Intermezzo

Night of the Juggalo Zombies - Rolando Villazon in new Berlin Eugene Onegin

Eugene Onegin - Staatsoper Unter den Linden, Berlin, 27 September 2008

 
production photos: Monika Rittershaus; curtain call photos: intermezzo.typepad.com

Who is Eugene Onegin all about? Onegin or Tatyana? That's the question usually asked. Director Achim Freyer seems to think it's all about himself. Ignoring the demands of the story and the music, he's simply slotted his new Berlin Staatsoper production into his familiar style of puppety characters, painterly sets and disengaged movement. This abnormal level of stylisation and artificiality may enhance a Zauberflote, but it's a treatment that reveals little about the down-to-earth and richly characterised Eugene Onegin. Indeed if you watched the whole thing with your fingers in your ears, you'd be hard pressed to guess what opera was in front of you.

There's a bargain-basement look (what funding crisis?)to the bare stage, sheeted in white for the first two acts, whipped away to reveal glossy black for the last. The costumes were my favourite part of the design concept - anonymous black garments rolled in whitewash that suggest uniformity but also snow and dusty decay.

Freyer has the whole cast on the steeply-raked stage most of the time, made-up like an Insane Clown Posse vid, shuffling up and down and across in a series of extended painful-looking zombie movements, a sort of barking mad dance. Chairs are wielded, waved, sometimes even sat on, a substitute for any human contact. 

The whole extended sequence is repeated four and a half times over the three hours - yes, there's a reason why all the production photos seem to look the same. (Once I twigged this, three reps in, I felt enormously clever - until I realised it had taken me two hours to grasp it). The occasional brief respites, like the hundreds of red ping pong balls that cascade down the stage as Onegin rejects Tatyana, are too crudely executed to provoke anything except embarrassed giggles.

Of course this all means that the action doesn't fit the situation, but that's Freyer's point. Life is a series of endlessly repeating loops, without meaning; everything is governed by fate.

Now to be fair, that's a perspective that could be validly drawn from Onegin. But it's far from the only one. And it certainly doesn't bear non-stop exploration to the exclusion of everything else in the opera. Tchaikowsky allows his characters thoughts and actions, with consequences, but Freyer's too busy taking three hours to make one simple point to investigate anything else. As the second act heckler (incidentally young and normal-looking) shouted, "Freyer is boring".

This production isn't half as clever or beautiful as it thinks it is, just rather silly. But in an honest, childlike way, not a manipulative or irritating one. And its chilly detachment does at least avoid the gasping and clutching and cloying sentimentality of many conventional interpretations. In short, it gives the music room to breathe.

Daniel Barenboim's reading was predictably muscular and confident, fortuitously matched to the production. He raced brusquely through the crowd scenes as if he'd rather leave them out altogether, and he certainly left the chorus behind at a few points. For the soloists he was attentive and sympathetic, moulding the orchestra around them, creating the characterisations that the production concept denied. Only the dramatically lingering finale had the least hint of sentimentality.

Rolando Villazón was someone else who positively benefited from the production. The constrained movement encouraged rather anonymous vocalising from many in the cast. Rolando's Lensky moved like a zombie but he sounded like a living, breathing person, full of fire and passion, and his physical stillness focussed and intensified his energy.

He sang in a less (technically) 'open' way than he had in Don Carlo at Covent Garden. But the upside was a voice that sounded totally under his control, with never a hint of strain or cracking. The highest notes pushed him to his limits, but again it was controlled, with just the occasional dip off pitch. On stage for the whole time, often in weird contorted poses, he must have been in some physical discomfort (if not real pain) by the end, but this never found its way into his singing.

If he wasn't already a star, a performance like this would make him one - was that why Freyer placed him centre stage, at the heart of the action? - if there's one character Onegin is not 'about', it's Lensky, after all. Villazón fans could hardly complain about either the quality or the quantity of Rolando on show.

Rene Pape's Gremin was as dignified as his clown makeup allowed him to be, though the chill of the production seemed to have worked its way into his bones. Fine singing, but missing that final degree of commitment.

Beside these two, the other singers largely faded into the background. Roman Trekel sang Onegin competently enough, but if you didn't know the opera was titled Eugene Onegin, you'd never guess from his retiring performance.

