Prima la musica, poi le parole

Perfect

In four years I've never been so utterly overjoyed with the ODT Aria results. I always know who I want to win but my preferences are always so biased and personal that my wishes are often not granted, and I don't expect them to be. This time I certainly didn't expect they would be — but, lo and behold, they were. I could not be happier.

In first place was James Adams Superstar. His "Avant de quitter ces lieux" and "Within this frail crucible of light" were both of them captivating and beautiful performances. There is nothing lacking here — James is the real thing, a genuine artist. His acting is subtle and engaging, he's technically superb and deeply musical, he holds the stage completely and above all, has a voice which is both distinctive and irresistably gorgeous. As I say, a superstar. Tonight really was a night for baritones — placed second was Michael Gray, who gave two of the most brilliant performances I've seen from him. "Hai gia vinta la causa", which he sang in the preliminaries last night, sounded even better tonight, stylish and very entertaining. But better even that was "Ach wir armen Leute" from Hänsel und Gretel which I'd never before heard him (or anybody) sing. Talk about a perfect fit, for both voice and personality — this was a magnificent performance, his singing fantastic and enthusiasm highly infectious. The third placing was, in a sense, the result which made me happiest of all — soprano Crystel Benton, an unexpected delight. I've enjoyed Crystel's performance all through these competitions but haven't necessarily been too terribly excited by them. Even in the aria preliminaries, I thought she sang beautifully but wasn't picking her to place. Then tonight she walked out on stage, began "Elle a fui" (the same aria she sang last night) and — magic happened. She was exquisite, singing with shining sweetness and a touching sensivity which had me very nearly in tears. And which has me very nearly in tears again as I'm writing this. She followed it up with a complete contrast, "Bester Jüngling" from Der Schauspieldirektor, maybe not quite so meltingly ideal but still quite wonderfully sung — her placing was richly deserved and I daresay there's even better to come.

Surely this is one of the strongest group of aria finalists in recent years, with very little separating those who placed from those who didn't. Most glorious among them was the incomparable Claire Barton. Alceste's "Divinités du Styx" was gutsy and passionate if just a bit beyond her current vocal means; "Di tanti palpiti" on the other hand was sheer bliss, spirited and richly coloured Rossini with excellent coloratura to boot. Brigitte Heuser was the evening's other mezzo soprano, giving us a winningly persuasive "Faites-lui mes aveux" and a forceful, if occasionally slightly dry, "Parto, parto". Fiona Henry's "Se il padre perdei" began well, significantly more expressive than last night, but was undone by breathiness and strain; "Je dis que rien ne m'épouvante" was unquestionably deeply felt but in the end Micaëla requires a voice of rather more expansive lyricism, not to mention much better French.

Never has the aria final felt less like a competition and more like a concert, full of secure and professional performances. And yet, because there was so much to love, and so many fabulous and worthy singers, when it came to judging time I was more nervous than ever. When the adjudicator, the fabulous Carmel Carroll, prefaced her announcement by saying she was sure we'd all disagree with all of her decisions, I naturally assumed that I probably would. And yet, I should have known better — I've never been so frequently in agreement with an adjudicator as I have been with Carmel. The results came and I don't disagree in the slightest with any of them. A perfect outcome, as far as I'm concerned, to a particularly glorious night's singing.

Prizes

Gorgeous singing ought always to be acknowledged. And I was just going to list a bunch of my favourite performances at random, but then I thought I'd have a little fun and arrange them into some highly personal and biased awards. Indulge me.


English song or aria, any century and any age group:

3. Ieti Leu'u & Tamsyn Matchett - "It was a lover and his lass" (Quilter)
2. Michael Gray - "What pow'r art thou" (Purcell). But see below.
1. Claire Barton - "It was a lover and his lass" (Madeleine Dring).

Lied, theoretically drawn from any class but I didn't see the 18 & under 21 class:

VHC Julien Van Mellaerts - "Die beiden Grenadiere" (Schumann)
3. Claire Barton - "Rote Abendwolken ziehn am Firmament" (Brahms)
2. Michael Gray - "Waldesgespräch" (Schumann)
1. James Adams - "Waldesgespräch" (Schumann)

Much more Schumann than Schubert this year so I'm happy about that. I can't get enough of "Waldesgespräch".

French song except that nobody ever sings any!

2. Michael Gray - "Au bord de l'eau" (Fauré). I didn't actually see him sing it but I know the song and I know Michael and I'm certain it was a raging success.
1. Amanda Meadows - "Les chemins de l'amour" (Poulenc)

Somebody like the Alliance Française really ought to establish a French song class. I count just 12 items in French in this year's competitions and half of those are for the ODT Aria. Allez-y, les enfants! France has 18th century arias too, you know, and they're a whole lot more interesting than "Caro mio ben".

New Zealand composition

3. Ieti Leu'u - "Sweet and low" (Helen Caskie)
2. Rosel Labone - "Song" (Anthony Ritchie).
1. James Adams - "The force that through the green fuse" (David Farquhar) Serious kudos to the accompanist - sorry, collaborative pianist - on this one too.

17th or 18th century aria

3. Ieti Leu'u - "Tergi l'ingiuste" (Handel)
2. Amanda Meadows - "Sposa son disprezzata" (Vivaldi)
1. Michael Gray - "What pow'r art thou" (Purcell)

With special mention to the Vivaldi aria which Michael was originally going to sing, "Orribile lo scempio" from Tito Manlio. I'm still sulking about his not having sung it but as replacements go, the Purcell was pretty fabulous.


I'm enjoying myself. Let's have some more prizes.

The "I Know It's Not Really About the Frock But Even So..." Prize for Best Dressed: Rosel Labone.

Mr Congeniality: Ieti Leu'u. You can't watch him sing without smiling.

Prize for Warming My Pedantic Heart by Pronouncing Ralph as Rafe: Julien Van Mellaerts.

Shatteringest Invocation of a Higher Power: James Adams, "Gethsemane" (Lloyd Webber). I'm still in shock.

Prize for Obeying My Telepathic Commands: Amanda Meadows, who gave me both Vivaldi and two Poulenc songs.

The "mi fai dimenticare" Prize for Outstanding Performance of Repertoire Which As Far As I'm Concerned Actually Belongs to Yvonne Kenny: Rosel Labone, for Walton's "Daphne", Claire Barton for "Ye banks and braes".

Most Improved: Amanda Meadows.

Seriously Promising: Jessie Densem. (I swear I'd decided this even before she won the "Most Promising" prize.)

Obvious Superstar: James Adams. You heard it here.

Marama Hall

Today's Marama Hall concert was my first since July, and rewarded my patience with a programme nicely biased towards the voice, a pleasant change from the usual fair balance between piano and vocal items. (I'm just being mean. Otago's pianists are wonderful and I'd never wish them away.) The one piano item on the programme, Weber's Variations on a Russian Theme, had a couple of points in its favour, too: it was very nicely played (by Cara Chung) and it didn't depict water. Brilliant.

Attending a recital with no idea who's performing or what they'll sing is always a slight risk but it does open the way to some delightful surprises. Like sitting down, opening the programme and discovering I was about to hear my favourite local mezzo sing Brahms' Zigeunerlieder. Claire Barton's name on the programme is enough to keep me happy regardless but I also have a particular affection for these songs — during my Grace Bumbry period I listened obsessively to her recordings of them, and though it's admittedly been a while since I revisited them, they've stayed with me.  Claire sang them gorgeously, with humour, tenderness and excellent German. The other female voice on the programme impressed me rather less. With worryingly strident tone, Fiona Henry (who has sounded far sweeter in the past) delivered three items not so much to the audience as to some point in the distance above our heads, with a sameness of expression which failed to distinguish between Purcell ("Come all ye songsters"), Walton ("Daphne") and Victor Herbert ("Art is calling for me") and didn't suit any of them.

For Michael Gray, I begin a new paragraph. He deserves the honour and others besides. Michael gave us the first four songs from Schumann's Liederkreis. This was supremely sensitive and hauntingly beautiful singing.  The devastating loneliness of "In der Fremde" was as magically captured as the joy of "Die Stille", "Intermezzo" genuinely touching. "Waldesgespräch" really did come across as dialogue, expressively and convincingly delivered — the rush of audible fear on the words "Du bist die Hexe Lorelei" sent shivers down my spine. Sitting here writing this all I want is to hear Michael sing these songs again. Not that's not true — I'd also like to hear him sing the other eight in the cycle. And I'm biased. But that doesn't matter, because if he'd been a new name today the effect would have been the same — enchanting.

Competitions timetable

Competitors will no doubt have one of these already, but for anyone else to whom it's of interest, here's the timetable  for the 2006 Dunedin Senior Vocal Competitions, which kick off next Thursday and run until Sunday. Dunedin based readers, I seriously recommend coming — they're such fun. There are never very many of us in the audience who aren't either competing or related to someone who is, but there ought to be. Everyone comes to the final of the ODT Aria, which is fair enough, but there's plenty of other entertainment to be had in the days preceding it as well.

I have my season ticket already and believe me, if you're singing, I'll be in your audience — I'm a competitions groupie, even when it means a Saturday morning listening to National Songs. One of the happiest aspects of this year's competitions is that they've been moved back to Burns Hall at First Church. Last year they were in the museum's Hutton Theatre and it just wasn't the same, the atmosphere was gone and the acoustic was awful. At Burns Hall it really feels like a competition, not just a bunch of people singing, and from the audience, at least, that's part of the fun.

And, having had a look at the full programme, I have to say this year is looking especially promising. I once thought I should start bribing competitors to sing what I wanted to hear but they're doing it anyway — there's Walton and Poulenc in the song classes, composers other than Schubert in the Lieder, and, in the aforementioned National Song class, a Ravel arrangement which more or less guarantees I won't pike. Also a healthy serving of Vivaldi, which never goes amiss.

Anyway, if you're in Dunedin you really ought to come. I'd especially recommend Thursday evening, for one of my favourite classes, 17th or 18th century aria (21 & over); Friday evening for Lieder 21 & over and the Cleveland Award (which offers both a cash reward and a hug from the sponsor) and of course the ODT Aria preliminaries and final, Saturday and Sunday evenings respectively. But it's all great fun: have a look at the timetable and take your pick.

Behold amaz'd

Rae Shurbutt. What can I say? There was absolutely no reason to expect anything exceptional from her. There were several reasons, in fact, to expect a merely average or even less-than average performance. Knox Church generally does alright with its soloists but that's by no means guaranteed. The baritone and tenor had names and reputations which promised solid performances. But Rae I had almost never heard of. I say almost because I've seen her name on publicity for next month's Princess Ida — but where I'm concerned I'm afraid Gilbert & Sullivan is hardly an encouraging credit. My expectations sank lower still when the choir entered and one of its members picked up a microphone to announce that their soprano soloist was suffering from tonsillitis and thus singing below her best — and not singing "With verdure clad" at all. Dear me, I thought. What have I got myself into?

But perhaps you begin to see where this story is headed. It turns out that Rae Shurbutt, who emigrated here last year from Washington D.C., gives a "below her best" performance which is better than almost anything I've ever heard in this city. Really. She was a sensation. When she launched into Gabriel's first aria and vanquished all my trepidation I hardly knew whether to laugh or cry. In the end I did a little of both. Thoughts like "average church soprano with a sore throat" fell by the wayside, replaced with "please please please don't let her stop". In the midst of a pretty ragged, under-rehearsed amateur Creation, here was the Real Thing. The kind of voice I'm liable to get very silly about, full of the most beautiful tones and colours, wonderfully agile and with high notes the likes of which Knox Church has perhaps never before heard. I sat there in awe, fidgeting during the choruses and male solos, desperate for her next entry while at the same time aware that the sooner she sang again, the sooner she'd be finished and I didn't want her ever to be finished. I prayed that by some miracle (we were in a church, after all) "With verdure clad" would be magically re-instated. Time stood still for "On mighty pens"; the words "her soft enchanting lays" have surely never found a more appropriate voice. Soft and enchanting are right, and so too are a thousand other adoring adjectives. In moments of lyricism she was radiant, singing with heartfelt , infectious warmth; every challenging passage of coloratura, she transformed into an effortless, glittering wonder.

And this, so it seems, is Rae Shurbutt "below her best". But it was singing which required no indulgences or qualification. I wasn't amazed by how she sang in spite of illness, I was just amazed by how she sang. Honestly, I tremble to think how phenomenal she must be sans tonsillitis — if that announcement hadn't been made, I'd never have guessed, and I'd never dare to imagine that she could be even better. I'm quite overcome. You can probably tell.  I suddenly find myself in a situation I never foresaw, bitterly regretting that I'll miss Princess Ida, which just became a million times more appealing. It's a shame that this Creation wasn't better advertised (or just plain better) — much of Dunedin's regular classical music audience missed out on a star they'd have loved. Here's hoping for plentiful opportunities to hear her again: Rae Shurbutt is very special indeed.

Carmen

When the University of Otago announced it would stage Carmen this year, I admit I grumbled. A million operas in the world, a good dozen or so of them Top of the Pops enough to bring in a big audience, even in Dunedin, and they'd gone and chosen the one I felt least like seeing. I am, after all, one of only two people I know who would, if pushed, name Djamileh their favourite Bizet opera. Carmen has never really gripped me, musically or dramatically, and its excess of overexposed hit tunes doesn't help. But between then and now I've recovered somewhat. The opera has improved in my opinion (though I still like Djamileh better), I've come to enjoy the hits again, and the prospect of seeing in on stage has grown ever more appealing. Besides which, complaining about the choice of opera in a city which sees so little is just plain ill-mannered.

So by opening night last Thursday I was, if not exactly trembling with anticipation, definitely feeling positive at the thought of what lay ahead. My complaints were more or less forgotten — and after, say, two or three bars of overture, they'd evaporated completely. What was I thinking? Who could complain about this? There's far too much to be blissfully happy about.

Believe it or not, when I went on Thursday, my ticket for that performance was the only one I had. Two or three bars of overture and it was already obvious that one was not going to be enough. You know what a vocal fanatic (and then some) I am but I didn't need a single soprano to know this was going to be a brilliant evening and one I'd want to repeat — and that's testament to the appeal of the music itself, but even more so to the way it was being played, to the exceedingly talented conductor Tecwyn Evans and the excellent playing he drew from the Southern Sinfonia. So I was hooked in even before the curtain rose — and then it did rise and everything just got even better. Just Neil Irish's set made me smile, a pretty straightforward town square but immediately atmospheric. The soldiers' chorus, Moralès, solid singing in both cases.

And then, one of those flashes of magic which remind me why I'm so in love with this art form. Micaëla, in the shape of Rebecca Ryan. Adorable even before she sang and exquisite from the moment she did. She's a revelation to me, a name which, unbelievably, I'd never heard before this Carmen and a voice which made me an instant fan. Sometimes, it's true, the thrill of a performance can make me love anyone's opening phrases, only to find myself rather less enchanted as the night progresses. Not so Rebecca — every bar she sang just delighted me further. Her "Je dis que rien ne m'épouvante" was radiant,  transcending both a wayward horn solo and the seagull-sized clumps of fake snow descending from above — not to mention time itself.  Wonderful how fate works out: Rebecca was originally cast as Frasquita, with Anna Leese to sing Micaëla. But Anna was released from her contract so as to début at Covent Garden (where I believe she's to sing Micaëla next year) and Rebecca was promoted — an inspired move, as Micaëla, and not Frasquita, is clearly where she should be in this opera. Even as Micaëla she doesn't really have enough to sing. I'd happily have given her the whole opera.

I'm afraid I can't afford such besotted or wholehearted praise to Deborah Wai Kapohe in the title role. I wish I could, for mostly personal reasons: though I've had an unpredictable relationship with her voice of late, it was nevertheless among the first operatic voices I experience and fell for in person, and I was convinced Carmen would prove a perfect fit for her. I was both right and wrong. Unquestionably she looks and acts the part divinely, all swaying hips and dangerous beauty. She's a seductress whose bark is worse than her bite. For all her provocative defiance in the face of men too overcome by her to pose a threat, once they take the bait her power wanes. Don José's jealous violence quickly tears down her fearless façade, and by the time she's Escamillo's soignée companion she's barely recognisable. This is a powerful performance but, alas, it's one without the vocals to match. And yet it's not quite as straightforward as all that. I can't exactly call it a poorly sung Carmen. Rather I'm going to make what will probably seem a bizarre criticism: her Carmen is too authentic. What I mean is this. For all the local flavour Bizet incorporated into his score, Carmen remains, when all is said and done, French opera. Now of course Carmen should sound convincingly Gypsy but, speaking for myself, I think she should also sound like an opera singer. Deborah makes all manner of attractive enough sounds but only some actually sound like opera. Elsewhere, the lower the tessitura goes, the greater her tendency simply to belt it out. I've heard Deborah in her other musical persona, as a folk singer-songwriter, and I struggle to hear any significant difference between her style in that genre and her approach to much of Carmen's music. Gypsy touches in the singing are all well and good but this isn't a case of varied vocal colour, it's actually a separate voice, and the break between that and her higher (and lovely!) "opera" voice is quite noticeable. Theatrically I suppose it's all still very effective, and she's almost always very listenable, but it's nevertheless a jarring musical experience for me, a PorgyandBessified Carmen when what I wanted was the real thing.

Towering over Carmen both physically and vocally is Dwayne Jones' superlative Don José. Apparently this is the new unwritten rule of opera in Dunedin: import a young, bald Australian singer with an insanely good voice. For Opera Otago's Falstaff it was Derek Welton and Carmen has Dwayne to fit the bill. No allowances for acoustics necessary here, he just soars regardless. His is the most free, open and gorgeous sound, hugely powerful but without ever blasting or shouting. Please don't think me unjust if I don't devote as much space to him as the sopranos, you know how I am. But this is an incredible talent, the kind of tenor sound that girls who like that kind of thing go quite mad for. And despite the gorgeous voice, he's quite unsettlingly good at bringing out Don José's scary, violent side too — his assault and murder of Carmen, staged starkly and graphically, is heavy going stuff, his initimidating physical presence matched by his singing.

Whereas the other man in the piece is just irresistible. José Carbo's Escamillo, with his infectious smile and suave, easy manner, is so engaging and so effortlessly charming that, despite all the adulation he so happily soaks up, he never seems arrogant — just justifiably self-confident. Nobody could help but like him; the fascination he exercises for both the men and the women is easy to understand. He sings with equal style and grace. I think he's just absolutely wonderful. And just how often have you seen me go into starry-eyed italics over a baritone? Exactly.

Though it's quite possible I have done just that in the past over Roger Wilson, who sings Le Dancaïre here. I've been a fan of Roger's for I don't know how long, but at least since December 2003 when his mellifluous voice and ability to actually pronounce French like French made him the highlight of a concert of the complete choral works of Berlioz. Both those distinguishing features are at work for him here, alongside his gift for comedy. He's aided and abetted by a hilarious Brendon Mercer as Le Remendado — honestly the two of them ought to go into business as a double act. Richard Green also makes his mark as the outrageously lecherous Zuniga. Green underwhelmed me somewhat as the Commendatore last year but here he's much more interesting.

