Prima la musica

Sirius

We don't own a car, because when you're away from home ten months of the year, it's really not worth it. So we rent one every time we're in town, which drastically reduces chances of emotional attachment – not to mention chances of an Aston Martin/Jaguar/Chevrolet Bel Air – but comes with several perks, one of which is Sirius radio. Yes, there it is, the operatic segue; two sentences about cars is already beyond my capacity, more would be foolhardy. 

I should be honest, though. Opera isn't the only reason I love Sirius. 40s on 4, 50s on 5, Bluegrass Junction, Radio Classics, Siriusly Sinatra: these stations are also among those we usually have programmed in by the time we've exited the MCO carpark. But it sure is nice to have Met Opera on 74. In an ideal world, there would be another, more general opera station too – maybe one with live broadcasts from companies around the globe – but All Opera, All The Time is fine by me in any form. 

The Met broadcasts themselves are fabulous, of course, particularly the archival ones. There's nothing like stumbling upon the entire last act of Parsifal on the way home from our local BBQ restaurant and sitting in the garage for twenty minutes because turning off Jerome Hines's Gurnemanz is unthinkable. I have a soft spot, though, for the bits and pieces they play in between: single arias, art songs and various other vocal selections. I love the variety and the surprises, and to a certain extent, I love playing Name That Artist. 

If only they'd ever give you the answer. Sometimes I'm delighted by a familiar voice, sometimes I eventually work it out, sometimes I make an educated guess and sometimes I'm completely clueless; but as far as I can tell, there's no way to confirm it one way or the other. Nobody back-announces, and the online schedule lists only the composer and the title of the work. Come on, people. You must know your audience is full of people who care deeply whose voice they're hearing – and that singers deserve credit. Or maybe I'm just missing the magic button which would reveal all of these answers immediately unto me. Do let me know if that's so. 

Tonight, at least, when we tuned in and heard Rossini, I did know the voice immediately and needed no confirmation. Jennifer Larmore! Pretty unmistakeable, particularly in Rossini. It's been a while – too long – since I've heard her, and it was a thrill to hear her jetting her way effortlessly through all those millions of notes. It was a reminder, too, that I have quite a few of Jennifer's CDs sitting around semi-neglected.

Not a comment on Jennifer, of course, but rather on how lamentably little time I spend listening to most of my opera collection these days. Frankly, I'm still adjusting to the fact that I have so many CDs at my fingertips again – they spent so long in storage that I kind of got used to life without them. Several times lately, I've found myself trawling Google for recording information, or YouTube for audio clips, only to realise belatedly that I could just walk into the next room and grab my own physical copy. 

So I don't blog enough and don't listen to enough of my own music collection. I can't help thinking there's a Blog Challenge lurking in there somewhere, but while I think about that, here's a little bit of Jennifer.

 

 

La belle Hélène

This is probably brief enough in essence just to be Tweeted, but I think it deserves a larger font size, if nothing else. I've been spending today in a rather autumnal way, which is to say curled up with a nice detective novel and the wireless for company. At one point in the afternoon I drifted off; and when I drifted back in, it was to the accompaniment of some glorious voice — I knew not whose — singing songs of Richard Strauss. There's always something particularly beautiful about music one wakes up to in this way. I was enchanted. And I couldn't figure out for the life of me who it was. I ran through the usual suspects — various voices I know and love — but none of them fitted. Finally we came back to Mairi Nicolson, and I waited to learn which obvious superstar I'd failed to recognise. 

The answer? Our very own Helen Sherman. Whom I last saw in the finals of the McDonald's Aria, where she came second to David Corcoran. So, neither obvious nor a superstar, but on the basis of this recital that seems to be the path she's headed down. Her Strauss was gorgeous, and the Grainger songs which followed similarly lovely. I only wish I'd been awake for the Duparc she opened with.

