Prima la musica, poi le parole

The wanderer returns

I'm back from Nelson, and a weekend of semi-adventures. I'll get to the highlight of the holiday (and my life) in a moment, but first some other things.

For one thing, I got to be an opera-yobbo. I was still in Nelson on Sunday, so I had to organise myself to listen to the Sunday opera there. Katya Kabanova. Now, I was all set for some seriously nerve-shattering music but in fact it was gorgeous, very easy on the ears. It was difficult, I have to say, to try and follow an opera without the aid of a libretto, especially when it's not being sung in a language I at least vaguely know. I only had brief moments of knowing where in the plot we were, as I tried to match Margaret Juntwait's preamble with the voices I was hearing. I always always knew when Magdalena was singing: nobody on earth sounds quite like her. And Karita's rather difficult to miss: absolutely fabulous. But to get back to the yobbo thing. I had two options for listening to the opera: headphones and a radio with so-so reception, or the car. I chose the latter. And so that I didn't suffocate, I had a door open. At least, I did for most of the first act: until the charming man in the room across the driveway came and asked me to shut it because the music was "annoying the hell out of us". I obliged, although without a smile. Really, though, he should have just been grateful the opera wasn't Wozzeck. Honestly.
I also managed, in record speed, to find the one CD store in Nelson with a real classical section: and it's a very very real one. Heaps of stuff. There's a big Naxos and other budget label section, then an opera section as well. I resisted (it wasn't hard) the $14.95 Maria Callas Ballo. But I did buy: Victoria de los Angeles Spanish Songs; Vissi d'arte: The Magnificent Voice of Montserrat Caballé; The Best of Elisabeth Schwarzkopf; and two Opera d'Oro live recordings- a Nozze di Figaro with Mirella Freni and Frederica von Stade, and Catalani's La Wally with Renata (come on, it was only $10).

Right. That's the boring stuff out of the way. Now for the reason we went to Nelson. The gorgeous, the divine, the out of this world...

Patricia Wright.

The concert she was singing in was part of the Adam Festival of Chamber Music, which is still going on this week. The New Zealand String Quartet plus guest viola player played a Brahms quintet and a Brandenburg Concerto. Patricia sang five Bach arias and four Vaughan Williams songs.

I hardly know what to say. The Bach was what really had me counting the days until the concert. I'm a Bach fiend anyway, and just the though of what Patricia would do with the arias was too exciting for words. Somehow- I don't know how she managed it- she was even better than I thought. My hopes were pretty stratospheric but she exceeded them. All I was prepared for was the voice itself, which is incredibly beautiful. I had no idea what a fabulous performer and interpreter she is. This sort of music is so gorgeous on its own that you can forget the extra dimension which an excellent performance of it can add. Forget your soulless boy soprano-soundalike HIP singers: this was sparkly and joyous and wonderful. There's a golden quality and a warmth to the voice which makes every moment shine. So much so that the beauty of it spilled over into the silences between arias as well.

The Vaughan Williams songs, however, were another matter entirely. Leading up to the concert, I wasn't really much interested in them; they were another opportunity for Patricia to sing, and therefore a Good Thing, but otherwise I wasn't hugely looking forward to them- given my druthers I'd probably have happily replaced them with more Bach. But then I heard them and lost my heart completely. The musical directors of the festival are brilliant brilliant women: I cannot think of a more perfect meeting of singer and song. To start with, the songs themselves are a magnificent idea: they're written for soprano and oboe, which, as you can imagine, is a pretty heartmelting combination. And it all gets even more ridiculously beautiful when you've got a voice like Patricia's singing them. The best thing is that the heart which you can hear her pour into her singing can also be seen: she's spellbinding to watch, so absolutely committed that, as I said, the atmosphere she creates continues in the silences. She sang four of these Vaughan Williams songs. I seem to think I heard the first, 'Infant Joy', sung in somebody's exam recital last year. 'The Piper' followed, then 'The Shepherd' and 'Eternity'. As besotted with the oboe as I was, I think I have to name 'The Shepherd', which is performed without accompaniment, as my favourite. But in fact, from the first note of 'Infant Joy' to the final bars of 'Eternity' I was basically paralysed: there was simply nothing else in the world (including Kiri Te Kanawa recitals) I would rather have been listening to. And it took me a long time to return to earth.