Completing the cast are Carmen's two fellow female smugglers. Mercédès is the excellent Sarah McOnie. She doesn't exactly get much to sing, but what we did get to hear sounded very good indeed — I hope one day to have a chance to hear her in something rather more substantial. Likewise Frasquita. Perhaps I'm cursed always to long for more, more, more from the Frasquita of the piece. If Rebecca Ryan had sung it, that would certainly have been the case; and Elisa Wilson, another Australian import, is also a tantalising presence.

Annilese Miskimmon's production sets the action in the Spanish Civil War, creating an interesting juxtaposition of familiar elements with the unexpected — Carmen in grey with pillbox hat and sunglasses, the smugglers as members of the resistance. It's a smart, stylish update, one which creates a new and interesting context but without being so intrusive as to obscure or detract from the piece. Dunedin, incidentally, makes the small world even smaller — when I was in London for Fedora by the opera company of my heart, Opera Holland Park, they were also doing a Così directed by Annilese Miskimmon.

Tonight was the second performance I've seen. I'll also be there on Wednesday for the final one, when the only complain I'll have left is that it is the final one. Plain old gratitude only goes so far. It's not that which makes me so happy about this Carmen, but rather a love of opera — any opera — performed beautifully. And I'll very interested to see what the University chooses for its next production.

Mozart et al at Marama Hall

Before Wednesday's lunchtime concert I'd never ever heard of Jan Ladislav Dussek. Having now heard two of his works for piano, well, that doesn't much surprise me. We heard "Vive Henri-Quatre" ("A setting of the old Bourbon Hymn of Royalist France") and then the very odd "The Sufferings of the Queen of France" ("A Musical Composition, expressing the feelings of the unfortunate Marie Antoinette, during her imprisonment, trial, etc.") This second piece even came with a narrator, introducing the piece's innumerable sections: "She reflects on her former grandeur", "She is separated from her children" and so on. It's a worry when one spends the duration of the piece wondering why anyone felt the need to compose the thing. Don't read this as a comment on the standard of playing, on which I'm wholly unqualified to speak but which no doubt was excellent. But honestly. It reminded me somewhat of a project we had to do in third form: write a short story and then, using the music department's flashy new electronic keyboards, "compose" a soundtrack to it. 25 musically illiterate thirteen year olds playing with sound effects and being accidentally atonal. Obviously Dussek is at a somewhat higher standard than this but still this was an altogether strange and strangely pointless piece of music to which I've devoted far too many words. Making matters worse (and better), the Dussek was followed immediately by Pascal Harris and Terence Dennis with the Andante from Mozart's Sonata for 2 Pianos in D major, K.448, glowingly beautiful. Oh right, that's what real music sounds like.

Enough piano! There was singing too. More Mozart: a nifty "Vedrò mentr'io sospiro" from Michael Gray. For some reason, though I'm an incorrigible sopranophile, every time I hear Figaro it's this damned aria which runs through my head for days afterwards. No sooner had it begun to fade after Sunday's Met broadcast than along comes Michael to revive it. Not that I mind of course. Following this, some very nice Mahler courtesy of Nicole Evans: "Scheiden und Meiden" and a very cute "Hans und Grete". And then Claire.

Claire! I get rather boring and repetitive about Claire Barton, but it can't be helped. Every time this woman sings I adore her voice more and more, so that she's no longer just my favourite among the voice students, or my favourite Dunedin singer, but truly one of my favourite singers anywhere. Hers is a voice which not only fills the hall but seems somehow to illuminate it too, a voice which I feel as well as hear. The tired old cliché about singing the phone book applies here: Claire wouldn't just make it beautiful, she could probably make it hilarious as well. Her "Ich lade gern mir Gäste ein" was a delight, the duet from Salieri's Falstaff ("La stessa, la stessissima" except in English) as lovely as ever, but most wonderful of all was her Marcellina in "Via resta servita". That duet is one my favourite things, and usually I'm on Susanna's side — but not this time. Glorious sound, spot-on characterisation. Fiona Henry was her partner for both duets, singing prettily but with no real distinction in colour or manner between her Alice Ford and her Susanna. Claire on the other hand moved easily from Russian prince to Merry Wife of Windsor to scheming spinster, three distinct characters brought deftly and beautifully to life. An absolute triumph.

Deborah Wai Kapohe at Marama Hall

After yesterday's news, writing anything about anything else seems something of an anti-climax but I suppose that life, however surreal, must go on — for the next five and half weeks, at least. And besides, I have something to write about: a recital at Marama Hall today by distinguished New Zealand soprano/Otago master's student Deborah Wai Kapohe, accompanied by the unchangingly excellent Terence Dennis. Vocal performances are all too rare among Marama Hall's concert calendar (too rare, I mean, for my own heavily biased tastes) — solo vocal recitals are, not surprising, even rarer. It's one wonderful thing about being a student: pay $2, see a recital easily worth a whole lot more.

The first time I heard Deborah, I was still several months away from complete devotion to opera. I knew next to nothing then (not much has changed!) but I knew that I loved Kathleen Battle. That first recital was an enchanting one, in which Deborah accompanied herself on classical guitar — and some of the repertoire I recognised, on account of Kathy's sublime CD with Christopher Parkening, Pleasures of their Company (if you've never heard it, do so as soon as you can).  I was an instant fan.

Most recently, I heard Deborah in her last Marama Hall appearance which, amazingly enough, I discover was almost a year ago. The time has certainly flown. Then, she sang Spanish and Orientalist songs by Gounod, Berlioz et al. This afternoon was altogether a different flavour: opera scenes and arias. Oh my, I don't think I realise how starved for live opera I am in this city until I actually get to hear some, and not just an aria or two in a programme otherwise populated with pianos and violins, but a whole programme of it.

Having now heaped all that praise, I'm going to be completely honest and say: I didn't enjoy the first aria on this afternoon's programme. Now, as you'll have gathered, I love the voice: it's big, dark, dramatic and gorgeous with a hint of the Mediterranean about it; but it was precisely those qualities which made it unsuited to the delicate tracery of Ilia's "Zeffiretti lusinghieri". Ilia sings of gentle breezes; Deborah was closer to sirocco perhaps. The other Mozart selection was the rather fierier (have I mixed my heat/warmth metaphors enough yet?)  insertion aria "Vado, ma dove?" and I liked that a whole better; but the true highlight was what came next: Medora's Romanza "Non so le tetre immagini" from Verdi's Il Corsaro. This is early Verdi, very bel canto, very much my style and even more so Deborah's —  I was entranced. Publicity for this recital gave the impression that the Verdi selection would be from Falstaff — Nannetta's "Sul fil d'un soffio etesio", presumably, as she's sung Nannetta on stage and the only other characters with proper "arias" are men — but I'm overjoyed it was this instead. I'm not entirely sure I can imagine her capturing the floaty, ethereal atmosphere of the fairy song but as Verdi's Medora she was ideal and ravishing. Puccini followed Verdi, in the form of Mimì's "Si mi chiamano Mimì" and "Donde lieta usci". The former was fine but somehow never seemed quite in place to me; the latter, on the other hand, was simply beautiful — at moments I almost felt I was hearing my Anna Moffo, who owns this aria for me. In true diva style — and I mean that in the best sense — she ended with a big finish, Marguerite's great scene, "Il était un roi de Thulé" through to "Ah, je ris".  Strangely enough, though I've heard the Jewel Song a million-and-one times (and even have a keyring in the shape of perhaps its greatest interpreter) I have only one recording of the first section — and that in Italian, by the glorious Renata Tebaldi. Hearing it in French, and hearing "Ah, je ris" in slightly more context, both made a welcome change. Deborah pulled the scene off masterfully (watch out, Anne-Sophie Duprels!) as a winningly girlish-but-growing Marguerite, a suitably brilliant conclusion to a beautiful recital.

And things just keep getting better: Deborah gives another recital on May 6th and this time, as it's her master's recital, it's free. Unbelievable. Further even than that, she's to sing the title role in Carmen here in August. Obviously she's perfect for the part; after today's recital I'm surer of that than ever. So much so that, despite my earlier grumblings about the choice of opera, and despite the withdrawal of Anna Leese as Micaela, I find I'm really rather looking forward to Carmen after all. About time I showed some gratitude!

Ode to Moderate Happiness

Last night was the Southern Sinfonia's season-opening concert, Ode to Joy. A fanfare and a selection of operatic excerpts in the first half, Beethoven's Ninth in the second. On paper it looked  promising enough, a solidly enjoyable kind of programme, if not loads of revolutionary fun. In practice it was alright. I suppose.

The fanfare was by New Zealand composer Jack Speirs, a response to a commission in 1996. What can be said about a fanfare? It sounded like... a fanfare. It was a good way to open a season; other than that I didn't find it hugely interesting. Well, let's be fair, I didn't have enough time to find it interesting or otherwise, it was over pretty promptly. And on to a firm friend of mine, the overture to Don Giovanni. Conducted very much to my tastes by Marc Taddei, not too terribly ponderous but with the menacing shadows just tall enough to be genuinely threatening. However, it has to be said that the overture to Don Giovanni puts me in the mood for one thing, and one thing only: Don Giovanni. Which isn't, of course, what followed: though to be fair, we did receive a generous helping of hits from the show.

Highlight among these highlights were unquestionably Keith Lewis' performance of both Don Ottavio's arias. We all know what a lump Ottavio essentially is. I couldn't help grinning when I saw him misspelt in the programme as "Ottavia". But concert performance goes a long way towards mitigating that lumpishness. "Dalla sua pace" and "Il mio tesoro" are both more or less static expressions of love. When he comes out with them in the middle of an action packed opera, at a time when surely that man should be off avenging somewhere, they don't do his character a world of good. On the concert stage, however, to some extent freed of context, they're simply beautiful and heartfelt declarations. Helping matters is the fact that Keith Lewis knows exactly what to do with Ottavio: taking full advantage of those lovingly lyric passages, showing off his ravishing upper register and silken legato, but imbuing them with enough dramatic edge and urgency to make the performance of both arias - if not their content - just a touch exciting. Et voilà, a paragraph devoted entirely to a Don Ottavio. Who knew? Sadly the other Don Giovanni excerpts were not quite so impressive. Baritone David Thelander sang Leporello's "Madamina" and Giovanni's half of "La ci darem la mano" with mostly pleasant, but unvarying tone. The latter, with emphatically un-Zerlina-ish soprano Viktoriya Dodoka, was an exercise in non-existent stage chemistry; Leporello's aria seemed to interest him somewhat more but grew at times a little lost in the rapidfire patter.

Dodoka returned with the rarity of the show, Marfa's aria from Rimsky-Korsakov's The Tsar's Bride. I'm familiar with neither opera nor aria and to be quite honest, remain so. Though she was clearly far more at home here than as Zerlina, all the same the aria came across - to me, at least - as strangely distant and disjointed. That a good portion of her middle register was all but inaudible to me at the back of the theatre didn't help much. But it's an attractive enough voice, I think; if the opportunity presents itself I wouldn't mind a chance to re-assess it.

On the other hand, I intended for this concert to be my chance to re-assess mezzo soprano Helen Medlyn - or, indeed, to assess her in the first place. Helen Medlyn is one of New Zealand's more (blazingly) visible opera singers - she also does cabaret, jazz and a million and one other things, and has quite a following in all genres I believe. I've heard very little of her, never really enough to get a proper sense within my own mind of her voice and what I felt about it. Her Quickly, which I heard on radio, and her appearance in the "Dame Kiri & Friends" gala did very little for me. But then, in the Beethoven Missa Solemnis, again a live performance later broadcast on radio, she impressed me with her rich, contralto-ish sound and so I was very interested finally to hear her live. As she opened with "Mon coeur s'ouvre à ta voix", I had as open a mind as possible, both concerning that aria (I've mentioned my Dalila fatigue previously) and concerning Helen Medlyn. The opening bars were appealing enough: but darkly seductive too soon became just plain dark, and too dark at that, with an intrusive, dully metallic edge. In two arias concerned with seduction - "Mon coeur" was followed by Carmen's Seguidilla - she sang in a manner quite lacking in any sensual glow. Her over-articulated French and hammily un-sexy gestures detracted even further from the performance. If this was temptation, it was of the gingerbread house variety - not the earthly pleasures and sins of the flesh to which both Carmen and Dalila are attempting to lure their men. When Keith Lewis re-emerged to finish off the first half with a delicate and persuasive "La fleur que tu m'avais jetée" it was clearly a very different cigarette girl to whom he was singing. I'll probably make myself very unpopular by saying this. Certainly judging by audience reaction I was the only person thinking it: but it is what I was thinking and thus it's what I have to say.

Here's the brilliant advantage of blogging versus real criticism. I can bleat on for as long as I just have about the first half and then say next to nothing about the second. This is particularly convenient seeing as I have not a lot to say: go ahead and be appalled, but I'd never heard Beethoven's Ninth before. Not ever. So if my credibility survived the previous paragraph (not to mention the previous two years) this one has probably killed it for good. Anyway. I enjoyed it well enough; but I doubt it was an ideal introduction - that's probably still to come. Of course it's very likely indeed that the next time I hear, it will be Sir Roger Norrington's recording and I've no clue whether that ought to be my introduction either. However, returning back to the performance in hand, I do want to say this: perhaps Beethoven - or huge, exciting orchestration and high energy generally - bring out the best in Helen Medlyn. I mentioned above having enjoyed her performance in the Missa Solemnis; here, too, in the vocal sections, some of that richness was present again, and her voice appealed to me significantly more than it had earlier. In a sense the challenges of the Beethoven did Victoriya Dodoka good as well: though clearly operating at - or beyond - her limits (and fair enough because Beethoven is mean to sopranos), the guts it required of her made for more interesting singing than her first-half offerings. David Thelander too rose more or less to the occasion. Keith Lewis was, of course, transcendant and fabulous, slicing through orchestra and choir beautifully and without a hint of tension, of anything forced. The City of Dunedin choir sang its heart out too, matched in its energy by the Southern Sinfonia under the infectiously enthusiastic and terribly physical conducting of Marc Taddei, who was working from memory, and brilliantly so. At one point in the final chorus he literally jumped for Freude, clear into the air. However varied the success of the symphony as a whole (and I've no idea, as I say), it was performed with admirable passion on all counts; the finale was exhilarating, and left me exhausted on the performers' behalves.

The packed hall and half-a-standing-ovation testified to the concert's enthusiastic reception. I suppose that, just as the programme opened with a fanfare, the concert as a whole was itself intended as a season-opening fanfare: which as Jack Speirs, composer of aforementioned fanfare, says in his 1996 note on the piece, included in the programme, is an "accessible" and "celebratory" piece. Certainly this concert was that: opera hits and a Beethoven symphony, utilising and celebrating much of this city's musical talent. My own joy last night was on the subdued side, mostly; though, like the others presented in the last week, this opportunity to hear a singer of Keith Lewis's calibre was a pleasure and privilege - I only wish his operatic co-stars had been similarly thrilling. But one can't have it all. It was an enjoyable enough concert: a robust and promising start to the Southern Sinfonia's 2006 season.

Keith Lewis masterclass

Masterclasses make me very happy. Some of the fun of a recital, and then the added bonus of all the technical and interpretive stuff, endlessly fascinating to an ignorant outsider such as myself. Not to mention the (very) occasional thrill of thinking something oneself and then hearing it expressed by the master onstage.

Obviously I'd never ever stoop to making critical comment on anyone participating in a masterclass. It's a pretty incredible thing to do, put yourself out there like that. A lesson is one thing, but a lesson with audience? Nobody doing, say, a commerce degree, has to undergo such an experience.

But it was a wonderful evening. The work Keith Lewis did digging into "Als Luise" was fascinating, an insight into his honest and thoughtful approach to Lieder and particularly interesting in that he himself admitted he was not very familiar with the piece. Two of the girls involved sang what you or Dvorak might call Songs My Diva Taught Me, and I coped reasonably well. The associations of "Long Time Ago" did knock me sideways a little but once all the technical work and endless repeats got started I was able to compose myself once more. Interesting: this is the very first time I've known what all the words were. So maybe the title of this blog has a point after all: I never knew she was saying "brighter than snow" and yet have always felt I understood the song completely. Lovely also to hear our two leading ladies from Falstaff again so soon after the show, and singing something other than Salieri. One final note: Keith Lewis sings "Je dis que rien ne m'épouvante" so stunningly beautifully I'm starting to think the University's production of Carmen should re-cast Micaela as a travesti role and hire him for it. Gorgeous.

In Recital: Keith Lewis

No Deborah Voigt Leonora for me this afternoon: to the Glenroy Auditorium instead, for a recital by tenor Keith Lewis with pianist Terence Dennis. Give up Debbie for a mere tenor? The right decision I think. I understand Debbie's Forza didn't necessarily show her very best side; and this recital made for a fabulous afternoon of music.

The programme was superb, just the kind to make me very happy indeed. The name Purcell on any programme always lifts my spirits, it's music I find irresistible. Adding to my bliss: Two Lute Songs from Britten's Gloriana (the only[!] Britten opera I own on CD), five songs by Hahn - I melt - and five also by Samuel Barber, two of which I knew and three of which I was very happy to meet. Also some Schubert, which rarely gets me swooning but is, after all, Schubert. Helping matters even further, the tenor singing all this gorgeous music happens to be rather fabulous himself.

There's a sort of vaguely Schubertian strangeness to the sound of Purcell on modern piano but it's not necessarily an unpleasant strangeness, and here it was well-suited to Lewis's courtly yet heartfelt delivery. "Not all my torments" was particularly powerful, the endlessly repeated "I love" building to a heartrending climax before subsiding to "tho' I despair". In "What Power art thou" he seemed fractionally less comfortable, but then so was I: the song's relentlessly pulsing phrasing is disconcerting, to say the least.

The five Schubert Lieder which followed found Lewis even more at ease, an intelligent and pleasingly varied selection, rather on the melancholy side but sung with an airy grace which prevented them from becoming bogged down in misery. The voice does sit rather high, and at times Schubert's growlier moments seemed to get a little lost. Oh, but when's it's Schubert, I'll always take a sweet, mellifluous tenor over a gruff one anyway. And of course, because it was Schubert, the gifts of the pianist (one daren't say accompanist and in this case wouldn't wish to) were on equally prominent display, Terence Dennis playing with his characteristic brilliance. Finishing off the first half of the recital were the two Lute Songs from Gloriana. It's a treat just to hear some live Britten, not something I've experienced very often and I do like the man rather a lot. I wonder, though, if these songs wouldn't prefer a slightly lighter touch than they were given here. Lewis's diction, excellent elsewhere, blurred somewhat in these songs and his heavyweight delivery would have drowned out an actual lute. But perhaps I'm utterly mistaken; I might have to revisit my recording - the only sections I'm really familar with, surprise surprise, are those featuring Yvonne Kenny's electrifying Penelope Rich, sung like some sort of Elizabethan verismo heroine.

