Prima la musica

Desert Island Discs Ahoy!

69 years, almost 3000 shows, more music selections than my brain can process ... and now it's all online. The BBC's new Desert Island Discs website is my New Favourite Thing.

This is an exhaustive and beautifully cross-referenced archive of every guest, all of their musical selections, their book of choice and their one luxury item. It's magnificently searchable. Limit your search to a name, musical selection, book or luxury item, or just search everything. Or browse by occupation (hundreds of keywords), presenter, gender (797 women, 2062 men, are we really surprised?) or whether the program is available to listen to online — over 500 of them already are. 

It gets niftier. Search a composer or artist, and each guest who picked them is listed, with the relevant selection alongside — and ranked in order of frequency. Which means I can tell you, for instance, that Rita Hunter and Enoch Powell hold the joint record for Most Wagner, with four selections (out of eight) each. Read one person's selections, and each entry comes with a link to see ALL guests who chose that artist/composer/author/luxury item. Who shares Mirella Freni's love for the Latin American folk group Inti-Illimani? Why, Emma Thompson, of course, thirty-three years later. 

I am in database love. I've always been a fan of this show — it combines music and list-making, what's not to like — and seeing it all catalogued like this is just, well, cool. Also addictive. I can't stop trawling it. 

So I now know that both Roberto Alagna and Isobel Baillie would take a guitar to their island (as would Colin Firth), that Anthony Rolfe Johnson wanted "a parquet floor and tap shoes", that Janet Baker loves Jane Austen's Persuasion like I do, and that Beverly Sills's #1 choice of music was Ljuba Welitsch singing Salome. I know that only Imelda Staunton and Bernard Cornwell would take my favourite singer, Alison Krauss with them, and that they'd both take the same song. 

Speaking of my favourites, 34 guests selected something by Janacek, and most of them had something to do with opera or the arts in general. 152 went for a bit of Britten — including Peter Pears, whose second appearance saw him choose only music by himself, Ben, or both of them. And Richard Strauss? 218 fans, of whom 28 picked the trio from Rosenkavalier. 5 of them chose "Grossmächtige Prinzessin"; nobody chose "Es gibt ein Reich." Figaro outranks Cosi and Don Giovanni and Kristin Scott Thomas likes Strauss's "Morgen", as if we needed more proof of her greatness.

All Three Tenors picked a Caruso track, and so did Jon Vickers and Roald Dahl. Joanna Lumley and Jennifer Saunders both included some Wagner: Tannhäuser overture and Parsifal Act I Prelude respectively. Stephen Sondheim has appeared twice, twenty years apart, and has not wavered in his choice of book: the works of E.B. White. Anthony Horowitz likes Tippet and Britten. John Cleese wants to take "Michael Palin - stuffed" as his luxury item. In 1953, Geraldine McEwan was a Paul Robeson fan; asked again today, she might change one of her song choices. And yes, Elisabeth Schwarzkopf famously picked only recordings of herself, but five years later, Birgit Nilsson came very close to doing the same.

I must stop. This is already far more than anybody other than myself could find interesting. The point is, I (obviously) recommend this site to your attention. Amuse yourself for a few minutes  — or, as in my case, an entire day. It's not perfect: there's a bug and an error here or there, which is hardly surprising and easily forgiven. (My favourite is a cataloguing glitch which has all Debussy's works, regardless of pianist, credited as compositions by James Rhodes.) But it's such an impressive achievement and So. Much. Fun.

And now, for having come this far (if anyone actually has!) here's a thematically appropriate musical reward. Patricia Petibon with an aria from Haydn's L'isola disabitata.

Ode to Eva-Maria

This is Eva-Maria Westbroek and I think I love her. 

Until I saw Anna Nicole, I knew Eva-Maria only as a name and as the face on the Royal Opera posters plastered all over London. Sometimes I read so much hype for a singer that I develop an irrational bias against them, until I finally, belatedly, hear them and am won over. Not so Eva-Maria, though; I was disposed to like her from the start and excited to hear her, even if I could have wished for more obviously congenial circumstances than Anna Nicole.

She was even more enchanting in that opera than I expected. The piece did little for me, and little to show off the extent of Eva-Maria's vocal brilliance, either. But what she did have to sing was beautifully managed, her American accent remarkably convincing (I've heard native English speakers do a far worse job) and above all, her stage presence was captivating. Whatever you made of the way Turnage and Thomas had drawn Anna Nicole, Eva-Maria's portrayal of that character was difficult to resist. Certainly I was powerless. Anna Nicole's plight might not have captured my heart, but Eva-Maria's exceptional talent sure did.