It gets even better, by the way. When it was all finished, and I was still floating, we went from the Cathedral to In Vino Fides, the 'Official Festival Tapas Restaurant and Bar', where the programme promised us we would meet the artists. We were somewhat skeptical, but as oboists and violinists started drifting in our hopes were lifted. Then all of a sudden there she was, the woman herself, resplendent in purple frock and big sparkly earrings. (I don't think you could ever mistake this woman's profession). One really oughtn't ever pass up the chance to tell a soprano how fabulous she is: so eventually we managed to meet her (in fact she recognised my father first, on account of his sponsorial presence at the singing competitions). As far as I'm concerned, with a voice like that, she's allowed to be the most Evil Diva on the planet; she was, however, an absolute delight. Gorgeous voice, gorgeous person. I'm such a fan. Can you tell?

I've posted this link before, but I'll do it again: you simply must go here and listen to the samples from Serenata. I think you'd have to be made of stone to resist singing like this.

I'm off to Nelson tomorrow

I'm off to Nelson tomorrow to see the glorious Patricia Wright sing Bach.In the meantime, Happy Birthday to a man whom I adore beyond words and reason; Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart is 249 years old today. How could we ever live without him?

Soprano guilt

No matter how long the list of music I've heard grows, somehow it seems the list of 'must get around to that some day soon' music is always even longer. Countless composers, operas and singers languish in my to-do pile, and it's often a long time before I even remember that they're there, let alone give them a try. And sadly, one of the names on this list is Victoria de los Angeles. Her adorable 'Si, mi chiamano Mimi' on the Bell Telephone Hour DVD compilation should have sent me running immediately to the CD store or the library in search of more, but somehow I never got around to it. Which meant that when the news came through that she'd died, I felt instantly guilty. Obituaries abounded, tributes sprang up on most of the classical music blogs, but I had nothing to say. This soprano loved by so many people had died, and I still hadn't found out why they loved her so much. But I also don't like to be the sort of person who only gets interested in someone when they're suddenly being talked about more than usual - who only bothers to buy the CD when the singer dies, then goes on as if they've loved him or her forever. It just seems a sort of shallow and vulture-like way to be.

All of which makes me reluctant to say what I'm about to say: I think I'm a little bit in love. Tonight was the night I finally got around, thanks to the wonders of modern technology, to listening to the best-named soprano of all time, Victoria de los Angeles. Please believe me when I tell you, I'm sure that this voice would have got to me at whatever time I'd happened to hear it. I don't know why her Bell Telephone Hour performance didn't win me immediately- possibly because I'm not wild about the aria. But there's very definitely room in my heart for Victoria. It's a shame that it took this to force me to make the effort, but at least I have now made it, and to wonderful effect.

So, Victoria fans, want to know how the woman you love gained herself a new admirer?
I've got a selection of 11 tracks. The first I listened to was a duet from Pagliacci with Robert Merrill. But where she really hooked me was the zarzuela aria 'La Alegría de batalló', which is unbelievably gorgeous. Her 'Ah je ris' is one of few I've heard which, while sailing beautifully through all the coloratura, also remembers and conveys Marguerite's sweetness and innocence. I've also listened tonight to 'Un di felice' and 'E strano...sempre libera' from La traviata, 'Stridono lassu' from Pagliacci, 'Senza mamma' from Suor Angelica, Villa-Lobos' 'Bachiana brasiliera' and a couple of other zarzuela arias. I love the simplicity of her approach. No affectation, no showing off, just this wonderfully immediate singing. She doesn't have to resort to overblown dramatics and mannerisms to make an exciting Violetta or a sweet-as-can-be Marguerite. All in all, she sings just as her surname would suggest. Or so it seems to me. Of course, I'm basing all this on a grand total of 44 minutes of music, and I'll need to hear a lot more before I can form some proper opinions. But what I've heard tonight has me not just willing but longing to hear more, as soon as I'm able. I promise myself and the world, I shan't let the excellent Victoria fade back into the realms of the forgotten.

