The ladies & gentlemen of the Sydney Symphony Orchestra (source)
Now that Opera Australia is foundering so badly, I’ve been looking for any other opportunities this city might throw up to hear some lovely classical singing. Luckily, the orchestras, especially the Sydney Symphony, seem to be embracing the voice. Continue reading
Opera Australia Open Day
Sydney has had a brilliant winter, weather-wise, with clear blue days, sunshine with a crisp winter edge, and just enough rain to caress the garden. It’s time I gave you a round-up of what’s been happening culture-wise. On my personal Sydney Winter Culture menu were festivals, exhibitions, performances, and of course a little opera…Here’s a brief round-up. Continue reading
Guarding il presidente
One Sunday morning in Rome, my plans extended no further than finding a decent cappuccino. Then I read in my guide book that the Quirinale Palace, official residence of the President of the Italian Republic, is open to the public for just a few hours — on Sunday mornings. Being a good tourist, I immediately rushed up there – pausing only to finish my coffee. The Palace is on top of the Quirinale Hill, the highest of Rome’s seven hills. It’s the 6th largest palace in the world (in area), and the largest residence of a Head of State. Continue reading
The Sydney Festival – an arts and music festa – has been going since 1977. It has had its moments – highs and lows – over the decades, but these days it’s a pretty impressive line up, spreading across the city (Parramatta gets a good look-in), and also spreading across venues, genres, and price-ranges. Continue reading
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| “The World Famous Glenn Miller Orchestra” ® (source) |
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| Dress Code for Prommers |
I made it to the Last Night of the Proms, and am still lying down with smelling salts in an effort to recover from the experience. I will skim lightly over the whole queuing thing – it turned out to be a fizzer. I turned up just before 6 pm, the hour the doors opened, walked to the back of the appropriate queue and was given the number 137 by stewards. Twenty minutes later, after a bag check and the usual climb up the stairs, I was standing in a perfectly good position by a railing in the gallery, looking down – sideways – on the stage. Even when the hoi-polloi without season passes were admitted, the gallery was far from full. The arena, on the other hand, was packed to the gills.
There was a bit of eyeing off of neighbours along the gallery railing, and some attempts to claim more real estate than was strictly entitled (spreading of Union Jacks, nudging of shoes along the floor), but we all settled down to sit on the floor until curtain-up. I even met the same Portuguese lady from last night, who turned up and wedged herself in beside me.
Upon arrival I was at first a bit disconcerted to note that I was severely underdressed. Black tie, white tie, buttonholes, evening gowns, tiaras and furs were out in force. For those who didn’t go formal, it looked like all-over Union Jack was the dress code. However, amongst the Prommers, down-dressing remained fairly wide-spread. And as for flags, once the auditorium filled up it was clear that despite the clear predominance of Union Jacks, any flags would do. Multiple countries were represented. I spotted Australia and New Zealand. There were a number of breakaways with Welsh, Scottish and Irish flags, some left-over Team GB numbers, all merrily waving or draped hither and thither.
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| The view from the gods. |
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| The spacious, if remote, gallery of the Royal Albert Hall. |
It was clear from early on that this was going to be a night of ritual. The BBC Symphony and Chorus ladies had eschewed formal black for merry red, green and purple long frocks. The gents wore white tie with carnations in their buttonholes. The conductor was the resident chief, a Czech, Jiří Bělohlávek. With everyone raring to go, off we set on The Last Night of The Proms.
The first half program was lovely stuff – high quality programming and performance. The highlight for me was a performance of the lovely “Songs of Farewell” of Delius – deliciously sad and encouraging at the same time, the pieces are a setting of Walt Whitman poetry about dying, written (or dictated) when Delius was incapacitated and close to death himself:
Now finale to the shore,
Now land and life finale and farewell.