I came away from Anna Nicole, then, thinking mostly about how much I'd love to hear Eva-Maria in some of her bread-and-butter repertoire, the stuff which would really show her off. And of course, she's singing Sieglinde here in New York soon, in the Met's new Walküre, though whether I'll manage to squeeze my way into that sold out show remains to be seen. (The Tenor In My Life is covering Jonas K in the same show, so there's hope, at least.) I'd love to hear her — and see her — in Wagner, there's no way she could be anything other than sublime. Indeed, YouTube has enough fleeting footage to prove this.

The above is mere prelude, however, despite its length. My Big Eva-Maria Moment came last week, and via DVD rather than live performance. For my sins, I was reviewing (for Limelight) a recent release on Opus Arte of La fanciulla del West from the Netherlands Opera. No doubt that review will appear online at some point and you can read in detail how little I enjoyed it. Suffice it to say that the singing is fine, the production is not, but that the one ray of sunshine which actually made me want to keep watching was lovely, lovely Eva-Maria. Her Minnie transcended her ridiculous surroundings: she was adorable, believable and best of all, vocally sensational.

It's a voice that just doesn't quit. Ever. And the beauty of her voice is tireless as well — I think that's why I'm so taken with her. It's one thing to make it through a killer role like Minnie, but to do it so gorgeously and with such apparent ease? That's something else, and it's a joy to behold. I talk at my TV screen quite a lot, and in this case, I was mostly arguing with the staging; but the other thing I said was "Can she please just sing everything?" And I stand by that. Everything that fits her, at least. If she thinks it's a good choice, then I have a strong suspicion I'll agree.

What next? Twice she has been the bright spot in an otherwise dull experience; my next wish is to see her in a show as wonderful (or almost as wonderful) as she is. YouTube helps with that. And that Met Walküre looks hopeful: even if I miss it this time, she's singing Sieglinde next year's full cycle — and in the first of these, the aforementioned Tenor In My Life will be her Siegmund. Oh my: I'm not sure which of them I'll envy more. 2012 is a long time for impatient little me to wait, but somehow I think it will probably be worth it. 

For now, there are DVDs. There's YouTube. And there's the hope that Eva-Maria's itinerary and mine at least come within reach of a cheap flight. 

Ombra cara

I will always love mezzos just a bit (or a lot) better than countertenors, it's the way I am, but the latter still have the power to woo me now and then, and particularly when they sound so gorgeous that to resist would be utterly obtuse. Such is the case with Bejun Mehta, at least in his new Handel CD, Ombra cara. It's one of the most wonderful Handel aria discs I've heard for quite a while; up there with Joyce DiDonato's Furore and Sandrine Piau's Opera Seria. Quite amazing. And why am I telling you all this? Because my five star review of Ombra cara for Limelight is now online, so if you'd like to read it, you can. Then, if Handel's your bag, seriously consider buying the CD.

Capriccio

This morning was my dress circle début. Final dress rehearsal of Capriccio. There are probably worse ways to escape from the freezing cold. I missed the star spotting opportunities of the stalls and grand tier, but on the other hand, I had a perfect seat to watch the chandeliers float up to the ceiling. (Hey, I'm a Met-baby, this is still exciting for me.) Also, it was Strauss, and Strauss from anywhere is still, well, Strauss. 

I don't want to make too much specific comment now, since it was a dress rehearsal, but I will say that my admiration for Sarah Connolly continues unabated — gorgeous Clairon in a gorgeous frock — and it was really nice to actually hear Renée in person. Also, while I'm not the scenery-applauding type (at least, not literally), this is one pretty production. But then, John Cox was also responsible for Opera Australia's sublime Arabella, so I was aware of his abilities in that respect.

After the show I spent a blissful half hour wandering through the gift shop. (I love gift shops. It's a bit of a fixation.) Picked up a Beverly Sills CD I didn't know existed, and the Nunzilla pictured below. Strauss, Beverly and angry wind-up nun, all in one afternoon? That's what I'd call success.

Bought at the Met Shop today. It’s a “Comte Ory Nunzilla”. How or if she differs from the common or garden Nunzilla has yet to be made clear. I haven’t named her yet: your suggestions are welcome.