I wish I had a nice YouTube link with which to illustrate all of this, but there ain't one. However her biography at the Young Concert Artists Trust provides a nice overview of everything she has going, and also includes a clip of a pretty fantastic "Parto, parto", which I'm listening to as I type. Helen does also have a website, but it's in Coming Soon condition at present. But I suspect I'll be keeping an eye on it, and on her. 

L'Elisir Redux

Funny how things come full circle. I still remember the afternoon, almost four years ago, when I listened to a Met broadcast of L'Elisir d'Amore. It was actually sunny enough to sit outside — rare for a Dunedin summer — so I moved the speakers near to an open window and listened from the verandah. Well, until I got sick of the port wind trying to blow my libretto. I blogged about it, too — said all sort of things — and then that was that, and I doubt it even crossed my mind that I might one day be moved to revisit either my blogged opinions or the performance itself. 

But here I am doing just that, and goodness me, how things have changed. In 2006, I had yet to properly connect with the world of the male voice. I was better with them than I had been, but nevertheless, the most fabulous tenor in the world couldn't move me like even a decent soprano could, and baritones? Forget it. In 2009, I acquired (let's not dwell on how) this recording of L'Elisir because — are you ready? — I wanted to hear the Belcore. Never mind that when I heard it back then, I dismissed this Belcore as "a bit stiff for me" and more or less left it there, pausing only to wonder why the name of this baritone from Geelong seemed so familiar. 

I never did figure that out, but perhaps it was a rift in the space-time continuum — because of course, the Belcore was Peter Coleman-Wright, and these days, well, I'm a bit of a fan. Enough of a fan to go trawling for faintly illicit Donizetti, apparently; this is what his Pizarro, Balstrode and Mahler have done to me. Besides which, baritones generally are just far more my cup of tea than they used to be, so that a character who once seemed a bit of a necessary evil (give Gianetta more to sing, she whined) becomes a source of positive pleasure. And so he is. To be fair, Peter's Belcore still sounds more or less as I remembered; but my response is different. "A bit stiff"? Well, yes, perhaps, but appealingly so; and it's also a funny and strongly sung performance. That's probably helped by my now having some sense of his stage presence, but in any case, he's a delight, and I'm so very happy I had the chance to come back and give him another go.

This, however, was only the start of my little voyage of rediscovery. (He is only a baritone after all.) Then and now, it's the beautiful Ruth Ann Swenson who is the heart of this Elisir — and whatever my initial motivation for listening, with her very first note (which precedes Belcore's) she became my primary and happiest focus. Ruth Ann, Ruth Ann, Ruth Ann. It seems impossible I should forget how lovely she is, and yet I must have, just a little, because her Adina still managed to take me by surprise. Back in 2006 I was quite subdued about her. I described her voice as "an old friend". I said — oh dear — "Ruth Ann has never been a knee-weakening passion for me, but all the same I've had a calm and abiding affection for her for years." And, even worse, "I'm never destined to rave about Ruth Ann as I might (and have) about some others..."

Wrong, wrong and wrong. Well, not entirely. Her voice is an old friend to me. But all this "calm and abiding" stuff doesn't do her justice. I adore Ruth Ann. And I am entirely prepared to rave about her as I might (and have) about some others. Ruth Ann Swenson is a drop dead gorgeous soprano. I've loved her since before I loved opera and I don't intend ever to stop. She is sweet, stylish and heavenly to behold. I've now had the privilege to hear her in person, and she enchanted me all over again — so much so that I'll confess now what I might not have before, which is that, despite seeing Natalie's Lucia twice on the same trip, it was Ruth Ann's Ginevra which gave me the greatest pleasure during my time in San Francisco. I think four years ago I was ill-equipped (in terms both of my own faculties and of the stereo equipment at my disposal) to appreciate just how delicate and ideal Ruth Ann's Adina was. An object lesson in bel canto style, and a lesson in the unlearnable art of charm. Resist her, I dare you. You can't. She's irresistible, and so are those pearly high notes. 