Anna Samuil was altogether too detached to be engaging, and brought little sense of Tatyana's emotional development to the final act.

Margarita Nekrasova, a sturdy and imposing Nurse, was the most impressive amongst the smaller roles and Stephan Rügamer's Triquet was nicely sung.

At the end, the boos for Freyer at the end predictably drowned out the applause. The earlier heckler wasn't bored enough to leave - he hung around to add his voice to the masses. It was touching to see both Rolando Villazón and Daniel Barenboim grasp the elderly director's arm in a gesture of solidarity. But I predict with confidence that this production won't be joining Berlin's repertory staples.

The full official photo gallery is here, there are some more press pictures here, and some more curtain call shots below - captioned because you'll need it..... 

 

 

Rolando Villazón and Anna Samuil: 

 

Rolando Villazón, Maria Gortsevkaya (Olga) and Margarita Nekrasova:

 

Rolando Villazón:

 

 

 

Rene Pape and Roman Trekel:

 

 

Rene Pape:

 

Rolando Villazón and Daniel Barenboim - comparing injuries?:

 

 

 

 

 

Rolando Villazon Pandacam !!

 

Live from Berlin !! well, live-ish.

Yup, in Achim Freyer's new, minimalist production of Eugen Onegin for the Staatsoper which premiered tonight in front of teh Merkin, the only thing there was plenty of was panstik. And trowels, I venture.

Rolando was on stage for the whole three hours, more or less. Centre stage! Even after he died! It was that sort of show. Anyone who'd gone just to see Rolando could hardly feel short-changed.

Though it looked like the director had taken all the money for the sets and spent it on mind-bending drugs instead, it actually wasn't too bad, in a Nightmare Before Christmas sort of a way. Not distracting, not irritating, just a little silly (though inevitably it got as many boos as cheers, and even a mid-show heckler).

Rolando's Lensky pretty much pwned it, adding a vital human touch amidst the slo-mo zombie posturing of the Konzept. Rene Pape made a late bid for the top spot with his splendid Gremin, but it's hard to be noble in Mr Blobby makeup.

The path was clear for Daniel Barenboim to grab that unoccupied audience attention and make the orchestra the centre of the opera. Perhaps that was the idea all along.......?

More, much more, tomorrow..........

Barenboim and West-Eastern Divan Orchestra end their summer in Paris

 West-Eastern Divan Orchestra / Barenboim / Meier / O'Neill / Pape - Salle Pleyel, Paris, 25 August 2008

Schoenberg Variations for Orchestra, Op.31
Wagner Die Walküre, Act I

Just a few days after the Barenboim/Divan Proms, I was in Paris for second helpings - quite literally in the case of the Schoenberg Orchestral Variations, a repeat of the lush, expansive London performance. 

The Parisian audience, totally starved of music for the last month (when they say everything shuts down in Paris in August, they mean it), lapped it up. Despite charging double the regular Salle Pleyel prices (and ouch, that rampant Euro really hurts these days), the concert was a sell-out. A long and over-optimistic returns queue snaked across the entrance as I arrived. A few enterprising punters even waved banknotes hopefully at the incoming ticket holders. Was it really just because there was nothing else on that night? Or had it become, despite low-key publicity, a bit of an Occasion? It was reported that Barenboim had paid Sarko a visit earlier in the day, an encouraging sign. Can you imagine Gordon 'Arctic Monkeys' Brown owning up to having even heard of Daniel Barenboim?

Barenboim's Wagner is of course legendary, and I'm sure Die Walküre and its starry trio of soloists were the main attraction of the evening for many.

Although this was a concert performance, there were no seats and no scores for the singers.

Of the three, Waltraud Meier proved most able to take advantage of this, ignore the surroundings and throw herself into her role, despite the conductor's podium separating her from her Siegmund, Simon O'Neill.  Her ever-unpredictable intonation firmed up as she progressed, and her voice seemed as agelessly smooth as her forehead (compare and contrast if you will with a violinist half her age, left).

