Intermezzo

Iestyn Show

Iestyn Davies / Richard Egarr - Wigmore Hall, 12 January 2011

 
More pics here.
Ferrari Voglio di vita uscir     Kapsberger Figlio dormi     Frescobaldi Toccata Settima from Il secondo libro (solo harpsichord), Se l’aura spira     Ferrari Queste pungenti spine     Frescobaldi Capriccio sopra Ut, re, mi, fa, sol, la (solo harpsichord)      Cesti Selino’s Lament from Argia     Merula Canzonetta spirituale sopra alla nonna     Porpora Oh se fosse il mio core     Handel Suite No. 3 in D minor HWV428 (solo harpsichord)     Vivaldi Pianti, sospiri e dimandar mercede    
Encores - Handel Furibondo spira il vento from Partenope     Trad. She Moved Through the Fair

Was the photo taken before, during or after? The champagne flowed freely on Thursday night as Wigmore Hall's director John Gilhooly celebrated his 10th anniversary together with a very Wigmore set of guests. Amongst the pearls, mayoral chains and dog collars lurked TRH The Duke of Kent and Princess Alexandra, Lady Antonia Fraser, Ian McEwan and Sam West.

This was no gala event though but serious music-making at the very highest level. After a succession of musical disappointments in the last few weeks, most of which I've walked out of half way, it was a joy to return to the Wigmore for an evening so perfectly constructed and executed.

A free glass for everyone at the interval may have factored into the noticeably warmer applause of the second half. Perhaps Iestyn enjoyed a drop too. It was hard to tell. He never appears to suffer from the on-stage awkwardness that bothers so many singers. Whatever the repertoire, he performs with absolute security of voice and a confidence bordering on rock star swagger.

For the first half, he dusted off a handful of hauntingly beautiful obscurities from the backwaters of the early baroque. Hunched behind a music stand, he radiated intense concentration. The musing, improvisatory quality the songs needed to bring them alive was enhanced by the minimal but perfectly judged harpsichord accompaniment Richard Egarr sprinkled behind him.

Should a singer bother to commit to memory obscure repertoire performed just once? I think these underexposed gems are worth it, and Iestyn's light and supple countertenor makes a compelling advocate. As the career of Jordi Savall evidences, if you do something well enough, the audience will come.

When he returned after the interval, the music stand was gone and the communication straight away more extrovert and immediate.  We'd moved forward a century for a couple of surging, richly-ornamented Porpora and Vivaldi cantatas which showcased Iestyn's florid coloratura and Egarr's nimble fingers in a performance so exhilarating it earned football-style roars on top of thunderous applause.

For his final trick, he covered a song even better than Boyzone. The Irish (in John Gilhooly's honour) folk song She Moved Through the Fair made a simple and lovely end to a memorable evening.

What's on in London in March

Is February over already?

Opera 

At the Royal Opera House, I Capuleti e i Montecchi with Anna Netrebko and Elina Garanca opens on 2 March. Kill for tickets.

Next up is a new double bill of Dido and Aeneas with Acis and Galatea opening 31 March. Choreographer Wayne McGregor, whose work demonstrates little musical sensibility, is the odd choice of director. Sarah Connolly, Lucy Crowe, Iestyn Davies and Danielle de Niese make their ROH debuts.

On 13 March there's a one-off performance of Verdi's Messa da Requiem . Antonio Pappano conducts Barbara Frittoli, Olga Borodina, Piotr Beczala and Ildar Abdrazakov. Sold out, but check for returns towards the date.

At ENO, there's a revival of one of their better recent productions, David Alden's Jenùfa with Amanda Roocroft.

English Touring Opera bring the Magic Flute to Hackney Empire on 12 and 14 March, with Katya Kabanova on 13 March. For authentic 'period' atmosphere (and a bargain), buy the cheapest balcony seats, then stand at the back with your beer (the balcony bar is open throughout the show).

On 2, 4 and 9 March the Royal Academy of Music present Haydn's charming La fedeltà premiata in their bijou but perfectly-formed theatre.

Jiří Bělohlávek and the BBCSO attempt an overdue rehabilitation of Martinů's Julietta in concert at the Barbican on 27 March, with Magdalena Kozena in the title role.

And on 28 March David Parry and the LPO bring Rossini's Ermione to the Royal Festival Hall. 