There are more words to eat, or at least to nibble at. My three-sentence flurry of enthusiasm for Ramon Vargas was not unwarranted — he's a very good Nemorino — but at the same time, I can't help thinking what I wrote was more wishful thinking than anything else. If I wrote as if susceptible to the charms of tenors, perhaps I'd become so. It didn't work out that way, and even now that I am susceptible, Vargas does not exactly loom large in my world of devotion. Whereas the other "Mexican RV tenor" whom I implicitly dismissed definitely does; for all his current difficulties, I remain very fond of Rolando Villazon. I also did my best to damn the opera itself with faint praise, but this time around, I felt quite differently — I was struck by just how full of colour and life L'Elisir d'Amore is, by what a tuneful and utterly likeable opera it is. I still have issues with Don Pasquale (I can't quite get past the inherent cruelty of its premise) but I'm re-adjusting my feelings about L'Elisir now, having just had so much fun with it.

The moral of the story? There isn't one especially. I just find it intriguing to see how things change (and how other things remain constant). And don't worry, I don't intend to start revisiting and rethinking every single post in my archives. It was interesting to do so this once, though; after all, one of the reasons I'm pleased I have this blog is the opportunity it affords to remind myself of how I once thought — I tend to forget old opinions once they're replaced. Part of me wants to point at my former self and mock; but it's also heartening to feel that my appreciation of this multifarious world really has deepened and expanded in the last half-decade — despite my propensity to be waylaid by singular fixation. 

Is that a bit too deep and meaningful for a post about L'Elisir d'Amore and how I feel even sillier about Ruth Ann Swenson than I did a few years ago? Probably. Well, never mind. The main thing is that I got to listen to a totally delightful performance of L'Elisir — my little exercise in compare-and-contrast just added to the fun. 

And the winner is...

My sidebar poll on prospective Music Directors for Opera Australia closed on Friday night, by which time the question had become slightly irrelevant: the company has now announced that it will instead seek to appoint a full time Artistic Director and subsequently a Chief Conductor. However, many of the candidates for MD might well be considered potential Chief Conductors, too, so feelings about them are still of interest.

Of the candidates listed by name, Ascher Fisch held the lead for almost two weeks, but at the last moment was pipped at the post by Oleg Caetani, who gained 20% of the total vote. Fisch remained in second place at 16%. Other strong contenders, at 10% each, were Patrick Summers and Mark Elder. They were followed, in descending order, by Emmanuel Joel-Hornak, Richard Armstrong, Anthony Walker and, in last equal place, Paul Daniel and Alexander Briger. 

Suggestions in the "other" category ran as follows (at least one of these is a joke, but I'm reproducing the whole list for interest's sake):

Johannes Fritzsch (x2)

Giovanni Reggioli (x2)

[This means both Fritzsch and Reggioli place ahead of Daniel and Briger in the overall result.]

Andrea B*celli [sic - I'm hoping the asterisk might stave off a flood of Google referrals]

Andrea Licata 

Sebastian Weigle

Anthony Pasquill

Daniel Tianhao Liu

In other news, Joy FM show The Fool and the Opera ran a very nice interview tonight with Cheryl Barker, in which she confirmed two very important matters: firstly, that she is utterly charming, and secondly, that she will, as rumoured, sing Tosca in the 2010 season. In fact, what she said was "at the end of this year" which suggests this Tosca might, like Butterfly did this season,  be set to open the 2010 season at the tail end of December 2009. Keep an eye on the above-linked TFATO blog for a podcast of the full interview.

Joyce

I figure if Joyce DiDonato is going to take over my life, the best thing to do is just sit back and let her. Such a sacrifice, such suffering — another gorgeous mezzo to contend with. Woe is me, and so on. Hard to pinpoint what precisely it is that's triggered my increased interest in the lovely Joyce. After all I've been listening to her on Amor e gelosia with Patrizia for months. And I've enjoyed her and would have welcomed other opportunities to hear her — but it wasn't life and death, and I didn't seek the opportunities out or feel the compulsion to do so. Until suddenly I did, just a couple of weeks ago. I saw Pasion and knew firstly that it must be mine and secondly that it would be wonderful. Right, and right again. I ordered her Wigmore Hall recital. My excitement when it arrived on Friday surprised even me — not to mention those around me, who I don't think have ever seen me jump up and down with glee before. I haven't bought it yet; that's Monday's task.