Now Voyager depart (much, much for thee is yet in store)
Often enough hast thou adventur’d o’er the seas,
Cautiously cruising – studying the charts,
Duly again to port and hawser’s tie returning:
But now obey thy cherish’d secret wish,
Embrace thy friends, leave all in order,
To port and hawser’s tie no more returning,
Depart upon thy endless cruise old Sailor.
The excellent Maltese tenor Joseph Calleja joined us for some Verdi, Massenet and Puccini. His is a very impressive voice, and he was a big drawcard for me. Sadly, my position somewhere behind his left shoulder and four stories up did nothing for the sound quality, and I missed out a bit on his lustily delivered numbers. Our other soloist was a Scottish violinist with the very Scottish name of Nicola Benedetti (!) – she played Bruch’s first violin concerto, and it was quite divine. Nicola herself has all the elements necessary in a classical music soloist – young, beautiful, virtuosic and looks fab in a luscious evening gown (we saw two – a white one and a black one).
Sighing over all this lovely music – and I must say that the Prom crowd are attentive listeners and appreciative applauders – we all took an interval break for icecream and G&Ts, revivified ourselves, and returned for the second half. This set out as it meant to go on with John Williams’ ‘Olympic Fanfare’ composed for the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics (a very London 2012 choice), followed up with some more rousing party pieces and solos from Joe & Nicola (Joe’s ‘Granada’ was great – the program claims it is the second most-performed song in the world: a Latino karaoke favourite, apparently).
Then things got serious. Our conductor took the microphone and announced that we had got to the sing-along part of the evening. The TV screens took us to crowds massed outdoors in Belfast, Caerphilly, Glasgow and across the road in Hyde Park. (I took a moment to be grateful for my indoor RAH gallery railing spot, and to feel a little ashamed of my queuing whining). Then we commenced what is apparently a regular ritualistic winding up of The Proms. Everyone – led by the arena Prommers – knew just what to do. While I had a vague notion that singing-along was involved, I had no idea what to expect. I was, thus, astonished! This is how it went:
First up, we all sang Rogers & Hammerstein’s ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’. Then there was a party-piece billed as Henry Wood’s ‘Fantasia on British Sea-Songs’, from 1905. Henry Wood, you may recall, is the impressario who had the bright idea, 118 years ago, to stage Prom concerts. His ‘Fantasia’ is a collection of half a dozen bright pieces loosely (very loosely in some cases) based around a nautical theme. As the orchestra struck up the first of these – ‘The Saucy Arethusa’ from 1796 – I noticed with interest that the arena Prommers were doing a kind of on-the-spot jig, bending and rising gently from their knees in time with the beat. A peculiar sight. Some also began letting off what seemed to be party crackers. Hmmm…I thought.
Here’s the ‘Hornpipe’ ridiculousness from three years ago.
We then had a nice solo cello bit called ‘Tom Bowling’, which was listened to respectfully, but with a certain air of anticipation. Turns out the anticipation was for the ‘Hornpipe’ – you’d know it if you heard it – which the program told me would be accompanied by “traditional clappings and stampings from the audience”. Which indeed it was. One enterprising ringleader in the arena, who seemed to have a truckload of props with him, changed into his sailor’s hat, brought out a hooter, and jigging, stamping and clapping abounded. So…the conductor played it all over again. Gosh….I thought.
There was one moment when the music brought a tear to my eye, and that was the rendition by the orchestra and chorus of ‘Home, Sweet Home’...ah yes, there’s no place like home *sniff* Perhaps an understandable reaction for a foreigner amongst a close-knit tribe celebrating some of its most mysterious rituals.
The Sea-Songs bit ended with ‘Rule Britannia’, which I was interested to learn dates from 1740, and was the finale of a masque by Thomas Arne about King Alfred. I can see it ending a King Alfred story, but of course it also does duty as a rousing Victorian Empire number. It has verses, which our tenor sang – he came out in a Team GB track suit, but opened the jacket to reveal a t-shirt emblazoned with a Maltese Cross. Just so all Maltese understood that he was only doing this for the money or the glory, I suppose. It was good-natured, as was the crowd. Then a bunch of Team GB gold and silver medal winning Olympic athletes paraded out and helped the crowd sing ‘Rule Britannia’ one more time.
