Prima la musica

Lohengrin

Curses, almost a week since Lohengrin opened — with the next show only two days away — and I still haven't written a word about it.

Well, here's one word: magic. 

And here are some more. Opening night was brilliant. I'd been to a few rehearsals, but I'd only ever seen chunks of individual acts. Never the whole show, never with the full setand never with everyone in costume. Such is life in a Wiederaufnahme. I'd never even seen the swan — but that, as it turned out, was a piece of excellent luck. Its arrival was breathtaking, its revelation of the young prince at the end even more so (I cried...) and I was so glad not to have had either surprise spoilt ahead of time.

The set in all its glory is showing its age here and there but this I forgive, given that it's a year and a day older than me. I don't look like I did in 1983 either. It's still very grand and, I have to say, it really is a joy to see an old-fashioned show, with knights in armour and swords and ladies in brocade and all that stuff. After nine months of Wozzecks and non-literal Parsifals, excellent though they've all been, it's nice to spend a little time with a Lohengrin that's jumped straight out of a storybook. 

I wish I could point you to a review somewhere for a (comparatively) unbiased take on the singing, but alas, no critic seems to have seen fit to cover this show yet. What I can say is that Marjorie Owens and Tichina Vaughn both made auspicious débuts as Elsa and Ortrud respectively; that Georg Zeppenfeld is one heck of a King Henry; that Hans-Joachin Ketelsen's Telramund is also mighty; and that The Tenor in my Life surprised even me with his Lohengrin.

So, yes, incredibly partial comments to follow, but: I hang around him every day, and I still have no idea he how sings so gloriously, so powerfully or for so long. And for all the miraculousness of his Parsifals this year (not to mention everything else), I think last Sunday's Lohengrin is basically the coolest, jawdroppingest and most virtuosic bit of singing I've seen him do since Peter Grimes in Sydney two years ago. Biased I may be, but I ain't deaf, and I don't expect ever to hear Lohengrin sung much better than that.

And I must be on to something, because the response which greeted both the cast as a whole and my own Grail Knight suggested everyone else was as impressed as I was. There was massive applause at the end of every act and for every cast member. There was cheering, and foot-stomping, and the first bow of Lohengrin himself sparked a standing ovation which eventually spread throughout the stalls and into much of the upper levels. Erik Nielsen, the excellent conductor who took over at short notice for an indisposed Adam Fischer, also received his share of wild acclaim. 

It was one of those electrically charged evenings, both in silene while the show was in swing and in the clamour when it stopped. All the more impressive when you think that we're talking about a revival which opened on a Sunday afternoon: not exactly a Gala Night. Yet it frequently felt like one. Like I say. Magic.

This is the Dresden Striezelmarkt. Dating back to 1434, it's one of Germany's oldest Christmas markets. Its 577th incarnation is currently under construction no more than 50 metres from the front door of our apartment building. Tragically, we'll be gone before it's up and running and looking like this. *sob*

My True Love Hath My Heart

Oh, Sarah Connolly. Did you ever meet a note you didn't immediately turn to gold? It's not often I get excited about twentieth century English art song but this CD is ridiculously beautiful. Her recital at Alice Tully Hall earlier this year is still one of the best recital experiences I've had — people standing to applaud her at the end of the first half, thank you very much — and it's amazing how much of that magic she manages still to transmit through audio alone. You can't see the tears in her eyes, or the wry expression, or the radiant smile, but you sure can hear them. 

And in other news, Malcolm Martineau rules. 

Karina Gauvin

Karina Gauvin is habit-forming. I first encountered her in the Alan Curtis Alcina, with Joyce DiDonato in the title role. Actually, that may not be true. I have a sneaking feeling that Karina and I first crossed paths some years earlier, when I happened to hear her recording of Knoxville: Summer of 1915 on the radio. At least, I think it was hers. I can't claim — wish I could — that she hooked me then, but she certainly has hooked me now.

Actually the Alcina didn't quite do that either. It put her name back at the front of my brain, and made me take notice, but let's face it: that Alcina was too busy feeding my Joyce habit to be creating any new addictions. No, what hooked me on Karina was her disc of Porpora arias. How, I ask you, could any sopranophile resist singing like this?

You see what I mean. I loved her in the Alcina but partly, I must confess, in a "wow, a second Sandrine Piau" kind of way. Now I hardly hear the resemblance: she just sounds like Karina and I love Karina. No doubt it helped that I was listening to that Porpora disc on pretty much a daily base for quite some time. In fact it still hasn't left my iPod — which is saying something, because my iPod is tiny and I'm constantly deleting music in order to add new stuff. 

So now is where the addiction kicks in I may have been living under a rock, living a soprano-addicted life for lo, these many years and never running into Karina Gauvin, but the record industry has not been nearly so oblivious. They've been recording her. A lot. Song recitals, aria discs, operas and symphonies and oratorios and it all must be mine. 

Eventually it will. Weirdly, I am a completist in theory but fairly slack in practice, so while I drool and drool over the various Karina fixes on offer to me, I only rarely get around to acquiring any of them. It's partly laziness, partly a stubborn, sentimental attachment to the physical CD buying process — flicking through shelves, buying discs over the counter, and building them into a pile which I can walk into and curse for being made of pointy plastic corners. But I have made a start. 

And meanwhile, the albums keep coming. I've just finished a review of the latest, a disc of Handel arias and duets with Karina and another awesome French-Canadian singer, Marie-Nicole Lemieux. Gorgeous singing from both of them — I love Marie-Nicole — but with Karina, these days, it's something more. She's like, to introduce a clumsy simile which I will immediately regret, a giant bowl of M&Ms. Every note is sweet and delicious and I always need more. 

Best if I stop before comparing her to junk food again. (I do love junk food, though.) How about some singing instead? Here are Karina and Marie-Nicole singing a duet from Solomon. Warning: may be a gateway drug. 

Welcome to my addiction.