But in the meantime, it occured to me at nine this evening to see what Met broadcast was, knowing it would be half over. What do you think? Il Barbiere di Siviglia with Joyce and Juan Diego. Perfect. I would have settled for Joyce and any old tenor. Even without "Una voce poco fa" and "Dunque io son" to glory in, she still gave me plenty of reasons to be happy. Oh, but Joyce and Juan Diego? E troppo. Well,  not quite but just about much bel canto bliss as a girl can stand. My, but the boy can sing. I wonder those on stage with him don't just break character and applaud him along with everybody else — how could you not? How could you stay focused on your own job when he's there sounding like that? Listening to Juan Diego makes me realise I'm one of those people, I'm part of that generation — you know, the one which in decades to come will be envied by future opera fanatics, because we were alive and following opera when he was active. And how brilliantly reassuring to discover that he's as staggeringly perfect in the one-shot setting of a live performance as he is in the studio, that all that technical perfection is a natural function and not an artificial creation. Not that I imagined for a moment it was but it's nice to have real proof.

This started with Joyce and has become about him. Well, no matter. They both deserve my adoration and adulation and anything else I can offer. Tomorrow night I bring home her Wigmore Hall recital. I've heard it once through already, though in a distracted background kind of way; even that was enough to know that it's for me, though. Next on the list I suppose is her La Cenerentola — thankfully on Naxos and thus ridiculously cheap. I like her a lot. It's always nice welcoming someone new into the fold.

La Clemenza di Tito

Since I heard of its existence, it's been somewhere vaguely in the back of my mind that I'd like to hear Harmonia Mundi's recently released La Clemenza di Tito. Mostly because it has at its helm René Jacobs, who earned himself a permanent place in my heart with his fabulous Figaro. But these things cost money so if I'd thought about it, I wasn't expecting to hear this Clemenza any time soon. Concert FM to the rescue: it was last weekend's Sunday opera. Now, with the month-later Met broadcasts gone, I tend to neglect Opera on Sunday somewhat. I did manage about half of Mayr's Ginevra di Scozia  the previous weekend, but that was the first time I'd tuned in since Rodelinda back in May. I didn't really expect anything as exciting as this Clemenza to be offered up, and yet there it was. Brilliant.

And it truly is brilliant. Clemenza has the potential to be rather on the dry side, conventional and stuffy and lacking in the colour and vitality of other Mozart operas. René Jacobs, however, makes it live, and thrillingly so. While keeping it all appropriately dignified, he nevertheless gives us a Clemenza which is fast-paced, emotionally charged and surprisingly intimate. As in that Figaro, the fortepiano continuo is highly involved in the action. In the orchestra, too, there are some incredible things going on: Vitellia's entrance at one point is marked by a lightning bolt of sound straight from a gothic horror movie. I don't necessarily think Clemenza is a boring opera - there are too many hits in it for that - but I also hadn't imagined it could be quite as interesting as this.

In the title role is the lovely Mark Padmore. With that sweet, limpid and rather youthful sound, he actually manages to make all the clemency almost plausible. Rather than a booming, stonily regal Emperor, he's a warm and sympathetic human being. His incredible acts of forgiveness came across less like a grand statement of philosophy and more like just the inevitable result of his inability to a hurt a fly. I like this kind of Tito. Alexandrina Pendatchanska is a frenetic and intense Vitellia. I wasn't too convinced by her in Act One, where she came across rather like Cruella DeVil, so cacklingly evil that, though her villainy was believable, her seductive power over Sesto really wasn't. But once Vitellia's doubts start up, she grows far more persuasive, and her "Non piu di fiori" is utterly credible. I still, truth be told, prefer my Mozart heroines (even the scary ones) sung by more lyrical voices than this. I like low low notes in Mozart - like those in "Non piu di fiori" - best when they come almost as a surprise, lower than you'd expect the voice you're hearing to drop. The voice thins out a little, and the phrase sounds almost spoken. A weighter, more dramatic voice like Alexandrina's can make a much bigger, more boldly projected  and "sung" sound out of them, and that's just what she does. Certainly it's a fantastic sound, but the effect is a little too verismo for my delicate sensibilities. I will say, though, that her contribution to the Act II trio with Sesto and Publio provided one of the greatest aural thrills of the whole recording.

