character anyway, and his sonorous bass was impressively mobile in the faster passages. 

The Clare College Cambridge Choir were enthusiastic and crisply drilled - a textbook rendition, if not an especially sensitive one, to nitpick.

This concert was announced relatively late, and the Proms always provide stiff competition at this time of year. Even so, it surprised me, given the casting, that it was far from sold out - the whole balcony closed, and empty seats here and there elsewhere. The Barbican sometimes offers up some rather dodgy programming in its annual summer Mozart festival, but this was an overwhelming exception.

Here's one she made earlier: Hillevi Martinpelto sings Deh seh piacer mi vuoi for Charles Mackerras:

Avast behind !!!!

Dave'o Thomas blows his own trumpet fer th' fair Kate St Johnny-boy.

From Rogue's Gallery, an evenin' o' scurvy pirate melodies at th' Barbican. Gunna scribe more 'bout it to'morrow (with photos) fer 'tis late now and a scurvy pirate lass needs her sleep....

(Yarr bin found a scurvy pirate translator on th'internet.....)

               *****************************************

***UPDATE***  Photos o' th' whole scurvy crew now available here.

Juan Diego Florez weaves a phlegmish tapestry

Juan Diego Flórez / Rizzi / Orchestra of Welsh National Opera - Barbican, 12 July 2008

Bellini Norma: Sinfonia
Bellini I Puritani: Ah te, o cara
Rossini Semiramide: Sinfonia
Rossini La Donna del lago: Tu sorda a miei lamenti
Rossini William Tell: Overture
Rossini William Tell: Asile héréditaire
Donizetti Lucrezia Borgia: Partir degg’io, T’amo qual s’ama un angelo
Donizetti Don Pasquale: Sinfonia
Donizetti La favorite : La maîtresse du roi
Donizetti La fille du régiment: Sinfonia
Donizetti La fille du régiment: Amici miei

Juan Diego Flórez - half man, half cheese, half toothpaste, and tonight, for one night only, half phlegm.

It all started off so well. The hall was packed to the rafters, with the audience including Barbican regular Dame Vivienne Westwood, resplendent in grey marl sack dress with matching knee socks and beanie over her long apricot hair.

JDF was in fine voice for the first half, with an ever-increasing range of colour now appearing in his laser-bright sound. The breath control was immaculate, the long final lines of Asile héréditaire floated out on an invisible support. Like the old skool, he seems to have gills for lungs. Nothing moves, nothing sounds, he just inhales as if by magic. Only a more contained posture and a faintly rough halo to his tone hinted at any problem - and even then, I assumed he was just being a bit slow to warm-up.

And with Carlo Rizzi's WNO Orchestra behind (JDF's backing band moves up a class each time I see him), even the usually grin'n'bear it inter-aria overtures were delivered with a style that would have outclassed a lesser tenor.

But he began to slip in earnest at the start of the all-Donizetti second half. When he clutched his throat at the end of Partir degg’io and looked up puppy-eyed at Rizzi, I assumed it was just penalty box theatrics to explain a little novelty intonation that cropped up here and there.

But when he failed to reappear on stage after the orchestra's Don Pasquale overture, it was clear that something more serious was up. Eventually Rizzi was called off the stage, and we sat waiting for a good five minutes wondering what was going on.

They reappeared eventually, and JDF explained that he had a frog in his throat, 'a little phlegm', but that he'd try and carry on without 'you know' (looking at the front row and making a spraying gesture, to much laughter). 

As he soldiered on with La maîtresse du roi, the raspy edge and hollow lower notes proved the problem was serious. What's more, it seemed to drain Flórez of energy.

Part of the joy of any JDF performance is the enthusiasm and love of the music that radiates from him like sunbeams. But here, suddenly he looked as if he wanted to go home right now, not a minute later. He managed to struggle through somehow, and return for Amici miei - money notes intact, but understandably ragged in places elsewhere.

After that, I really didn't expect anything more, though I'm sure I wasn't the only person willing the poor sick lamb to belt out a few encores regardless of any medical issues.

So I was surprised when he returned on stage after a massive ovation to announce that they'd prepared something from L'Elisir d'Amore 'with lots of decorations, like the CD'  but couldn't manage it - so instead they'd do the cabaletta of Cessa di più resistere from Il Barbiere di Siviglia  - because it has 'lots of coloraturas' and we wouldn't notice any mistakes (!) - and maybe something else too later. JDF said he'd been in a hot shower, and apologised again to the front row for the 'various fluids' that might land (more lols). He tried hard, but it was far from his finest performance of this testing piece, so it was no surprise we never got the second encore.