Not opera

At the Barbican, 7 March is the BBCSO's Xenakis day. On 11 March Thomas Quasthoff presents a Bach and Handel programme. On 12 March it's the turn of Valery Gergiev and the LSO, who perform  Parsifal's Act 3 with the awesome Rene Pape and the remarkably-tattooed Evgeny Nikitin. Bernard Haitink and the Concertgebouw visit on 14 and 15 March with Beethoven's 7th and Bruckner's 9th.

The Royal Festival Hall hosts Maurizio Pollini on 4 March and the not-so-retired-after-all Alfred Brendel on 7 March (it's a charity concert for Comic Relief and he's credited as 'poet'). On 12 March at 6pm there's a FREE concert of Oliver Knussen's vocal works, conducted by the composer himself, with Claire Booth. A few tickets remain for countertenor Philippe Jaroussky in the Purcell Room on 23 March. On 29 March Mariss Jansons and the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra are joined by Anja Harteros in a programme that includes the Eroica Symphony and Strauss's Four Last Songs.

At Wigmore Hall,  Mark Padmore visits on 12 March with a Brahms and Schubert programme. Joshua Bell and Jeremy Denk appear on 26 March. Check the website for the inevitable returns.

Surreality Show - ENO's Partenope

Partenope - English National Opera, 9 October 2008

  

Christopher Alden's new ENO production of Handel's Partenope is set in Jazz Age Paris and inspired by the surrealist photography of Man Ray. The opening scene though is more like a creepy echo of Michael Powell's Peeping Tom, as John Mark Ainsley prowls the empty stage with camera at the ready. In a multi-layered visual reference, he's got up like one Man Ray subject, Sergei Eisenstein, disguised as another, André Breton. 

Cripes. I thought we might be in for a brain-taxing evening of the type usually restricted to German opera houses, but fortunately we were soon back on the solidly British ground of transvestism, toilet jokes and repressed sexual desire.

Handel sets Queen Partenope's romantic intrigues against a background of war, but Alden sidesteps this. The only shots come from Ainsley's ever-present camera, the only battles are fought on the card table.

Instead he concentrates on the games of deception and seduction played by Partenope's arty, languid 'court', and gradually unravelled by the all-seeing eye of Ainsley's camera. Only the lens can piece together the truth, in the form of Man Ray's famous portrait of Lee Miller (NSFW) assembled painstakingly, nip by nip, in giant pixels as the opera progresses. Would Handel recognise this? It may send some fans running (there were a few boos for Alden at the end) but it sits neatly with the libretto and the music - some minutely-detailed stage business underlining this.

It's tempered with some fine gags, the brittle world of the Paris surrealists humanised by Wodehousian bumbling and snifter-fuelled silliness. Despite its three hours, it rarely dragged, and moments of sheer wtf were few and far between.

Of the singers, only Iestyn Davies as Armindo was consistently excellent. He has a secure, honeyed tone, every note faultlessly placed, and his Keatonesque slapstick as Partenope's timid, fumbling suitor was delightfully judged.

Everyone else took a while to hit their mark vocally. Rosemary Joshua was unwaveringly strong in the Nancy Cunard-styled title role, commanding yet agile through her tricky runs.

Christine Rice and Patricia Bardon were frighteningly convincing as the gender bending couple Arsace (male) and Rosmira (female in temporary male disguise), their mutual baiting and spats the emotional core of this production.

Emilio is a smallish part that seemed bigger in this production with John Mark Ainsley constantly creeping around the set, the silent observer. It was a performance of two halves, only the second in total command of intonation, but he compensated for the hesitant vocal start with his enormous presence and well-judged comic timing.

I wasn't hugely impressed by the lacklustre conducting of Christian Curnyn, who substituted speed for any real sense of vigour. It was passable enough, but needed more room to breathe.

Sets and costumes were fabulous, and some praise must also go to the (uncredited) make up team, who enhanced the gender confusion by turning everyone except Ainsley into the image of a Bloomsbury set dyke.