Bernarda Fink makes an excellent Sesto, striking just the right balance between swaggering bravado and total lovelorn hopelessness. "Parto, parto" was charged with nervous energy; "Deh, per questo istante solo" was a thing of shimmering beauty. And yet for me the mezzo of the hour was actually Marie-Claude Chappuis' radiantly sung Annio, who had me hanging on her every note. Hers is a lighter, prettier sound than Bernarda's and they complement each other wonderfully. Sunhae Im's Servilia seems to have wandered in from an entirely different opera, singing with a giggly, soubrettish archness more akin to Zerlina than Roman aristocracy. At first this was a little weird, but I have to admit that she grew on me. I wouldn't want always to hear Servilia sung quite this way, but as far as possible, she made it work, and even if the voice isn't hugely distinctive, it's still rather pretty. Sergio Foresti completes the cast as a very nice Publio.

A magnificently realised Clemenza, beautifully sung and full of life. René Jacobs, you win again.

Strauss, Poulenc, Poulenc

This weekend I've watched again the video of Der Rosenkavalier with Gwyneth Jones, Brigitte Fassbaender, Lucia Popp and Kurt Moll. Deutsche Grammophon has released this on DVD now, which DVD I'll need to own, if for no other reason than that the sound quality will surely be better than it is on this now ageing tape. Sound quality notwithstanding, though, it's a glorious Rosenkavalier. Hard to know who to watch, when you have Brigitte and Lucia and Gwyneth and Kurt all there at once. I'm very fond of all four. Of course, Lucia is of extreme importance to me. But much as I love and adore her, I struggle to believe anyone could feel capable of leaving Gwyneth Jones' Marschallin. I doubt I could. 

Then there was the online broadcast, courtesy of ABC Classic FM, of Opera Australia's "Love in Two Acts". An odd experience, this. I don't know which night it was recorded. There were no convenient mistakes or mishaps to allow me to identify one performance or another, though I do know it wasn't opening night. I tend to think it was the third or the fourth. It doesn't matter hugely I suppose. In any case, it was strange to hear. Both in the Rossini and in the Poulenc: everything so familiar, and yet slightly different, because the microphones are just where the audience isn't. So, for instance, when Elle sings turned toward the mantlepiece, what was distant in the theatre is disconcertingly closed: apparently there's a microphone upstage. Conversely, her electrifying fortissimo passages lose something in translation, sound a little duller and quieter than they were in person.  All the voices, in both pieces, sounded closer and more immediate than they ever would or could in the theatre. In Il Signor Bruschino the closed-miked effect of it is a boon to Kanen Breen, whose voice never quite projected sufficiently. You wouldn't know it here. And in La voix humaine, well, will you allow me to say something perhaps a little mad? There were times when that immediacy was rather like hearing a voice on the telephone. You see what I mean? Listening to it in this way, one might imagine oneself on the other end of the phone call. Seeing it in the theatre, the audience can only ever observe; hearing it via speakers, the perspective becomes a little more mobile. She isn't just saying these things to somebody else any more: she may just be saying them to you. Besides all that, there were other advantages to simply hearing it. It was excellent to have confirmed what I already knew: that her performance stands strong on its own, apart from all the theatrical interpretation by the director and apart from Yvonne's own (considerable) visual appeal as a performer. There was plenty added by the experience of watching this opera live, but with all of it stripped away, nothing is lost. Had I come to this broadcast without knowledge of the production, I would have been just as shaken by it - and just as enamoured of her.