I can't help but be disappointed that it wasn't quite the phenomenal recital I expected, but credit is due to Juan Diego Flórez for trying his best not to disappoint his audience. Meanwhile, here's hoping JDF wraps up warm and doesn't snog any germy sopranos before Matilde di Shabran opens at the Royal Opera House in October.

 And here is a vid of JDF singing Cessa di più resistere in healthier times:
 

Gergiev does Mahler; Dudamel does a dance

LSO / Gergiev - Barbican, 5 June 2008
Philharmonia / Dudamel / Shaham - Royal Festival Hall, 8 June 2008

When I started this blog I promised myself I'd write about every performance I attended. Time has a way of defeating the best of intentions, but in the spirit of completeness I'll just catch up briefly on this pair of baffling performances from two of the most idiosyncratic conductors around.

You can't accuse Valery Gergiev of inconsistency. For this last concert in his Gergiev's Mahler™ cycle with the LSO, the Ninth Symphony coupled with the Adagio from the unfinished Tenth, he blistered forward with the same seat-of-the-pants drive he's displayed throughout the series.

I'm not sure adagios are meant to be that reckless, ländlers that turbulent, but it's undeniably riveting stuff. Lest anyone raise the old no-rehearsal issue, a scattering of precision-schooled climaxes proved that the requisite homework had been completed.

It's music making that lives in the moment, it speaks to the heart rather than the head, and standing back and thinking too hard might have highlighted some curiously back-to-front orchestral balance in places, the lack of measure in tempos. Bizarre but thrilling, and rapturously received by an exceptionally attentive and well-behaved audience. And congratulations to the LSO for (literally) sweating it out in the sub-tropical temperatures of the apparently non-airconditioned Barbican Hall.

 

And if anyone was going to top that, it would have to be Gustavo Dudamel. He whizzed the Philharmonia through Smetana's Overture to The Bartered Bride, found the perfect partner for Dvorak's Violin Concerto in the exuberant but lyrical Gil Shaham, and finished up in blockbuster style with Tchaikovsky's Fifth. 

When a performance is delivered with such rampant joy in music making, it's impossible to criticise. Dudamel jiggles like a battery-operated muppet, his full-body conducting channelling every rhythm, his woefully tuneless bathtub singalong uninhibited in its madness.

Yet it's no sideshow act -  the Philharmonia played with flair and precision, their characteristic lush, warm string sound the base of perfectly balanced textures. And there was no lack of thoughtfulness in the repose of the Dvorak Adagio or the grace of the Tchaikovsky Valse.

A truly special performance that left every single member of the audience with a smile on their face - and how many times does that happen?

 

Idomeneo at the Barbican

Idomeneo - Europa Galante/Biondi - Barbican, 14 May 2008

Technical excellence isn't everything. Musically, this concert performance of Idomeneo was rough as a badger's behind. Fabio Biondi, conducting a breakneck pace with violin in hand, failed on several occasions to bring his small band in on time, or to hold them together. Intonation was frequently doubtful in the string section; near-criminal in the brass. But enthusiasm goes a long way, and Mozart in any case demonstrated his usual resistance to the assaults of imperfect execution. The sheer verve of the performance gave it a warmth and charm that more polished approaches often lack (and awww just look at the harpsichordist's score, above).

Ian Bostridge was the motor behind the show, part of his Homeward Bound series running throughout the Barbican season. He's not a singer who melts readily into whatever character he's playing, and the role of Idomeneo would have benefited from more poise and warmth. But however dramatically questionable, his singing was often deeply affecting, and his (very difficult) second act aria Fuor del mar was perfectly judged and exquisitely sung.

Kate Royal provided some Grecian flavour to her part as Ilia in a draped cream goddess gown (marks deducted for visible bra straps).  Her intonation was secure and her tone serenely radiant, notes cautiously but elegantly laid in place. The problem for me was her offputting habit of inflecting by gasping and panting in between notes, something that eventually became far more noticeable than the line it was disrupting.

Emma Bell, the fiery Electra, looked fabulous with her new short-fringed bob and red strapless gown. She made the most of her dramatically redundant but musically riveting role with a thrilling and well-received high-drama, mega-vibrato performance, more in the style of late Verdi than early Mozart. It may have been an anachronism, but it made perfect musical sense. Anyway it slotted in neatly with the various vocal idiosyncracies on display elsewhere.