Coming after a run of tawdry musicals and knackered revivals, this shows ENO doing best what it should do best, namely English opera. Yup, even if it was written in Italian. In the back of the net.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Production photos: Catherine Ashmore; Curtain call photos: intermezzo.typepad.com

ISRAEL 1 BABYLON 0 (after extra time)

Prom 41: Belshazzar - OAE / Mackerras - Royal Albert Hall, 16 August 2008

I know how you got here. User stats reveal that the googlers' favourite is topless opera (yawn, here, NSFW), but seekers of the wisdom of teh internets have landed here via everything from Angela Hewitt dress sense to John Tomlinson naked. One of the searches that crops up sporadically but persistently, who knows why, is Charles Mackerras died.

Eh? I can report conclusively to whoever is interested that Sir Charles Mackerras is not only very much alive, but at the age of 82 dispatching a three hour oratorio in the clammy heat of the Royal Albert Hall with laser focus and the energy of a puppy (and a ninja jacket, but I'm not sure how much that helps).

Here, just a couple of nights after the West-Eastern Divan Orchestra's border-busting visit, we were reminded of how far the roots of Middle Eastern conflict stretch back.

Handel's biblical tale relates the fall of Belshazzar's kingdom of Babylon and the freeing of the Jewish people. It sounds unpromisingly stern stuff and perhaps that's why it's not performed often. But Handel constructed a score as dramatic as any opera, short on the narrative twists and turns, but impeccably characterised, melodic and powerful.

The Arena was half empty despite a near sell-out of the seated areas - often the case when people weigh up the prospect of three hours on their hind legs.

Even so, with a huge TV screen at the front of the Arena - providing a view of the conductor for the soloists while blocking it for a lot of prommers - I couldn't see exactly what Sir Charles was up to. But his taut, driven reading spoke for itself. The pace never slackened and the time just whizzed past.

Vocally the night belonged to the rousing and immaculately-schooled chorus, their many contributions hitting the target every time.

Iestyn Davies, fresh from his convincing Proms performance in The Coronation of Poppaea a couple of weeks back, was the pick of the soloists, a honey-toned countertenor who never lets the stubble show vocally. The searches I've had -  Iestyn Davies wife and Iestyn Davies gay - testify to the range of his appeal.

The other countertenor on stage, Bejun Mehta, provided a bright and flinty vocal contrast and some dashing coloratura work, as did the impressive Rosemary Joshua as Nitocris.

I was less convinced on the night by the murky and occasionally insecurely-placed sound of tenor Paul Groves and bass Robert Gleadow, though on the radio playback they come across considerably better, with colour and dramatic urgency.

This puzzles me, but not quite as much as the quality of the vocal sound in general on the night. Now, I know the Royal Albert Hall has a cavernous, cathedral-like acoustic, but it's rare to hear quite so much of an echo from every single soloist when the sound from the orchestra and chorus was crisp and clear. It's also rare for comparatively light voices to project so cleanly and consistently all night - not a note was lost to an unwise pianissimo.

There were microphones in front of the singers for recording purposes - naturally, as the event was broadcast live - but no speakers to be seen. I very much doubt whether singers at this level would consent to be surreptitiously amplified, but that's honestly what it resembled - loud, trained voices boosted with near-instantaneous playback. It's just how Juan Diego Flórez sounded in the second half of his Proms performance a couple of years back, when he was (openly and unashamedly) miked.

Perhaps it's just that the TV screen at the front - hard, flat, reflective - increased the normal RAH reverberation level. Because in spite of the BBC's recent lapses from probity, the alternative is unthinkable. Isn't it?

 

  

Prom 18: Glyndebourne's Poppaea flashes her bits at the Proms

Prom 18: The Coronation of Poppaea - Glyndebourne Festival Opera - Royal Albert Hall, 18 July 2008

Having decided I'd rather spend four hours in a comfy(ish) seat with a decent view than straining my stilettos to peer through the crowd, I forked out £21 for a choir stalls seat, behind the stage. This isn't always a great place to sit for big orchestral concerts, right on top of timps and tubas which can drown out every other sound.

But for this semi-staged performance of Monteverdi's Coronation of Poppaea (yes, the English title despite being sung in Italian) I ended up mere inches from the action, and what's more, the orchestra were behind the singers. The best seats in the house? For one night only, possibly.

Robert Carsen's original Glyndebourne staging was swagged top to toe in red velvet. The Royal Albert Hall couldn't quite stretch to that, so instead we got a few draped objects scattered strategically around the stage >>>>>

Normally when Glyndebourne visits the Proms, it brings a full sized orchestra with it, so the singers end up squeezed on to a sort of landing strip in the middle.