But I must tell you – unless you have actually experienced it, I am not sure I can adequately describe the experience of being in a 5,500 seat auditorium filled with British people furiously waving Union Jacks and singing “Britons never ever shall be slaves!” Well, no. Let’s hope not…I thought.
‘Rule Britannia’ from three years ago. Somehow it doesn’t seem quite so weird with
the fabulous Sarah Connolly playing Admiral Lord Nelson.
But wait, there’s more. And I was ready for this one: Elgar’s ‘Land of Hope and Glory’, from 1901, a genuine Empire-rousing number if ever there was one, and sung enthusiastically by the flag-waving Prommers. Those fortunates actually in seats were even moved to rise to their feet for this one. It is indeed a fine tune – apparently Elgar himself recognised it as “a tune that comes once in a lifetime”, and considered reserving it for a symphony, and recycled it a number of times. But in the hope of giving you just a flavour of the proceedings, here’s the words (imagine 5,500 people singing and waving flags):
Land of Hope and Glory
Mother of the Free,
How shall we extol thee
Who are born of thee?
Wider still and wider
Shall thy bounds be set;
God, who made thee mighty,
Make thee mightier yet.
I couldn’t help but spare a thought for the working poor, unemployed and under-employed of Britain; and also to reflect that I, in fact, being of entirely British descent through colonial immigrants, am in fact “born of thee”. But admittedly I didn’t know all the words off by heart like the locals.
From five years ago, with our conductor Jiří Bělohlávek.
By this stage, overwhelm was beginning to set in. But there was more. Now we sang that extremely strange song, ‘Jerusalem’, based on the words of William Blake (1804). Now here’s a real mystery. Forget the question of the inflatable banana being waved in the arena. What is this about? Having been in London for two years now, I have encountered numerous reference to this song. I believe I even heard David Cameron proposing that it be adopted as some kind of sporting anthem for Britain. There was that play with Mark Rylance about deep British mysteries which was entitled ‘Jerusalem’. So what is it about? It is about speculation that Jesus Christ made it to England’s shores as a child, and might have founded “a new Jerusalem” – and ends with a call to “fight” for just that. Is it jingoistic? Is it religious? (it is often found in hymnals). Is it just plain weird? One thing is for sure, most of those people lustily singing have NO IDEA what they are singing about. They just love the well-known melody, the tradition, and the bit about “England’s green and pleasant land”. And the “Chariots of Fire”. I couldn’t bring myself….Here’s the words. You judge:
And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England’s mountains green?
And was the Holy Lamb of God
On England’s pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariots of Fire!
I will not cease from mental fight;
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England’s green and pleasant land.
The middle aged lady standing next to me, she of the encroaching shoes and the interval G&T, became really quite animated while loudly singing “Bring me my bow of burning gold! Bring my arrows of desire!” It was a bit fearsome.
“Jerusalem” From three years ago.
Finally the jingoist and scary singing and flag and banana waving seemed to over. Our lovely Czech conductor made a very sweet speech, culminating in bringing out his recent CBE and hanging it round his neck, and the arena Prommers started an unscripted chorus of ‘He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’. There was just one last song: the National Anthem, and this was surprisingly beautifully done. The chorus took the first verse, and the audience the second (luckily the words to this were provided in the program). The entire orchestra stood while they played, and of course the whole auditorium was on its feet. People stopped being silly and became a little solemn. The arrangement was by the excellent Benjamin Britten, from 1967. It is said that the Queen, when she first heard it, declared that she had never been so affected by the Anthem, adding “and I have heard it once or twice”.