On Monday night, more Poulenc, in the shape of Les Dialogues des Carmélites on the Arts Channel. The music of La voix humaine has become so entrenched in me that there was a somewhat comforting familiarity in this, though I'd never heard a note of it until then. This was a stunning production from L'Opéra du Rhin, Anne-Sophie Schmidt captivatingly fragile as Blanche de la Force. The fabulous Patricia Petibon made a charming Soeur Constance - the Maria von Trapp of the Carmelites - and proved she can do drama as well as comedy, though it's still the latter in which she she truly shines. A few years ago, you know, I assumed I was unshakeably old-fashioned: I'd never have imagined myself as entralled by Poulenc as I've become. It's yet another happiness for which thanks are due to my diva, who introduced us, after all.

Ascoltate!

I've moved this post back to the top by way  of (somewhat forceful) reminder. It's today. Listen.

Of course after a year of my rhapsodising, you're tired of reading about Yvonne Kenny. And after December, and my ten thousand posts on the subject, even tireder of reading about her performance in Poulenc's La voix humaine. However if by any chance you're not, and fancy hearing the thing itself: you can.

ABC Classic FM, which can be listened to online, will broadcast Opera Australia's "Love in Two Acts" (that's Rossini's Il Signor Bruschino followed by Yvonne in La voix humaine) on Sunday January 8th at 8pm Melbourne/Sydney time. That's 9:00am GMT, 4:00am EST, and you can convert it to your own timezone here. Cast lists, synopses etc. are available via Opera Australia's calendar - I'd provide a more specific link but can't get my head around their website enough to do so. Just click 'See What's On' and bring up the listings for December 2005.

Listen to it if you can. I realise I have pretty much no credibility where Yvonne is concerned, but even apart from all my biases, this is an incredible performance which you may have no other opportunity to hear. Skip the Rossini by all means - it runs about an hour or so - but if you possibly possibly can, hear Yvonne. Not just for my sake, but for your own as well.

Obviously I'll be listening to it. Though in a way this is just icing on the cake. All I need is the score to prompt me, and I remember almost everything: the English translation, the way the orchestra played this phrase or that, the lighting, what she was doing on stage and, best of all, her voice. I was afraid that that would fade - but I still recall how she sang every phrase. But memories, however cherished, will become more faint in time, and although she's recording the opera for Chandos, there's a world of difference between the stage and the recording studio - so I'm overjoyed to find that, after all, the moment has been preserved. And to tell the truth, I'm almost as excited about the broadcast as I was about the performances themselves: none of the magic has worn off. Besides which, there's that terrifying high C which I simply cannot wait to experience again. My heart races just thinking about it.

On air

The 2005 Lexus Song Quest final was repeated on Concert FM on Sunday. I'm gladder than ever that I actually went to it because the radio lies, and shamelessly. This was in fact made pretty clear back in April when the final actually happened. The difference between the sounds those singers produced on the night, and what I'd heard on their semi-final programmes, broadcast on Concert FM, was remarkable. Same again with the final. So let me say now to anybody who listened to it on radio, either in April or on Sunday: it did not, no way, no how, sound like that. If I'm entirely honest, based on that broadcast alone, I would not have picked Madeleine Pierard as the winner; but having been there on the night, there's no question that she deserved her first placing. In fact it was the four girls who especially suffered from the broadcast nastiness: I've heard Penelope Muir sing a great deal, enough to know her voice well by now, and that wasn't it. Allison Cormack fared slightly better, but only because her voice is big and lush enough to take a few more blows than the others: the same thinning out was still in evidence. Strangely enough the two baritones seemed to benefit, or at least Robert Tucker did: surrounded by curiously (and deceptively) insecure sounding performances, he sounded like, well, A Bought One. Which reminded me just how excellent he in fact is, in person as well as on radio. I hope he's doing well in Australia, and heading for a career of some variety - he really is a lovely singer.