After interval, delicious Reynaldo Hahn. The last of the five, "Quand je fus pris au pavillon" is a favourite of mine, a song which always always makes me smile: even - or especially - when it turns up on my mp3 player while I'm, say, wandering through Sydney's Chinatown. Though the poem's speaker is male, I've previously only heard it sung by women, which I like: it gives the song a kind of Cherubino style enthusiasm which suits the text. Still it was handled here with charm. Not sure I agree with the programme's translation however. The song opens with the lines "Quand je fus pris au pavillon de ma dame très gente et belle", which in the programme are translated as "When I was taken to my good Lady's pavilion". But that "au" doesn't mean "to" so much as "in", which changes matters a little.

Finishing up the recital, Samuel Barber. I recognised one of the titles, "Sure On This Shining Night", from Barbara Bonney's My Name is Barbra Barbara, but as soon as "The Secrets of Old" started up I realised it too is on that CD and in fact is one of my favourite tracks. The songs suited Lewis to a tee, the music stand in front of him (there for the Hahn songs as well) rendered all but invisible by his expression and his obvious affection for the music. They were a perfect conclusion, "The Praises of God" capping off the recital with a jubilant flourish. Had it ended there, I'd have left full of the joys of living. However, it didn't end there; cruel man, his single encore was Strauss's "Morgen", one of the most upsettingly beautiful pieces of music in existence, all the more so because in my mind it's now forever linked with my diva, and whoever else sings it, I hear Strauss and I hear her, and that's about it. So instead I left tearstained and slightly traumatised, and for me the recital really did end with the Barber. But either way, an excellent finish to an enchanting afternoon's singing by a tenor who deserves a more obviously laudatory adjective than the so-very-New-Zealand "international". I'm very much looking forward to his masterclass tomorrow night.

Scattered thoughts on Falstaff

• Five performances in seven days seems to me a particularly punishing run, especially for those with a great deal to sing. Dunedin singers rarely have as many full-scale public engagements as this in a month, let alone a week. So unsurprising, then, to hear a few tired voices on Thursday, which was number four. But then, I'm in the minority in that I had three other performances to compare; certainly the rough edges were not so rough as to interfere too much with anybody's enjoyment. Indeed, someone I knew in the audience said to me afterwards, "Very enjoyable, even for someone like me who doesn't like it." Not bad.


• My appreciation of Fiona Henry's very considerable talents grows ever more enthusiastic. Not only has she emerged as consummate leading lady; she also pulls off the "German maid" scene with aplomb. With her Pippi Longstocking plaits and absurd accent, she's screamingly funny and, even with the comic voice, keeps on singing beautifully throughout. Strangely enough, when, in "Die Männer kenn' ich schon" (here "Oh, die Männer know I vell") she takes to imitating big lecherous men like Sir John, there's a big dramatic sound which creeps incidentally into her singing; I'd be interested to know if she could achieve that same sound without doing the voice. Oh, and kudos to La Henry for her spot-on Wicked Witch of the West voice in the forest scene; I'm sure the cry "Poison!" actually appears in The Wizard of Oz, sounding identical.


• I have mixed feelings about director Jacqueline Coates' production, which moves the action into the 1930s. It's not, as the window display at the theatre inexplicably trumpets, an "Art Deco comic opera", just plenty of uncluttered creme and gold sets and some fabulous frocks (Ford in plus fours is a nice touch also.) The concept of Falstaff as seedy small-town swindler is excellent. Still, I wonder if updates like this don't work better when your audience has a reasonable degree of familiarity with the opera in its more traditional form. Here, the music is unfamiliar, the text an English translation and the theatre so tiny that those in the front row are just about onstage - and the effect at times is more of generic AmDram musical than eighteenth-century opera. I've heard a few people mention the initial difficulty of shaking off the "Gilbert and Sullivan" feeling; the truth is that here, where it's a rare treat in any form, eighteenth-century opera seems more like eighteenth-century opera when it looks like it. Were I Kapellmeister I'd have it performed in Italian too. But then, if I were Kapellmeister I'd have the actual Gilbert and Sullivan productions translated into Italian, which might make them marginally more bearable.


• Also on the direction, unrelated to the 30s setting: it's too busy for my tastes. I don't think the overture needed to be staged: the opening chorus makes it clear that there's a party in progress, and Falstaff's every sung word is enough to establish his character without all the mimed exposition. The mouthed conversations which take place between characters not currently singing work to a point, preventing them from turning into a second audience, but they can become distracting - and on occasion, actually audible. I also feel there's really no need for the handful of spoken interjections which have been added. This is a tight, taut, well-crafted comic opera with no need of assistance. (Naturally this is the cue of those who actually know things to let me know that those interjections exist in the original, in which case I solemnly swear to eat crow.)


• I wish there wasn't this determination to applaud the end of every scene regardless of its content. Applaud an aria, obviously, or an ensemble. But recitative? Come on.


• Turns out I am, after all, an incorrigible diva devotee. It was my intention from the very beginning to attend most or all of this season of Falstaff, pretty much regardless of the cast. However if that hadn't been my intention, I daresay I'd have ended up doing so anyway and the reason for this is one person: Alethea Chittenden. Singing which is all pearl-drops and dusky pinks, high notes to give me chills, poised, engaging stage presence and the most infectious laugh. The kind of soprano I'd follow about the country, except that she lives here in Dunedin: and the infrequence of her appearances is a heartbreak I'll have to learn to bear.  You know, it occurs to me that with that finespun voice and all those red Pre-Raphaelite curls, she's be a to-die-for Lizzie in the Goblin Market opera I posited in December's libretto meme. Sigh. If only I had a tame composer on hand: it really would make a fabulous show.


• Please ignore my rants and pay attention only to the positive stuff. This Falstaff is a jewel. After all, five performances of Il Signor Bruschino spaced over three weeks was more than enough for me; but on the nights this week when there's been no Falstaff, I've actually missed it. This has been an enchanting introduction and I'll be sad to say farewell tomorrow evening.

Falstaff

You know, I was happy enough with just the bare fact of a Salieri opera happening in Dunedin. This a city where even the operas of Mozart are rarities. The Australasian premiere of a genuine rarity: ma foi, I doubt it would ever have occured to me even to dream of such a treat.  Yet here it is and, lo and behold, it's a triumph.

Opera Otago has assembled for its Falstaff a line-up of accomplished singers who shine both individually and in ensemble. If there exists occasionally a tendency for singers to project in a manner more akin to musical theatre than opera, it's understandable given the tiny theatre, the (translated) English libretto and many cast members' relative lack of operatic experience - not to mention opening night nerves. In any case it's far from a major issue: Salieri's music simply doesn't afford many opportunities for anything other than an operatic approach, and those singers who do fall into the trap never remain there for more than a moment or two.

A few weeks ago I described the women in this Falstaff as more or less my fantasy cast for any opera produced in Dunedin. I'm both gratified and proud to report that they are, indeed, the stuff of dreams - and very sweet dreams at that; and while I don't tend to dream too frequently of tenors and baritones, the male cast members here match in almost every instance the splendour of their female counterparts.

Rising Australian baritone Derek Welton is majestic in the title role. It's difficult to imagine a voice better suited to the part: opulent, authorative tone, liquid legato, impressive agility and near-flawless English diction combining to create a memorable performance. Director Jacqueline Coates' 1930s update has removed some of the character's broad Shakespearean colour, re-casting Sir John as a small town swindler, but Welton indulges all the same in some brilliant buffoonery, his mellifluous yet subtly gravelly vocalism a perfect match for his shabbily lascivious Falstaff. It's hard to believe (though not surprising given the rarity of the opera) that this production marks his début in the rôle, or that Welton is just twenty-three years old. He's a natural stage animal in remarkable command of his material who deserves a shining future: a future which I've little doubt will sooner or later include Verdi's fat knight.

Mistress Ford is sung with verve and polish by soprano Fiona Henry. Her Alice is not so much scheming noblewoman as blithe coquette, a young wife who, were her suitor less repulsive, might just justify her husband's suspicions. She's a vivid soubrette in a role where one might expect a slightly creamier lyric voice, but given that youthful characterisation, she's well cast. The caution audible in some of Mistress Ford's more challenging moments is unnecessary: this is brilliant, characterful singing which needn't shy away from anything.

Her co-conspirator, Claire Barton's Mistress Slender, is in every way an ideal foil, sung with rich, rounded tone and impeccable comic timing. Though both women are given a solo aria or two, their loveliest and most interesting music comes in duet, and vocally the pair is a perfect match. The two voices blend to truly heavenly effect, and their rapport with one another is obvious. Thankfully Mistress Slender has a rather meatier role than Meg Page, her Verdian equivalent, and Claire takes full advantage.

The two husbands, Ford and Slender, are sung by Derek Hill and Matthew Landreth respectively. It's another effective pairing, Hill's forceful, if sometimes forced, tenor forming a sharp contrast to Matthew's gentle and soft-grained baritone. Ford here is slightly reminiscent of a Handelian heroine, vacillating in his arias between florid devotion and jealous madness; his music, too, reflects his over-the-top emotional state, gently mocking the opera seria idiom. After a rather shaky opening night, Hill was in noticeably better form for the second performance. Even better is Matthew Landreth as Mr Slender, a true gentleman and patient voice of reason. Salieri has given him cruelly little to sing, but what there is he handles with poise and elegance, giving what is surely one of his best performances to date.

Asthe Fords' maid Betty - a role invented by the librettist - Alethea Chittenden is at times in danger of stealing the show. An experienced performer, whose diverse musical credits range from Bach to Anthony Ritchie by way of Sondheim and Die Fledermaus, she's dramatically the strongest presence on stage, personable and winningly high-spirited. It's a convincing and vocally gorgeous performance; but she's a chambermaid whose silken, subtly mature timbre and nobility of both phrasing and bearing are more suggestive of Contessa Almaviva than any kind of servant. It's not the largest voice but it's exquisitely shaped, rose-hued and graceful.

Bruce McMillan fills the piece's other servant rôle as Falstaff's long-suffering batman Bardolfo. It's not the most idiomatic or even the most operatic performance, hovering instead between Gilbert and Sullivan and Henry Higgins-style sprechstimme. It's a rather incongruous approach, and I'd have preferred a properly operatic treatment; but as your standard comic valet, all winking asides and cheeky grins, he's effective enough, and a crowd pleaser. Rounding out the cast are Nicole Evans and Karl Reid as Mr and Mrs Swallow, characters apparently invented for this production in order to swell the ensembles. Their unexplained and textually unacknowledge presence on stage is thus slightly odd, but vocally it's a joy to hear from them, even if very very briefly.

Unusually for me, I wrote a few notes for this review. One of them read, simply "HOLLY!!!". It's hardly the most eloquent or insightful thing one can say about a conductor, but it's a reflection of the inspired and brilliant work of Holly Mathieson. With sensitivity and precision, she gives a cohesive, flowing and thrillingly nuanced reading of the score, making it difficult to believe that she hasn't been absorbing this style for decades. The Southern Sinfonia has rarely sounded better, the colourful, effervescent orchestration unfolding with style and surprising beauty, partnering the singers perfectly and never once overpowering them. It's only a shame that the overture in this production plays with the curtain up and the Act I party already in progress: this orchestra and its extraordinary maestra need no aids to excitement.

There's a great deal more to be said: about the production, about the English translation, about the opera itself. It's all brewing: I've already written more than enough for one night, and I still have three performances left to attend. Leave it at this for now: Opera Otago's Falstaff is just the delicious treat I hoped for, and more besides. My congratulations and gratitude to all involved: you've achieved something rather special.

Dich, teure Halle, grüss' ich wieder

Yes, just like Elisabeth, I was happy indeed to return to that beloved hall of mine and hear once again the voice(s) I've missed so terribly. Would that I'd had Gwyneth Jones with me to greet it properly. In case it's unclear, Wednesday marked my return, after a too-long absence, to Marama Hall. The Wednesday lunchtime concerts started up again when semester did, of course, several weeks ago; but this week's was the first one to include singers and thus the first I've attended. (My good intentions re: attending all the recitals, regardless of instrument, may be reawakened at some point. Just not quite yet.) Perhaps I'm being ein bisschen over the top about it all but honestly, it was very very nice indeed to be back. A pleasant slice of hometown reality after the gorgeous madness of the past few months - not to mention an opportunity to hear sopranos singing prettily, something to which I never (well, hardly ever) say no.

And sing prettily they did. Two of them. Pretty seems so often these days to be preceded by "merely", but neither of these voices was "merely" anything. Which is not to say that Wednesday's recital was an earthshattering star is born experience. But it was certainly the most either of these sopranos has impressed me to date. Admittedly I'm barely qualified to make such a statement - or at least, to imply that it has any real weight - given how seldom I've actually heard them sing. Still, it's in any case a happy experience finally to hear in a singer - whatever their future might hold - the signs of that something extra which separates them from the girls with nice voices and not a whole lot more.

I heard Amanda Meadows once or twice during the 2004 Dunedin vocal competitions, and never since. I can't claim to remember very much from those competitions (barring the glamorous judge and her - doubtless justified - determination to award Stephen Chambers every possible prize) and to be honest I don't recall which classes Amanda sang in, much less the sound of her voice. So, delighted to find it's rather appealing. Clear, steady and a decent size. Several hundred bonus points, too, for her first selection: "Als Luise die Briefe etc.". I've long wished that competitors in the Lied classes at the competitions would sing more Mozart. I suppose Mozart Lieder don't show off the sorts of things which need shown off in a competition situation, but I do love them dearly. I think one's not supposed to say so, but Mozart is my favourite composer of Lieder. Even more terrible, I place Schubert below both Strauss and Schumann on my list of preferences. "Als Luise" also happens to be one of my favourites. Amanda sang it very nicely indeed, engaging effectively with a text which, unlike some Mozart set, still doesn't really show its age. ("Als Luise die Texte ihres ungetreuen Liebhabers löschte"?) German diction perhaps not yet all it could be - which affected the phrasing somewhat - but then again, this is just an aspect I latch on to because pronouncing German, unlike singing Mozart, is something I can do. I think that diction in a foreign language, both in speech and in singing, is really a question not just of learning and imitating the right sounds, but of gaining enough confidence in those - sometimes quite alien - sounds to make them your own. The music, after all, is written to the words and to the sounds which constitute those words: once you let the sounds of the language open up, then the music which goes with them likewise flowers. Lord knows, German is not the most obviously euphonious of languages but sung or spoken with the right finesse any language can be gorgeous. Lucia Popp speaking German, for instance, is a very sweet sound indeed; members of failed New Zealand pop groups speaking Italian in pasta ads is, on the other hand, grating and unpleasant. I've gotten sidetracked; don't read the preceding as solely directed at Amanda, which it certainly isn't: only she reminded me of things I've been thinking over anyway. (Not least because the time is fast approaching when I'll be obliged to read aloud passages of Beowulf, and I seriously doubt my ability to do so at all well.)

Scrolling up I see I've already written rather more than planned but since there were two sopranos it's only fair to continue. The other was Crystel Benton, whom I've heard rather more recently than Amanda, during last year's competitions. However either I was foolishly oblivious (very likely) or something has changed since then: nothing I'd hitherto heard prepared me for the secure high notes or facility for Handel coloratura which were on show in the aria (whose I title I should, but don't, remember) from Solomon. After a slightly lacklustre start, it was all go: sweetly florid and, as I think non-lamenting Handel ought to be, plenty of fun. Even a few felicitous ornaments in the da capo. Gorgeous.

And now, may I be awful and curmudgeonly for a moment? I'm probably misguided and unjustified in my complaint, so take it all with as many grains of salt as you care to. But I do think that maybe, just maybe, we could do without all the British art songs which inevitably turn up in these concerts. Look, I don't doubt that there are all sorts of excellent reasons for learning them; and there are plenty which are beautiful and worthy pieces of music. But I don't know. Both of Wednesday's sopranos followed up their excellent first selections with ditties about birds singing, and in both instances the song seemed to me to be beneath both singers' talents. Prettily enough sung, and Crystel's "A Blackbird singing" certainly showed her to far better advantage than it did the last soprano I heard sing it; but the Mozart and Handel were far more interesting, not to mention far better suited to the nature of the recital. I'd much rather have had more of the (relatively) serious stuff. (I daren't say "legitimate" without the quotes around it). Dunedin singers - and others - if you're reading, go right ahead and tell me how impossibly idiotic all I've just said is. You'll no doubt be right. I'm just a whining Mozart groupie with an irrational fear of Percy Grainger (I'm also very very self-contradictory) but in any case, there it is.

Once again, in characteristically negligent style, I've spilled excessive quantities of virtual ink over the vocal component of a recital which was in fact mostly instrumental. Those involved all won department prizes last year and all deserve plenty of praise. My excuse, as ever, is that I'm even worse qualified to comment on instrumentalists than singers. All the same I did want to make mention, since this the only outlet I have in which to do so, of violinist Sarah-Rose Williams, with whom I was rather taken. With a singer, literally speaking at least, the instrument and the person are more or less one and the same; with an instrumentalist - at least for a vocal fanatic such as myself - that bond is not quite so easy to assume. In Sarah-Rose's performance, however (and I've lost the programme, so can't tell you the piece except that I think it was Brahms) I really did have that sense of the music coming as much from the person as from the instrument. Exciting playing.

Next up on the Dunedin agenda, Salieri's Falstaff, which opens in a week. You'll be pleased to know it's receiving full groupie treatment from me: I have tickets for all five performances. It's the least I could do; I'm just swooningly in love with all at Opera Otago for staging such a treat. Besides which, with four of my Dunedin divas involved in the show, it's really my duty to dedicate one night to each of them - with a spare left over just in case.

O patria mia

Now that I'm home, and all booked for A Touch of Venus, I can at last take a break from pouring every cent I own into funding the arts in Australia and remember that singing happens here too.

For one, Falstaff is all of a sudden very nearly here. Not Verdi's this time, but Salieri's. I have to say, I'm just so terribly in love with Opera Otago for putting this on. This is a city where even Puccini and Mozart are rarities, so to see an actual rarity produced is an especial thrill. I believe it's to be performed in English, which is understandable if a shade disappointing, but a very minor quibble - to complain would be nothing short of ingratitude. I can't believe how time has flown. Falstaff was originally supposed to be staged in October last year but in the end had to be postponed. At that point it seemed an eternity away: and now it's only a month or so. The postponement meant a few cast changes, but from the details here it looks nevertheless like a promising cast, especially as it contains my very favourite local singer. Who knows who she is. (I hope.)

Even sooner than that, what with semester beginning next week, will be the weekly Marama Hall recitals. For all the musical glory of the past few months, I've all the same missed hearing local singers. When I've been home, there has been nothing on; and in truth there's been very little on, other than Messiah, while I've been away. But with the students back, it begins again and I'm happy about that. I'm intending this year to do what I did last year and go to almost everything, vocal or otherwise. My horizons always need broadening, and at $2 it's hardly a huge financial burden. Presumably the Semester 1 recital calendar will appear shortly, though any music student who wants to give me a preview and make me feel special is more than welcome to do so.