The most conventionally Mozartean singing came from Jurgita Adamonyte as Idamante, poised, focussed and pure of tone. Despite being a late replacement for the advertised Christine Rice, she gave every evidence of thorough and intelligent study of the role, all her expressive choices seemingly the perfect ones.

The tenor Benjamin Hulett completed the list of principals as Arbace. He reminded me of Toby Spence in his straightforward and versatile vocal quality - also in the fact that he looks about half his age.

The weakest link was the chorus, who I understand were pulled together just for this performance. On the plus side, their enunciation was exceptionally clear and their ensemble near-perfect. But there was scarcely any sign of life from them until the last act, in dramatic contrast to the vigour of Europa Galante.

It was a strange and quirk-packed evening, far from immaculate technically, but for the most part entirely riveting. Proof perhaps that not everything needs to be perfect to be great.

Ian Bostridge sings Fuor del Mar with Charles Mackerras and the Scottish Chamber Orchestra:

Boulez back at the Barbican with Bluebeard

LSO/ Boulez - Barbican, 11 May 2008

Though the Royal Opera House may now be charging £19 just for a standing place, it's still possible, amazingly, to experience world-class opera in London for under £6 - and that includes a seat. That was the starting ticket price for this LSO concert, the second of two guest-conducted by the legendary Pierre Boulez.

The centrepiece of the evening was a superbly balanced and exquisitely nuanced reading of Bartók's Duke Bluebeard's Castle - a concert version of course, but losing little from the format. Dispensing with the optional prologue and narrator gave it an immediate impact, and Boulez maintained perfect dramatic pacing throughout.

Michelle De Young, nearly a foot taller than Boulez in her heels, looked a little bizarre at his side, but her Judith had great human warmth and clarity, with an absolute mastery of line.

Peter Fried is not a familiar name to me, but he has apparently made a specialty of the role of Bluebeard. He doesn't have the biggest voice, and it disappeared under the orchestra now and again, but the world-weary tone was spot on. And it was a pleasure to hear Bartók sung in undeniably faultless native Hungarian for once.

Peter Fried was also the barely-heard but effective soloist in Schoenberg's Die glückliche Hand, the 20 minute mini-opera which opened the evening. The multilayered orchestral parts emerged with perfect clarity, even the crude circus-like offstage band, though the contributions of the BBC Singers weren't perfectly coordinated.

In between the Bartók and Schoenberg was sandwiched the UK premiere of Osiris, by German composer Matthias Pintscher, fitting so seamlessly into its surroundings that it could have been designed round them, a chink of daylight between their nightmare extremes.

Following a formal process of dispersal and reconstruction, Pintscher explores novel sonorities in glittering fragments. The boosted percussion section looked particularly taxed (and what was that vertically-bowed instrument?), but muted trumpet and bass clarinet got their rare moment in the spotlight too. The LSO executed the complicated writing with laser accuracy, and Boulez brought a sparkling clarity to the dense layers. Unlike many contemporary works, which look limp placed side by side with time-tested classics, this truly seemed to hold its own.

Sadly I won't be around when the LPO perform Pintscher's Towards Osiris on 25 May but I'd suggest it's worth checking out.

Peter Fried passed a rose he was given to an amused Boulez (his first smile of the night), who in turn presented it to LSO Leader Carmine Lauri:

Boulez at the Barbican

LSO/Boulez - Barbican, 30 April 2008

Bartók's Concerto for Two Pianos and Percussion is such a rarity on the London schedules that it's welcome no matter who's performing it.

But having been promised Lang Lang and Hélène Grimaud, I was a little disappointed to find them substituted without warning or explanation by Pierre-Laurent Aimard and Tamara Stefanovich. Aimard is a great favourite of mine, he excels in Bartók, and his performance with frequent partner Stefanovich was predictably exemplary. But I still itch to hear what the man who said "If you like hip hop, then you will like Bartók" would have made of it.

The percussion soloists, the LSO's own Neil Percy and Nigel Thomas, were immaculate and unflashy, and Pierre Boulez pulled the whole thing together tautly. If it didn't have the impact of the pared-down Sonata for Two Pianos and Percussion from which it is drawn, that's wasn't down to the performance, but to Bartók's sprawling arrangements, which tend to grab ideas out of the hands of the soloists only to lose them in the orchestra. That Boulez got a far warmer reception on his entrance than he did at the end of this piece reflects entirely on the material.