Fangirl Squealing

Much fun had at the final dress rehearsal of Le comte Ory. (Kudos to the hardy souls who braved the cold and wet in the hopes of buying somebody's spare ticket. I probably should have felt guiltier about swanning past them.) I'm planning to see it again later in the run, when it's really hit its stride, and will write more about it then. For now, a few squeals will suffice.

#1. I love Joyce DiDonato, she sounded as gorgeous in person as on CD and YouTube, and she makes a remarkably appealing boy.

#2. Diana Damrau is seriously funny. And reminds me of Poppy from Frasier, if that means anything to anyone. 

#3. Joyce and Diana should be required by law to sing together all the time. (See video below for proof I'm right.)

#4. Stéphane Degout! I like.

#5. I love Joyce DiDonato. Did I mention that? 

#6. Natalie Dessay and Renata Scotto were both in the audience. Definitely squealworthy. 

#7. Oh, and I love Joyce DiDonato.

Bluebeard's Castle

I said it would be all kinds of wonderful. I was wrong, because it was better than that. Tonight's performance of Bluebeard's Castle by the New York Philharmonic has to rank now among the most stunning operatic experiences of my life so far. Not to mention the greatest sonic thrills: when that band plays that music that loud, and you're only about ten rows away from them, it's what I can only describe as a sort of exquisite agony. Almost painful, yet so intensely wonderful that it's the opposite of painful.

Oh, but the un-loud stuff was intense and wonderful too. I knew I liked this opera, but I've only had a few encounters with it — all of them on record — and didn't realise until tonight how much I liked it. It's an extraordinary score, so heavily orchestrated and yet finely wrought, equally capable of ear-assaulting volume and of eerie quiet. And when I say eerie, I mean eerie: Bartok here matches anything Bernard Herrmann did in terms of fear-by-music. 

And then there's The Fifth Door, which is like nothing else. Wow. The chord struck, our Judith (tunefully) screamed and all the house lights came up. It was a moment you felt as much as heard. Even when you know it's coming, the Fifth Door manages to knock you out; my companion, on the other hand, had never heard the opera before and didn't know it was coming — I was jealous. As introductions to Bluebeard go, Salonen and the NY Phil is probably not a bad one. By which I mean, they nailed it. 

It helped that I was already besotted with the orchestra before it began. They had me at hello, which in this case was Ligeti's Concert romanesc, an incredibly enjoyable showpiece. I knew in ten seconds that this was the finest orchestra I've yet heard live, and at that point I'd probably have listened to them play anything; if the Haydn symphony which followed had been the end of the concert, I'd still have been happy. Instead I got to hear a brilliant opera played phenomenally well, and sung magnificently. Gabor Bretz was a remarkably charismatic Bluebeard, with the added idiomatic bonuses of (1) singing in his native tongue and (2) a rather beautiful voice, especially up top. And Michelle DeYoung...

...Michelle DeYoung deserves her own paragraph. She was incandescent. I watched and listened, spellbound, as her Judith moved from naïve curiosity to morbid obsession, and did so without the aid of costumes, sets or props: it was in her eyes and in her voice. That voice. I've read and heard about Michelle for I-don't-know-how-many years, never heard her until tonight, but she was worth the wait and lived up to the hype. She's a mezzo in a million, ideal for Judith in all her moods; limitless, luscious and earthy. I'll be there, of course, when she sings Das Lied von der Erde in Chicago next year. Cannot. Wait. 

Speaking of that inability, it turns out I also can't wait for the next time I happen to coincide with a performance of this opera, so we've booked to see this one again on Tuesday, our last chance. Frankly, being anywhere else on that night just doesn't make sense.

Natalieeee!

(Photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera)

Dare I say it was all about Natalie? This isn't a review, so yes, I do. It was. All about Natalie. For me, at any rate. The last time I saw Lucia di Lammermoor I decided I never really needed to see it again, and this would have remained the case, had I not had the chance to see Natalie sing it again. She was the reason I saw it twice in San Francisco three years ago, she was the reason I demanded we see it here in New York, and she's the reason that both of those were excellent decisions. Three times now, she's captivated me in that role.

Nobody does crazy like Natalie. I think the mad scene this time around was better than in San Francisco (though I did miss the unexpected and haunting cadenza from that earlier production) and she was in very pretty, very Natalie voice throughout. Which is to say: I know she's not everyone's favourite soprano. But she sure is one of mine and tonight gave me plenty of pearly reasons why. I love it when she sings softly, I love it when she screams, I love those high notes and all that coloratura, and — I have to be honest — I even love the occasional gaps in her voice, the bits that don't quite go to plan. She's just Natalie, and I love her, and while I still really don't ever need to hear Lucia again, if I should come across her singing it in yet another city someday, it's safe to say I'll be booked like a flash. 