O'Neill's sound, clean and hard-edged, is not the biggest voice, but it cut through the orchestra like a laser. A long-breathed "Wälse!" that left him purple-faced was one of several moments that tested his limits, and he looked less at ease with the compromises of the concert format than Meier.  Good Wagnerian tenors are in short supply, and he's definitely in the top drawer. But I find the voice simply efficient, like bleach scouring a blocked drain, and hard to warm to.

Rene Pape was his usual laconic self. Added to this, the part of Hunding lies a little low for him, so it was a less than jaw-dropping performance, but the natural beauty of his voice shone through.

Almost inevitably though, Barenboim was the real star, teasing a thrilling performance from the orchestra, even if it lacked a little of the weight and refinement customary in his Wagner.

I don't think I've ever heard applause quite as shattering and prolonged as what followed. There was an almost instant standing ovation, and few audience members left, even though Barenboim took his time going round each orchestra member thanking them individually. He hugged, he kissed, he shook hands. Another first - I've never seen him smile so genuinely or respond so warmly as he did to the young musicians of the orchestra.

There was to be no encore though - just a speech (in perfect French).

Barenboim started by explaining his extended individual congratulations - it was because it was their "last concert". Leader Michael Barenboim almost jumped out of his seat, then sank back as his father corrected himself "that is, the last concert of the summer".

He went on to say that each musician had shown enormous courage in coming to play in the orchestra.

"It's not a political project, but a third way. We think only that there's no military solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. We want to learn to live together".

 

 

Daniel Barenboim's Divan returns to Proms

Proms 38 and 39: West-Eastern Divan Orchestra / Barenboim - Royal Albert Hall, 14 August 2008

Haydn Sinfonia Concertante in B flat major, for oboe, bassoon, violin, cello
Schoenberg Variations for Orchestra, Op.31
Brahms Symphony No.4
Encore: Wagner Prelude, Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg

Pierre Boulez Mémoriale (... explosante-fixe ... Originel)
Stravinsky L'histoire du soldat

The surgical-gloved bag checks at the door and the deliberate omission of orchestra members' names from the programme were jolting reminders that for there's more to this mixed Arab-Israeli orchestra than music.

It is I suppose inevitable that the incredible feat of simply creating and sustaining a cross-divide orchestra tends to overshadow the purely musical successes. But gradually, Barenboim has shaped this assortment of musicians - professional and amateur, experienced and novice, young and even younger - into an outstanding orchestra. The fact that tonight's brass section included a few ringers from the Simon Bolivar Orchestra doesn't diminish that achievement.

What is really special about this orchestra is not just that Israeli and Arab sit side-by-side, but that it mixes such a wide range of experience. Tonight one of the Israelis was concertmaster of the Berliner Philharmoniker, Guy Braunstein, and sharing his stand was a ten year old Palestinian prodigy.

When leader Michael Barenboim bust a string in the Brahms, Guy Braunstein, sitting back in the third row, was the one who proffered a violin swap. Playing the last movement on three strings, using every spare moment to unpick the broken string so he could swiftly replace it with the spare in his pocket before the encore, he gave his junior partner a lesson in crisis management he won't forget for a while, on top of all the musical stuff. Where else could a ten year old, however talented, get that sort of training?

And why don't we have something similar in Britain? Bringing together warring nations may be beyond the scope of British orchestras, but putting together a group from mixed musical backgrounds could rejuvenate the approach of the professionals as well as giving the youngsters the sort of practical training they could never receive from any youth orchestra, however good.

They gave Haydn's Sinfonia Concertante an elegant, hard-edged workout, if rather short on charm. Barenboim, with the slightly disdainful air of a man obliged to hold his wife's handbag, occasionally stood back to investigate his pockets or swab himself with a handkerchief. Perhaps he was just demonstrating that the orchestra and soloists were well-enough rehearsed to motor along without his hand at the wheel.

He swung back to full-attention mode and Schoenberg's Variations for Orchestra emerged in luxuriant bloom, at once precisely delineated and expressively glowing, a scorching rebuttal to anyone who claims that twelve tone music is automatically incomprehensible or devoid of all feeling.

A short-breathed opening belied an expansive reading of Brahms' Fourth Symphony.  A balance weighted more toward the formal than the expressive element was perhaps to be expected, and Barenboim's sculptural definition securely contained its romantic sweep. I found myself impressed rather than moved.