I don't think I've yet mentioned here Dunedin's upcoming Carmen. It's many months away still, but a date for the calendar nonetheless and as I say, time flies. Rather luxuriously cast, with gorgeous New Zealand sopranos Deborah Wai Kapohe and Anna Leese singing Carmen and Micaela respectively. Very nice. Except, well... I shouldn't say it. And as with Falstaff, I don't ever want to be ungrateful for anything in this opera-starved city. But did it have to be Carmen? I'd be hard pressed to think of anything I'd feel less inclined towards seeing. Which is not to say I won't go. I will of course, possibly more than once. Apart from anything else, it'll be a wonderful performance to have seen in years to come, when Anna's a superstar. And who knows, maybe it will change my mind about the opera. Maybe. 

And on another, but still New Zealand oriented, note, it rather warmed my heart the other day to see that US-based New Zealand soprano, Marie-Adele Macarthur, who sang Donna Elvira for NZ Opera last year, continues to attract accolades and admirers. Very nice.

Mezzo surprise

Right. When I turned up to First Church today for a free recital, when I declined the offer of tea at the door, when I squeezed past the tourists in the aisle, when I sat myself down among a smallish and mostly white-haired churchgoing audience, I was never expecting to hear 'Arianna a Naxos' or Berlioz' 'La Mort de Cléopâtre'. That kind of recital just doesn't happen in this city. It doesn't happen in the evenings in a concert hall. It certainly doesn't happen in a church at lunchtime and free of charge. Except that apparently it does. Amanda Cole, a mezzo soprano from Melbourne here in Dunedin to do her Masters in Performance Voice, sang those two cantatas. On its own, cause enough for celebration. As it happens, she also sang them beautifully. Hers is a darkish velvety sound, not a huge voice but nicely focused, and it found a perfect partner in First Church's excellent acoustic. Her sweetly voice Arianna could at times perhaps have done with a little more dramatic bite, but was touching and attractive all the same. In the Berlioz she was compelling, both vocally and visually. If a few higher passages sat slightly uncomfortably, they were more than compensated for by the richness of the rest; the Méditation 'Grands Pharaons' in particular was shaded to bone-chilling perfection. As she stared in the face of impending death I almost felt that if I turned and looked down the aisle, I'd see it too. The element of (utter) surprise had me ready to enjoy this recital regardless, but Amanda surpassed that factor and was excellent in her own right. I like! I'd gladly have payed proper ticket price for this.

Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows everywhere

It's the end of the academic year, and everybody has exams. That includes me; it also includes voice performance students: whose exams take the form of a recital. Brilliant. I'm glad nobody comes to watch me write hasty essays about Evelina, but I've been quite happy to spend a few afternoons at these recitals. Free sopranos! I did think it would be rather cruel, however, to review anybody's exam. Luckily two of the wonderful sopranos I heard, and one glorious mezzo whom I unfortunately missed, appeared this afternoon in the music department's annual Sunshine Concert and so I have, after all, an excuse to effuse.

Fiona Henry sang 'Widmung' and 'Die Lotosblume' this afternoon, both beautiful. I like Fiona more and more every time I hear her; actually I think she's better every time I hear her, but that may just be my perception. In any case, it struck me at her exam recital that she's pretty much ready for the world now, and really ought to just be out there singing. Every time I hear her 'Vedrai, carino' I think she could have been Zerlina in the NZ Opera's Don Giovanni this year just as easily as Ali McGregor.

Nicole Evans melted my heart for a second time with 'Kdybych Se Co Takoveho' from The Bartered Bride, which seems almost to have been written with her voice in mind. It's a beautiful aria to begin with: I didn't recognise the title, but as soon as the introduction started I recognised it from Lucia Popp's Slavonic Opera Arias as one I loved. And Nicole sings it with such love and such beauty, it's really quite irresistible. She also gave us a nicely dramatic 'Non piu di fiori' in which I'm sure I see the makings of a fierce Vitellia.

And then there's Claire Barton. Sigh. I missed Claire's exam recital and was heartbroken; thankfully her three song bracket here went some way towards compensation. 'Ah, quel diner!' from La Périchole, 'Bali Hai' from South Pacific, 'Someone is sending me flowers' - you might say these were the lollipops of this post's title - but so gorgeously by Claire they were also the rainbows. It's talent enough to be genuinely laugh-out-loud funny in singing a comedy song; to be so genuinely funny that, even having heard Claire sing 'Someone is sending me flowers' perhaps half a dozen times, I still laugh. 'Ah, quel diner!' was likewise a scream, not to mention beautifully sung. 'Bali Hai' of course isn't funny but it is absolutely beautiful, and Claire's just as good at absolutely beautiful as she is at comedy. I remain utterly under the spell of this voice.

Before I finish,though, a word or two about, believe it or not, pianists. Firstly Pascal Harris, who won the Simon Gibson Memorial Prize which is tied up with the Sunshine Concert: ladies and gentleman, watch this name. He played two Prokofiev pieces, and I know nothing about piano but still they were incredible. And also, because I keep meaning to, I have to mention the wonderful Tom McGrath, who accompanies all the singers in their exams and recitals like this and is a joy to hear and to watch. His enthusiasm is infectious, his rapport with the singers fabulous; and anyone wanting hints on Lied interpretation would do well simply to observe him as he plays.

Wach auf, du Stadt Dunedin

Not that anyone heeds my advice anyway when I suggest such a thing, but if you've nowhere else to be tomorrow night, might I suggest Knox Church at 7pm? A Bach cantata, BWV140, Wachet auf, you know the one. I'm, well, not a churchgoer, but I am a goer-to of Bach cantatas and would go through far more than a progressively Presbyterian sermon or two to get my ears around one. And I can promise in advance, this one will be good. I know because I've already heard it. Knox did 140 last year too, with the same soloists: baritone Iain Fraser, who on a good day sounds good (poor thing sang through a nasty cough at a lunchtime recital a while ago, and didn't come out of it very well, but I know he's far better than that) and the eternally misspelt Alethea Chittenden, far too little heard in this city (or any other). I didn't review it, but it was hearing this the first time round that prompted me to fall head-over-heels for Papa Bach. It was wunderschön then and will, I'm certain, be at least as tasty this time.

Naturally, the day after I saw that this was on, I had Concert FM on, Afternoon Requests: and someone had requested this cantata. I hadn't heard it in its entirety since that performance, over a year ago. Back then, having been knocked over by Bach, my first step was to download as many versions as I could of the two soprano-bass duets, but I never did get my hands on a recording of the whole thing. (I bought ten CDs worth of cantatas from the Warehouse, but none of them were 140.) Nevertheless I recognised the recording played on radio as one I'd heard parts of - but sadly not a favourite. Anthony Rolfe Johnson was fine of course, but Ruth Holton I cannot warm to. I liked her once; I hit Bach around the same time I hit Julianne Baird, and so I was in love with that cool, light, vibrato-less sound. I'm no longer entranced by Julianne Baird; and Ruth Holton sounds to me like a boy soprano, and a yawnsome one at that. These days my favourite of those I have is Edith Mathis and Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, who put their hearts (und Mund und Tat und Leben) into it and, aided and abetted by Karl Richter and some soaring strings, create something quite stunningly lovely. I base all of this on 'Wann kommst du' alone. The complete thing, which comes with a Magnificat too, goes on my endless wishlist.

But let me repeat, on the offchance there's a Dunedinite out there willing to do as I suggest: Knox Church, tomorrow tonight in fact - the 30th - at 7pm. No admission charge, but a gold coin for the collection plate. (Even I try not to seem completely irredeemable.)

Requiem aeternam

The Southern Sinfonia's season-ending concert on Saturday consisted of 20th century NZ and Japanese orchestral music and then the Mozart Requiem. Unfortunately I missed the first half (not my fault, honestly) but made it for the second which, let's face it, was what I was really looking forward to. (Though Lilburn's Symphony No. 1 would have been nice to hear.)

The City of Dunedin Choir joined forces for it with the Auckland Choral Society: excellent idea I think. The COD Choir is wonderful on its own, of course, but the combination of the two, especially in a work like this, which suits that punch and powerful kind of delivery, really gave the music the force it deserves. Guest conductor Ryusuke Numajiri was fabulous to watch in the big choruses too, conducting more like a boxer or a Japanese drummer than anything else - you'd almost swear the voices were coming directly out of those clenched fists. The soloists also were very good indeed. Our alto, Kate Spence, who came second in the 2002 Mobil Song Quest and hasn't become nearly famous enough since, was absolutely gorgeous, with a deliciously dark and chocolately tone. "Since when is she Janet Baker?" quoth I at the end. That kind of mezzo. Except Janet Baker doesn't excite me greatly, and Kate rather does, so I hope we hear a lot more of her very soon. Madeleine Pierard (soprano) was also excellent, if not perhaps quite as celestial as I'd have liked. This isn't really a criticism so much as my own feelings about the Requiem - I love Madeleine's voice, and she sang wonderfully, but I think I prefer a slightly larger, glossier sound in this sort of music; and I like Madeleine best when there's a story to tell, a character to draw. That said, she sounded lovely - and the sound of the two girls together was simply (and appropriately) heavenly. Completing the line-up, and admirably so, were tenor Kenneth Cornish, and the very authoritative David Griffiths (bass). Ryusuke Numajiri is a wonderful influence on the Southern Sinfonia, from whom (particularly in the strings) he drew some truly magnificent playing - I hope they'll invite him back, and soon.

Last things first

In a rather lovely feat of good timing, I managed to come home from Sydney just in time for 'Music and Mayhem', a recital of arias and songs by a collection of lovely Dunedin singers, organised by none other than my favourite Dunedin singer (yes, I'm allowed favourites) Claire Barton. Such a wonderful idea, and very enjoyable, if perhaps the slightest bit too long (but maybe I'm just jetlagged). I think there was a sore throat or two at work tonight, but there were no out-and-out disasters, and there were also several true gems. The shiniest of which was Mlle Barton herself, magnificent as always in a wonderful 'Cruda sorte' and a ravishing 'Bali Ha'i'; not to mention a hilarious Marcellina to Fiona Henry's rather pretty Susanna in 'Via resti servita'. Matt Landreth too was excellent - his singing, particularly in 'Vi ravviso' from La Sonnambula is gaining a silkiness lately which I like very much; and Penelope Muir well nigh stole the show with 'A Word on my Ear' (words here, though it rather needs to be heard as well). A very very nice concert to come back to. And there's the Mozart Requiem tomorrow!

Competition reports: bouquets (and no brickbats)

It seemed slightly off to comment on individual singers while they were still competing, so I refrained. But now that it's all over I'd like to spotlight some of the performances I thought were particularly excellent. The following are the items I circled in my programme as worthy of special mention. I haven't always remembered enough for any further comment, but you can just take as read that I loved and applauded wildly for each of these performances.

Amanda Barclay, 'Vieni omai, deh, vieni, o morte' (Cesti). In fact I've also circled Amanda's performances of Ross Harris' song 'Swans' and the Spanish folk song 'No quiero lasarme'. All three were lovely, lovely performances. The voice is still developing, but it's a naturally beautiful instrument already; more importantly though, there's a sweetness and sincerity to every performance Amanda gives which makes her a joy to watch and listen to. In several patchy classes, Amanda's songs were oases of serenity.

Matt Landreth, 'My love is like a red red rose'; 'I remember' from Sings Harry (Lilburn).

Nadia Ahmad Zaharan, 'Sun'ram'. A traditional Malaysian song which Nadia sang and danced to perfection in one of the most beautiful moments of the competitions, and for which she won first place in the National Song class. She sang it again at the end of the aria final on Sunday night but sadly her performance was rather badly affected by nerves; I only wish everyone there could have seen it on Friday morning - it was an utter delight.

Michael Gray, 'Honour and Arms' (Handel). This is still going through my head! An absolutely stunning performance, dramatically and beautifully sung, and I can still hear Michael's fabulously secure low notes ringing in my ears. As far as I'm concerned he won the oratorio class, even if Peter Hind gave him second place. It can take rather a lot for a soprano devotee such as myself to get really excited about a male voice, but whatever it is, Michael's got it. Brilliant.

Fiona Henry, 'Queen of Heaven' (Dunhill.) Just incredible.

Hayley Carrick, 'On my own' from Les Misérables. Powerful, persuasive and musical too. I was determined this should win the Music Theatre award - in the end she was placed third.

Stephen Chambers. 'I lov'd fair Celia' (Purcell).

Claire Barton. I might as well just list everything Claire sang. And then add to that list my own imagination of the things she would have sung in the classes she withdrew from. I'm just a moonstruck fan these days. 'Bali H'ai' was a dream.  'Or la trombe in suon festante' was just the nicest surprise, 'Someone is sending me flowers' fabulousness itself. But perhaps my favourite of all, if I can choose one, was her incredible 'Gretchen am Spinnrade', which just about killed me. I'm just crazy about this voice, and getting crazier with every performance I see.

Right, that's it, I've finished now. Bravi tutti!

Competition reports: ODT Aria competition

I would have reviewed this as soon as I got home last night, but you understand, the beautiful soprano of Saturday night had to take precedence. However, I've written one now, so enjoy.

First prize went, deservedly, to Stephen Chambers. To tell the truth, if you'd told me beforehand that Stephen would win, I'd have been a little surprised. But after his performances, I had a feeling he would. He was, for one thing, the only singer who was consistently excellent in both his arias - and he also gave a genuinely worthy peformance. Stephen has an undeniably gorgeous voice but has tended in the past to let himself down - especially in the aria competition - in terms of projection and communication. But last night saw some genuine engagement with both music and text - both his singing and stage presence were significantly more expressive than usual. 'Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd schön' was a particularly good choice - I think Tamino is a part which would suit Stephen both vocally and temperamentally - and 'Spirto gentil' was also very effective. We don't tend to get much movement from Stephen when he sings, but in these two arias, there were a few nicely chosen gestures and I think they did make a notable difference - last night's performance was the best I've seen from Stephen in terms of making a connection not just with the aria but with audience as well, and I wonder if perhaps the gestures helped this along, reminding him that he is, after all, conveying a message to somebody, not singing alone in a world apart. Opera is theatre and the audience is a necessary part of that - and it was excellent last night to see Stephen really begin to grasp that concept.

Fiona Henry was second - another easy result to predict! The improvement in Fiona's singing since this time  last year is quite remarkable. Last year's aria final was not really her shiningest moment, this time round, she's a star. (She's already made a fan of the adjudicator.) I thought I wasn't really in the mood for 'Vedrai, carino' (I'm not wild about Zerlina) but then Fiona came on and changed my mind completely. It was an absolutely stunning performance, utterly musical, with gleaming tone, impeccable phrasing and just the right Zerlina-esque mix of humour and heart. My first thought after hearing it was "She's gone and won" and if her second aria had matched this one, she may well have done.  'Kommt ein schlanker Bursch gegangen' was very lovely - I've heard Fiona sing this a number of times, and it always is - but somehow didn't have the same glow as the Mozart. And I do have a slight quibble as far as German pronunciation goes-Fiona's is mostly fine, but every time, the '-er' endings in  'Immer näher, liebe Leuchten' and 'minder schön' become inexplicably and incorrectly Americanised, rhyming with 'her' when the sound should be closer to 'air'.  It's not the most glaring error, but even a small blemish is a shame in a performance which is otherwise so excellent.

And third was Claire Barton, officially (If I haven't already declared this) my favourite Dunedin singer. Such a  gorgeously rich and lustrous voice, with the added bonus of an irresistible stage presence - Claire is a true entertainer and a true artist as well. Both arias were just fabulous, a joy to behold. I was already excited at the prospect of seeing Claire in Opera Otago's production of Salieri's Falstaff - and now that I've heard her sing 'Vendetta, si vendetta' from the opera I really can't wait. 'Cruda sorte' beautiful as always. Claire, more than any of the other finalists, is a singer whose voice and presence just scream Opera Singer the moment she walks on stage. In both the Salieri and the Rossini, she managed to create a character before our eyes, almost to bring the whole opera onstage with her. Claire's were my favourite performances of the night, no doubt about it. And it's clear that Claire's fabulousness - and with it my admiration - are destined to grow and grow - an exciting prospect.

And now to the unplaced finalists. Brigitte Heuser's performances were hands down the best she's given in these competitions. Particularly her first aria, 'Deh per questo istante solo', which was aperfect choice. When Brigitte bowled me over at the competitions last year, my first thought was 'She's Sesto!' and yes, she is, and she's fantastic. It could have been even better than it was, but I've no doubt that before very long, it will be, and then Anne Sofie should look out. I mean it. 'Pres des remparts de Seville' surprised me somewhat - unlike Sesto, I wouldn't have picked Brigitte for a Carmen, but in fact it was effective (the red dress helped a little!) and rather lovely. Still, I think the Mozart is the way to go - but I would say that. (I'm the heathen who doesn't go nuts over Carmen)

Kerry Scurr gave two pretty performances but the thing is, Kerry doesn't seem to be able to sing without smiling. Which sometimes works well, and gives her performances a rather charming quality - but sometimes works against her. The Willow Song from Baby Doe, from those words I could make out, isn't a very happy piece - and delivering it with that cheerful smile rather obscured the meaning. 'Quando m'en vo' suited her smile and her voice rather better, though there were still a few issues. The singing through a smile thing is one of them - it seems to me as if it tends to keep her sound smaller than it ought to be - the voice rarely opens up and blooms; and there's a rather prominent tremolo which, though not unattractive, would be nicer if a little more controlled.

Finally, leaving the best of the unplaced finalists - and certainly one of the best singers we've heard in these competitions - to last, the brilliant Sarah Walker. As Peter Hind said, a voice to watch. Wow. Big and luxurious and fabulous. I suppose he was also right in saying Sarah chose arias just ever so slightly beyond her current capacities but still, she was wonderful. 'Leise, leise' was my favourite of her two arias, silken-toned and rapturous, with beautiful diction to boot. 'Non mi dir' was ever so slightly less successful I thought, though nevertheless excellent. But then again, I've been spoilt for all Donna Annas henceforth, so perhaps I shouldn't comment. In any case I shall be following the rise and rise of Sarah Walker avidly.

Competition reports: Day 2

Fewer people sick today, which was good. Let's just do this class by class, shall we?

National Song: 21 years & over - Only three singers, but goodness me they were magnificent. The adjudicator was likewise impressed - the three were separated by only one mark each. Not surprising at all.

20th Century Art Song: 21 years & over - Just three withdrawals, but one of them broke my heart. However. For the most part we had lovely singing, but I have to admit to being an irredeemable philistine and say that a number of the songs just plain didn't appeal to me. Not necessarily anything to do with the singers - many of whom were excellent, though a number suffered from phrasing and diction issues.

Music Theatre - This is the first time I've ever stayed to watch the Music Theatre class, and I enjoyed myself! The best thing about it perhaps was that it gave singers room to find something which really truly suited their voices, because musical theatre encompasses such a range of styles. Sometimes in, say, the art song classes, there are singers clearly not entirely happily in the style required of them; here they could be themselves. They could also move around and act, which many did, to great effect - though in truth I thought the most powerful performances came from those who remained relatively still.