Last year, Britten’s lovely arrangement, with BBC Singers; BBC Symphony Chorus;
BBC Symphony Orchestra Conductor: Jiří Bělohlávek
So on this more dignified note the evening ended – almost. The Prommers once again began an impromptu (or is it always done?) round of ‘Auld Lang Syne’, everyone in seats, gallery and arena joining crossed hands to sing the old Scottish number about remembering friends. I found myself hand-clutched by the scary lady beside me who just a few minutes earlier had wished to brandish a “bow of burning gold”. As we disbanded and headed for stairs, loos, busses and taxis, I felt an impulse to wish everyone a Happy New Year or Merry Christmas — but “Happy Proms” was all there was. It was just a classical music concert series, after all.
Barking mad, the lot of them. I mean that in the nicest possible way.
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| Heading to The Proms |
It has been Proms season again in London – that two month period in the summer when Londoners come out to enjoy classical music, presented by some of Britain and the world’s best bands, principally at the Royal Albert Hall in Kensington.
One can buy Proms seats like any other performance; but the slightly quirky angle is that one can alos pay only five quid for a “promming” ticket – entitling one to stand in the arena, or in the rarified air of the upper gallery, of the RAH. Standing for two or three hours to listen to music may not be you or my idea of the very best way to enjoy a concert, but plenty of Londoners would disagree with us. They’ve been doing it for 118 years – here’s the history. The BBC Proms website – it is the Beeb that presents the Proms concerts – describes “How to Prom”:
The popular tradition of Promming (standing in the Arena or Gallery areas of the Royal Albert Hall) is central to the unique and informal atmosphere of the BBC Proms.
Part of the Proms audience has always stood in the Arena, directly in front of the orchestra, and many consider this the best position in the hall. However, you can also stand high up in the Gallery and just let the sound drift up to you.
Up to 1,400 standing places are available for each Proms concert at the Royal Albert Hall. The traditionally low prices allow you to enjoy world-class performances for just £5.00 each (or even less with a Season Ticket or Weekend Promming Pass). There are two standing areas: the Arena, located directly in front of the stage, and the Gallery, running round the top of the Hall. All spaces are unreserved.
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| The venue: Royal Albert Hall. |
Being rather unadventurous, and really wanting to see a couple of great concerts, I took the precaution of booking a couple of seats. At ‘Prom 69’ I heard the wonderful Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra under the baton of Riccardo Chailly play Messiaen (difficult) and Mahler (glorious). At ‘Prom 72’ I was blown away by John Adams conducting a semi-staged performance of his own 1987 opera ‘Nixon in China’. I’m still recovering from that transcendant experience, especially Kathleen Kim as Madame Mao waving “the book! the book!” at the end of Act 2. Those high notes! The drama! All the singers were brilliant – the baritone Gerald Finley is now absolutely on my faves list.
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| Pre-performance. Anticipation. |
But what of the Prommers? Looking down from my seat in the rafters of the choir, I observed the protocol. The doors open 45 minutes prior to curtain-up, and those who have presumably queued for the privilege make a dash for the prime spot – front line along the stage. Other saunter in more mildly and take up central positions, often chatting amongst themselves. There seems to be a white line around the rim of the arena where there is “no standing”. There also appear to be about half a dozen seats reserved for less mobile people – not sure how you secure those. Prommers seem to sit on the floor until the performers appear. Indeed, some sit right through, or partly through, the performance. They tend to be at the back of the bunch, presumably happy to hear but not see the performers. It seems to me that standing for so long must be distinctly uncomfortable, but there are quite a number of downright elderly people amongst the Prommers. As to what goes on up in the gallery — we’ll see.