Boulez's thoughtful programme placed more piano work rearranged for orchestra, his own Notations, at the end of the evening.

With orchestration these become almost unrecognisable, expanded in all directions. The tablecloth size of the conductor's score, running at about two bars per massive page judging from the manic speed of Boulez's flipping, evidenced the intricacy of his arrangements.

The orchestra too was massive, extra percussion and all hands on deck, but every detail was crystal clear, and there was all the focus and momentum the Bartók lacked.

Notation II was the brief and explosive finale, reprised scrappily but even more exuberantly as an encore.

In between these blockbusters came Schoenberg's Five Orchestral Pieces, sounding almost cosy in Boulez's affectionate reading and Stravinsky's Le Chant du rossignol, light-footed and sparkling, with stunning, perfectly judged flute, violin and trumpet solos.

Boulez returns to the Barbican on 11 May with Michelle De Young for Duke Bluebeard's Castle and Schoenberg's Die glückliche Hand - not to be missed.

Gergiev double dip

LSO/Gergiev - Barbican, 20 and 21 April 2008

I've just realised it's Sunday and I have a whole week's concert going undocumented, so I'd better get cracking. Fortunately Sunday and Monday were the same, so that cuts it down a bit.

You don't often get the chance to catch the same concert two nights in a row. But Gergiev's Mahler™ cycle - or maybe just Gergiev - is a big enough draw to sell out the Barbican twice, well in advance.  Plus it was being recorded for Radio 3 broadcast and for CD release, and they always like a back up for that.

I hadn't intended to do both, but the first (booked like last year or something) was so good it pulled me back for the repeat (a lucky last-minute return). I had to settle for a front corner seat second time round, but a clear side-on view of teh maestro at work was some payback for the lopsided sound.

The big number was Mahler's 2nd Symphony, but before that Strauss's Metamorphosen revealed a hand-picked crack team of LSO strings mining a vein of unaccustomed poignancy, a curiously effective complement to the characteristic meaty LSO sound. Strauss was 80 when he wrote this, as the measured resignation of Gergiev's reading reflected perfectly. His fluttering hands (batons are for wusses) strayed upward now and then to smooth errant strands back into his threadbare combover. Now, you can't attend to hair and music simultaneously, and he notably let it all fly in the Mahler, so whether Gergiev's concentration was 100% who can say.

Perhaps it's simply that Metamorphosen doesn't necessarily need conducting on stage at all if it's rehearsed properly. But it was still something special, and notably on both nights the London Symphony Chorus chose to come out and listen from their choir seats.

Mahler's 'Resurrection' Symphony was utterly convincing, the second night's performance better by some measure than the first. The dark thunder of the opening funeral march thrilled and terrified, and Gergiev's extended pause (more like one minute than the five prescribed by Mahler) was a vital breather before the ironic sentimentality of the second movement's nearly-dances.

Gergiev was big on effects - pauses milked to the max, dynamics straining the ears in both directions - essential inflection and punctuation in the wall of sound. The energy levels dipped only when the first soloist, mezzo Zlata Bulycheva made her effortful and rather routine entry in the fourth movement. The other soloist, soprano Elena Mosuc, was equally subdued if more radiant. The London Symphony Chorus, performing without scores for the dramatic final movement, took all the vocal honours, rehearsed to perfection, and immaculately attentive to Gergiev's every whim.

This was the point at which my second night front corner seat became a real disadvantage. The offstage brass, a potent and magical feature of the last movement from the centre of the auditorium, was a challenge to the orchestra when heard from a position in between the two teams. It was like battle of the bands, with the smaller group often winning. It wasn't quite enough to ruin the night - just rather bizarre.

The first night was received enthusiastically, but the second managed a standing ovation - not a frequent occurrence at the Barbican, but I think a genuine and spontaneous gesture of appreciation.

Guitars, yawns and Goldfrapp

Xuefei Yang - Wigmore Hall, 16 April 2008
Handel's Flavio - Barbican, 17 April 2008
Goldfrapp - Royal Festival Hall, 18 April 2008

Out of the 800+ events in the China Now cultural festival taking place in the run-up to the Beijing Olympics, few are musical. Does this say something about the place of music in Chinese culture? At the Wigmore Hall on Wednesday, the deodorant-ad blandness of the Chinese music which dominated guitarist Xuefei Yang's recital programme suggested there's not much to shout about. Her immaculate technique was wasted on the limp, westernised folk song arrangements. OK, so there's not much of a concert repertoire for the classical guitarist, but Fei's own arrangements of piano music by Granados and Albeniz, tucked away at the tail end of the evening, indicated a more imaginative way forward.