But with the 20-odd musicians of Emmanuelle Haïm's tiny band shoehorned on to the front of the stage, there was plenty of space left for what turned out to be one of the most complete operatic stagings I've seen at the Proms, not much 'semi' about it at all.

It opened with a cringemaking and redundant bit of comedy 'business': Virtue (got up as a nun see left) and Fortune (glamorously evening-gowned) arguing in the front row of the Arena - from where they were invisible and inaudible to most of the audience (except us lot in the choir, nah).  Did the director not realise the audience would be standing?

Equally irritating was the way Cupid - written into only a couple of scenes - loitered around the stage throughout  like a wasp at a picnic. It may have made sense in the Glyndebourne staging, but it didn't transfer to the Proms. I shall now remember Amy Freston for her annoying arrow-waving intrusion rather than her brief but excellent singing.

Emmanuelle Haïm directed the pared-down Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment from the keyboard, in thinly-scored, unfussy and beautifully translucent arrangements.

Although she'd trimmed the score here and there, only one full scene was sacrificed. I wished she'd pruned more ruthlessly - or at least upped the consistently stately pace here and there. It was a hot fuggy night, half the audience hadn't heard of deodorant, and there there several moments I just wanted her to get on with it.

Vocally, the main draw was Alice Coote, and she didn't disappoint as the coolly psychopathic Nero, a butcher in a dinner suit. An opaque and less intense performance than Coote often gives, but just as enthralling.

Danielle de Niese made a surprisingly good job of Poppea, given that her career seems to be headed down the Katherine Jenkins route.

While her idea of acting secksy is as subtle as a stag party strippergram, the voice had more colour and gleam than previous exposure had suggested. As she pouted and squirmed and ground her sturdy thighs into the prone Nero, the difference between the two performances became painfully obvious though. Coote wants you to believe in her, utterly; De Niese just wants to be admired. Poppea is more than a firecrotched party girl; she's a schemer who uses her body as a tool to pursue her broader ambitions. De Niese's dramatic skills didn't stretch this far. But otherwise, the role didn't tax her limitations, and she was one of the best things about the evening.

Iestyn Davies sang Ottone with remarkably secure tone and excellent projection  - definitely one of the few countertenors with the ability to fill a space the size of the Royal Albert Hall. He bravely sidestepped a cheap laugh, and didn't allow the female disguise he sported for Poppea's attempted murder to overshadow the implications of this desperate act.

Just as well really, because there were men in frocks to spare. Though neither could resist dipping into mannerism, some of the best vocal performances came from the character singers Wolfgang Ablinger-Sperrhacke as the Queen Motherly Amalta and Dominique Visse as the Mrs T-like Nurse.

Tamara Mumford as a Nepregko-lookalike Octavia and Marie Arnet as Drusilla also gave able performances, and only Paolo Battaglia's desiccated and uncomfortable-looking/sounding Seneca really disappointed. Cruelly costumed in a thick tweed suit, he must have been envious of the many other characters given dramatic licence to cavort in their underpants on this steamy night. Nero's, Ottone's, Amalta's, Lucan's - we saw 'em all.

The only evidence of airconditioning was the noise it made, like hobnailed elves dancing in the pipes. Now that's one area where the Arena really does score - for some reason it's noticeably cooler than the seated areas on the hottest days.

Listen to the whole concert for the next 7 days on Radio 3 here.

A few reverse-angle photos - the only real disadvantage of the choir seats:

 

 

Death in Venice first night

Death in Venice - ENO, 24 May 2007

Standing in the centre of the above pic is the real star of tonight's production, lighting designer Jean Kalman. With sparsely furnished sets, conjuring up the magic of La Serenissima largely fell to him. Ripples of light traversing the entire stage like reflections in a pool were a recurring effect. Sulphurous yellow fog, a bold orange sunrise, threatening shadows came and went. Without his brilliant effects there would have been nothing much to look at except a bunch of chairs. Speaking of which - I hadn't registered in the dress rehearsal how cleverly the seating was used. Poor frail-looking Ian Bostridge was on stage for pretty much the whole opera. But he regularly plonked himself down in the conveniently-placed chair which found its way into most scenes, helping himself to the artfully worked-in drink, and even a couple of cigs.