Lieder 21 years & over - Always one of my very favourite classes, and this time it began with one of my all time favourite Lieder, Strauss' 'Zueignung' - followed immediately by another favourite, 'Gretchen am Spinnrade' - both given simply gorgeous performances. The remainder of the class was a matter of coming down to earth for me, but - barring one or two rather wooden and uncommunicative performances - excellent nevertheless.

17th or 18th Century English Song  (Excluding Oratorio) - Or as our emcee, the inimitable Honor McKellar, described it, a Purcell festival - nine out of 14 competitors sang songs by Purcell. But I'm not complaining, I love Purcell to pieces. There was only one repeat - two singers chose 'Thrice happy lovers' from The Fairy Queen. I have Yvonne on DVD singing this so I'm not qualified to pass judgment on any other version. Sorry. Actually, for all the gorgeousness of the music, Purcell and otherwise, this class really ought to have been sung rather better than it was. There were some (very) high points, to be sure, but I felt that only two or three singers had really grasped the style and the energy of this music; not to mention the technical aspects - the floridity of the music is a great part of its appeal, so those melismatic passages and those ornaments really do need to be mastered and emerge confidently. Interesting to see Semele's 'O sleep' given as a straight, oh-bring-back-my-lover-to-me song; it's always seemed like rather an R16 kind of aria to me. (Her next aria's even worse of course - "With fond desiring/With bliss expiring/Panting/Fainting/If this be Love, not you alone/But Love and I are one." Oh my..)

20th Century Art Song: 18 & under 21 years - Not wonderful, but there was some lovely singing, certainly. But as in its 21 & over counterpart, diction and phrasing weren't always as good as they should have been. And on a note of personal taste - less Quilter! He's fine, I suppose...I like Love's Philosophy. But I'm not really a huge Quilter fan, unless it's being sung by an (the) Utter Goddess.

Cleveland Award - I like this one. Entrants present a recital programme of three items, rather than just one song. There's a test song (this year's were particularly, well, testing) and then two own choices. I haven't been naming names so far because I though it in slightly better taste to wait until the whole thing's over - not that I'm going to say anything very negative even then - but since this one's a competition in its own right, more or less, I will name a couple. Fiona Henry's first placing was no surprise, her 'Rêve d'amour' was delightful and she sang the hell out of the test song too. 'Der Nussbaum' was a success too - helped perhaps by the fact that Fiona worked on this during her masterclass session with Grace Bumbry. As for me, I had my heart set on Claire Barton for first - a good thing she came second or I'd be a very angry person. Sigh... I'm such a Claire Barton fan. Forget the test song, which was lovely but not, I thought, a particularly appealing song. Give Me Handel. 'Or la tromba in suon festante' from Rinaldo was sheer brilliance, and 'Someone is Sending Me Flowers' was hilarious (I've heard Claire sing this several times and still I crack up). Gorgeous gorgeous voice and such warm, communicative singing...bravissima. All other entrants were excellent too. Brigitte Heuser gave us a superb 'Les roses d'Ispahan'; Michael Gray's 'Tristezza' was lovely and oh-so-Italian; and Matt Landreth gave what I thought was the best rendition (the judge disagreed) of the men's test song, Michael Head's 'The Dreaming Lake' - though he's perhaps slightly less suited to the frankly silly 'Just another Rumba'.

Which brings us to a close for day two. As I said, I'm missing tomorrow's classes, much to my disappointment. I especially wish I could see the 21 & over 17th or 18 century aria class, which, on paper at least, looks like sheer bliss. And the ODT Aria competition preliminaries - I'll just have to hope and pray that those I particularly want to hear make it to the final. Congratulations to all who have sung (and won) so far, best of luck to those singing tomorrow. Looking forward to Sunday!

Competition reports: Day 1

The first day of the Dunedin vocal competitions - sorry, vocal festival - went rather nicely. Not perhaps as joltingly excellent as last year's first day but good fun all the same. The judge mightn't be a gorgeous soprano like last year (I'll stop this soon, don't worry) but despite myself I rather like him - his comments are very interesting and I've more or less agreed with most of decisions, or at least seen his point even if I thought the placings deserved to be awarded differently. It's quite different being in the Hutton Theatre; previously the competitions have been held in the Burns Hall, part of First Church, and there's a very different acoustic. But I think the Hutton Theatre probably comes closer to real recital conditions than a church hall, so it's a good thing even if it takes some getting used to. It does always seem slightly unkind to hold these competitions in winter every year. It's cold, people get sick, and they often pull out - there were a lot of scratchings yesterday. I had five must-see items highlighted in my programme and only got to hear one of them; here's hoping today will be a little healthier. Only one other quibble - I think the Competitions Society really ought to establish official protocol re: acknowledgement or otherwise of accompanists. Is it necessary to acknowledge one's accompanist after one song? Last year Patricia Wright said no - do it if you're doing several, if it's a proper recital, but when you're only singing one item, no need. Then yesterday, Peter Hind said "You must."Hardly a pressing issue of course but I think it needs to be established for once and for all.

Anyway, to the matter at hand. The first class - poor things - was the novice class. Three out of seven singers had pulled out; the remaining four coped very well, especially considering they had to start the whole thing off. It was a clear victory, however, for the first placed singer, who in truth is rather far from being a novice - the requirement for entering as a novice is never having won a first prize, and unbelievably, this soprano hadn't. The next class, the 17th and 18th century aria (18 & under 21 years) was slightly disappointing, I have to admit. Nerves, illness and the odd bit of mangled Italian all played their part; and so many laments. There were some lovely and affecting passages however; it was also very nice to hear Bellini's 'Dolente immagine', which I adore, though I admit I'm not entirely sure how a 19th century arietta made it into this particular class. But no matter. The final two classes of the afternoon were the Burns Club Quaich (musically setting of any work by Robert Burns) and the Hebridean Song, both of which provided some excellent singing. The Hebridean songs in particular are the sort of music which allow - and indeed require - singers to really abandon themselves to the music and let it soar, and the best performances were by those singers who were able to achieve that sort of feeling.

The first class of the evening session was the Oratorio class. In announcing his decisions, the judge mentioned that this class hadn't quite met his expectations, though nevertheless very good. Well, I can't imagine what he was expecting but I personally thought this class was fabulous, with everybody acquitting themselves very well indeed, and several simply outstanding, concert-standard, performances. The New Zealand Composition class was almost as impressive. Only half of the singers entered actually sang, but they were mostly excellent, besides which it's wonderful to hear this music, which isn't exactly bread-and-butter repertoire for most. We finished up the evening with a woefully small Musical Ensemble class - only two pairs entered. I agree with the judge: it would be fantastic if this class was much much bigger, the duets are such fun.

So, a very good day's singing, if one which was showing the effects of illness and general winteriness just a little. Day 2 is already underway but I'll get to that...tonight I suppose. Tomorrow at a criminally early hour I'm catching a bus to Christchurch but shall be back on Sunday in time for the all important ODT Aria final. Very sad to miss the preliminaries, but divadienst calls!

Let the games begin

The Dunedin Vocal Competitions start on Thursday. It's terribly exciting. $3 a session, for three days of singing. Plus the all the tension and thrills of that competitive atmosphere. Though it's not really all that competitive. I described it once as 'lieder as blood sport' but it's really not ferocious at all. But such good fun nevertheless. I have the programme already, and it makes fascinating reading. There are three names (shan't say whose) I've gone through and highlighted to be sure I don't miss any of their items - though I'll have a hard time missing anything, I have nowhere else as interesting to be. And whereas in past years, there have been almost as many gaps as there were choices listed, this time the programme is almost complete - barring any changes that have been made since it was printed, the programme in front of me gives me a pretty fair idea of what I'll hear and from whom.

There some tantalising choices on there. Two renditions, in different classes, of 'O del mio dolce ardor', both of which I'm dying to hear - though heartbreakingly, I'm doing something rather foolish on Saturday and will miss one of them - along with the ODT Aria Competition preliminaries. Even the Music Theatre Award, which I've avoided the last two years, looks rather promising. There are also a few, shall we say, interesting aria and song choices. I'm genuinely curious (if a little wary) to see what a singer aged under 21 can make of 'Porgi amor', which I would think requires rather more maturity - but then you never know. "Lascia ch'io pianga" is popular this year - three entrants in the 18 & under 21 17th or 18th century aria class have chosen it. Provided they're not drawing inspiration from such singers as the Brightman, or this creature 'Keedie' who seems to have sprung up recently, all should be well.

I try to put all my critical tendencies aside as much as possible for the competitions and just be ready to enjoy anything and everything. Of course, those unfortunates to happen to have decided to sing something which I've heard Yvonne doing have very little hope - unreasonable as it might be, I firmly believe hers is the definitive, well, everything. More or less. But in any event, I love these competitions so much that I tend to like almost everything which isn't manifestly terrible. (And even when I do get snakey and critical, you'll find no venom on here. I'm not that mean.) Last year I got so excited after the first day, I came home and posted a list of stand-out singers, only to find by the end of the competitions that almost none of the real stars appeared on that first list. So I'm not naming names this year until the end of the competitions - unless I simply can't resist.  I have my predictions too, naturally, but won't reveal them unless they're correct - fair enough, no?

The only drawback to this year's competitions is the judge. Not that I have any issues with him personally - I've never heard of the man. (He's Peter Hind, in case you have.) No, it's just that last year's judge was rather special. (That's an understatement.) She was fabulous and engaging, such a fascinating judge that I though, I have to hear this woman sing. And so I found and bought her CD Serenata and fell hopelessly in love. And bought more CDs. And flew to Wellington and Auckland to see her Donna Anna three times. Yes, her. Had it not been for the competitions, Patricia Wright might still be no more to me than that lovely soprano whom I mentioned, but not by name, after I heard her on the radio in Falstaff -and I'd be considerably the poorer for it. Last year's competitions also marked the point at which this blog started to be read - or commented on, at any rate- by a number of Dunedin vocal students, lifting me out somewhat of my previous near-obscurity. Has it really been almost a year? Incroyable. But here we are again and it will all be over too soon. To all who are singing: in bocca al lupo! Can't wait to hear you.

Stop Press: The incomparable Rosel, Anna Leese's No #1 fan, reports the existence of an official website for the lovely Anna, to be found at www.annaleese.com. It's a bit bare-bones-ish right now but gorgeous all the same - and best of all, has audio clips. Anna naturally won everything she could when she did the Dunedin vocal competitions..

A quick word in praise of an excellent Dunedin mezzo

It's always an excellent thing when you can forget that a voice student is a student, and just listen to him or her as a singer. That's what's happened this year with Claire Barton - who I saw yesterday as part of a Knox Church lunchtime recital - and she's simply wonderful. Perhaps more than any of her fellow students, Claire seems to me to have found a voice and an approach which is uniquely hers, and immediately recognisable. She's a natural communicator (and comedienne) with sensitivity not only to the literal meaning of the words she's singing, but also their context and significance. The best example of this yet was Claire's performance yesterday of 'Terra adorata' from Donizetti's Don Sebastiano. An aria I've never heard from an opera I've never heard of. Claire gave us a quick introduction to put the aria in context, then launched into it with such style and conviction, I felt as if I did know the opera, as if she'd somehow brought the whole thing into the church with her- if that makes any sense. Add that to the lustrous beauty of the voice itself and honestly, it's just a joy to behold - an excellent Thursday lunchhour which I only wish could have been longer.

Shanghai Quartet

It's not often I head off to hear a string quartet. Actually, I've never been to see one before in my life, except when there was also some singing somewhere in the concert. But a sudden need to feel slightly less of a philistine had me running to the Glenroy at 7.50pm on Monday night (I'd just been to Bride and Prejudice, so I was cutting it fine, timing-wise) to see the Shanghai Quartet. Wonderful Dunedin: I arrive minutes before the concert begins, get a student rush ticket for $15 - and I'm sitting in the front row. Fabulous. And the music was to die for. I cannot understand why anyone thinks a hideous creation like Bond is necessary to make this stuff exciting. They played two Beethoven string quartets, with arrangements by the second violinist of traditional Chinese music in the middle. And then some Ravel as an encore. It was brilliant. There were moments in the first Beethoven piece (String Quartet in B flat Opus 18 No 6 apparently) which left me almost breathless. And though I'm absolutely and completely unfamiliar with Beethoven string quartets (and Beethoven almost everything else for that matter) somehow I felt all the same as if I knew where I was. It wasn't familiar, but it wasn't bewildering either. The Chinese stuff was fantastic - it was what I was mainly looking forward to. Kudos to Yi-Wen Jiang for such excellent arrangements - equal parts (to me) exotic and familiarly lovely and string quartetish. And then the second Beethoven (String Quartet in C sharp minor Opus 131) which should surely have left them all unconscious with exhaustion - fabulous. And the Ravel encore, one movement of something I would very much like to hear in its entirety. I had a wonderful time. And with no singing! (Truth to tell, I'd still take a soprano over a violin any day...but at least my horizons are widening just a little bit.)

Will I go and see Pascal Rogé with the NZSO tonight?

'Autumn Tones'

Anton Bruckner, j'accuse! Oh sure, your Te Deum's very nice. But don't you think a BIG alto solo would make it even nicer? No? Well that's a shame.

Yes, we had Bruckner's Te Deum at Knox Church last night, part of a concert called 'Autumn Tones' (I didn't hear the autumn tones, but maybe that's just me). And it was fine. I mean, my heart's still in the 18th century (or earlier) when it comes to sacred music, but things like this have their appeal too. The City of Dunedin choir was sounding very good, as ever. Although I did feel sorry for them, packed into a space half as small (if not smaller) than they have for their Town Hall gigs. And sitting in the front row as I was, I did feel a little close for comfort at times. But nevertheless, excellent choir, etc. etc.

You know me though, and you know I was there for the soloists. And such a lineup: Goeknil Meryem Biner (soprano), Brigitte Heuser (alto), Stephen Chambers (tenor) & Michael Gray (bass). The tenor gets plenty to sing, and I'm happy to say this is some of the best singing I've heard from Stephen lately. Perhaps it was because he had to make himself heard over choir and orchestra, not just a piano, but for once it seemed that there was some fire in that voice - it wasn't just nice singing, but interesting singing. Very nice to hear. As for Michael, all I can say is: wow. I thought perhaps the bass was going to be as slighted as the alto in terms of a proper solo, but thankfully he wasn't, and Michael was quite incredible. What of the girls? I wasn't, I have to say, particularly impressed by our soprano, Goeknil Meryem Biner. Ever since her too-brief appearance in Anthony Ritchie's The God Boy last year, I've been wanting to hear more from her, to get a proper sense of the voice: but I think (or hope) that this wasn't the right occasion. It wasn't that she made a bad sound - far from it - but it just seemed the wrong sound, somehow. Too much vibrato, and just plain too loud. Maybe it was the acoustic. I don't know. But when the soloists all sang together, it was inevitably her voice which pushed its way to the front - and although I'd never heard the piece before last night, I've a feeling that's not quite the way it ought to sound. Besides which, she kept just about drowning out our fabulous alto! Who, unlike the other three, never once got to sing all by herself. And oh, how I wish she had. I've been longing and longing to hear Brigitte Heuser sing again, ever since last year's vocal competitions where she just blew me away. This is seriously a star mezzo in the making, and what I did hear of her last night was as delectable as I'd hoped. But it was still just a tiny tantalising taste, and I want more. In the words of the divine Maria von Trapp, "Brigitte I don't know about yet, but somebody has to find out about her." Well I'd like to find out, and soon.

So. The highlight of the concert should have been Brigitte but wasn't. Which leads us to a very surprising turn of events: the highlight of the night for me was not vocal at all, but rather the orchestral piece that started the evening. Strange enough in itself, and even more so because the piece was Douglas Lilburn's 1940 'Aotearoa Overture'. 20th century...New Zealand...orchestral music...and I loved it! Well done to the Dunedin Youth Orchestra. If only Delibes Coppélia Suite which followed had been replaced by more of this sort of thing. So much more interesting. (I wonder if taking myself to the orchestra counts for TAFTO?)

La Deborah

I think that Deborah Wai Kapohe just about broke Marama Hall tonight. It's a smallish venue and that is one big voice. Huge. Sitting in the second row it was sometimes almost too much. But of course, never actually too much. No such thing as too much Deborah. Tonight she was singing a programme of Spanish-Orientalist songs. Gounod, Berlioz, Bizet, Saint-Saens, de Falla, Ravel, Rodrigo. Mouth watering yet? It should be. This was art song not for the faint hearted. If you were used to Sylvia McNair-style mélodies, you might have been in for a shock. But oh my, it was an experience. There was no holding back: she tore in to these songs with the most infectious passion, savouring every single moment, regardless of whether she was singing or not. She might have had a music stand in front of her, but it was easy to ignore.

After a Godowsky piano piece from the Mighty Terence Dennis, she walked on stage singing Gounod's 'Medjé'. Intense, incredible. Then a brilliant and gorgeous (if perhaps the tiniest bit too cheerful) Zaide (Berlioz). Just the decoration on 'ma belle ville' was more than worth the $5. So if the next two songs were slightly less than perfect, well, who cares? Not me. And we're speaking of a first-rate singer here: 'slightly less than perfect' can fairly be translated as 'still better than just about anybody'. Besides, if the only real issue I have is that sometimes the voice is just a bit too overwhelmingly powerful for the song, well, it's hardly a shattering criticism, is it? And so I did think that De Falla's 'Les colombes' was a bit heavy. But 'Chinoiserie' which followed was quite to die for: she doesn't just know how to sing, she knows how to tell a story, and if you spoke not a word of French, you'd still be hard pressed not to pick up on the spirit of it all. And she threw herself into 'Séguidille' with some very convincing shouts of 'Alza! Ola!'.

After the interval we had Ravel's Shéhérazade which was basically successful. As I say, the sheer power of Deborah's voice sometimes overcomes the delicacy of songs like these. But it's not a serious problem, on account of her simply superb artistry: the sound isn't always as beautiful as it might be, but it is always always meaningful. Of the three songs in the cycle, 'La flûte enchantée' was the best - the spectrum of vocal colours at this woman's disposal is quite incredible, and that ability was given full scope here. I think that in her heart, though, Deborah Wai Kapohe is a Spaniard. Her only classical CD (she also has a career as an alternative folk/rock singer) is of Spanish songs, in which she accompanies herself on classical guitar, and it's a gorgeous disc; here too she was happiest in the four Rodrigo songs. Each was an absolute gem. 'De dónde venís, amore?' was simply fabulous, and 'De los alamos vengo, madre' just the right showstopper with which to conclude the recital proper. She could quite easily have sent us all home still buzzing from that one, but her single encore made for an even better finish: Montsalvatge's 'Cancion de cuna para dormir a un negrito' was all hushed beauty and, quite simply, perfect.

Nevertheless I think Deborah can do even better than all this. It was overpowering at times, and there was the odd note which didn't quite come out as planned. It's an undeniably beautiful voice but the beauty was at times obscured by the volume and weight of the singing. Her intentions were clear but they weren't always exactly realised. It was still a brilliant evening though! Don't think that I'm saying otherwise. Above all, her affinity for this kind of music makes for the most amazingly unified recital experience. Seven composers, two languages and various settings, but the result of it was a sort of musical and cultural portrait of Spanish/Orientalist spirit - almost becoming one recital-length song cycle. She's an astonishing and always fascinating performer.