I don't often walk out of a concert at the interval, but one hour of Handel's Flavio at the Barbican on Thursday was enough. Soloists Iestyn Davies, Karina Gauvin, James Gilchrist, James Rutherford, Robin Blaze and Maite Beaumont were on fire, but every ounce of energy they put in was sucked out by Christopher Hogwood's tepid, routine direction of the Academy of Ancient Music. More like a funeral than an opera.

Goldfrapp brought a bit of olde England to the Royal Festival Hall on Friday, with band (including harpist) and twelve piece string section in all-white morris dancer kit, mic stands dressed as mini-maypoles and a giant wicker backdrop. Alison herself was half Twiggy, half Demis Roussos, in a pink satin mini-caftan with matching modesty shorts and flat tan pixie boots. The window dressing reflects the pastoral whimsy of their latest album, which featured heavily, alongside oldies Utopia, Paper Bag, You Never Know, Satin Chic, Ooh La La, Number One, and Strict Machine. Alison chivvied us out of our comfy seats and on to our well-behaved feet for the last few songs. And there was a surprise ending - kazoos passed round the front stalls so we could join in with Happiness. I do love a bit of audience participation.

Below, a video of Happiness from the concert (not great quality), plus some photos.

Osvaldo Golijov's Ainadamar loses the plot

Ainadamar - CBSO/Spano - Barbican, 13 April 2008

Osvaldo Golijov has been criticised for the way he mixes folk and classical styles, but this I found was the greatest strength of this Ainadamar. Cante jondo is grafted on unadulterated, but this serves a specific dramatic purpose, and other musical influences - Spanish, Arabic, Jewish, gypsy - are more seamlessly melded.

The most effective singer on stage was the only non-classical one, Jesús Montoya, his open-throated ululations penetrating to the soul. Guitars and percussion lent a thrilling, vital energy to the music. Even the classical singers, the great Dawn Upshaw at their centre, the darkly magnificent Kelley O'Connor as Lorca, had an emotional honesty and direct appeal you rarely find in conventional opera. The singers' microphones were no barrier either.

The real problem with Ainamadar is not the style, but the structure. Arrange the notes any way you will, it's not an opera. An opera tells a story; Ainadamar simply wallows in unfocussed reminiscence. The programme notes of the original 2003 version that 'the dramatic effect was at times diffuse' -- the reason for extensive revisions, resulting in the version performed tonight. But the diffuseness remains.

The work is constructed around three memories or 'images' of the dying actress, Maria Xirgu, as she thinks about her relationship with Lorca and how she might have saved him from murder by Falangists many years ago. Osvaldo Golijov said in an interview just before the show that the the great thing about opera was that you could spread a minute's real-life experience out into an eighty minute performance. I'm more inclined to think it would work better the other way round. This was not a drama, but more like that jumble of confused dreams/recollections you can have just before dropping off to sleep.

It's further compromised by the style of the libretto - dreamy sub-Lorca poetic snatches. There are sound reasons for echoing Lorca's style in an opera about his life - but wouldn't something taut like La casa de Bernarda Alba have been a better model than the verse? The music can do nothing more than drift along with the text.

Although this wasn't fully staged - the singers just strolled around an atmospherically-lit patch at the front - I don't think that made any real difference. Golijov clearly has a talent and a unique voice. It's a shame it's sprayed around so haphazardly in Ainamadar.

Composer grapples diva:

and in for the kill:

Daniel Harding's matching Brahms and trousers

Midori/LSO/Harding  - Barbican, 3 and 6 April 2008

The LSO have gone Midori-mad this spring. These two concerts, with a violin concerto apiece, formed part of a whole series of events built around Midori (concert programme here).

There's no doubt that Midori is a fantastic ambassador for the violin, for classical music, for the arts generally. As a performer, I'm less convinced. Midori's technical control is impeccable, but in both the Tchaikovsky concerto of the first night and the Britten of the second, it smothered any spontaneity. The jarring brutality superimposed on the finale of the Tchaikovsky was no substitute. Elsewhere, Midori's self-effacing charm ultimately frustrated - it's not enough just to play louder than the rest of the guys. I longed for a bit of her character to peep through.