…LATER…
In the interests of research, I took myself and my Gallery Season Pass along to the second-last night of the Proms. Arriving just on 45 minutes before curtain-up, I joined the end of a not very long queue which shortly began entering the RAH, and making its way up a great number of stairs to the gallery – an eyrie in the rafters that gives a great, if distant view of the whole auditorium. It was nice up there. Surprisingly few people. I watched what other Prommers did, and secured myself a cosy spot standing at the gallery railing beside a pillar. There were three or four others there when I joined them. In a little while our ranks swelled to six ir seven, plus a handful of standers-behind. There was still masses of space in the gallery. A number of people chose to sit themselves against the back wall right from the start – ‘comfort’ (though I use the word loosely) over view and sound quality, I guess. Still, some did bring their yoga mats to sit on.
First, the music. The Vienna Philharmonic playing Haydn’s ‘London’ Symphony (his 104th and last); then after interval Richard Struass’ ‘Alpine’ Symphony, or tone poem. The Haydn was short and sweet. Ideal for a first time Prommer. The Strauss was absorbing and wondrous, also ideal for a first time Prommer. I really didn’t notice the standing up. Much. It helped to have the rail to lean on. Various position changes helped, but at no point did I need to sit down (which was lucky, because I’m not very good at the lotus position on a hard floor. Or on any floor.)
As to my fellow Prommers, conversation broke out easily. The Portuguese music lover next to me discussed possible strategies for dealing with The Last Night. A young lady said she had come “on a whim”. She hadn’t heard of Haydn, and her friend and I had to explain that the Strauss wasn’t “the waltz guy”. But she seemed to enjoy herself. Things got chummy. Spots were minded, programs lent.
I learnt that you are not allowed to bring your own food and drink into the auditorium, a stricture which bags of picnic goodies blithely ignored. I learnt that there are a few seats along the back wall available for Prommers, and they are supposed to be for people who can’t stand, though Prommers have to work out amongst themselves who is the most decrepit and seat-deserving. I learnt that while they send a program seller up to the gallery, they don’t send an ice-cream seller. Oh, and the loos are two floors down. I mention this because unless you hear from someone who has been at the front, so to speak, you will never have this information.
And The Last Night? between my new Portuguese acquaintance and one of the door ladies whom I questioned closely, it seems there are secret protocols and Special Orders for Prommers. None of these had previously been communicated to me; I had (foolishly, it turns out) trusted merely to the assurance in the ticket-buying information that access to The Last Night was guaranteed for season pass holders, of which I am one. It seems, however, that there is a whole arcane queuing system at work. One can put one’s name down at the stage door, I was told, obviating the necessity to camp out overnight (!) But one has to be in the queue by 10 am and receive a number, and still be there when they check at two-hourly intervals throughout the day, until the doors open at 6 pm. When I suggested that this was fine for those who wanted a prime position, and I had a guaranteed entry, and perhaps I’d just come along at say 6 pm…I was met with a puzzled look. The implication seemed to be “why wouldn’t you want to queue?” The door lady gave me a copy of her instruction sheet. All she said seemed to be true.
I toddled off, stunned. “Barking mad, the English”, I thought. No concert could possibly be worth this hassle. I nearly tripped over the first camper. At home I searched the internet for clues to this puzzling behaviour. I found the queuing rules for the Last Night; I found descriptions from English people of how it all works, and the assurance that “it is all very civilised”. Excuse me? You sell me a ticket and then it is “civilised” to require me to stand from 10 am to 6 pm in a queue? I also found the comment that the system was in place “for fair queuing”. These people are insane. What is it about queuing that attracts them? The longer the queue, the happier they are to be involved with it.
However, I also found the repeated statement that season pass holders (that’s me, remember) are guaranteed entry to The Last Night – provided only that we turn up more than 20 minutes before the performance. So as I see it, I can get there when the doors open, join the queue, and trot on in. Yes, I may – indeed, certainly I will – have to be content with a spot standing somewhere at the back of the gallery, all hopes of a view obscured by other standing Prommers. But they have to let me in. Don’t they? It’s only fair, surely. And civilised.