And what I really really want now is to hear her in opera. Given a nice big venue and a nice juicy role she must be unbelievable. Puccini, Verdi, that sort of meaty Italian yumminess. I'd love to hear her Mimi, her Cio-Cio San; I did hear her Alice Ford  Nannetta (I knew that!) on radio and it was quite something. More than anything, though, this recital, with its Spanish spices, dark mezzo-ish colours, and that fabulous red dress, made me think: she was born for Carmen. Surely she's sung Carmen. I don't know. But I did hear somewhere that she's singing it right here in Dunedin next year. Is this true? I don't know. I hope it's true. It would certainly be worth a great deal more than $5!

O Grace fatale

I probably owe you a fuller report of the Dunedin masterclass than last night's gasping, don't I. (I'd have got to it sooner, but I've been moonlighting.)

This one was even more fascinating than the Auckland one, because this time, of course, I knew all the voices. Of course, for the same reason, it was also more nervewracking for me. I couldn't watch as a detached spectator like I did in Auckland. But goodness me, that woman works wonders. It was just wonderful to sit there and watch her identify, articulate and move towards solving all the issues which hitherto exisited only in the vaguest, wispiest form in my mind. And of course, picking up a million things which an amateur like myself might never have spotted, but which nevertheless are as vital as can be.

Watching Grace work with Fiona Henry on 'Der Nussbaum' was, as you might imagine, utterly fascinating. There was the odd technical point, but most of the work was on interpretation. I tell you, it was a revelation. At one point she read part of the text - properly, as a poem - and it was just breathtaking. Not only wonderful help for Fiona (who was sounding gorgeous by the way) but a wonderful insight into the way this Meisterin des Lieds (not to mention protégée of Lotte Lehmann..) works on a song. Her work with Stephen Chambers on 'Mondnacht' was likewise scintillating.

And what she did for Penelope Muir's 'Song to the Moon'!! Penny has always sung this very well indeed, but the way it sounded last night, post-Grace, was something apart. She had her lighten it up, make more space on the high notes and suddenly we had something shimmering and lyrical. The power of it was undiminished, but added to it was an aspect of delicate beauty which has never quite been there before, and which truly transformed the aria. And of course, there was the moment I mentioned last night: Grace sang a phrase from the aria and I had to bite my lip very hard in order not to cry.

Speaking of Grace singing: I think probably my most treasured memory from the past week (apart from the obvious) will prove to be the passage of 'Vi ravviso' which she sang with Matt Landreth. She was very harsh - she said so herself - on Matt in this, but to good effect. And at one point, she sang along with him. Not just a phrase or two, but line after line after line. It was truly  a transcendental experience. I can't describe it. For me, in that moment, there were no students, no masterclass - just Grace, and this voice which came from heaven and for a second or two picked me up and took me back there with it.

But to come back to earth. There's something more I ought to mention: La Bumbry was quite taken with Ken Ryan. As was I! I guess it's been a while since I last heard Ken sing. But he came out on that stage last night and just blew me away. In terms of sound and of interpretation, everything he sang - and particularly 'Am Feierabend - was just incredible. Grace was clearly very impressed indeed - an amazing compliment, and richly deserved. She also loved (as do we all) Terence Dennis, accompanist par excellence. She made a point of praising him at the end - and could be seen several times looking lovingly at the piano while he accompanied 'Mondnacht'. This I noticed while looking lovingly at Grace, of course

The final masterclass was in Christchurch tonight.Very soon, this country will be once more without the beautiful Grace. I miss her already. (But at least she gives me a third reason to visit Salzburg.)

Marama Hall: recital by vocal students

How wonderful: a Wednesday lunchtime recital devoted entirely to vocal students. Not that the violinists, pianists, etc. aren't great but it's the singing I come to see: so it's nice for once to have nothing but. Brilliant programme, too: one boy, three girls. Not a ratio I'm ever likely to complain about.

Saving the best for last is such a cliché. So I'll put her first instead: Claire Barton. Incredible! 'Cruda sorte' was just beautiful. I didn't think I was in a very Rossinian mood at the moment but obviously I was mistaken because I absolutely loved this. Claire, it would seem, is both vocally and temperamentally suited to a role like Isabella; so apparently at ease with the music that I could hardly believe this was the first time I'd ever heard Claire singing anything from Rossini. All those runs and acrobatics are already sounding very very good indeed, and I can only imagine that as time goes by they'll grow into something quite special. Can't forget David Baker's 'Someone is sending me flowers' either, which not only sounded lovely, but also worked as a piece of comedy: something which requires quite some skill - not to mention the diction to make yourself understood while singing in English. It worked brilliantly: as the laughs in the audience proved.

Penelope Muir - who's off to the Song Quest final in a couple of weeks - was also in fine form. The luxury of Lucia Popp has, I fear, left me rather immune to anybody else's 'Song to the Moon'; nevertheless Penny's was excellent, as it always is; the highest notes (here and in Monica's Waltz from The Medium) are perhaps not always as beautiful as they could be but the interpretation as a whole always works wonderfully. What's struck me about Penny lately is the power of her voice; Dunedin's shining stars of late have tended to be of the sweet and lyric variety, but Penny's singing is something slightly darker and more dramatic. She's also a brilliant vocal actress: Monica's Waltz was truly a tour de force, and the final words, as Monica tells Toby he has 'the most beautiful voice in the world' were heartbreaking.

The third girl on the programme (although in fact she sang first) was Fiona Henry, sounding immeasurably better than the last time I heard her. Both 'Der Nussbaum' (Schumann) and Fauré's 'Rêve d'amour' sounded very pretty; and there was a richness and fullness to the voice in the Fauré which I've not really heard from Fiona before. Both pieces were very well chosen: she sounded great.

And Stephen Chambers, as always, sounded fabulous. The two Elgar songs - 'Is she not passing fair?' and 'Speak Music' - were better, I thought, than 'En fermant les yeux' and Donaudy's 'Vaghissima sembianza'. All of it sounded great, of course; but there was rather a tendency towards sameness: nothing to distinguish English song from French opera, and so on. Because of this, the Elgar came across particularly well: but the Massenet and the Donaudy suffered a little, I thought. Undeniably lovely to listen to, but perhaps less than compelling. The voice itself is already so naturally appealing, I can't help but but think that a touch of fire and dramatic sensibility would make Stephen just about unstoppable.

St Matthew Passion

David Hamilton, where you have you been all my life? Now this is a silly question, because I've heard David Hamilton sing several times, including, if I'm not mistaken, as the Evangelist in the St John Passion not so very long ago. So he shouldn't have been a surprise to me today - but he was. Dio, che voce! I would quite happily have spent the three hours listening only to him. Gorgeous singing, perfect diction, dramatic expression - in short, everything you could ever want in an Evangelist. He was - not a word I've ever lavished upon a tenor before - glorious.

The only woman among the soloists, Pepe Becker, was certainly in better voice than for last year's Judas Maccabaeus. In fact, she was sounding excellent. But style-wise, she just didn't quite fit. Her Bach singing is very much of the high, pure, vibrato-free and unoperatic variety. It's singing which appeals to me a lot - but it needs an orchestra that suits it, and the Southern Sinfonia wasn't it. Don't misunderstand me, the orchestra too was in magnificent form: but it and Pepe Becker were performing two rather different St Matthew Passions. Grant Dickson made a powerful Jesus, managing to maintain a degree of lyricism while nevertheless wringing out every inch of anguish and pain. David Griffiths was fine, but made no great impression on me; 'Mache dich, mein Herze, rein' was heartbreaking, naturally, but then it always is: I was almost in tears, but it's the orchestra, rather than anyone's singing, that has that effect on me in that aria. Shaun Dixon, semi-protégé of Pavarotti, started off by singing what seemed to be the St Matthew Passion arr. Puccini, but by the time his second aria arrived he'd remembered where he was, and he was much better - but it's still pretty clear that Italian opera, rather than German oratorio, is where he's happiest. Finally, the alto soloist, David Hansen. Having overcome as far as possible my prejudices about countertenors singing Bach, I was really rather interested - excited even - to hear this. Alas, my hopes for him were not fulfilled. It seems to me that one of the big obstacles countertenors face is the perception that their voice is essentially 'false'. They can only overcome this by sounding as natural and comfortable as possible in what they sing: and this man didn't. There were hints of a genuinely beautiful voice, but mostly it sounded like a passable falsetto and nothing more, marred by a barely-there lower register and a weird, whirring tremolo which sounded a little like machine-gun fire. He's surely capable of much better: by the looks of his programme bio, he's quite the rising star.

Of course, the St Matthew Passion has a lot more to it than its soloists. The City of Dunedin Choir is in its element in this sort of music, and they were awe-inspiring this afternoon. Special mention also to a couple of soloists, Jon Waters and Nick Madden, who were the two high priests. The Southern Sinfonia, as I mentioned, was wonderful. Particularly the concertmaster Sydney Manowitz, an extraordinary violinist, whose playing in 'Erbarme dich' well and truly stole the limelight. And I'm sure Lisa Hirsch of Iron Tongue of Midnight, who many months ago made a plea for cheerier-looking orchestra players, would have delighted in chamber organist Tom McGrath's obvious and infectious enthusiasm.

An excellent St Matthew Passion. I'm glad I changed my mind and went, instead of staying home for the Met broadcast of Figaro, which was my original plan. The stunning Mr Hamilton's silken tones are still in my mind; and it's Bach, after all: you can't help but leave feeling happy that such music exists.

Ho perduto la testa

I've been listening to my new Yvonne Kenny CD, Simple Gifts. Yvonne leaves me incapable of rational thought and considered criticism. Je ne suis que faiblesse et fragilité. So no review. Have a look at the cover and tracklist below if you like: neither of which give any hint of the Utter Glory which lies within.

And as if I weren't in enough of a state already, I've gone and 'discovered' Ian Bostridge. He's excellent in L'Orfeo, of course, but the other night I caught about two minutes of a recital of his on the Arts Channel. This frightening, intense little man, apparently about to die of starvation or succumb to a nervous breakdown clutching the piano and singing his heart out like an operatic Johnnie Ray. I didn't get to see the rest of the recital. But I was hooked. So today I bought his Die Schöne Müllerin - and now, after just one listening, I'm well and truly smitten. I don't know why it took me so long to realise that my first truly revelatory tenor would be a lieder singing intellectual, not a South American Verdian - but I've found him now. And I need more.

Nobody took me up on the free St Matthew Passion tickets. Or at least, nobody within geographical reach of the Dunedin Town Hall. Then Patrick commented, expressing his disbelief that I was intending to miss the St Matthew Passion in favour of a radio broadcast. And as usual, he's right. So I've changed my mind, and I'm going after all. I hope (and suspect) it will prove to be the right decision.

Did I mention they were FREE?

This being Dunedin, I find it impossible to believe that everyone who wants tickets to the St Matthew Passion has already bought them. It's still two days away! Nobody in this city buys tickets that far in advance! Does this mean, then, that no Dunedin readers of this blog want to go? I refuse to believe it.

So why has nobody emailed me to ask for the two FREE tickets I offered. Come on. They're free. Don't be a philistine like me, go and see some nice Bach, performed by the brilliant City of Dunedin Choir. Or give them to somebody you know. But please, somebody, take these tickets: otherwise there will be two very sad and lonely seats in the Town Hall come Sunday afternoon.

Don't think - just do it. Email me, and they're yours.

And now that that plea is out of the way, I'll return to writing my Rinaldo review.

Free tickets!

I kid you not. I've decided (it wasn't as difficult as perhaps it ought to have been) to stay home on Sunday afternoon and listen to the Met Figaro instead of going to the St Matthew Passion at the Town Hall. Am I a philistine? Quite possibly. But in any case, this means I have two tickets up for grabs for anyone who would like to go and doesn't want to pay. We got the tickets free in the first place and I'm not devious enough to try and sell them.  Interested? Email me and tell me why you deserve them. Best email wins. And tell me whether you're after one or both of the tickets. They're excellent seats by the way: 86 and 87 in Row A of the circle (upstairs). So: any takers? Entries close at noon on Friday the 18th of March. You can find more information about the performance here.

On an entirely unrelated (I hope) note, I've posted a rather nice Moreau painting of Salome at Antologia. No heads of Baptists, I promise.

On The Upward Path

As planned, I forwent Pelléas et Mélisande at 3 this afternoon, and went instead to 'On The Upward Path', a concert by four Dunedin singers, presented by the Friends of the Opera. It's been far far too long since I've heard these or any other Dunedin singers, and I wasn't going to give up the chance. Even if it did mean wearing a 'Hello My Name Is' sticker - this concert was open to the public, but it was also the first get-together of the year for the Friends, so there were biscuits, coffee and tea, and name tags. Not to worry: it was wonderful.

We started and finished with Penelope Muir, a semi-finalist in this year's Lexus Song Quest. Her 'Song to the Moon' from Rusalka was a triumph, transcending some rather obstructive piano accompaniment, and an improvement on her already very good rendition from last year's ODT Aria Competition. Kudos also for making Walton's fiendishly difficult 'Old Sir Faulk' look almost easy - I'm looking at the text now and wondering how anyone could be so cruel as it set it to music and expect someone to sing it. Monica's Waltz from Menotti's The Medium did have the odd moment which seemed to sit a little uncomfortably, but overall it was a success.

Then we had Stephen Chambers. Proving that being related to Marie McLaughlin (sorry, I've still got that Figaro on the brain) isn't his only claim to fame! 'Una furtiva lagrima' was just gorgeous, and the song from Die Schöne Müllerin was likewise excellent. 'Aura Lee' doesn't do much for me, personally; but I've no doubt Stephen won the hearts of most of the audience when he finished up with this, like a sort of Dunedin Daniel O'Donnell (in the best possible sense!)

The other boy on the programme was Michael Gray, who holds the honour of being the only baritone I've also heard sing soprano. What am I talking about? Michael and I were at the same primary school, and he was the resident star boy soprano of our school's Junior Choir. But he's even better now! 'Ein Mädchen oder Weibchen' from Zauberflöte was gorgeous, with the sort of humour and vocal characterisation which singers who are still students all too often shy away from. 'Captain Stratton's Fancy' by Peter Warlock is a bit silly really, but nevertheless is sounded great.

I've left the best till last. Claire Barton. I have never never heard Claire sounding this fabulous! She's always excellent, no doubt about it, but today was just something else. I stand amazed. This can't just be my imagination: some very happy transformation has occured in the months since I last heard her sing. I think this was about the third time I've heard Claire sing Marcello's 'Quella fiamma', but it was the first time she's brought me to edge of my seat with it. And 'Vanne, o rosa fortunata' was gorgeous. I wanted a full-length recital. I wanted the CD! Whatever it is you're doing Claire, I beg of you, don't stop!

I decided, however, not to go to the Bach cantata at Knox Church. Which meant I got to hear all of most of Pelléas et Mélisande after all. I would have liked to have heard Act I, with all its eerie forest music, but what I did hear (the last three acts) was just wonderful. Everyone was perfectly cast: José van Dam's Golaud equally convincing both in his violen jealousy and his remorse, Anne Sofie's Mélisande beautiful and ethereal, William Burden an appealing and lyrical Pelléas. Roberto Scandiuzzi's Arkel was likewise excellent, and I can only guess that Felicity Palmer was as well. But it's really very difficult to review something like this, especially when I was hearing it all for the very first time: the music is as elusive and impossible to grasp as the heroine herself.

As with Turandot, I listened to this with a piano vocal score in front of me, which was particularly interesting, on account of the pencilled annotations throughout, obviously left there at some point by a musical student. So every now and then there were notes pointing out themes, key changes, oboes, that sort of thing, as well as the odd comment of the text - all sorts of thing which I'd never otherwise have known were there. Although in fact the best moment came when Golaud grabbed his son. "Sadism again", the student notes. And beside that note, in another, later hand: "Can't be helped."

Never rains, but what it pours

There are three things happening this Sunday:

3 - 7pm: the Met broadcast of Debussy's Pélleas et Mélisande will play on Concert FM. I really, really, really want to hear this opera.

3pm: The Friends of the Opera present 'On The Upward Path', a concert by Stephen Chambers, Penelope Muir & Michael Gray. There's no way I could justify missing this.

7pm: Bach's cantata 82, 'Ich habe genug' with baritone soloist Iain Fraser, part of the evening service at Knox church. Even without a soprano, the temptation of live Bach, performed by an excellent baritone and choir, is irresistible.

You see my problem, then. It's a very nasty choice to have to make. Missing the Friends of the Opera concert would be inconceivable: the first classical singing event in Dunedin all year, with three wonderful Dunedin singers. On the other hand, I do want so very much to hear Pélleas et Mélisande. Until recently I wasn't particularly excited about it, but in the weekend I sat at the piano and mutilated the vocal line and now I'm utterly fascinated by it. But it's so long that if I listen to it, not just one but both of the Dunedin events are ruled out. And in the end, I think it's the Dunedin events I'm going to go for. I could record the opera, of course, but in this low-tech household it would have to be on videotape: not the best listening medium by a long shot. I'm not really complaining of course: I've been waiting months for something live in Dunedin, and now that it's come neither wild horses nor vocal lines dependent on the natural rhythms of speech will keep me away. It would have been nice to have been able to do both, though. (And 'On the Upward Path' had better not consist entirely of retirement home repertoire!)

The same problem arises the following Sunday, when the St Matthew Passion clashes with the Met Figaro. I still haven't a clue what to do about this one.

È troppo..

Clearly I listen to too much music. Because after all, it's only been a few days since I last posted. But somehow, I've amassed quite a list of things I want to write about. And write about them I shall - so you'll just have to bear with me.

I've been continuing to feed my new-found Kiri addiction. It's all very odd. I don't know what I find  stranger: the fact that a lifetime worth of indifference could evaporate so quickly; or the fact that I ever was so indifferent. In any case, it's all changed now. Things which a few weeks ago I would have been to stubborn even to try, I now adore. Like the Air des Bijoux from Faust. Not long ago, the thought of Kiri singing this would have had me running in the opposite direction. But now... she's beautiful! She's not the most agile or girlish-sounding Marguerite, but she makes the most incredibly beautiful sound. And it's beauty with a soul to it too: not boring, detached, meaningless singing. And as I said, it's addictive. I keep needing more. Luckily, we have Kiri CDs in the house, even if I've ignored them a little. All the Kiri that's in shops these days is full of Gershwin and Kern and Pokarekare Ana, and as much as I now adore my Kiri, I still want to steer clear of that side of things for the time being. That said, however, I've been listening repeatedly to 'Tarakihi' from her Maori Songs CD (which I don't own). This certainly ain't Kiri in operatic mode but dear me it's fantastic. Kiri + chorus perform fight song about a locust. I love it. If we change our national anthem, we should change it to this.