The first concert's closer, Stravinsky's Firebird Suite, was a test the LSO passed with flying colours. All soloists, especially the horn and flute, were superb. Daniel Harding sustained the narrative drive and vitality without compromising the rich tapestry of orchestral texture.  He's a storyteller, for me consistently impressive in opera if more varied elsewhere, and this is the sort of thing that shows him at his best.

The second concert ended with a curiously deflated reading of Brahms'  2nd Symphony. Recalling Harding's idiosyncratic and rather wonderful Brahms 4 here with the LSO a couple of years ago, I'd hoped for the same sort of verve and clarity. It wasn't laden with the sort of dull gravitas that so often makes Brahms a bore, but it hardly sparkled either, meandering shapelessly along. Rather like Harding's mismatched suit, with its green-black jacket and red-black trousers (yes, black comes in different shades) it passed muster at a glance, but the parts didn't quite add up to a satisfying whole.

Slipped unexpectedly in front of the first concert was a new five minute piece by Edward Rushton called Everything goes so Fast. Why the LSO don't pre-announce their new music 'extras' or include them in the concert programme is beyond me. It confuses the audience, denies young composers valuable publicity, and, worst, makes it look as if the LSO is ashamed to be connected with the work it performs. Big mistake. Anyway, the idea in this particular piece, a process of textural decay, seemed too slender to sustain a full five minutes' exploration, so subtle that it was almost imperceptible, and undermined rather than underlined by the rhythmic monotony. Perhaps it looked better on paper. To the ear it sounded more like a work in progress than the finished article.

Spring springs for Daniel Harding

LSO/Harding - Barbican, 30 March 2008

The logic of a programme which pairs Prokofiev's Violin Concerto No 2 with Britten's Spring Symphony eludes me.

And hasn't Gergiev given us plenty of Prokofiev with the LSO recently anyway? I don't understand the implications of Daniel Harding sticking his flag in that territory too. But whatevs.

The soloist in the Prokofiev was Viktoria Mullova, supercool in zebra print dress over black leggings and flat ankle boots. Her performance was far from routine, and never less than accomplished, but somehow it failed to catch fire. The same could be said of the orchestra's response, despite its balance and refinement. Is it really that insubstantial a work, or did it just sound that way? Perhaps Harding just wanted to avoid vulgarity, but its sweet-centred lyricism came across as chocolate boxy.

Britten's Spring Symphony was far more satisfying, not to mentioned well timed. With the clocks going forward in the morning, and (finally) some coat-ditching weather, it really did feel like the first day of spring.

The Spring Symphony is unusual in demanding a full orchestra, then giving it remarkably little to do for most of the time. Vocal music dominates, and the various English poems are often lightly orchestrated or not at all.

The London Symphony Chorus sparkled in the many a cappella choral sections, as did the score-free and note-perfect Tiffin Boys' Choir. The soloists, Susan Gritton, Sarah Connolly and Mark Padmore, radiated the joys of spring - or perhaps just a long Sunday lie-in and a good lunch. Freshness and charm pervaded throughout. Harding deftly wove together the awkward open textures, skilfully building the tension before releasing the work's final explosion. Spring at last.

Ian Bostridge in St John Passion at the Barbican

St John Passion - Academy of Ancient Music/Layton - Barbican, 14 March 2008

What a Bach fix, two St John Passions in London in one month. The previous one, with the OAE at the Queen Elizabeth Hall, was a small-scale, conductor-less (or as the OAE no doubt see it, conductor-free) affair. Here, the Academy of Ancient Music chose to deploy larger forces - 26 in the orchestra and 28 in the choir - and had Stephen Layton to conduct them. This immediately lost them the intimacy and personal touch the OAE had brought -- but in the big Barbican Hall that's always a tough trick to pull off anyway.

The most obvious difference was in the choral sound. The OAE used a small, more 'authentic' group, which included the soloists. It never quite integrated the different voices. Tonight's choir were the well-schooled Polyphony. Their glorious homogeneous sound had a more celestial ring than their dramatic role might seem to demand, but it formed the bedrock of Layton's distinctly theatrical reading. Brisk tempos alternated with pointed silences; the orchestra suddenly cut out for a cappella choral repeats. Though the orchestra lacked a final touch of polish, their sound was at least perfectly balanced, one of the advantages of having a conductor on board.

The soloists were sensibly placed on raised platforms amongst the orchestra, where they could see the conductor, and the audience could see them. Ian Bostridge, up front throughout as Evangelist, chose to pick through the recitative line-by-line, as if he was thinking aloud, rather than telling a story. But at least it sounded attractive enough.