Yesterday my $8.95 secondhand copy

Yesterday my $8.95 secondhand copy of Yvonne Kenny's CD Something Wonderful arrived. I've been trying for at least an hour to review it, and now it's time to face facts. It's useless to try and write clever, witty things when all I really want to do is shout Yvonne! and fall in a heap on the floor. It's achingly, transcendently beautiful. The innocuous mass appeal tracklist and the not so wonderful cover give no hint of the glory which lies within. Yvonne could sing this stuff in her sleep but she's wide awake and fabulous. Every track, without exception, would on its own make the CD worthwhile: from 'Greensleeves' to 'Ebben?...Ne andro lontana', from Balfe to Bach, from Richard Rodgers to Mozart and everything in between. My position is now official: Yvonne Kenny can do no wrong.

I also listened to some Turandot today and realised once again how perfectly perfect Elisabeth Schwarzkopf is as Liù. Thank god for Walter Legge: would anyone other than her husband have thought of casting her in this part? She works perfectly, not just in and of herself but also in conjunction with Maria Callas- Elisabeth's sweetness heightens the scary, icy quality of Maria's Turandot; Maria's drama and power makes Liù all the more pitiable. The more I listen to it, the more I love every inch of this opera, or at least every inch written before the maestro laid down his pen. But then maybe I'm just a fool for a loud chorus and a gong.

I've been listening to a decadent amount of Renée Fleming lately, too, as I make my way through the stack of music sent by my fabulous American benefactor. Decadent is the right word.. good lord it's beautiful singing. Every now and then, perhaps , it's nothing but beautiful singing, but for the most part it's dramatically engaged and meaningful singing too. Signatures: Great Opera Scenes is probably still my favourite, but the Strauss orchestral lieder are also glorious. There are two CDs, one self-titled and one called The Beautiful Voice, which are both in a 'greatest hits' vein, but like Yvonne above, she takes very familiar stuff and then reminds you why she's so special. And I think she's very special indeed. I'm very very glad that I decided to give Renée another try. It's no longer a question of making a conscious effort to appreciate her- I just sit back and let myself be carried away by the lovely Ms Fleming.

Revelations

Revelation the First: Richard Wagner. For a long time (and without any proper reason) I assumed I wouldn't enjoy Wagner, and had no desire to give him a try. The near-complete lack of roles for the girls in my favourite Fächer didn't much help the situation. More recently, though, I began to think that possibly I could like Wagner, and that whether it that proved true or not, I really ought to at least listen to something other than 'Dich teure Halle'. Well, I don't know whether or not I'm destined to become a genuine devotee, but I discovered today that I definitely can like Wagner.

Revelation the Second: Tannhäuser. The Met broadcast, played on Concert FM today, is the opera which brought about the first Revelation. It is itself a Revelation. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that the only pieces of Wagner I had heard before today were a few versions of 'Dich, teure Halle', 'O du mein holder Abendstern', 'Hojotoho'and 'Mild und leise'. Hit parade. Which meant that I had genuinely no idea what to expect from a Wagner opera in its entirety. Now I realise that Tannhäuser doesn't exactly prepare me for the Ring Cycle in terms of music- but it has prepared me in terms of attitude. My negative-to-ambivalent outlook has been turned right around by this flood of beauty I heard today. It. Was. Gorgeous. Hardened Wagner-groupies now this already. I didn't. You know, there's that quote about Wagner, where you look at your watch after three hours and find only twenty minutes have passed. Well in my case, I checked the time after two hours and found four and a half had passed. Truly. I mean, I suppose I did know how long it was but I was genuinely surprised when it finished and the Concert FM announcer said it was 7.20. It flew by. Just me, my headphones and a semi-accurate libretto. But there's so much in the music to hold on to- it carries you along. I love the orchestra, which rolls along in tandem with the singers, supporting them beautifully and then all of a sudden just rears up and knocks you out.

Revelation the Third: Peter Seiffert. Who would have thought that one of the very first male singers to be a true Revelation to me would not only be singing Wagner, but be the widower of my favourite soprano of all. I've always assumed that Lucia Popp's husbands were by definition unworthy of the hand of such a goddess. After hearing him sing, though, I'm not so sure. He's a gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous singer. I imagine it would be quite easy to just yell your way through a role like Tannhäuser, making the right sounds at the right volume and nothing more. He doesn't. He manages to combine a beautiful sound with real tension, excitement and colour. He gives everything he's got from start to finish (and that's a lot of singing) and yet there's no sense that he's anywhere near his limits.

Revelation the Fourth: Deborah Voigt. Maybe not a true Revelation, given that although I'd never ever heard her sing before today, I was already convinced of her magnificence. But still a sort of Revelation because the woman is incredible. Just incredible. How does she do that? She's silver and gold and sunshine and light and at the same time, powerful and dark and compelling. Every note, every phrase just shines. And throughout all that glorious sound she stays human and real as well. Covent Garden were out of their minds: I wouldn't fire this woman even if she grew fangs and a tail and mauled the conductor.

She's got a good name, too..

Sarah Connolly. Sarah Connolly. And did I mention, Sarah Connolly. I listened to her Handel CD last night and again today and wow. She's incredible. I didn't realise she was this good when I saw her in Xerxes in New York. I just bought the CD because I thought that since I'd seen her live, I should. Same reason I bought Yvonne Kenny's Handel CD. But like Yvonne, Sarah has blown me away. I'm so impressed. Everyone seems to be recording a Handel CD these days, and as far as I can see they divide into two groups: people recording Handel because it's core repertoire for them, and people using the clout which comes with superstar status to record music which they love but aren't necessarily ideal for. Renée's falls into the latter category and for that reason isn't to everyone's tastes; Sarah Connolly's is in the former- this is music which has been a big part of her career and in which she absolutely shines. I don't imagine it's destined to hit number one on the classical charts but if you like Handel and like mezzo sopranos then I highly recommend this CD. It's on Amazon here, where you can listen to some samples. I'd especially recommend 'Mi lusingha il dolce affetto' and 'Verdi prati'. And above all, 'Where shall I fly'. I'm a big Jennifer Larmore fan but Sarah leaves her in the dust on this one: she's unbelievable.

Who's afraid of Michael Walsh?

Possibly reviewing a book before I've finished reading it is not the best idea. But I'll have finished it by tomorrow, I should think, and once that happens I don't want it occupying any more of my time. The book in question is Who's Afraid of Opera? by Michael Walsh. It purports to be an introduction to opera for people with absolutely zero previous knowledge. I have to say, it does have a few things going for it. The author is (or was in 1994, when he wrote it) Time magazine's longstanding classical music critic (and, for better or worse, the author of The Life and Works of Andrew Lloyd Webber). He writes very well indeed, and obviously knows and loves his subject matter. He's not afraid to show how opinionated he is, or to state unequivocally that some things are qualitatively better than others, both of which I think are excellent qualities. And best of all, when he wrote the book which came before this- Who's Afraid of Classical Music?- he wanted to title it Who's Afraid of Hugo Wolf?

However, there are some serious problems. The most glaring is this: the introduction states quite clearly that this is intended as "a book that presuppose[s] absolutely no knowledge of music on the part of the reader". His italics, by the way, not mine. So why, then, is the book which follows packed with in-jokes and references to opera and other works of classical music? While still teaching the reader how to begin with opera, he's throwing in mentions of Wagnerian arias and Mozart characters. He illustrates a point by saying something like 'Just think of La Bohème', before- given the assumption that his readers no nothing- he's told them what La Bohème is or why it's a good example of whatever he's writing about. Even better, he starts throwing about terms like 'atonality' and 'the twelve-tone system' without ever even hinting at a definition.

It's not just that, either. Having supposedly embarked on an essentially instructive piece of writing, he seems unable to resist the urge to turn instead into a vehicle for the furthering of his own very personal opinions. He doesn't like opera from the bel canto era. Full stop. So he dismisses it in a paragraph or two, with little further explanation than his distaste for the 'rum-tum' orchestrations and doesn't allow a single example into his '(Not Quite) Totally Arbitrary Basic Repertoire'. This is the basic repertoire which is supposed to form the basis of a new opera lover- but apparently all he wishes to create are clones of his own tastes. The other thing he dismisses are Handel's operas: not recommended for beginners, apparently, and best experienced in small doses with score on hand. It's only at the end of the repertoire chapter that he says for the very first time 'of course you're free to form your own opinions', and even then in its in such a way as to leave no doubt in the mind of the novitiate this book is apparently written for as to what those opinions should be.

And there's a second, more eccentric way in which his proselytizing manifests itself. As far as I can tell, he believes in opera as a musical genre and an art form only. He refuses to acknowledge the cultural and social aspects. According to Michael Walsh, if you're a 'vocal nut', if you stay up late 'with other nerds' arguing the relative merits of Renata and Maria, if you rush down the aisle to throw a bouquet at your favourite singer, then you are (and if quote) "not a real opera fan". Because apparently, "it's not really about the singers". On one level he's right: the opera itself exists as it is, regardless of who performs it, and in a sense the singers are just the instrument necessary for expressing what the composer put down on paper. But I think that to believe this is to ignore an immense part of the world of opera. Opera isn't just about a to-the-letter, soulless communication of a score: it's about interpretation, about the different things brought to the music by different people. It isn't just the audio representation of a sheet of music- it's a cultural phenomenon. I believe it's just as valid to love a singer- or a conductor, or a bassoonist, for that matter- as much as a composer or a piece of music.

Obviously, this is all just a matter of opinion, mine versus his. He's absolutely entitled to his opinions: I rather like reading them. He knows what he's talking about and the decisions he's come to are very well informed. As a book presenting a particular and personal approach to opera, this would work beautifully. But the fact is that Who's Afraid of Opera? is packaged as advice and instruction, and while individual tastes shouldn't be excluded, they also shouldn't cause the total exclusion of opposing tastes. Walsh may find the operas of Bellini, Rossini and Donizetti unlistenable, but if this is to be a balanced guide to the genre, he should go some way towards explaining why others do love them. The aim of the book and the writing itself are essentially at crossed purposes- one or the other needs to be sorted out in order to make it a real success. Besides, can there really anybody (other than Germans) who understands the word 'weltanschauung' and yet has hitherto had no encounters with classical music?

In other news: today is a momentous day. I bought today the very first CD in my collection to contain not one single female voice. No sopranos, no mezzos, no contraltos. My very first recital disc by a male opera singer. It's part of my vague New Year's resolutions to widen my operatic horizons. It also only cost $12.95. And it's Jonathan Lemalu! Regardless of the price, it's probably a good idea to start listening properly to male singers with a CD by one I already very much like. In fact, when I saw him sing here with the NZSO, I did think that if I ever decided to buy the solo CD of a male singer, it ought to be his. Of course, I immediately counteracted this groundbreaking move: I also bought Sarah Connolly: Heroes and Heroines. Sarah Connolly, as you may or may not know, is an English mezzo with a flair for Handel (although she's also recorded, of all things, a CD of Schoenberg songs). And when we were in New York, we saw her sing the title role in Xerxes at the City Opera- so of course I had to buy this CD, didn't I? It's Handel arias- Sarah showing off her ability to be both a boy and a girl. I've only heard one track so far but I have a feeling I'm going to love her. Plus she deserves kudos for managing to release a Handel CD without 'Ombra mai fu' on it- even though, given that Xerxes is one of her major roles, she'd have better justification than many for including it. Right now, I'm listening to neither of the above, but rather Renée Fleming: Signatures (Great Opera Scenes). Oh Renée! You're fabulous! Tatiana, Desdemona, the Countess.. oh she's just irresistible. And the Peter Grimes aria. And Dafne. Especially Dafne. I'm going to move straight on to The Beautiful Voice because I need more of this.

By the way, American readers (or particularly assiduous CNN-viewers in NZ)- Susan Graham and Denyce Graves at the Inauguration? How were they?

Divadienst

According to things I've been reading online recently, if I insist on writing a few words in rapturous praise of a mezzo soprano, that mezzo soprano should be Lorraine Hunt Lieberson. Now, in a few days hopefully I shall have borrowed Lorraine Hunt Lieberson's Handel CD from the library, and I may well be moved to write a paragraph or five of adoration. But right now the mezzo I want to praise to the high heavens is none other than my own cara Cecilia. It would be very easy, I'm sure, to phrase this whole thing as a sort of defence: but I'm going to do my best not to, and instead just celebrate the things that make her my number one girl.

I've never ever seen anybody so absolutely alive with passion for the music they're singing. Particularly in recital. Watching her on DVD last night singing Vivaldi with Il Giardino Armonica, I was just blown away. I've watched this before but still, every time, I'm amazed. It's almost as if she produces all the music: not just the voice but the orchestra as well. She's an incredibly committed singer, but what impresses me even more is the way in which she maintains that commitment when she's not singing as well. Sometimes when a singer finishes their part and the accompaniment still has a few bars to go, there's a sense that the singer- and by extension, the audience- is just waiting for whoever's playing to finish things up so we can get on to the next song. Cecilia, though, engages so fully that the emotion and excitement that she was producing while singing carries through into her silences as well: the accompaniment isn't just accompaniment, it's part of a single musical entity with the voice. This is a skill which I think we tend to associate with fabulous lieder singers: Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, Elisabeth Schwarzkopf (who says something along these lines in her 'Self Portrait' documentary), Anne Sofie von Otter. But Cecilia achieves this in a form which lends itself less obviously to this kind of performance. Lieder singing has as much to do with the text, with the meaning of the words, as with the music- it requires a different breed of interpretation to opera. Vivaldi, on the other hand, to take my most immediate example, is a very different kettle of fish. These arias are about music and about virtuosity. There are a million arias about 'My love/jealousy/fury/torment has me feeling like a battered vessel on the rough dark seas' because text like that gives you an excuse to pull out all the orchestral stops (if you'll allow the mixed metaphor). Baroque opera is full of virtuosic showpieces. Their text is probably silly. Their music could quite possibly be performed mechanically, purely to show off: Cecilia doesn't do this. She doesn't. Where the text is incidental to the vocal possibilities of the piece, she nevertheless makes it more meaningful than you'd imagine possible. Where the text, either poetically or in terms of plot, does have some true significance then she brings it so beautifully and with such truth that she's mesmerising: watching her sing 'Gelido in ogni vena' in that Vivaldi recital, it's hard to believe her son hasn't just been killed- and even without subtitles, you'd probably still know she was singing about something of the sort. All of which brings me back to what I began with: her passion for the music allows her to engage in a different way, at a deeper level: whether or not she speaks the language of the librettist is irrelevant, because she speaks the language of the composer.

She also has something else which isn't necessarily part of the same package: a sense of humour. A proper one too, not just the ability to give knowing looks in the middle of a slightly risqué mélodie. Just watch her 'Live in Italy' recital. Or Nina. Or listen to 'Non voglia che vi suonino' on her Salieri album. Those are the first examples which come to mind.

More importantly than all this, though: she's got an absolute knock-out of a voice. Whatever the criticisms- valid and otherwise- of her later CDs, I can't imagine that anyone could listen to her Mozart and Rossini discs and remain stony hearted. I could listen to this woman sing for the rest of my life. She's unfailingly beautiful and unfailingly interesting. Take, for instance, her CD Chant d'amour. Considering repertoire for Cecilia, French art song would hardly be the first thing to leap to mind, would it? She's many things, but she's not a particularly 'French' singer. No doubt some would say that these songs are much better handled à la Sylvia McNair. I listened to Sylvia's French Songs CD. Nothing to object to musically, I suppose- never a bad sound. But there was nothing to hold on to either, nothing which fascinated or struck some deeper chord. Cecilia's on the other hand... I can barely begin to tell you how I love this CD. I said I could listen to Cecilia all my life; I could probably listen to just this disc all my life. But then, thinking about it, I might say the same for every other one of her CDs as well. The voice itself, as a separate entity, appeals so much to me that everything it sings is wonderful to me.

Besides, she's a fabulous person. I've been rather analytical tonight but as you all know, analysis only comes after the fact of falling in love. I fell for Cecilia when I was nine years old, via the 'A Portrait' documentary. And the more I see and read of Cecilia, talking about herself or about music, the more I feel that the singing is almost a bonus: a wonderful piece of luck which meant we the public were allowed to experience some of the glory that is Cecilia Bartoli. This is what diva worship is all about isn't it? There's a story in Cinderella and Friends about a late-career Renata Tebaldi recital. All of a sudden the voice wasn't there- and so she didn't want to be either, and rushed offstage. But the audience called her back: "just stand there and let us love you". Exactly.

Speaking of diva worship: a rather amazing aid in my efforts toward the adoration of another soprano came in the post today. A reader of this blog in Illinois, pleased to see my decision to work towards a true appreciation of the lovely Renée Fleming decided to help things along. So she sent copies of six recital discs, Alcina and the Met Rodelinda broadcast to me. Is it not the nicest thing you've ever heard? I'm feeling ridiculously spoilt, and unbelievably grateful.

Toy!

Technology is a great and glorious thing. I've just set up our new computer. It plays DVDs. So as I type this, a little tiny Barbara Bonney is in the corner of my screen singing 'He Shall Feed His Flock'. Looking and sounding absolutely gorgeous, I might add. I love getting new toys.

Speaking of gorgeousness: Ruth Ann Swenson! Thankfully I forgave her immediately for cancelling the recital we were supposed to have seen in New York. I've been listening to her CD of Italian arias, Con Amore, today. Goodness me but the woman can sing! Her Met Mimi is going to be wonderful to hear. This CD is made up entirely of arias which have been recorded a million and one times before: 'O mio babbino caro', 'Signore, ascolta', 'Si, mi chiamano Mimi', 'Sempre libera' and so on. I think it says a lot for Ruth Ann that this is an interesting CD. There's not a single track here which would jarr the ear if it was played as background music at an Italian restaurant- but Ruth Ann makes it all much more than background music. Not, perhaps, the most dramatically meaningful renditions of these arias, but nevertheless absolutely wonderful singing.

And now I have Cecilia's 'Viva Vivaldi' recital playing. We're only halfway through and already the standing ovation has begun. Quite right too: she's magnificent. How does she do this? She powers her way through seven minutes of impossible coloratura, and just when you think things can't get any better, she breaks your heart with something slow and tragic. Her enthusiasm is contagious. And she obviously truly loves the music she's singing. I'm telling you, it's just about impossible to write this while actually watching her at the same time. Usually I'd watch something and write about it later, with a little bit of distance, and time to calm down. None of that here. What you're reading are my distracted and disjointed thoughts as I write while entirely under the spell of mia cara Cecilia. What on earth would life be like without her?