I've also, thankfully, moved past the Kiri Te Kanawa/Patricia Wright vocal resemblance thing. To an extent. I'm pretty sure my theory was right: the similarity to Patricia was responsible for the change in my attitude to Kiri. However, it's rather a backhanded compliment to say someone sounds exactly like someone else, and I wanted to get away from the resemblance and enjoy the differences. Which I think I am now, more or less. For the first few days, just hearing Kiri, it was a little difficult: there so many phrases which I thought could quite easily have come from Patricia. But I went back and listened to Patricia's Italian Songs, and realised I was absolutely wrong. Kiri is all silk and seamless loveliness; Patricia is bright and vibrant and exciting and just generally utterly fabulous. Patricia is also (you might have noticed) still unquestionably my favourite of the two.

While we're on New Zealand sopranos, there's another I ought to mention. Anna Leese was on the radio on Thursday, live from the Auckland Town Hall, performing a couple of Mozart concert arias as part of a concert by the Auckland Philharmonia. 'Vada, ma dove' and 'Ch'io mi scordi di te', both sung very beautifully: but to be honest, I don't think Anna was at anything like her best. I've heard Anna live and I've heard her recorded. She was incredible the very first time, when she was still a voice student. Every time since then, she's been even more magnificent than before. She's absolutely a star. But something wasn't quite in place for the Mozart arias. They still sounded great, but they didn't sound right: sections which should have been made brilliant and exciting were far too light, almost weak at times; and on some of the lowest notes she almost disappeared. It's possible of course that this had more to do with the recording than with Anna; at the very worst, I'd say she was just feeling a little poorly. Of course it doesn't really matter: Anna Leese singing slightly below par is still very very special indeed.

And tonight on TV we had Verdi's Macbeth. Ridiculous, ugly production, I thought. It looked like four production concepts for four different operas had somehow been thrown into one place and forced to fight it out. Lady Macbeth in the world's ugliest dress, choruses who looked ready for biological warfare, and a mute Duncan with a mask borrowed from the Sybil in I, Claudius. Weird. There were moments when I could vaguely make out what the director might have been getting at, but mostly it was distracting and pointless. The sole exception was the banquet scene, where Lady Macbeth's drunk-on-wine-and-power behaviour made sense of the otherwise rather odd presence of a Brindisi in the midst of Macbeth. All in all, though, not a great piece of theatre.

But does that matter? Not one bit: the singers were incredible. Thomas Hampson was to die for. Every time I see Thomas Hampson as himself, he irritates me. But on stage, singing, all is forgiven: the man is fabulous. Such a fabulous singer that you forget he's a semi-adequate actor in a ridiculous production. He managed to be dramatic and exciting and at the same time never lose any beauty of tone. An absolute pleasure to behold. Paoletta Marrocu makes a seriously scary Lady Macbeth. Her first scene, reading the letter from Macbeth, was hair-raising: so fearless you'd have thought she had nothing to sing afterwards. And not exactly a beautiful voice, but beautiful's not really what you want from Lady Macbeth, is it? You want frightening and exciting, and Paoletta delivered - and then some. Her very best moments came in the Brindisi scene which I mentioned above: strutting about in an orange fur coat, disconcerting her guests: she was brilliant. As were the rest of the cast, although it's hard to notice anyone else with these two battling it out for the spotlight. But they nevertheless could have done without all the weirdnesses of the production. For once, I'd have to say this is one which would work at least as well - and probably better - in audio only. Thomas and Paoletta do well as actors, but the real drama is in the singing.

Is that everything? Almost. The Marama Hall concert schedule for Semester 1 is out now, and the most exciting thing on it (apart from the vocal students' recital, naturally) is a recital by Deborah Wai Kapohe (in classical mode) singing French music. Two recitals in fact: a short lunchtime one and a proper length evening one. Things like this make me so glad I don't live anywhere else: only here could I see two recitals by a soprano I adore within days of each other, for a total cost of $7. I'd pay real money to see Deborah, and here she is singing for almost nothing. Other than Deborah, the highlight, as I said, will be the recital by vocal students: my prayer for more singers on the lunchtime programme seems to have been answered. And I assume there'll be some singers in the prizewinners' recital too. What I really long for, though, is something like the very first Wednesday recital I ever saw, where students performed operatic excerpts, in semi-costume. There were bits from Zauberflöte, I remember, including Ken Ryan running about with a small stuffed snake tied to his ankle; Anna Leese sang 'Nobles seigneurs, salut'. And it finished in the Anvil Chorus. It was absolutely wonderful; sadly I've never seen anything like it since.

Oh, and I think I rather like Hildegard Behrens, whom I'd never listened to until today, when I dug out her Nuits d'Eté & Schéhérazade CD and loved it. But we shall see.

Sunny side

You know, it's shaping up to be rather an excellent year after all, by any standards.

The Arts Channel, something of a lifeline for me, has even more opera than usual in March: Otello, La traviata, Macbeth, Ariodante and Rinaldo, along with a goodly number of recitals and documentaries. And infinitely more important, March will also see the beginning of the Marama Hall recitals, which for those who don't know (I think I have a few new readers) are the lunchtime concerts put on every Wednesday by staff/students of Otago University's excellent music department, some of whose very talented vocal students are regular commenters here. Also in March, the City of Dunedin Choir plus a bunch of men called David perform the St Matthew Passion.

At the end of March Concert FM broadcasts the six-item programmes recorded by this year's 12 Lexus Song Quest semi-finalists (including four - count 'em, four - Dunedin singers). Then in April I'm off to Auckland to see the six who make the finals performing with orchestra for superstar judge Grace Bumbry. In June, it's Wellington for as many performances as I can manage of Don Giovanni, with la bella Patricia Wright singing Donna Anna. In August I travel for Patricia again, this time to see Golijov songs and some Chants d'Auvergne with the Christchurch Symphony. August is also the month of the Dunedin Vocal Competitions, a week of guilty pleasure watching lieder-as-blood-sport, culminating in the ODT Aria competition. On the 1st of October (Julie Andrews' 70th birthday) the Southern Sinfonia, Auckland Choral Society and City of Dunedin Choir, along with as yet unnamed soloists, perform the Mozart Requiem, apparently as a reward for coping with the Douglas Lilburn symphony which precedes it. And finally (so far), from the 8th to the 15th of October, we have Opera Otago's season of Salieri's Falstaff, to which I'm already counting down the days.

Quite a year, then: and there's no doubt more to come. I really, really shouldn't complain this year. Which won't, I think, be hard.

Oh, and thanks awfully to Mme Grisi Pasta of Trrill, for the very kind words in today's post.

Stop Press

OK, so it was in Saturday's paper and I'm nowhere near first with the news BUT..

In October this year, Opera Otago is producing the Australasian premiere of ANTONIO SALIERI's Falstaff. An real opera. An eighteenth century opera. A Salieri opera. HERE. I think I might just explode. Will they give me a discount if I buy a ticket for every performance? Excuse me now, while I struggle to contain myself.

Kathleen

It's nice sometimes to pull out an old CD you haven't heard for ages. I listened today to Kathleen Battle's Salzburg Recital. This, along with The Radiant Voice of Barbara Bonney, was pretty much on loop on the CD player throughout my Bursary exams, but since then, as my tastes broadened (I was not at that point the devotee I am now) the CD slipped into the depths of the collection and I haven't heard it for quite some time. However as I was setting of on a book shopping expedition today, I thought that it was just the right accompaniment so- I love technology- I loaded it on to the MP3 player and went on my merry way. And dear me, I'd forgotten how fantastic it is! Purcell, Handel, Mozart, Fauré, Strauss, Mendelssohn and some spirituals and every moment is just bliss. I think 'Schlagende Herzen' is just about as cute as it gets and Kathleen's voice goes with it perfectly. Also I love the spirituals, I really do. I think she does them wonderfully, and I have no problem at all with the opportunities to show off afforded to her by the arrangements. 'Witness' is particularly fun: back when I was listening to this daily I used to know all the words; and 'His Name So Sweet' I also like although I'm now rather partial to Leontyne Price's live version as well. The thing is, I'm absolutely a sucker for a virtuoso: so when Kathleen gets to hit those high high notes I'm just putty in her hands. It's very difficult, you know, walking around in public with this music in your ears and trying not to smile like a crazy person.

Then tonight there was Fauré's Requiem at Knox Church. Honestly, the lengths I'll go to for a bit of singing! And not a soprano in sight! No, I'm not complaining. Matthew Landreth is a STAR: he sang gorgeously. I didn't want him to stop. And the Knox Choir was amazing! Especially given last night's less than fabulous choral experience; I'd love to hear this lot (with their numbers swelled somewhat) do Carmina Burana, they're just beautiful. The 'Pie Jesu' was nice enough too. I was worried about it, given that none of the advertising for this mentioned a soprano. Since they couldn't cut it out, I figured it would be sung by someone from the choir; I was struck with terror at the thought they might use a boy soprano. Boy sopranos are all well and good but I'd rather not listen to them sing for very long. Well, it wasn't a boy soprano. They used two girls from the choir, and they did a nice job of it. I much prefer it sung by a proper soprano (Francine Knowles-Weller who sang it with the staff/student choir last year was out of this world) but it was listenable in any case, if a little quiet. And the choir had a celebrity member tonight: Roger Wilson! Which was nice, although somewhat tantalising since it made me want to hear him sing some more Carmina.

Actually it's been a Fauré sort of a day: listening to Kathleen sing 'Les Roses d'Ispahan', 'Mandoline', 'Notre Amour' and 'En Prière' made me think I need to hear more Fauré songs. They really are wonderfully pretty. And I've been in love with 'Chanson d'amour' ever since I heard Charlotte Carman sing it so fabulously earlier this year. So I've just now been exploring the options on Amazon. There's a 4 CD set of ALL of the songs recorded by Elly Ameling and Gérard Souzay which seems rather nice although I think that might be a little much for me. The same search also yield a result which I think might be in the running for a 'Most Pointless CD' award: Classical Barbra. Barbra Streisand singing, among other things, Débussy's 'Beau Soir', 'Mondnacht', 'Lascia ch'io pianga', 'In trutina'... oh I can't bear to continue. I actually don't mind Barbra Streisand, and at her best she's great, but why oh WHY did she record an album like this. Why would anybody think that the world needed 'Lascia ch'io pianga' recorded Streisand style? This is not Barbra singing in a classical manner, it's Barbra singing classical pieces the way she sings everything else, more or less. I don't understand. More importantly, though, I found the Fauré songs CD I want- and I want it desperately. It's the Requiem, followed by thirteen songs sung by Hakan Hagegard and Barbara Bonney. My Barbara! I listened to her singing 'Chanson d'amour' and it alone is clearly worth whatever price I end up paying. So sweet and perfect you can taste it.

I wish I could finish on that cheerful note but I can't because I want to mention the St Matthew Passion. Or should that be the St David Passion? The soloists were advertised on the back of the Carmina Burana programme: David Burchell conducting, with David Hamilton, David Griffiths, David Hansen and David- sorry, Pepe- Becker. Spot the problem. Yes, that's right. David Hansen is a counter-tenor. I've talked about counter-tenors before and while they're not generally my cup of tea, I don't object to their existence or to their use, in principle. In principle. in the St Matthew Passion, however, I do object. Authentic? Fine, if you like. I'd still much rather have a mezzo and I think a mezzo is a better choice. I don't know how I'll cope, with only one female singer to get me through, and 'Erbarme dich' being sung by a boy to contend with. I'll be there, no doubt, but I'll be sulking.

Brass, brass & brass

Interesting evening.
"The City of Dunedin Choir and St Kilda Sentinel Brass welcome you to an evening of Luck, Love and Liquor! as presented in Carl Orff's Carmina Burana and a South American Fiesta from Constant Lambert's Rio Grande" But there was more to it even than that. The first half was a rather...interesting collection of pieces for brass band. Oh, look, I'll be honest: I'm desperately impressed by St Kilda Sentinal Brass, I think they're fantastically talented but I spent much of the first half reading the programme and waiting for the second half. I did like the arrangement for brass band of 'Pastime With Good Company', which is attributed to Henry VIII (did he have time for composing between women?). Then there was something called Spectrum, involving movements organised by colour (and clever lighting to go with); followed by 'Hymn for Diana'. Yes, that Diana. I'm just not going to say anything.
And then the first half ended with the first of the featured pieces, Constant Lambert's Rio Grande. Which did actually have a couple of moments of soprano solo but nevertheless, I'm sorry, did nothing for me. It was all very fast and exciting and Brazilian and jazzy but, well, bring on Carmina Burana.

Which they did. I love Carmina Burana. It's just so much fun and quite lovely at the same time: 'In trutina' is gorgeous and 'Tempus est iocundum'- my favourite part- is great. Now, I'll start with the soloists. First and foremost Roger Wilson who was brilliant. And deserving of bold type. What a beautiful beautiful voice! Added to which he obviously knew exactly what he was singing and has captivating to watch as well as hear. I don't usually wax so lyrical about baritones but wow. And Morag Atchison was worth the wait (no soprano solos at all until the third part and then she gets about a million). Also sounded gorgeous and gave me no cause for worry in the stratospherically high 'Dulcissime'; 'Stetit puella' was also particularly nice. I always wish the soprano in Carmina Burana got to spend longer singing. Orff obviously could write wonderful things for soprano so it's a shame there's not more- what there is, I love. Even so, though, Roger was the star for me tonight: I just about melted when the moment he started singing.

And now I suppose I ought to deal with the choir. The City of Dunedin Choir is a fantastic choir. Carmina Burana possibly is not an excellent choice for them though. It's very intense and rather high and I think- in the sopranos particularly- it just needs to be sung by younger and more robust voices. The altos were fine and the boys sounded very nice but when the sopranos were on their own, well, it wasn't great. And I was a little disappointed by the St Paul's Choristers too. I mean, I realise they're children, but I was sort of expecting fabulous sounding boy sopranos and that's not really what they did. But they were fine and I don't want to seem to be being nasty about children (much). So yes, the choir. They coped, but it wasn't their best moment (and if I'm honest, I think that Rio Grande was one of their worst moments). 'O Fortuna', as cliché as it's become, is still a fantastic and frightening piece of music and what you really want is a frightening good choir to go with it, which isn't what this particular choir was tonight. Oh well. They're doing the St Matthew Passion in March next year- that's the sort of thing they're fabulous in. Nevertheless I'm glad they did Carmina Burana, it was nice to have the chance to see it in the flesh.

But speaking of flesh and Carmina Burana, there is a DVD. I've mentioned this before, quite some time ago. I'm as unable now as then to describe this production. Carl Orff called it a 'dramatic cantata' and intended it as a sort of stage pageant, which is basically what this DVD is. But yet it's so much more. It's from 1975. If you can imagine a combination of 70's variety show sets and medieval county fairs, and add a healthy dash of fetishism and hallucinogens, you might start to get the idea: Jean-Pierre Ponnelle let loose on Latin texts about fertility and sex. I'm not sure if anyone actually is naked but we come pretty close: Lucia Popp in a bathtub, or in an immense headress with a dove, or in singlet and bloomers wrestling with Hermann Prey who I believe is dressed in a nappy (update: not a nappy- although such a costume wouldn't be out of place-just a rather suggestive pair of leather breeches. I was confusing him with Hermes from the Armand Assante film of the Odyssey. And no, I've no idea why). And people popping out of trees, and scantily clad women floating about in ponds. And when 'The roasted swan sings', he really does- sort of. It's one of the most surreal things I've ever seen. It's also stunningly beautifully sung, even if it is a lipsynched film rather than a live performance and thus a little disembodied. Words do this DVD no justice; if I can get myself organised I might try a few low-tech methods of putting some photos of it online, it needs to be seen to be believed. I can't imagine the sopranos of the City of Dunedin choir frolicking in quite the same manner; however I think Roger Wilson could probably pull off the Hermann Prey romping stomping-style performance if he wanted to, he was having fun tonight I think.

And what about Renée Fleming's Handel CD? I like it. I don't love it, but I like it a lot. The first two tracks don't do wonders for me, but there's a reason for that. They're both from Semele, and I'm used to hearing both of them sung by Ruth Ann Swenson or Kathleen Battle. You know, those high, sweet, silver voices. Renée's is rather different and while it's certainly pleasant enough, it doesn't make me drool the way the other two do. Besides, Semele is young and flighty and a bit of a floozy..I mean, look at the text:

Endless pleasure, endless love,
Semele enjoys above!
On her bosom Jove reclining,
Useless now his thunder lies;
To her arms his bolts resigning,
And his lightning to her eyes.

Honestly! But Renée's just a bit too grown-up and sensible sounding to be convincing. But it gets much better thereafter. Her 'Lascia ch'io pianga' is wonderful, and 'To fleeting pleasures make your court' is gorgeous too. 'Da tempeste il legno infranto' is on Ruth Ann's Handel CD and so I'm a little biased, but Renée does brilliantly with it also. In fact, she sounds great all the way through, and I'm glad and a little relieved: she keeps her voice suitably light and pretty and doesn't overwhelm the music the way she could quite easily have done. Helped no doubt by the fantastic Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, who I'm sure bring out the best in the singers who work with them. I only have a couple of slight quibbles. One is something I mentioned after I'd listened to the samples of the website- she does have a tendency from time to time to sound as if she's a non-native speaker in the English arias. This can't be an American thing: Kathleen, Ruth Ann, Sylvia McNair, Marilyn Horne are all Americans who I've heard sing English Handel; so I don't know what it is. But it's not always an issue, so it doesn't really worry me. The other thing is just a sense sometimes that she's focusing so hard on doing it right and sounding right and Handelian that she loses something in interpretation. It's about balance I suppose: I'd rather she do this than sing it inappropriately, but I just feel a little like she could afford to abandon herself to the music a bit more sometimes: because she's a fabulous singer and I'm sure it would work. I don't want her to take huge risks- but a few little ones might be nice. All in all though, it's a very nice album and probably my favourite Renée CD so far.

Glory

It had to happen some day. I wrote a rather long and particularly rapturous spiel about the cantata I saw at Knox Church this morning. Then I pushed the wrong button and lost it forever. I'm more than a little upset. But rather than try to reconstruct it, I think I might just have a second go at it and see what happens.

The cantata today was BWV 137, 'Lobe den Herren'. For the HIP-obsessed (oh yes, I know the jargon, thanks to this incredibly classy website) it would probably have been a lynch-mob affair: sung in English, not a boy soprano or male alto in sight, and the tenor aria handed over to the soprano. But for me it was sheer bliss. I fell head-over-heels for Bach a little less than a year ago, the last time there was a cantata at Knox, after which I went on a buying and downloading spree. I still adore the man: however it's when I hear a soprano singing Bach that I really just melt. I've experienced quite a range of Bach-singing sopranos, from the 'authentic' (dangerous word) to the emphatically not: Julianne Baird, Ruth Holton, Edith Mathis, Kathleen Battle, Magdalena Kozena, and more I'm sure. All of them have their detractors, and those who are not Historically Informed can cop rather a lot of flack. Personally, though, I'm more interested in the beauty of it than accuracy: the more gorgeous the sound, the more in love I am, and it's that which has determined my Bach soprano preferences. These can even vary day to day: sometimes I want Edith Mathis' highly operatic sound; sometimes the decadence of Kathleen Battle; sometimes the American Queen of Early Music, Julianne Baird. The music they're singing is so utterly perfect that I think you'd have to be Florence Foster Jenkins to make it sound bad. I'm an unsalvageable heathen but I'm sure there's more true religion in this sort of music than in most sermons- I can only imagine the heart-rending effect it must have on the true believer.