It was a shame the enthusiastic applause and cheering had to be accompanied by an undercurrent of booing  - no doubt directed at the political rather than the musical element, but grossly unfair on the musicians.

Having commented that he's usually asked to say what's wrong with the Middle East, Barenboim claimed "you've just heard what’s right with the Middle East” before baiting another tiresome faction of his opponents with a rousing encore of Wagner’s first Meistersinger prelude.

More cheering, more booing, and I wasn't sure if the Palestinian flag unrolled in the Arena was a gesture of support or criticism - either way, it struck a jarringly divisive note next to the hugging and handshaking of the orchestra members.

Most of the orchestra finished for the night at this point, leaving just a handful to return an hour later for the late night concert. This began with the brief shards of Pierre Boulez's Stravinsky tribute Mémoriale (... explosante-fixe ... Originel), followed by the surprise appearance of the composer himself on stage.

Then came another living legend, this time actor/writer/director Patrice Chéreau, reading all the speaking parts in Stravinsky's L'histoire du soldat. This work has too many words and too little music to be improved by such an economically-textured approach, even when the performer is as distinguished as Chéreau. And of course the condensation of all roles into one performer limits spontaneity and removes one layer of engagement. Although Chéreau's performance was powerful and charismatic - or maybe because it was - the music took on the character of interludes to a monologue, illustrative asides. This was far from Stravinsky's intent. It's a difficult work to pull off, and while this performance displayed the content effectively enough, it didn't communicate the essence.

 

 

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.

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?)

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.

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 some ways a polite prefiguration in its alternation of lyricism and expressive power. Barenboim's presentation was all grace and clarity. A more probing, even playful touch came in the textural explorations of the No 11.

The featherweights of the bunch, No's 19 and 20, had to go somewhere in the series, and here they landed. Even Barenboim couldn't unearth any hidden treasures here, but at least he brought great charm to bear.

Nothing could have provided greater contrast to the Appassionata. The series has so far provided more insight into Barenboim than into Beethoven.

But his bold, remarkable performance redrew this familiar work in all its raw brilliance. Thundering rage sank into repose, only to mount again, the compulsion and futility of battling the inevitable never so blindingly displayed.

Exactly halfway through the series, have we reached its high point?

Barenboim's Beethoven - Part 3 - in which Mr Barenboim stumbles but does not fall

Daniel Barenboim - Royal Festival Hall, 3 February 2008

Beethoven:
Sonata in C minor, No 8 (Pathétique)
Sonata in A flat, No 12
Sonata in G, No 25
Sonata in A, No 28

Daniel Barenboim has been getting massive audience ovations at every performance in his Beethoven sonata cycle, but at least for the first half of tonight's performance it was barely merited. A blundering, heavy-handed approach to the Pathétique Sonata, where exaggerated contrasts of dynamics and tempo substituted for genuine connection, failed to convince at any point. The treatment was simply too robust for the subtleties of the work, though I was impressed by the improvisatory ability Barenboim demonstrated where his recollection of the score was imperfect.

The A flat Sonata was an improvement, Barenboim's childlike glee in thundering out the cannon shot motifs in the march section quite apparent. He looked even rougher than he had at his previous concert - handkerchief frequently deployed, slugging down water the minute he stepped off stage. Perhaps he simply wasn't able to give his all tonight.

But he accepted the first-half applause gracefully and gratefully, acknowledging each audience member within eye-shot as individually as it was possible to do, and even applauding back to a small boy who was part of the lucky few sitting on the platform.

The charming G major Sonata benefited from some more subtle handling, and was a delight throughout. If anything has surprised me so far in this series, it's how much more convincing Barenboim is in these less imposing works, and what a delicate touch he can apply to them.

In yet another example of the thoughtful and intelligent programming which has characterised the series, this led perfectly into the intimate and elegiac A major Sonata, the first of the 'late' sonatas. Barenboim seemed perfectly attuned to its predominant mood of twinkling nostalgia, and gave an open-hearted performance of real warmth and great refinement, glossing over the few key fumbles as if they were wrinkles on a well-loved face. This time the standing ovation was thoroughly deserved.