Bostridge's performance was the highlight, as it had to be. His singing was absolutely faultless. As the repressed, frustrated Aschenbach struggling to escape his creative block, his portrayal was perfectly pitched, and free of the physical mannerisms which can dog his work. His moustache was a masterly touch - it made it easier to believe we were looking at someone other than Bostridge, even if it failed to make him look older as I believe was intended. It was partly the strength of his performance which made Peter Coleman-Wright's Traveller fade a little further into the background than maybe he should have, though he was a great deal livelier than he had been at the dress rehearsal, and camped up the more comic characters deliciously. Iestyn Davies was the other great singer, a lush, sweet countertenor in the Robin Blaze mould.

Edward Gardner's (below) official conducting debut couldn't have gone better.  The gamelan-esque percussion in particular was terrific, and the energy levels never seemed to drop. I was sitting right behind him at the front (and STILL only managed to get cr@p fuzzy photos, o my trembling hands). His light economical style wasn't hugely exciting to watch, but then only about five people outside the pit could see that, so it was hardly the point.

Fashion notes - defying the summery temperatures, director Deborah Warner wore a long black asymmetric dress and jacket with knee boots. Fiona Shaw looked more seasonal in a grey cotton jersey gathered waist dress with flat strappy sandals. Saffron Burrows was massively glamorous in a dark green sleeveless gathered grecian-type dress, again with the flat strappy sandals. Leader of the opposition Tony Pappano was accessorised with the lovely Mrs Tony and said hello to everyone. The best dressed though was a random femme d'un certain age in a Gucci butterfly print silk dress with matching scarf, shoes and headband.

The cast for a change actually looked better than the audience, in their elegant monochrome edwardian style clothes:

ENO's Death in Venice - Dress Rehearsal

Death in Venice (Dress Rehearsal) - Coliseum, 22 May 2007

A musically stunning production with no controversy-sparking surprises. The monochrome production design makes maximum use of very plain sets, relying heavily on imaginative ever-changing lighting and rear projection to evoke the Venetian settings in a fairly literal way. It looks as if more of the budget went on the crowds and their turn of the century costuming, also monochrome. The stage flooring is split into textured horizontal panels - glassy, rough, boarded - which serve as water, beach, graveyard, whatever is required. Repeated musical themes are echoed in lighting changes - white text projected on to a black background for Aschenbach's piano-accompanied recitatives, cloudy sulphurous all-infusing yellow for the boiling brass of the coming plague. Rattan chairs and potted palms hint at the hotel interior, a single pole is a gondola, flat cutout hut shapes become the beach.

The big pre-show question was whether Ian Bostridge is too young to play the middle aged Aschenbach. The production doesn't really address the age issue. His specially-cultivated moustache hints at Thomas Mann's own, without adding adding anything to the calendar. The appearance, the deportment, and particularly the voice suggest he's in the prime of his life rather than the autumn of his years, even when he's cholera-stricken and on his way out. It's the fat lady issue again - do you hire someone who looks the part, or someone who can sing it attractively? I think it's something you may have to take or leave as you please - the drama is one of psychological crisis, not physical frailty, after all, and personally if I have to listen to someone for nearly three hours, Ian Bostridge will do nicely, thank you. I can't help comparing with Philip Langridge's stunning concert performance with the Philharmonia at the QEH a few months back - though it's questionable whether there's anyone else of Langridge's years who could give quite such a remarkable performance, world-weariness without actual weariness.

Peter Coleman-Wright in the baritone parts gave a relatively subdued performance, but of course this was only a rehearsal so I don't want to read too much into that. I do hope more of the humour comes out in the finished version - this is a work that needs its moments of levity. Iestyn Davies as Apollo has the most beautiful even and bell-like tone, projecting exceptionally by countertenor standards. Each brief time he appeared was, appropriately, like the sun coming out.

One thing I didn't really understand was the decision to costume and choreograph Tadzio very similarly to the other boys in the cast. Combined with his (pleasant enough but) naturally unarresting looks, it made him blend into the background rather. It became a challenge to accept that Aschenbach could see him as his muse, the personification of beauty - even just picking him out amongst the other dancers was hard enough.