In case you’re wondering, the seats in the auditorium – all 4,500-odd of them – are allocated much earlier by ballot. I did find a ticket scab site offering one seat high in the circle for £400, plus £80 in “service fees”. You may also be wondering what kind of amazing concert this is that it can command such prices, such demand, such queueing stupidity. Frankly, I don’t really know. The attraction for me is that an excellent operatic tenor named Joseph Callaja is involved; and also I’m interested to observe the species “Englishman” at one of its curious rituals. Yes folks, these people camp overnight for the joy of singing “Land of Hope and Glory” with their fellow English people. I’m told they do that. In fact, as a warm up there is a singing workshop across the road in the Royal Academy of Music. Cor blimey.
To be continued…..
Here is the Vienna Philharmonic playing part of Richard Strauss’ ‘Alpine’ Symphony — “Sunrise”– at the 2012 Proms: the Second-Last Night of the Proms, my first promming experience:
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| Let the, er, Ceremony begin…. |
Olympic ceremonies are known for a number of traditional elements. They have to be garish, cacophonous, feature lots of parochial and patriotic symbols of the host city and country, use as many performers as humanly possible, and include bad music. There must also be surprise(s), and fire.
The London 2012 Opening Ceremony ticked all the boxes – its content was so successfully local that there are parts of it that the rest of the world will never figure out. The Closing Ceremony was a little clearer: we had the London Eye, Battersea Power Station, Big Ben, St Paul’s, London buses, black cabs…yep, and really bad music. Well, some of the performers, such as John Lennon and Freddie Mercury, are dead, so perhaps that can be forgiven. Others were, I thought, dead, but apparently The Who still lives. The Spice Girls reunited (again) for the occasion, jiggling in evening dresses on top of black cabs being driven around the arena.
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| Evening falls, anticipation rises… |
The ground of the Olympic Stadium was a covered, not in athletes (they came in later in reduced numbers – many gone home already, I guess), but in a great spread-out Union Jack. The sun rose over London, an actor dressed like Winston Churchill (let’s not forget he was half-American — sorry, I couldn’t resist) popped out of the top of Big Ben. I think he read something from ‘The Tempest’ again, but I’m not sure, because stadium sound quality is a difficult thing for all concerned.
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| The athletes (or what’s left of them) join us. |
Actually, although all of the above is true, I will confess to enjoying myself. If we skim lightly over that rapper person, and the girl in the bad body suit, and the weird sequence with the inflatable octopus (what was that about?)… Eric Idle sang “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life”, which is always good. Small children in white joined the deceased Mr Lennon to sing “Imagine”, which was, if nothing else, appropriate for the Olympic Games. And – highlight of the night, folks! – the Stomp guys and gals battered and, well, stomped, through the London icons with not only precision timing but also a great deal of panache AND acrobatics. And through my binoculars I think I spied the charming Mr Dan from the gym! Stomping with the best of them, his feet in boots attached to a couple of 40 gallon drums. Don’t try that at home.
I liked the straightforward London imagery. I liked the dousing of the flame (accompanied by a chorus of “awww” from 80,000 throats. I liked my seat close to Mayor Boris determinedly waving the Olympic flag one more time before he handed it on to the Mayor of Rio de Janeiro. In fact, in summary, I liked the 2012 Games. It was a privilege to be there.
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| Awww…sad to see it go. |
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| George Benson |
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| I told you we were waaaay up high. |
Backed by a meaty, well-drilled group, Benson delivers a judicious mixture of jazz standards and the big-selling lurve-songs his fans demand.
It takes a true star to fill the Royal Albert Hall on a European Cup semi-final night, something George Benson achieved with customary aplomb. True, the majority of his fans are female and of certain ages but most of their menfolk were also present.
By the close everybody was out of their seats and swaying to the Benson beat with an upstanding, body-popping, hand-clapping abandon that would have astonished their osteopaths.
Earlier, American trumpeter Christian Scott had smartly opened the show with a Dizzy Gillespie tip-tilted trumpet and a terrific drummer named Jamire Willliams in his youthful quartet. They deserved more than their 45 minutes in the spotlight.