His decision to shoulder all the tenor arias as well wasn't the smartest of choices. Here, strained high notes lent an ever-increasingly desperate edge to his singing.

The other soloists were impressive, in particular countertenor Michael Chance. Who cares if his voice is showing his age? - his heartfelt Es ist vollbracht was quite properly the emotional crux of the work.

Carolyn Sampson inevitably added a touch of glamour despite her rather dowdy black frock. Her crystal-pure tone and refined phrasing seemed tailor-made for the soprano arias. Her expression though (and I may be doing her a gross injustice here) sometimes gave the impression she was trying to stifle a giggle. Basses Roderick Williams and James Rutherford provided solid and unstarry support.

I didn't mind being asked at the start not to applaud, but Stephen Layton stretched matters a bit far when he held his arms aloft for a dramatically extended silence at the very end. Violinists' elbows started to dip as we passed what must have been the minute mark. There's respect and there's power-tripping, and this trod the line rather too closely.

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.

They only want to be your Friend - membership schemes at London music venues

Is it worth forking out for Friends' or Members' privileges at London's classical music venues? This is my experience:

Royal Opera House Friends £78 

The sell - Priority booking, dress rehearsal tickets, and a magazine

The truth - Friends can book earlier than the general public can, but there's a (unofficial) seniority system in operation which means longer-standing Friends are dealt with before newer ones. The Royal Opera House hold back a proportion of main house tickets for sale to the general public, so in theory you don't need to join the Friends to get a seat. What Friends' membership does give you is a wider choice of seats, and a greater chance of getting into popular Linbury Studio shows.

Although Friends can apply for dress rehearsal tickets for £10 (not open to the general public), there are only a limited number available, and in practice I've applied many times and never been allocated any.

The magazine comes, which four times a year, is really well put together - better in fact than many commercial publications. I'd happily buy it if it was available in the shops.

ENO Friends £50

The sell - Priority booking and dress rehearsal tickets

The truth - ENO shows rarely sell strongly in advance, so the advantages of priority booking are debatable. Coupled with which ENO don't always let you know when booking starts anyway.

Dress rehearsal tickets cost £10-20 and rarely seem to sell out. They're not available to the general public, and for many people are the main advantage of membership, costing up to 4x less than full-price tickets.

Southbank Centre Membership £45 or £25

The sell - Limited priority booking, no booking fee. At the £45 level only you also get free entry to the Hayward Gallery, members' bar, some special events

The truth - Priority booking, in the Southbank Centre's book, just means you get a day or so's advance notice over the general public - and even then it doesn't apply for all events. The only time I've found it an asset is for the most popular contemporary music events, especially the Meltdown Festival. Even then it's a bit of a lottery - tickets for some events can disappear in ten minutes. The booking fee waiver is obviously helpful if you book a lot, though why they charge £2 for booking in the first place is  mystery.

The members' bar is just as crowded as every other bar in the place, but at least it's got terrific river views. Hayward exhibitions currently charge £9 for entrance.

Barbican Membership £20

The sell - Priority booking for most events, 20% discount off most tickets, 15% off in Barbican cafés, bars and shop, a few special events

The truth - Some artists, like Cecilia Bartoli and Juan Diego Flórez, can sell out the Barbican almost instantly, months in advance. This is when priority booking comes in useful. The discounts are the real draw with this membership though. If you go to the Barbican regularly, membership can pay for itself many times over. And how many memberships - anywhere - give you a food and drink discount?

Wigmore Hall Friends £35 upwards

The sell - Priority booking, 10% discount on CDs and books sold at the Hall

The truth - The Wigmore Hall is teeny weeny, and stars like Andreas Scholl and Angelika Kirschlager can sell it out instantly. Unlike the Royal Opera House, the Wigmore doesn't hold back any tickets for the public, and these days several concerts sell out before public booking opens. So (unless you're lucky with returns), membership may be the only way to get tickets for some artists. Even then, the basic £35 membership is no guarantee, so upgrading to the higher priority of the higher levels (£85+) may be required. An upgrade also makes it more likely you'll get your preferred seat allocation, as the Friends booking process only allows you to state seat preferences, not to pick your seats.

Natalie Dessay charms the Barbican

Natalie Dessay / Concerto Köln / Evelino Pido - Barbican, 26 January 2008

Dammit. If I'd known Natalie Dessay was going to change frocks in the interval, I'd have taken some pics at half time. What you see here is the pink-trimmed tuxedo suit she sported for the second half of the evening. In the first half, it was a long clingy black dress with cutaway shoulders, the sort that never wrinkles no matter how badly you pack it.