Shooting swans (in the non-Parsifal sense) in Hyde Park. (Taken with instagram)

An Audience With Amanda

Back to Wigmore Hall again last night — maybe I should just pitch a tent in the foyer — this time for a song recital by Amanda Roocroft, part of a series curated by King of Accompanists, Malcolm Martineau, surveying German art song from 1810 to 1910, one decade at a time.

Amanda's decade was 1860-1870. She won me over immediately by wearing a dress that suited the period, a gorgeous white creation complete with bustle. Then she won me over a little more by sweetly encouraging the latecomers at the back of the hall to come in before she started singing. Then she started singing and I liked her more than ever. I've heard her once before, only on CD, so to all intents and purposes this was a new voice to me and I like it a lot: graceful enough to do the Lieder thing beautifully, forceful and dramatic enough that I'd love now to see her in opera. 

Nice programme, too, which I gather is His Majesty Malcolm Martineau's doing. I knew almost none of it. Cornelius, Jensen and Liszt in the first half, Bruch and Brahms in the second. The Bruch was especially pretty, a bit of a revelation to me; the Brahms, too, was wonderful. And Martineau's claim to the throne is as secure as ever. I loved Amanda's very funny spoken interjections, too, as she stopped to tell anecdotes — or just to praise Martineau and the music — not just between brackets of songs but sometimes halfway through them. She's pretty irresistible, all in all.

___

Programme was as follows:
Cornelius: Abendgefühl, Im tiefsten Herzen, Warum sind denn die Rosen so blass?, Vision Jensen: Nos. 1, 2, 5 & 6 from Dolorosa Op. 30 Liszt: Die drei Zigeuner, Die stille Wasserrose, Ich liebe dich, Freudvoll und leidvoll, Ich scheide, Jugendglück Bruch: Lausche, lausche, An den Jesusknaben, Verlassen, Im tiefen Tale Brahms: Am Sonntag Morgen, An die Nachtigall, Herbstgefühl, Sonntag, Wiegenlied, Die Mainacht, Von ewiger Liebe Encore: None but the lonely heart (Tchaikovsky) 

St Martin's Lane (Taken with instagram)

Lunch with Franz

To Wigmore Hall this afternoon for a short and sweet programme of Schubert songs and chamber works, courtesy of Antoine Tamestit (viola), Markus Hadulla (piano) and — it's me, so there has to be a singer in there somewhere — soprano Sandrine Piau. It was a BBC Radio 3 Lunchtime Concert, so less than an hour long and broadcast live.

I went to hear Sandrine, no point pretending otherwise; I've loved her for a long time, and her recital disc Evocations in particular is one of the prettiest recordings I own. That said, she's more famous for 18th-century repertoire than for art song, and rightly so: her singing today was gorgeous, no doubt about it, and she's a great singer to watch in action — provided you don't mind a bit (or a lot) of movement — but not quite what I'd call idiomatic. Which just served to remind me how spectacularly idiomatic she is in Mozart, Handel and Vivaldi. All of her songs were charming, and expressively delivered, but I couldn't help noticing that she seemed especially happy in the florid last part of "Der Hirt auf dem Felsen" — about as close as Schubert ever gets to the coloratura challenges of a Vivaldi motet. In fact, if anything, she possibly sang it too fast, but it was dazzling nonetheless and again, reminded me how much I'd love to hear her in a whole opera's worth of coloratura.

Oh well. One day. In the meantime this was a fairly wonderful way to pass an otherwise disgustingly cold and wet afternoon. (And I didn't realise Sandrine looked so much like Isabella Rossellini. Some girls have all the luck!) Anyway, to be honest, it was the violist, Tamestit, who was the real star: partnered beautifully by Hadulla, he shone in the Arpeggione sonata particularly, and was delightful in their arrangement of Die Taubenpost. Not quite so sure about the viola replacing the clarinet in Der Hirt auf dem Felsen, but it was still an interesting version to hear. 

The trio have, as it turns out, recorded this programme (with a couple of additions) for the Naïve label. Worth pursuing, I'd say, for violaphiles, Schubert lovers and Sandrine groupies alike.