George himself appeared a little thicker around the waist than usual but gave a thoroughly compelling performance, singing and simultaneously playing guitar as soulfully and creatively as only he can.
His current album, Guitar Man, is supposed to signal a return to the jazz fold but in large venues like this, commercial factors also apply.
Backed by a meaty, well-drilled group featuring two keyboards, bass, rhythm guitar and drums, Benson paced the evening cleverly, delivering a judicious mixture of jazz standards and the big-selling lurve-songs his fans demand.Moody’s Mood for Love, Breezin’, Mambo Inn and This Masquerade — a particularly powerful version — were thus interleaved with Turn Your Love Around, In Your Eyes, Never Give Up on a Good Thing and other soul hits, climaxing inevitably with Gimme the Night.
At this point a nearby hen-party of five mature ladies with complicated hairdos began jiving in line abreast. There’ll be some sore ankles in Epping this evening.
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| Filled the Hall… |
Whenever dark has fallenyou know the spirit of the partystarts to come alive.Until the day is dawningyou can throw out all your bluesand hit the city lights.‘Cause there’s music in the airand lots of loving everywhereso gimme the night. Gimme the night.You need the evening action,a place to dine, a glass of wine,a little late romance.It’s a chain reaction.You’ll see the people of the worldcoming out to dance.‘Cause there’s music in the airand lots of loving everywhereso gimme the night. Gimme the night
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| What is he doing? Reading a novel or dramatizing it? |
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| Assembling under the dome in St Paul’s. |
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| The LSO unpacks at St Paul’s. |
In St Paul’s Cathedral the London Symphony Orchestra assembled along with a choir of about 200 voices and performed Berlioz’ Requiem – Grande Messe des Morts, composed in 1837. Well! Wow! And…wow! Berlioz apparently composed the piece intending for it to be played in a large cathedral, and there can be few more appropriate venues than Wren’s magnificent church. The piece famously involves the placing of ensembles of brass and percussion in four remote locations, and on this night they were in the transept and above us on balconies. When it came their turn to contribute, the sound effects were nothing short of heart-stopping. Even a little terrifying.
If your sense of aw lacks an existential dimension, Berlioz’ great Requiem will restore it. Being enveloped by the omnidirectional swell of sound at the onset of the Tuba Mirum, or dangled on the yo-yo of hope and despair that the Lacrimosa spins with such masterful theatricality, are not experiences one forgets.
One of the wonders of hearing this piece in this space, is how the quieter sections emerge with the greatest impact. While the tumults of the four brass bands of the apocalypse are still raging, the subdued desperation of the soprano’ cry of “salva me” just manages to escape, its quiet insistence intensified precisely because it reverberates in our minds rather than in the further reaches of Wren’s great dome.
“[Nick Carraway] is both stage manager and chorus, recreating situations in all their actuality, and at the same time commenting upon them. Sometimes he even devises the action – contrives the circumstances by which the actors are brought together on the stage: it is he who arranges the reunion of Gatsby and Daisy.” – Brian Way.
Read some comments here.
And a great review from the NYT.
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| Nick reads on, through the party scene. |
maxamorphosis maksemawfesis/ noun [zoology; musicology; choreography] rare process of transformation involving endangered species of violus-saltator(viola-dancer). Reaction commonly initiated by contact with simultaneous varying tempi and whispering strings, with resultant flutters in the piccolo and marimba. Also reliant on gradual release of enzymes (C+G+D+A) by specimen. Process discovered July 2012 by Julian Philips and Mickaël ‘Marso’ Rivière. A collaboration between composer Julian Philips and choreographer Mickaël ‘Marso’ Rivière, Maxamorphosis features Max Baillie as viola soloist alongside Aurora Orchestra and dancers from Company Decalage and Bboy’s Attic.
Read all about it here.
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| Break dance meets classical music. |
la vie boheme travel 