But I'd never have guessed she was the frock-changing type tonight. She stomped on with a scowl, as if she'd been tricked into appearing, and stood there glowering and chewing the inside of her cheek as she waited for her entrance. Just nerves? Probably. Something certainly affected her intonation in the opening O Nube, and I don't think it was the cough that she prefaced it with. She twisted her hands together and picked at her cuticles as she sang. Of course everyone in London loves Natalie after her barnstorming, JDF-matching performance in La Fille du Régiment at the Royal Opera House twelve months ago, so flaws were forgiven, and she got a rocketing ovation.

Perhaps this buoyed her, because she loosened up in the mad scene from I Puritani, despite another cough at the start. Notes were more accurately placed, her posture more relaxed. It was an emotionally-charged performance, lent an improvised air by a nebulous characterisation. Although she cracked on the odd high note, and wasn't always able to make dynamic shifts evenly (problems that persisted all evening), this barely detracted from the impact of a stunning performance.

Concerto Köln, conducted by Evelino Pido, provided detailed and attentive support. The rapport between Pido and Dessay was audible and visible as he communicated her every vocal gesture to the orchestra.

Often the orchestral element in this sort of concert is bland filler, but the brief Overture from Roberto Devereux that opened the evening was crisply-executed and thrilling, its God Save the Queen motif providing some inevitable giggles.

Cherubini's 25-minute Symphony in D major, which opened the second half, was more of an uphill struggle. Probably more Cherubini's fault than Concerto Köln's - his construction is so immaculate that every note sounds inevitable, to the point of predictability. Concerto Köln and a sweat-bathed Pido certainly did justice to this rarely-aired work, but I think it's something I'd rather hear in some other context than slap-bang in the middle of a bel canto recital.

It was a relief to have Natalie back on stage - and she looked a lot more comfortable swathed in her tuxedo suit than she had in the skimpy dress. It was all Verdi for her second half, beginning with a Caro Nome of featherlight charm, man-pants notwithstanding. She slowly walked off the stage as she sang her last few bars, sustaining the long piano notes rock-solid as she descended the steps to the exit. What was going on? Pido looked a little confused, though it was hard to tell how much of that was theatrics. A Barbican flunky sprung up on stage with a chair. Perhaps that was the reason for Natalie's departure, as she reappeared to take a seat in it while Pido spun the orchestra through the Traviata Act I Prelude.

At this point I noticed an unexpected addition to her hairstyle. At first I mistook it for a loose strand, but no, photographic evidence supported my suspicions. Tears For Fears live on in the skinny plait tucked behind Natalie Dessay's left ear. So that's what she was up to during the Cherubini.

The big finale was the solo from the end of La traviata's first act.  I awaited another pre-aria cough, but none came. What a place to drop your weapon. Natalie's Violetta was in the rudest of health, a feisty mademoiselle short on vulnerability, long on resolve. She sang with grace, fluid charm and immense joie de vivre. Coloratura and ornament never sounded rushed, pushed or purely decorative. As she demonstrated so emphatically in La Fille du Régiment, in her hands it is a vital dramatic tool, seamlessly integrated into the vocal line. What seemed on paper the riskiest part of the programme for a soprano of Natalie Dessay's abilities turned out to be its greatest triumph.

As I (still) haven't seen Netrebko's Covent Garden Traviata (wipes away a tear), I can't compare  - but in a week of high-profile cancellations, Natalie scores bonus points for simply turning up.

A standing ovation elicited two encores and the boldest singing of the night in Oh quante volte from I Capuleti e i Montecchi and Spargi d'amaro pianto from Lucia di Lammermoor.

Teh order of play:
Donizetti - Overture from Roberto Devereux
Donizetti - O Nube + Cabaletta from Maria Stuarda
Bellini - O rendetemi...Qui la voce...Vien diletto from I Puritani
***tea break***
Cherubini - Symphony in D major
Verdi - Caro Nome from Rigoletto
Verdi - Prelude from La traviata
Verdi - 'E Strano…Ah fors’e lui… Sempre libera from La traviata

encores:
Bellini - Oh quante volte from I Capuleti e i Montecchi
Donizetti - Spargi d'amaro pianto from Lucia di Lammermoor

And here's Natalie Dessay's Traviata. Sempre Libera as broadcast on France 2 TV on December 9th 2007: