Prima la musica, poi le parole

On screen

Three things I've seen recently - one at the movies and two on TV - are worth mentioning. Firstly a rather lovely French movie, Comme une image, whose title in English is the somewhat less subtle Look At Me. The plot in one sentence, from the NZ Film Festival website: "An insecure young Parisian opera singer struggles to escape the shadow of her superstar novelist father." So of course I went. As I say, an excellent movie. But more important, there's real singing in it. We see Lolita, the soprano, at her voice lessons, in rehearsal and in performance, and the music is gorgeous. What's better, it's authentic - the soprano who provides her voice is at the same level as the character, so she makes mistakes, she falters, and then she triumphs. The final concert, in a tiny French country church, is just beautiful. Highly recommended, see it if you can. And I think the actress playing Lolita bears a slight resemblance to Cecilia every now and then, but nobody agrees with me.

The Arts Channel hasn't had a great deal operatic to offer of late, but this week we have had two rather special shows. One, surprisingly enough, was Chamber Music: Puccini. I say surprising, because Chamber Music is, as much as anything else, a dance series - life and works of a composer interpreted by Les Boréades, a French-Canadian dance troupe. In between the dancing there are pieces of straigh documentary-style biography, but there's a lot of dance, really not my cup of tea. But since this one was Puccini, I figured we were almost guaranteed some sopranos, and I could just ignore the dancing. Which more or less is what I did. In earlier Chamber Music shows I could sort of see a point to all the choreography, even if it didn't appeal to me. But here it was just strange - unlike, say, a string quartet, a Puccini aria has a definite plot to it, because it has a text. So it was offputting, for instance, to see the whole of Mimi's and Rodolfo's first encounter taking place as a representation of just 'Mi chiamano Mimi' - doesn't make a great deal of sense. It seemed that if you were going to go to all this trouble, you might as well just act the scene, lip-synch it even - and in fact that's more or less what happened for the Tosca excerpt.

However, if the dance aspect didn't exactly win me over, the music absolutely did. I love Puccini anyway, but one can get a little jaded about his Greatest Soprano Hits. But this was different. It was those hits, but sung with piano accompaniment only. The effect was amazing, intensely personal, and revelatory. And the soprano, a Monique Pagé, was equally enchanting. Throughout the film I kept thinking, who is that? Having learnt her name, I'm still not a great deal the wiser, but I'd certainly like to hear more of her.

The other Arts Channel treat - another screening of the fabulous documentary Beyond Music: Montserrat Caballé. I've seen this three times now and each time, I'm spellbound. Great film-making and an even greater subject.  I wrote about this documentary back in January, the first time I saw it, and you know, I think I'll just copy and paste.

The Arts Channel just screened the most wonderful documentary, Caballé: Beyond Music. Somehow until tonight I was unaware how amazing this woman was and is: Norma, Fiordiligi, Sieglinde, Elisabeth in Don Carlo, the Verdi Requiem, duets with Freddie Mercury, Strauss lieder and apparently everything else as well. Much is made of Maria Callas' back-to-back Norma/Isolde performances but I'd no idea that Montserrat Caballé sang an even huger and more varied repertoire, with the added bonus of (don't kill me) sounding a darn sight better. She's also gorgeous, gracious, sweet and very funny. All I was expecting was tonight was one of those early-90s, English voice-over quick biography kinds of documentaries, which are fine. But this is a film from 2003, directed by her fabulous brother Carlos, who was largely responsible for his sister's success and seems to have just happened to discover José Carreras along the way. So the only narration is from Montserrat herself, in interviews and in conversation with Carlos. And everybody who's anybody shows up to add their two cents: Renée Fleming, Marilyn Horne, Cheryl Studer, Sam Ramey, Dame Joan Sutherland, her daughter (Monserrat Jr, who also sings), her adorable husband (she sang Butterfly and married her Pinkerton) and many many others. It's a wonderful film: there's no voiceover spelling out to us how successful and talented she is: it's just patently obvious. There's are excerpts from an amazing Norma, the adorable Barcelona concert with Freddie Mercury, Tosca, Roberto Devereux, masterclasses, everything. We see her visit her music school and pay tribute to her first teacher. She tells wonderful stories, as does her brother. And she sings. The world doesn't rave about those piannissimi for nothing. She's a gorgeous actress too. There's just nothing lacking- whether she's one of your personal favourites or not, there's no denying she's magnificent and destined forever to be unmatched.

I don't think there's anything much I can add to that. This is unquestionably one of the best singer documentaries I've seen. And worth watching for the Norma clip alone - an outdoors performance, sung in strong winds which, rather than being a problem, only add to the magic of it all - her robes and her hair trail out behind her, and you'd swear it was she who brought the wind with her. Quite incredible.

Magic Flute

A couple of weeks ago a DVD arrived for me from Premiere Opera: a 1986 Magic Flute from the Sydney Opera House, with - yes - Yvonne Kenny as Pamina. I haven't reviewed it yet and now I don't have to! The excellent Rosel Labone, rising NZ opera singer and frequent commenter here, has seen it recently too, so I asked what she thought - and her response was so wonderful I'm giving it its own post. Voilà:

"Well... the Oz production was a pretty standard (if not a little pedestrian) stab at things, in my opinion. Now I'm not saying a measured take on Mozart is necessarily a bad thing; I think an ounce of prevention is often the best approach to these things. I can't bear post-modern retellings that try to insinuate something subequatorial into every phrase and offhand remark, every nuance of the music. Mozart seems to always grab the short straw when it comes to this kind of direction, possibly because many directors like to draw on the all too believably human aspects of his characters and themes. In general, I like to encounter a production that is innovative in all the right places and offers me a unique view, but still maintains the integrity of the composer and their intentions. Some of the most effective productions are those that get out of the way and let the music communicate, and sometimes, though not always, this can mean very simple or traditional, or stark-looking, staging, stripping things back to their bare bones, so as not to detract but merely enhance the heart of the work.
There is nothing wrong with innovative and effective, yet simple, staging. If the performances themselves have conservative leanings, things can start to become problematic. Let me make myself clear on this point. By no means do I think that performances should be overtly “stagy:” I define conservative acting as that which is not committed enough to make an unflinching connection with the audience. This was a quibble I had with NZ Opera's "Giovanni," and it came to the fore in this production too.

This "Flute" looked a little dated, unsurprising as it was a child of the '80s (oh, they had designers then!)When a mulleted Tamino stepped out onstage, I didn't hold out much hope for things aesthetically improving. But, as I'm sure you're aware by seeing many actors stuck in bad productions, good performances can redeem pretty much anything, even hair crimes. So I waited. And the Tamino wasn't that bad. Really. But the whole thing felt a little...stiff. Most certainly, I was missing the German language. It didn’t really bother me too much that the Papageno bore a striking resemblance to the crocodile hunter circa 1993. And it wasn't that anyone wasn't acting in a dramatic sense, but that was the problem; it felt too acted, too distanced, not real enough. I know there are arguments about and preferences for emblematic vs. realistic acting, especially in the static form of opera, but I personally feel that this “lack of connection” between performer and audience, still unsettlingly prevalent in opera productions, is yet another obstacle to overcome in the battle for the art form to remain relevant to many. Of course, a recorded performance is completely different from what a live audience would be experiencing. I had a discussion once which illustrates my point, where a cast member in an opera production made the comment about another cast member: "her acting looks really good from the audience."
Afraid I have to say that although Yvonne Kenny was vocally very much on top of things, to me at this stage in her obviously young career her artistry was still developing, meaning her holistic approach to the art form... but I'm sure that you completely missed this when watching, Sarah, and I don't want to spoil her performance for you, so ignore me!!! Though I've yet to share your adoration, I realise you are far, far gone into the realms of diva worship and won't be returning anytime soon!

The Kath Battle/Met production looked beautiful but it did chuck everything in with the sink... as a result, it occasionally lost focus (it’s a bit like Giovanni in that way; it’s hard to stage it successfully, there’s so many directions you can take the work,  so much thematic richness, you can either give all of them cursory attention or focus on two or three, so certain areas inevitably always fall short.) But the best Flute I experienced on video by a mile was a semi - staged production from 1995 for the Amsterdam festival, conducted by John Eliot Gardiner, with a largely Nordic/German cast. I returned the video without writing any details of who they were, and as they were largely not well known, I can’t recall names. But they just GOT this stuff. I found the only trio of ladies that I've actually warmed to so far, and the production also boasted the most spectacular Konigin of any I've encountered. It proved my point about the big M; staging be damned (though I liked the minimal approach here,) it's all in the performances, in getting inside the music, and in how involved, in a real way, the players are. The Pamina blew both my socks off; such an unaffected, natural performance, yet with the vital edge of a young woman experiencing her first real pain. The sublime expression of the nobility of the human spirit, “In diesen heil’gen Hallen,” was beautifully taken. The razor-sharp orchestra presented excellent teamwork, and Mozart specialist Gardiner kept things going along at a corking pace.
There is no doubt in my mind how much capacity this art form still has to evoke, to connect. In such wonders as Cecilia Bartoli, even the most blaze opera goer will be recharged by seeing the new things that can still come out of old art; finding things they never knew were there in the music before, experiencing the new life that’s been breathed into it - even music as well-loved and listened to as Mozart. We need more performers who can make music LIVE."

There you go. So nice for a change to have an objective review of something on this blog. Grazie mille Rosel!

If you were wondering: I agree with the above review on more or less every point. (Papageno really does look like the Crocodile Hunter - I thought exactly the same thing.) We exclude, of course, the comments about Yvonne - but it's quite possible that if I was in any state to watch and listen to her in a cool, detached manner, I might feel the same way about her too. As it is I honestly don't know what my objective opinion would be. When Yvonne is on stage all I know is - Yvonne. So everything she says, does and sings is, by definition, throw-myself-off-a-bridge perfect. And I really do mean everything. I'm utterly enchanted, for instance, by Yvonne's shall we say distinctive way of speaking dialogue. Yvonne can make the most florid Handel coloratura sound like natural speech but for some reason doesn't achieve quite the same feat with actual speech. She's adorably mannered and stage-y, emphasising every third or fourth word and sometimes sounding more like a foreign speaker with an excellent accent (oh Yvonne's accent has a music all of its own..) In fact much of the time it seems she speaks dialogue in musical rather than spoken phrases (I've sometimes thought the same about Greta Garbo). Doesn't make for the most naturalistic acting but for one such as I, so inescapably under her spell, it just adds to the magic.

I only want to add one thing more, and that's a mention of the Queen of the Night in this production, Christa Leahmann. I enjoyed her immensely and I know that I shouldn't have. It can't happen too often, I imagine, that the soprano singing the Königin is actually old enough to be Pamina's mother, but I'd wager this time she was. She's terrifying too, visually and vocally. Will she hit those high notes? Did she in fact hit them? Hard to say. And she skips over a lot of the coloratura rather than attempt to sing it accurately - she's obviously focusing on those Fs to come. So as I say, not the sort of Königin one's supposed to think too highly of perhaps but I loved her. She looked like a particularly sturdy - and particularly ferocious - Elisabeth Schwarzkopf, resplendent in midnight blue and powdered wig - and though she wasn't always making the most beautiful sounds, she was brilliant to watch.

Shopping in Auckland

Very odd visit(s) to Marbecks Classical this weekend. Since I was there in April the shop has halved in size - and it was already pretty packed. There's a strange smell in one corner, over near the Handel and Haydn. Their fabulous selection of opera on DVD is arranged not by composer but by title, which makes for a slightly odd browsing experience. Though I suppose that's the way movie DVDs are laid out, so it makes some sort of sense. Sort of. The music playing in store when I arrived was Christmas carols arranged for harp, blasting out of the speakers at incredibly high volume - and though no doubt the harpist was some fabulous virtuosic genius, it was still a little too 'Best of Relaxing Classics' for me and didn't put me in a particularly good mood. When that ended it was followed by near silence, something orchestral too soft to make out. And is the free bag of designer coffee they're giving away with Sandrine Piau's Opera Seria CD the reason it's number one on the Concert FM charts? I think it probably is.

And here as elsewhere, Felicity Lott Torments Me. Have I mentioned this before? I'm being followed by Felicity Lott. Or possibly, I am (against my will) following Felicity Lott. As I go my merry Yvonne Kenny obsessed way, I constantly find Felicity where Yvonne should be. Wearing her Marschallin costumes. Recording roles Yvonne has only sung on stage. They were even one after the other on the Askonas Holt sopranos list until Anna May Leese came between them. So browsing through the Naxos collection (which seems rather inordinately large given the size of the shop) I spotted a CD of William Walton songs. Dare I look? though I. Those Walton songs may just be the best thing Yvonne has ever recorded, can I bear even to see the name of another singer associated with them? But I had to look - and sure enough, 'Soprano: Felicity Lott'. I almost laughed out loud. I didn't buy it. However when I returned on Saturday (after the previous day's purchases I only needed one more Beethoven stamp on my loyalty card, so figured it was worth having another look around) it occured to me that I wanted to get my hands on a recording or two of La Voix Humaine in order to familiarise myself with it somewhat before seeing it in Melbourne in December. Naturally Marbecks only held one recording of it. Naturally it was Felicity Lott's. This I did buy. After all, the reviews for it are fabulous - and at least in this case, I'll hear Felicity and then Yvonne. I think we can guess which one will be the definitive 'Elle' of my lifetime. Though speaking of the definitive 'Elle' - I wouldn't mind owning Denise Duval's recording of it either.

Real Groovy's classical section, on the other hand, offered me nothing. 50 million secondhand copies of Aled Jones' CD Higher. And Haunted Heart which I do not want. Why did Renée's prettiest cover photo ever have to be on her jazz CD?

But in the end I'm a happy and somewhat poorer person, and now the proud owner of the following:

Medea in Corinto. Oh, I paid much too much for this opera. Or, alternatively, I paid a civilised amount for the opera, and an extra $37.95 for the photo in the liner notes of the soprano singing Creusa. And when I go now and listen to it, it will of course be worth every extravagant cent.
The Marriage of Figaro. Yes, in English. I'm not quite sure how I'll ever make myself listen to Act One though - with my darling Yvonne singing the Countess, I'll quite happily let things begin with 'Porgi amor'. Such a heathen.
Die Zauberflöte. Gorgeous red cover + bargain price = worthwhile purchase. And then there's my beloved William Christie conducting, and chère Mlle Dessay singing the Königin. Irresistible.
Anna Moffo - Arias. AKA The Beige Album. I spent many months head over heels in love with Anna and yet somehow in all that time acquired only three CDs, only one of which was a solo disc. But I have this now. And it was free! Thankyou loyalty card.
Sara Mingardo - Monteverdi, Vivaldi, Handel. And despite the title, many other composers too. I've only heard a little of it so far but I can tell she's my kind of girl.
And as I said, Poulenc's La Voix Humaine with the Ubiquitous Lott. Also includes La Dame de Monte-Carlo, a short monologue, once again with text by Cocteau.

Bellissima Donn'Anna

That's it then. Last night I saw my third and final performance of NZ Opera's Don Giovanni - also the production's closing night. Having reviewed the performances I saw in Wellington three weeks ago, I wasn't sure I'd write anything much about this - but I will, because in some ways I feel as if I saw a whole new show last night.

It seemed to me a much tighter production this time round. Several of my own wishes, eerily enough, were granted. One of my complaints in my earlier review was that, in the middle of 'Ah chi mi dice mai', Donna Elvira heard Don Giovanni's whispered conversation with Leporello, and reacted coquettishly, checking her hair and so on - and thus undermining the point of her aria. Well, somebody else must have felt the same way, because that was gone last night - she just kept singing, focused on vengeance and violence, and I thought the aria was the better for the change. Something else which bothered me, and which I didn't mention because it seemed a necessity of the stage set-up rather than any directorial decision, was that in Wellington, Donna Elvira left the Act II dinner, spotted the statue, screamed and then ran towards him. Which makes no sense. It's like people in horror movies who run upstairs with an axe murderer in house. But it was fixed this time: she didn't scream until she was already offstage, implying she passed the statue in the street - which, I think, is what the libretto actually says. All in all, I found last night's Donna Elvira much more convincing; I also felt like vocally I was hearing what everybody else heard in Wellington.

Those were the changes which pleased me most. Others were a little more curious. Donna Elvira's entrance last night came immediately after Donna Anna's first call (of many...) for vengeance. The scene between Don Giovanni and Leporello - "la vita che menate è da briccone" etc. - was gone. Not that it's absolutely necessary, I suppose, but I do think it's important in establishing a sense of the servant-master relationship (and sometime lack thereof) and giving us a tiny glimpse of the works of Giovanni's mind. Really I can't think why, having been performed in the Wellington production, it was cut. However that cut wasn't as heartbreaking as the disappearance of the middle of 'Non mi dir'. I'm pretty sure I didn't imagine it, though at the time I thought surely I had. It went straight from the first "che son io crudel con te" to "calma calma" and then into the second section. No "tu ben sai quant'io t'amai" - that part was gone. Was this intentional? Things seemed to flow pretty seamlessly down in the orchestra pit but I imagine a good conductor and a good orchestra can do stuff like that impromptu, and it seems an unusual cut to make.

What made it a particularly difficult omission to bear was that last night's Donna Anna constituted one of the very best operagoing experiences in my life so far. Patricia Wright was so beautiful in Wellington, that I had no idea she could be so much better even than that. She simply blew me away. She sounded and looked about 15 years younger, she was alive to every nuance of music and drama, she seemed - as much as a Donna Anna can - genuinely to be enjoying herself. When I saw her in Wellington, part of the thrill was seeing one of my favourite sopranos in a beautiful role, hearing a voice I recognized; but last night's performance was like discovering her all over again - she was not only a beautiful soprano whom I adore, she was, independent of anything previous, a truly great Donna Anna. Her 'Non mi dir' was easily the best of the three I've heard - beginning with one of the most perfectly wrought pieces of Mozart recitative I've ever heard - and so the disappearance of that middle section hurt. Both times in Wellington, I was in tears by the end of the aria - but this time I was so overwhelmed I didn't really come back to reality until Don Giovanni was asking Leporello to whistle un poco, and even then not entirely. Even now not entirely. I can still hear her.

When the curtain fell I was trembling. I would so have liked to have been able join in the 'brava' shouting - but at that point I'd have been hard pressed to speak in English, let alone shout in Italian. Let's be honest, the opera is divine, but Patricia and Patricia alone is the sole reason I spent hundreds of dollars on tickets and airfares and hotelrooms in order to see this a third time. I knew, of course, that she'd be worth it - but I had no idea just how worth it. I only wish I could spend all my weekends like this.

Friday night catblogging

My darling Cecilia, caught with her new favourite book, rather annoyed not to be coming with me to the opera tomorrow night.

Jane Austen Songs

I'd say there are two reasons you'd buy Patricia Wright's Jane Austen Songs CD. (1) You're a Jane Austen fanatic determined to immerse yourself in every aspect of her life and work. Or (2) you're a Patricia Wright fanatic, determined to fill your CD collection with every note she's ever recorded. Without wanting to make any enemies, I'm rather emphatically not in the first category. But you know all too well by now that I'm quite desperately in the second.

Released in 1989 - just a few months before la belle Patricia was competing in the Singer of the World competition, the year of Bryn & Dmitri - this is the earliest of her recordings that I've heard. It consists of sixteen songs chosen from those among Jane Austen's rather large collection of sheet music, the kinds of things which those ubiquitous Accomplished Women sing while Darcy sits and smoulders, etc. Only one track on the CD - Haydn's setting of 'My Mother Bids Me Bind My Hair'  - had been recorded previous to this CD; there are several similar CDs available now. So it's parlour music - nothing more, nothing less. A collection of musical masterworks it ain't. Hence the two reasons listed above; I somehow don't think you'd buy it - or at least, that you should buy it - out of an interest in the music itself because to be honest, it's not very interesting music.

Not interesting, perhaps, but gorgeously sung. After all, we can talk about interpretation and musical intelligence and depth and so on as much as we like but sometimes all it takes is a Beautiful Sound to make a CD worth hearing. There's simply not the scope in these songs for the sort of interpretive TLC lavished upon Patricia's subsequent ventures - to try and uncover hidden depths would be to ruin the songs' simple appeal. Singing for singing's sake isn't always a bad thing, and in this case it's very very good indeed. And if this is how Patricia was sounding in 1989 I'm amazed she didn't progress further than she did at Cardiff. The warm glowing middle register and jubilant high notes I love so well are in full force here, with a silverier sound than usual, suited perfectly to the little fioritura ornaments which have a tendency to pop up in these songs when least expected. If some of the songs are a little dull, the voice most certainly isn't - and as a result none of the songs actually are dull. Patricia's bright shining tone can create thrillingly lovely passages out of what are rather straightforward pieces of melody, and having been and listened to samples of Julianne Baird's Jane Austen CD, I can tell you, these melodies are capable of sounding very plodding and boring indeed. They're pretty little songs, certainly: but it's the singer here, and not the songs, who makes this disc sparkle.

Subtitling gone mad

A Grrrr from ACD in support of a very interesting post from the excellent Jessica Duchen has got me thinking. From Jessica's post:

"I switched on the First Night in some excitement this evening, looking forward to seeing the lovely Janine Jansen playing my favourite violin concerto - Mendelssohn ... And what do we see? A purple strap along the bottom third of the picture, carrying little titbits of info and commentary on the music a la Wimbledon."

Oh dear. This is worrying. I read the post, and the varied reactions to it - some heartily in agreement, some scolding Jessica for discouraging accessibility, new audiences, etc. and for a moment I was unsure exactly I did feel about the whole issue. After all, the information itself might well be fascinating and yes, even aid enjoyment. But the obvious struck me pretty quickly: the information itself and the way it's received are two very very different things - and when I imagined myself turning on a concert and finding such a running commentary, I realised me reaction would in fact be just as vehement. No, no, no.

As I say, it's not the information itself which is an issue. I know from my own experience that I rather like knowing something about that side of things from time to time. But do I want it told to me while I'm listening to the piece. Good lord, no! Read it or otherwise learn it beforehand, or afterwards, sure but during? No. Take La Bohème for instance. When I listened to the Met broadcast, there was some fascinating stuff in the interval about the cleverness happening in the orchestra pit while Mimi dies. And when we afterwards reached that scene, I could hear it, and I liked that. But imagine if that same woman (I forget her name) had appeared on stage at the same time, and told the audience then and there "Listen! Can you hear what the orchestra's doing? Isn't that great?" Subtitles on an TV broadcast of a concert aren't as obtrusive as that, I know, but still - when there's music playing, listen. Do the other things at some other time.

Comparisons with opera surtitles are flawed, I feel. Surtitles don't elaborate or explain anything, they merely translate, more or less literally. Their equivalent in an orchestral concert would, I think, be following a score in your lap. Good surtitles won't try and direct your personal experience of an opera, either - these subtitles would seem to be attempting just that, tell you how you ought to listen to a piece, as if that was anybody's business but your own. Imagine watching King Lear, for instance, with subtitles pointing out, say, that the storm outside mirrors Lear's inner turmoil - it would be unbearable. You may well find that the information in such subtitles is exactly what does help you enjoy a piece of music but you might just as easily feel the opposite. There are a dozen ways you can find and absorb that information (even these same subtitles might work nicely for some, if they were on a DVD, or otherwise turn-off-able) but the decision should be yours, not a TV executive's. Anything else is just oppressive and, I should think, unbelievably irritating.

Blogroll

I've finally got around to adding to the blogroll the fascinating blog of soprano Erin Wall, which I discovered via the excellent Tomness . Highly recommended and worthwhile reading. Erin also has a (very pretty) official website and an impressive 2005-2006 schedule.

Sextet

ACD's fascinating consideration at Sounds and Fury of the epilogue of Don Giovanni has had me thinking. I'm happy to say that, like Signor S & F, I'm definitely not among those who would say that "[the] closing sextet is actually a superfluous, dramatically lame if pretty bit of operatic nonsense the opera would have done better without." Mostly because it contains several of my favourite musical moments from the opera as a whole. But ACD's suggestions about its dramatic significance are intriguing also:

In that closing sextet, Mozart, with a sly and slightly malicious off-stage grin undetectable by most of his audiences, assures those audiences that Giovanni has been dealt with fittingly, and now everything is once more restored to proper bourgeois order with nothing of consequence left to threaten or disturb their good and just bourgeois sleep.

I'd say it's a definite possibility. Especially given that we're talking about the sudden moralising of six not necessarily terribly well-behaved people, over the fate of a never entirely evil Don Giovanni - it's hard to think of it as a wholeheartedly sincere Happy and Virtuous Ever After kind of conclusion. There's a similar idea at work in the staging of this sextet in the Zurich Opera 2001 production, available on DVD - the six line up "l'antichissima canzon" with hymn books in hand, turning the pages dutifully but faster and faster until finally they throw the books away when they see what's going on behind them - Giovanni alive again and entangled with a new and very modern looking conquest. At which point the curtain drops - but only in front of Don Giovanni and his latest love - the sextet are left on stage, aghast. I haven't described it wonderfully well, but I think it's a very clever piece of direction. This is a different view of things to ACD's, but the sense of the closing sextet's insincerity is, I think, common to both.

Though speaking of staging, there's just one thing that I'd question in ACD's post (without, I hope, provoking too much Fury) and that's his suggestion of the way in which that sextet should be staged. If this is - and it could well be - " a sly and slightly malicious off-stage grin undetectable by most of his audience", mightn't we keep it that way? Rather than making it evident to all by having the six assemble in front of the curtain and sing to the audience. Because I'd say there are still today plenty in the audience happy to accept the epilogue at face value and to go home with all the moral issues so nicely sorted out for them. If we oblige everyone to 'get the joke', then where's the fun in that?

Staging Bach

As part of a continuing effort to remind myself that there a great deal more than two opera singers in the world, I've been listening to a few of the CDs that have been lying silent for the last few months - in particular things I bought in my manic April shopping spree. And today, to the divine Lorraine Hunt Lieberson's Bach CD. I hadn't forgotten how much I like Lorraine, but in a way I'd forgotten just why I like her, and so it's nice to hear her again. Well, nice isn't really the word is it? Not when it's Lorraine doing gutwrenching Bach cantatas in her beautiful, soulful way. I leave the CD playing, carry on doing what I'm doing - and then these jaw-dropping moments come when all one can do is stop and stare at the CD player and think "Lorraine." Besides which, as you know, I'm a Bach fiend.

What troubles me slightly though, is the mention in the liner notes for the CD that these two cantatas were staged - with Lorraine - by Peter Sellars. Staged? I'm not sure how I feel about that. From the descriptions given, I imagine they probably did make rather compelling theatre. But theatre. Musically I somehow don't think it's quite necessary. Do we need to spell out in this way the contemporary relevance and universal applicability of the emotions expressed? I don't think that we do because I think all of that - and more besides - is in the music. After all, that's one of the miracles of Bach, the intense and, what's more, the intensely recognisable emotions portrayed. I think, for instance, of 'Mache dich, mein Herze, rein' from the St Matthew Passion, which I consider one of the most perfect pieces of music ever created and which I find it incredibly difficult and emotionally draining to listen to - in fact I haven't made it all the way through since hearing the Passion live in March this year. Bringing the two cantatas into that theatrical setting would, I'm sure, have been a fascinating thing but would it actually add anything to them? Surely there's nothing left to add.