Oh, and I've just this moment realised that one of the upcoming Met broadcasts is a 1967 Aida with (are you ready?) Carlo Bergonzi, Robert Merrill, Grace Bumbry (!) and Miss Leontyne Price (!!!!!). 2005 just gets better and better doesn't it?

The Met broadcasts begin

Kiri is rather lovely, isn't she? Opera Stories on the Arts Channel tonight was Manon Lescaut with Kiri and Placido Domingo. I think perhaps that when I'm feeling a little more safe and secure in my efforts with Renée, I might try a similar project with Kiri.

Dear me, it's going to be nice having these Met broadcasts for the next six months or so. I have to say, I rather enjoyed I Vespri Siciliani. I'll admit, I had a book to read, but I put it down surprisingly frequently to give the opera my undivided attention. Verdi's never going to be my number one composer, but it is rather lovely sometimes to just bask in all that big Italian music. Even if this one is something of a French Grand Opera. Apparently the Italian translation is diabolical, but it's not as if that really matters much, is it? The plot being what it is, I don't think all the expertly-written dialogue in the world could make it a great story. But it gives all the excuses it needs to for gorgeous singing and big spectacular crowd scenes (the latter being rather a requirement of the Paris Opera, who commissioned Les vêpres siciliens).

I was all ready to be totally blown away by Sondra Radvanovsky as Elena, having read about the huge ovation she received. It wasn't quite like that; she was excellent all the way through, but really it wasn't until the last two acts that I thought she really started strutting her stuff. Her huge long let's-run-the-gamut-of-emotions aria in Act IV was quite breathtaking; and kudos to the audience member who managed to let out a sort of hillbilly shout just before all the applause and 'brava'-ing began. The other singer who impressed me was Mr Leo Nucci (Montforte). When I saw him in Angela Gheorghiu's Covent Garden Traviata I more or less liked him, as much as I ever can like Giorgio Germont. But I really did think he was wonderful in Vespri. Listening on radio to a stage performance, you wonder what visual aspects you're missing out on which might make someone's performance mean more, but in the case of Signor Nucci, the visuals would only have been an added bonus: it was all there in his singing. Samuel Ramey (Procida) on the other hand... I don't have much to say about his performance as a whole. Maybe he's a miracle to watch on stage; and clearly there a lot of people to whom his voice appeals. But that huge vibrato of his got on my nerves from the word go. He reminded me of nothing so much as the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz, when he sings 'If I Were King' in mock-operatic style. His first aria garnered an unbelievably enthusiastic response so I'm apparently in the minority. So be it.

And- thank God- the broadcast ran in its entirety. I was slightly afraid that the introduction and the quiz at interval might be replaced by mispronounced banalities from Concert FM's own announcers but it wasn't. We had Margaret Juntwait, hosting her very first broadcast, Peter Allen having retired after 29 years hosting. We had Joseph Volpe's beginning of the season greeting. We had 'A Word or Two from Peter Allen' (I can see how he became so beloved). And best of all, we had the quiz! My first taste of the quiz was the Barbiere broadcast I listened to in Melbourne a year ago and ever since it's been one of the main reasons I wanted Met broadcasts so much. I just love hearing all these people who know so much talking about opera: no poseurs, no pretentiousness, just some very intelligent people saying fascinating things. Fascinating to me anyway. The next 21 weeks will fly by, I'm sure. Next up is Tannhäuser. I, who have never listened to more than 10 minutes of Wagner in one go, am genuinely looking forward to it. After all, it's Deborah Voigt! It's about time I heard her sing. Ariadne auf Naxos or Rosenkavalier might have been good but this is a woman whose performance in I forget which Wagner opera once earned her a 15 or 20 minute standing ovation. Who knows: perhaps the Met Tannhäuser is destined to make a Wagner-nut of me. Or not. In any case, I'm listening to it and to every single other opera in the series. Which is the way I should have been treating the Sunday opera for years- it's only laziness which has prevented it, so hopefully even once this series has finished, I'll have formed an unbreakable habit.