Daniel Barenboim does Beethoven - Part 2

Daniel Barenboim - Royal Festival Hall, 3 February 2008

Beethoven:
Sonata in A, No 2
Sonata in D minor, No 17 (Tempest)
Sonata in G, No 10
Sonata in E flat, No 26 (Les Adieux)

With this second concert, we're now a quarter of the way through Daniel Barenboim's Beethoven sonata series at the Royal Festival Hall . And it's proving utterly compelling stuff. Performing them out of sequence has allowed a different emphasis in each concert. The first one was a daytrip around Beethoven- the edited highlights of his musical journey from classicism through harmonic and structural experiment and on to the monumental Hammerklavier. For today's second concert, chronology was set aside, and Barenboim's selection led in a more thematic fashion to the exuberance of Les Adieux.

Looking relaxed, Barenboim greeted each packed section of the hall in turn, including several rows squeezed behind the piano on the platform, before settling down to play. He carried on glancing over every now and then as he played. He sure knows how to charm an audience.

The normally igloo-like Royal Festival Hall was baking today. No surprise that, dressed in a businesslike suit and tie in deference to the 3pm start, Barenboim soon looked warm. He took every opportunity to mop his brow with a huge handkerchief that he'd secreted inside the piano, even grabbing it with one hand while he played on with the other. But it didn't seem to bother him that much. Here he was, tapping his feet and shrugging his shoulders as the music took him. A couple of times it even looked as if he might get up and dance. He seemed set on having fun.

I've often found his recordings ruthlessly uncompromising, all meat and no potatoes, and while he's hardly gone vegetarian, there was a playfulness and spontaneity that particularly suited this programme. From the champagne sparkle of the opening No 2 Sonata to the regal glow of Les Adieux there was a warmth that even the turbulent storm-tossed allegro of the Tempest barely interrupted. A focussed and visionary display of Beethoven's joyfully affirmative aspect - or a one-sided account? Probably both, but it's hard to argue with a case so convincingly presented. The last thing I expected from this series was to learn anything new, but the way Barenboim is drawing out connected strands in his programming and performance is proving revelatory.   

The (inevitable?) standing ovation. Spot teh Sir Peter Hall:

the Barenboim, the Beethoven and the baby

Daniel Barenboim - Royal Festival Hall, 28 January 2008

Beethoven:
Sonata in F minor, No 1
Sonata in E flat, No 18
Sonata in B flat, No 29 (Hammerklavier)

At last! I saw Anna Netrebko! Unfortunately not in La traviata at Covent Garden, but flying down the Royal Festival Hall stairs in a sequinned mini to get backstage and congratulate Maestro Barenboim on a triumphant start to his Beethoven sonata series.

Also spotted in the packed out hall: Joanna Lumley, striking in peach tweed, and an impressive number of musicians, including ever-chic Mitsuko Uchida in a pleaty Miyake ensemble and Hogan sneaks.

Barenboim was in town to play the first in a series of eight concerts which will cover all 32 of Beethoven's piano sonatas. Not in chronological order, ohno - does anyone actually do that these days? Instead he has devised an exquisitely weighted programme with a mix of periods and styles in each concert, starting the series with the first sonata and ending with the last.

It was clear tonight's audience might be something of a pushover from the thundering applause Barenboim received simply for turning up. Small in stature but a teeny bit terrifying, in the Gergiev mould, you could imagine him back in Milan subduing the testy La Scala orchestra with just a glance. He paused, gracious but unsmiling, to acknowledge his greeting before taking his seat at the piano.

This was the first time I'd visited the Royal Festival Hall since its top-secret month-long holiday season lockup. Have they had someone in to sort out the formerly cr@ptastic acoustics? The piano certainly sounded a million times better that it has at any other time since the refurbished hall opened last July. Or has the piano been replaced? There was a fabulous ping and clarity to the tone, unmuffled even from my side gallery seat.

Barenboim made the most of it with a delightfully transparent and graceful reading of Beethoven's first Sonata, phrases outlined with the sort of exquisitely refined pedalling that rarely blurred the content.

To the deceptively complex E flat Sonata he brought levity, arching melodic line, and an explosive finale, slapping his foot down foursquare to the floor, strictly dancing.

The footslapping increased in the Hammerklavier Sonata. And there was more aggression in it now. Barenboim was going to grab this monster and wrestle it to the ground. Remarkably poised after his rampage through the first two movements, he lost focus in the lengthy adagio that followed. Whether it was me, him, or the unexpected accompaniment of a wailing baby, I don't know, but the tapestry started to unravel here. The closing movement brought a return of clarity, and the ferociously complex fugue provided a bravura flourish of an ending, despite upping the evening's fingerfudge score by more than a few points.

A standing ovation and a bouquet later, the night still wasn't over. To cap it off, Daniel Barenboim was presented with the Royal Philharmonic Society’s Gold Medal by the society's president. Of which I failed to get a great photo, despite being mere feet away, but the blurry bestof is below anyway.

Barenboim gets teh gong:

Barenboim's Tristan und Isolde in Milan

Tristan und Isolde - Teatro alla Scala, Milan, 28 December 2007

   

The first night of Tristan und Isolde at La Scala was recorded for broadcast, so I was able to check out some quality clips on YouTube (here) before my own visit. This turned out to be quite useful, as my second-row box seat, though hugely €€€, didn't have the greatest of views:

Though with the whole run sold out weeks in advance, I was lucky to get anything at all by booking a mere few days ahead. I just grabbed the only return available.

The square outside the theatre was lit up for the holidays, with falling snowflakes and multi-lingual messages of festive cheer projected on to the buildings' facades :

La Scala really went to town on the programme, a 400 page brick of a hardback book (left) complete with full libretto, 100 pp. of watch ads, cast lists for every La Scala Tristan production evah, etc, etc. Irresistible - so I dropped the required €20.

Before curtain up, an announcement that Ian Storey (Tristan) was indisposto generated an audible collective sharp intake of breath - hope perhaps that he might be replaced by someone the audience had actually heard of? - followed by a collective sigh as the announcer went on to say he was going to soldier on bravely. Bah. 

Vocally, though he was rather uneven, the crux of his ailment seemed to be amnesia - he was loudly prompted through a chunk of the last act.

From the expression on his face at the end, you'd think he was being handed a twenty year sentence without parole rather than the warm applause he actually received. I don't think he's anyone's ideal Tristan, but given the world heldentenor shortage and the barrel-scraping other houses have been forced into, he's really not that bad. And it's hard to fault him as an actor - he hardly twinkles with star quality, but he's a solid and credible performer.

Waltraud Meier made a rather more reliable Isolde, only the very highest notes eluding her. Her steely presence was arresting, though it lacked the vulnerable edge that would have made it touching. Perhaps the curiously well-rested appearance of her forehead (as first spotted by the eagle-eyed OperaChic) creates difficulties in projecting the necessary emotion, hmmm.

A surprise weakness in the cast was the normally reliable Matti Salminen, whose König Marke was more like a befuddled grandad woken inopportunely from a nap than the wronged husband and betrayed friend.

Patrice Chéreau's ohso predictable production caused no offence, but other than camouflaging a few corpulent Wagnerian frames in flattering overcoating, did no real favours either.

The only really interesting touch was in the detail of the set. Chéreau's usual grim indeterminate wharfside environment was tweaked into a fittingly North Italian ambience with ruddy clay Roman walls and pointy cypress trees. It reminded me of those Italian Renaissance paintings where everything from the birth of Jesus to St Jerome in the wilderness seems to be taking place on a small hillside outside Florence.

If only we could have had some Piero pastels for the costumes instead of, once again, the drab Echo & the Bunnymen rags. Once, this style must have looked new and exciting, but now when every other Wagner production borrows it, isn't it time to try something different?

At least Barenboim was there to save the day (sort of). His long acquaintance with the score paid off in a monumentally structured orchestral performance of immaculate Wiener-like finesse. If at times Barenboim's tempo seemed languorous, it was justified later in framing the contrasting sections, forever inching inexorably to the finishing line.

It was sometimes hard to believe this was 'just' an opera house orchestra, with their lush string sound, polished brass and exquisite balance. The three Vorspiele were an opportunity to just sit back and luxuriate in the sound of the orchestra without the distraction (and that's what it often was) of singers and movement. These were for me the only truly engaging episodes in the whole evening. The orchestra joined Barenboim on stage to take a bow at the end, something they deserved rather more than certain of the singers.

 

Angela Hewitt's Bach and Barenboim's mighty Wiener

Angela Hewitt - Cadogan Hall, 3 September 2007
     and
Prom 66: Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra/Barenboim - Royal Albert Hall, 3 September 2007
     and
Prom 68: Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra/Barenboim - Royal Albert Hall, 4 September 2007

The refinement of Angela Hewitt's playing was matched by her frock choice for this lunchtime recital, a slinky teal jersey sleeveless gown and pants paired with teetering stilettos in matching satin (a risky choice for an hour at the piano?). But as it turned out she pedalled minimally, allowing the bright, pinging tone of her Fazioli piano to illuminate her midday programme, which sandwiched a couple of Scarlatti sonatas between two Bach Partitas.

She characterised each dance in the opening Partita no 1 with a clarity and delicacy that flowed through the whole programme. A little hesitancy and some uncharacteristic fluffs in this opener weren't repeated in the closing Bach Partita no 4, each phrase shaped with complete focus and attention. 

Although Domenico Scarlatti was a contemporary of Bach, the two sonatas performed, K9 and K29, sound as if they come from another century, even another planet. Their sparky playfulness and invention provided just the right amount of contrast with the Bach.

Unfortunately, the BBC radio recording destroys the delicacy and intimacy of Hewitt's performance with a cavernous quality that wasn't at all apparent at the recital. But if you're curious about what a piano might sound like at the bottom of a well, it's worth a couple of minutes attention.

Given the tube strike which started a couple of hours earlier, it was surprising to see a full house for Barenboim and the Vienna Philharmonic in the evening, but it was worth any amount of difficulty to see a performance of this calibre.

They opened with Schubert's light and Mozartean fifth Symphony, composed when he was just 19. Finessing that tricky blend of assurance and freshness, the Vienna Phil gave the most charming and delightful performance.

Having no doubt drilled these consummate musicians to perfection in rehearsal, Barenboim simply waved his arms in the air now and again as if he was waiting for his deodorant to dry.

The main course of the evening was Bruckner's Symphony no 4, which according to the programme was performed in the original 1874 version. I didn't notice any differences from the more usually played 1880 version so I'm a bit baffled by this.

Anyway, who cares, it was a marvel from start to finish. Barenboim's conception had the air of confidence - no muddle and no theatrics. From the moment the horns reached out over the rippling strings in the opening bars through to the blazing finale there was not a second's drop in concentration. The burnished sweep of the string section was the foundation for some immaculate and inspired playing from the wind and brass as they shaped the long melodic phrases.

It really is impossible to pick out any one of the finely-crafted moments or any musician for special praise. Sometimes a great performance seems to be constructed in front of you from the base up - this one felt as if it had been born perfect, fully-formed, and simply unveiled to us slowly, second by second.

The tube strike finally managed to get its claws into the Proms with the Vienna Phil's second and final Prom the next day. There were great toothless gaps in the stalls seats, and even the arena could have squeezed a few more standing customers in.

It would have been unreasonable to expect anything of the intensity of the previous day's Bruckner, and indeed this was a much more relaxed affair.

If the previous night had focused on architecture and construction, this one was about painting. The huge textural differences between each of its four sections were what really leapt out from a surprisingly abrasive take on Bartók's Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta. Ligeti's brief Atmosphères was similarly rough-hewn, its curious shapes grinding up against each other.

The other two pieces, Kodály's Dances from Galánta and Enescu's Romanian Rhapsody No. 1 were delivered immaculately, and with tremendous verve. But despite their common Central European ancestry, their dancing rhythms seemed to belong on a different programme from the Bartók and Ligeti. Then again, perhaps that was the point.

The almost inevitable thundering ovation drew a couple of lively Strauss encores - the Vienna Phil as comfortable with these as with everything else they'd played.

Before the concert I slipped in to Proms head Nicholas Kenyon's audience Q&A session. This drew mostly the predictable Why can't we have more/less [insert name here] questions. However Kenyon did reveal that the Proms cost £8.5m, of which only £3.5m was covered by ticket receipts, the BBC footing the rest. For how long I wonder?