So what about this morning's soprano? Well let me say this: for the sake of my own sanity, I'm sort of glad I'd heard Alethea Chittenden sing Bach before, and was expecting fabulous things: because if she'd taken me by surprise today then I might well have ended up a crumpled heap on the floor of Knox Church. I just about did anyway. Eliminating the tenor soloist and giving his aria to the soprano mightn't be the most 'authentic' of practices but I think it was a marvellous idea. The soprano in this cantata otherwise only gets a duet and while Alethea was wonderful there, it was in the aria that she just shone. If I hadn't been in such a well-lit venue (and surrounded by churchgoers) I'd probably have just let loose and burst into tears. She truly was that good. It's not the most massive of voices but it's indescribably gloriously beautiful. I mean, I knew this already I suppose but today's performance convinced me properly.

I want to hear more of Alethea: a lot more. Her Rosalinde in Die Fledermaus back in 2002 is sadly a distant memory to me now, hearing it as I did before I became so utterly opera-obsessed; and a cantata is so brief that I can already feel the memory of today's slipping away. I've got it into my head (partly because of a CD I bought today, but more about that in a moment) that she'd do fabulous things with Richard Strauss. Not that I'd turn my nose up at more Bach or Mendelssohn: and it's this sort of stuff- sacred music at Knox Church- which seems to be the only way to see this woman. Why, why, why? But maybe I'm being too demanding- she did understudy Butterfly last year. Which surprised me, I have to say, although the more I think of it the more I think, well, why not? And, for that matter, who else? She's unique in Dunedin I think, we have a clutch of fantastically talented students and recent graduates headed for big things, but no other fully-fledged prime donne like this who come to mind. But never mind. I'm grateful in any case for this morning: there aren't many things which will get me out of bed and into church on a Sunday morning but Alethea singing Bach is number one on the list. Everyone in Dunedin knows almost everyone else, singers particularly it seems, so please, if anyone's in contact with this fabulous singer, do let her know she's acquired a fan. And I'm sure I can't be the only one.

Now, to the aforementioned Richard Strauss CD. My birthday present from work was CD vouchers and today I finally spent them on Amor: Richard Strauss- Opera Scenes & Lieder. Performed by- you guessed it- Natalie Dessay. I've been rather long in falling for Richard Strauss, strange given our shared adoration of the female voice. But I'm a convert now, and this CD is just heavenly. Natalie's absolutely at home in this music: her Zerbinetta is particularly brilliant and the four lieder she sings are perfect. And then there's the Presentation of the Rose from Der Rosenkavalier which I think is one of the most beautiful things ever composed. My cup runneth over!

Early morning music

So who's going to church on Sunday morning? I haven't gone since the once or twice a year I was obliged to go during high school. However, Knox Church's 10 am service this Sunday includes Bach's cantata Lobe den Herren, den mächtigen König der Ehren (BWV 137) with soloists Alethea Chittenden and Iain Fraser. I'm not too good at the whole church thing (or the 10 am thing) but I just know it'll be worth it: these two did another cantata last year, and were both in Elijah and they're fabulous. Alethea in particular: just the sort of soprano to make me swoon.

Idol??

Perhaps I'm stuffy and pedantic but it has to be said: I absolutely object to the Otago Daily Times staff reporter's description of the Lexus Song Quest as "a classical version of New Zealand Idol". Yes, yes, I know what he/she is getting at but really. There's just so much wrong with that description that I want to have a tantrum about it. I mean it. Even if we leave aside all the problems I have with New Zealand Idol by itself, trying to turn a long-running and prestigious classical singing competition into a 'version' of it is just wrong.

Right. Diatribe finished and I do want to say: I hope the auditions this week went fabulously well for all concerned. I gather from the comments there were eight auditionees in Dunedin, all of whom I've heard sing and all of whom are brilliant. I can only imagine how difficult it would be to judge something like this. Although I suppose the judging panel are very professional and detached and technical and critical. Whereas someone like me would probably burst into tears and fill the semi-finals with Mozart-singing sopranos. Anyway, I meant it when I said I wanted at least one Dunedinite in the semi-finals.

And I went to the Marama Hall concert on Wednesday in the (vain, as it turned out) hope of at least one singer. But no. First of all I thought, well, they're all at the Song Quest auditions but whether that was the case or not, there really hasn't been a whole lot of singing on Wednesdays lately, has there? Quite a bit of Robert Tucker, which of course I would never complain about, but where are the girls? Not that I suppose it matters now, yesterday's concert was the last one for the year so I suppose I shall just have to hold on until next year now. But enough self pity: Carmina Burana at the Town Hall draws ever nearer and promises to be good (assuming that Morag Atchison is as good as her credentials here would suggest). I can but hope that there are other events waiting in the wings. And I've always got the mp3 player full of opera to keep me going: I put the playlist on random order today and was surprised in the middle of town with Patricia Petibon's 'Les oiseaux dans la charmille', Olympia's aria from Les Contes d'Hoffmann. Has anybody else heard this? What do you think. It seems like the sort of thing which you'd either love or hate. It's not what you'd call traditional interpretations: she makes some seriously weird noises (in line with the clockwork doll breaking down thing), and there's even a section which is looped, something I'd expect myself to disapprove of entirely. But I just love Patricia Petibon and I love her singing this aria. I think all the weirdness is appropriate and it's also very very funny. And besides, when she's not making unusual sounds she's making unbelievably gorgeous ones. Her Blonde in Die Entführung is absolutely irresistible.

Tower Voices

The Tower Voices concert last night started with rather a bang I thought. Their very first piece, Jan Sandström's Gloria was just fabulous and they certainly continued as they meant to carry on. What an amazing choir. It's rather lovely having that sense of hearing each individual voice and yet, at the same time, what you're hearing is one entity. And such voices. Dear me. This is about as good as choirs get. They've won all sorts of impressive sounding prizes and medals. And they've recorded Hummel's Missa Solemnis in C and Te Deum for Naxos, with (yes, her again) Patricia Wright. A CD which made it into Gramophone magazine's list of the month's best (the reviewer made a rather predictable comment along the lines of 'it makes a nice change from hobbits').

So last night was always going to be very very good. And it was. To be honest, if somebody had said "come and listen to choral works by contemporary New Zealand composers" I might have shied away a little, but I'm very glad I was there. It wasn't all New Zealand music, there were a couple of pieces by Jan Sandström (contemporary Swedish) and one by Grieg. The first half in particular I thought was gorgeous. The Gloria I mentioned was possibly my favourite. Not least because it included solos by the one of the most beatiful tenor voices I've heard in a very long time: Nick Madden is wonderful. And Pepe Becker, who had a soprano solo in the same piece, was great: much better, I thought, than she was in Judas Maccabaeus earlier this year. Another highlight was Anthony Ritchie's settings of three Cilla McQueen poems, also excellent. Really, you have to hand it to that man: while Tower Voices sang his Widow's Songs, the final performance of his opera The God Boy was in full swing at the other end of town.

The second half was just as vocally stunning: David Hamilton's Veni, Sancte Spiritus was brilliant and I loved Bob Chilcott's Nova! Nova! All the other pieces were performed wonderfully too. But I have to be honest, and you can call me a philistine if you like: Eve de Castro-Robinson's Chaos of Delight III did absolutely nothing for me (except bewilder me somewhat). I got all excited when I saw the choir exit and then re-enter sans men. I was on the edge of my seat when I saw the fabulous Madeleine Pierard was to be the soloist. And then they started making bird noises. For a very long time (at least it seemed it). Oh, I know, there are all sorts of meanings and reasons for this and no doubt many many people who appreciated and enjoyed it. I wasn't among them. I was hanging on for dear life to the moments when Madeleine was allowed to stop whirring and clicking and just sing a few notes. Perhaps I'm just old-fashioned. Perhaps it would help if I had a greater interest in natural history. I don't know. I'm not trying to be entirely dismissive here: kudos to those who can appreciate this kind of music. But I regret to say I fear I shall never join your numbers. In any case I think it's an excellent testament to the choir that I was desperately impressed by them even when they were singing something I didn't enjoy. They're absolutely brilliant, and it's a pity they won't be back here for a long time.

Now, countertenors. There was a countertenor called David Hansen singing in Dunedin on Thursday. Going by comments left on this site I've worked out so far that he's rather good apart from the odd 'chicken moment' and that his voice possibly isn't his only attraction, and the increasingly ubiquitous Anthony Ritchie's rather more elegantly phrased review was nice and positive. I had vague intentions of going and then totally forgot about it. A shame I suppose but I can't pretend to be entirely bereft at having missed out. I'm sure it would have been good fun and in any case very interesting. But I just can't quite attach myself to the whole countertenor thing yet. In principle I think they're probably a good thing, and certainly those I've heard are very talented men: David Daniels and Andreas Scholl are big stars now, and David Walker, who was Arsamene in the Xerxes I saw in New York, was seriously good. But principle is one thing and my own personal preferences are another- and given that, had I my druthers, I may well start replacing a few tenors and baritones with sopranos and mezzos, it's hardly surprising that in any case where it's possible to have a mezzo soprano, that's what I want to year. Yes, I'd rather hear a good countertenor than a terrible mezzo, but I'd also always choose the excellent mezzo over the equally excellent countertenor. And once in a while one doesn't need to choose: I have a Rinaldo set with David Daniels in the title role and la mia Cecilia as Almirena- the best of both worlds. I don't listen to that Rinaldo often enough either. I ought to. Cecilia and Handel really ought to get together more: Rinaldo is the only Handel she's recorded and it's perfectly perfect. But things are looking hopeful: she's singing Cleopatra in Giulio Cesare in Egitto in Zürich next year, I've noticed a mention or two of recitals she's done with Handel in them, and there was an interview where she mention him as a possible future recording project. We shall see. And there we have it: I started the paragraph with countertenors and I've ended up on a mezzo. So be it.

Jonathan Lemalu

So. Jonathan Lemalu. What can I say? The boy is a star. We know this of course already- as far as I was concerned he had nothing to prove last night. And wasn't he fabulous? Every moment of him. I had such a good time, even from my seat halfway up the upper gallery (although I was at least near enough to the door to get a bit of a breeze- it's a bit of an inferno up there). The comments on the last post pretty much say it all anyway. I agree with those who thought the second half was better than the first, although of course the first half was still pretty damned fantastic.

Highlights for me? Let me think. Well his very first aria, 'Vous qui faites' from Faust, simply because it was my first experience of Jonathan live. And while things were a little quiet up as far as I was, I thought Prince Gremin's aria from Eugene Onegin was fabulous too. But, yes, the Mozart fix in the second half was where I got especially excited. Leporello, Figaro, Count Almaviva, and Papageno. Short of throwing a soprano in the works, it really doesn't get much better than that. Especially Papageno. No wonder he stole the show at Glyndebourne. If I was a proper opera reviewer, I'd probably use the word 'ebullient' too. I'm not, so I won't, but it's a good word all the same. 'Ein Mädchen oder Weibchen' was excellent; 'Der Vogelfänger bin ich ja' was adorable and hilarious- I imagine he acted it last night in much the same way he did in the opera, complete with pipes, and it was wonderful.

To repeat myself: I enjoyed myself a lot last night. He's not a soprano or a mezzo, so I didn't cry. But he's incredibly good and he did make me smile. And laugh. I think he's just brilliant and luckily so does the rest of the world. Well done Mr Lemalu.

Prima

I was there. I'll always be able to say that I was there, at the world première of a fabulous opera. The God Boy was amazing. So, so good. I'm going to do this review as a (rather long) list.

Things I liked about The God Boy

1. The music. Of course. My experience of Anthony Ritchie before now consisted of my school song and absolutely nothing else. But the man is clearly brilliant. It matched the atmosphere, the mood, the plot perfectly. And despite the idea I tend to have of modern opera as unmelodic, it was gorgeous. And I love the 11 piece orchestra. It worked so well. I should mention here too the excellent Holly Mathieson who conducted. The orchestra doesn't tend to grab me when I'm listening to opera but here it did. Fantastic. I want to say more but I haven't really the words to do so- but it's dramatic and it hits you in the guts and it's beautiful.

2. Robert Tucker. The Star. The older Jimmy Sullivan. On stage almost all the time and, as always, singing gorgeously. We know this of course: Robert is excellent. Heartbreaking too. It's not often I get excited about male opera singers, but I'm a big Robert Tucker fan.

3. Penelope Muir. A star of the glittering variety. The one and only thing I wish I could change about this opera would be giving Molly Sullivan more time on stage, because Penelope was stunning.

4. Elric Hooper, who has already proven his fabulous opera-directing skills in Dunedin, and Kari Morseth who did the sets. They've done such a good job. I mean, obviously we have no other stagings of The God Boy to compare this one to, but even comparing it to operas I've seen generally, it's a fantastic staging. And everybody- everybody- knows exactly what they're doing and why and it all works perfectly. I haven't read the book but from what I can tell they've captured it beautifully.

5. The cast. I've already mentioned Robert and Penelope who are so very impressive. But also a big round of applause to absolutely everybody in the cast, right down to the chorus of children, for singing and acting so well. Judy Bellingham in particular just shone in her big solo passages.

There are other things too which I loved. Jimmy's refrain of 'bastard!' while the children's chorus sing their prayers. The lighting! The organ in the orchestra. The sepia-toned costumes. Little Jimmy Sullivan played beautifully by Benjamin Kidd. Everything really.

Part of the reason I'm so excited about this, I'll admit, is pleasant surprise that it was so good. But I'm also just, in a general way, blown away by it all. And as I've said: it's rather thrilling to think that I was there at the première of such a (and I mean it) masterpiece. It's on another three times, and I think I may just have to go again. Congratulations to the cast and crew of The God Boy, and thankyou. And my adjectives are starting to repeat themselves, so this is where I'll stop.

Jonathan Lemalu tonight!

NZ opera

I should probably have been elsewhere (like a tutorial perhaps) but yesterday at lunchtime I went to the art gallery to hear Elric Hooper talking about 'the making of a new opera' ie Anthony Ritchie's opera of The God Boy which has its world premiere here on October 1st. As it turned out Anthony Ritchie was there too, so they both spoke. Quite interesting actually. I'd very much like to hear Elric Hooper talk at length about opera in general: he's obviously very very knowledgeable and he speaks wonderfully. And of course, he did an excellent job with Madama Butterfly last year so I'm sure The God Boy is in very capable hands. It was nice to have the composer there too. Some of what he said went totally over my head (I somehow managed to get through 3 or 4 grades of music theory exams but I never actually understood any of that stuff) but nevertheless it was rather fascinating. And nice to learn a little bit about how he goes about his job. So that was that, and I'm looking forward to opening night, even if it is a contemporary opera and should have me hiding somewhere in a corner with la Traviata.

Even more excitingly, my Patricia Wright CD, Serenata, arrived in the mail today and is just as good as the clips at Opus CDs promised. Possibly competitors from the vocal competitions don't feel quite so positively disposed towards her at present (or maybe they do? was she a nice constructive critic? I don't know) but I think she's just fabulous right now and I highly recommend her to everyone. I go through these phases, and I'll settle down in a while, but I'm very pleased I bought this CD. There's a review on the Opus CDs site which says she sounds eerily like Kiri and I'm inclined to agree: it's certainly not the same voice but there is a similarity there. Actually, though, I think I'd rather hear Patricia sing these than Kiri. Kiri's fabulous of course but she might overpower little defenseless songs like these. By the way, included on this CD is a particular song by Puccini called 'Sole e amore'. It's just a nice cute little text, but the author is listed as 'Anonymous but possibly by the composer'- because the last words of the song are 'A Paganini. G. Puccini'. Which I think is just gorgeous. Made more so by the excellent Ms Wright. And Serenata would be CD du jour, except that it already has been. But I shan't name another one.

And one more thing: I was shown this today, and thought I'd share the link. Enjoy.

ODT Aria Competition

So. The ODT Aria Final was last night. It was a very interesting night, and a surprising one. Not that I disagree at all with the outcome, but I think most of us who have been following the competitions in one capacity or another had a somewhat different set of predictions in mind. The placings were:

3rd. Ramonda Te Maiharoa Taleni
2nd. Charlotte Carman
1st. Matthew Landreth

I thought after the heats that Ramonda would probably place somewhere- the other two were a surprise. But when I say surprise, what I'm really talking about is their performances, because I missed the Saturday night heats so I hadn't heard them sing either of their arias before. As far as their results go, they were surprising in that I expected Patricia Wright to go a different way. But she didn't and all three absolutely deserved their results.

So a few bouquets (and not a single brickbat):

I mean it when I say Ramonda Te Maiharoa Taleni is frighteningly good- if she was singing the villain of the piece in an opera, I'd be terrified. I liked her 'Come scoglio' especially, and I'd love to hear her rip into something hugely dramatic and Wagnerian one day.

There's just something about Charlotte Carman. I don't know what it is, but it's always just so good when she's on stage, regardless of what she's singing. Because her name wasn't on the competitions programme, I didn't even realise she's entered the aria competition, so I was so happy to see her name in the list of finalists last night. 'Se il padre perdei' was very good indeed but I loved 'Adieu notre petite table'.

Matthew Landreth "should be singing on stage now" said Patricia, and I agree. What more is there to say? Congratulations, Matthew. The aria from La Sonnambula was especially gorgeous.

Also: Fiona Henry's 'Deh vieni non tardar' was, bar none, the best thing I've ever heard her sing.

That's not all I could say, but I think I'll stop there. I just have to say, I was so impressed. It really is a frightening thing that singers do, especially at this level and especially when they're being marked on their performances. So well done to everybody, it was an excellent night.

In other news: if you're in New Zealand, have the Arts Channel and enjoy surreal experiences, I highly recommend a programme which I'm not going to watch: Opera Stories: Il Trovatore. I saw some of it the first time it was on and it's weird. Here's the deal: excerpts of Mirella Freni & co in Il Trovatore. Which on its own, I'll admit, sounds rather good. But then it gets odd: these excerpts are interspersed with Charlton Heston explaining the plot. Yes. Charlton Heston, star of Ben Hur and president of the National Rifle Association. Perhaps he has a connection with opera I don't know about, but frankly I found the half hour of this show that I managed to watch both bizarre and, thanks to Michael Moore, creepy. Now if they just screened a selection of highlights from the opera, that would be fine, but I think we can all do without Charlton Heston explaining it all. I kept expecting him to pull out a weapon.

CD du jour in honour of the close of the vocal competitions is Patricia Wright: Serenata. Song by Bellini, Donizetti, Rossini and Mascagni, sung by the illustrious adjudicator herself. I have most of these on CD by Cecilia Bartoli and on vinyl by both Renata Tebaldi and Anna Moffo and yet still I covet Patricia's CD- so I guess I must be a fan.