On Monday evening I caught the last hour of Jenufa on the Arts Channel. I have this to say: Anja Silja is insanely good. Looking dour and hideous of course, but my goodness, without a voice to match. There were other things going on, the production was generally very well sung, but that woman. Wow.

More Arts Channel goodness last night, with Encore: The Best of Joan Sutherland. You've done some silly things, Australia, but you've also done some excellent things, and filming Joan's Lucia and Norma and Lucrezia Borgia rank very high on the list. Look, of course we all know Joanie's as fabulous as it gets, film or no film, but these are brilliant to watch. Encore consists of 90 minutes of clips from these various films. Some are, admittedly, more wonderful than others: I'd rather have had more bel canto than the rather unremarkable Merry Widow excerpt, but still, it is Joan after all. She's very difficult not to love. Who cares about so-called acting ability? In her own way, she's got it in spades: she makes the music speak, she makes it compelling, what else do we want? There's nothing unconvincing about Joanie. My god, and that voice... high notes you can feel. 'Casta Diva' was, well... Joan.

Oh and speaking of great Normas, can somebody better informed than I (and there are legions of you) tell me what's so special about this one, that it's selling for $199.99? Is it just weirdly overpriced, or is there some reason known to all but me for such a price? Because I have the opportunity to pick it up for *significantly* less and was wondering whether I ought. (Meanwhile, VivaLaVoce just now chose this moment to throw Act I of Norma at me. I've heard more of this opera in the last two days than in all the rest of my life.)

Missa Solemnis

I have, and I realise it, nobody but myself to blame. The concoction of technology necessary in this house to record something from radio is shameful. Believe it or not, it involves recording radio broadcasts on video tape. I have a tape with interviews of Grace Bumbry and Barbara Bonney. I also have a tape full of beautiful music, all of it featuring my personal NZ Idol, Patricia Wright. It's wearing out, I've played it so many times. Videos do that, and it's all the more noticeable when it's only the audio you want. VHS was not designed to record obscure Verdi arias for posterity. In fact, though, it's even worse than all this. The TV doesn't exactly work as a TV should. Actually, without the VCR, it wouldn't work at all. But it's an uneasy relationship, the VCR isn't fond of the TV and thinks even less of me. Which is why, though I left the house pretty certain I'd put everything in place automatically to record the Beethoven Missa Solemnis on Concert FM tonight, featuring said Idol, I in fact recorded something diabolical featuring Simon Barnett. No Missa Solemnis.

Thankfully I was home in time to hear a good deal of it anyway, but that still isn't really enough. I was looking forward, once it ended, playing the tape from start to finish, giving it my undivided attention. Because I thought I'd have that chance, I'm sad to say I didn't quite give it my undivided attention the first time - and now there'll be no second. However, I needs must channel my inner Polyanna. Yes, I'm sad to have missed some of it, and sadder not to have a recording; but I'm glad - so very glad - to have heard what I did. Helen Medlyn is very... visible in the New Zealand music scene (classical and otherwise) but still I've heard awfully little of her - and have at times felt a little afraid to  - so it was nice finally to have something other than the persona to deal with, and hear a serious and very beautiful mezzo voice. Sir Donald McIntyre is Sir Donald McIntyre, say no more.

Then, of course, there is Patricia. It's a little like what I was saying about Barbara the other night. You become used to the love of this singer or that, there's no need to think about whys and wherefores, no need for whys or wherefores even to exist. But once in while something new, or something old heard with new ears, seizes you, shakes you, or just takes you by the hand, and says "Remember? This is why you love me so much." Tonight when I heard that voice, so familiar but at the same time new, exhilarating, so-so-beautiful, my spirits lifted and though I hadn't forgotten in the first place, I remembered why even more than before. Now, without a tape of the Missa Solemnis to wear out, I'm seeking solace in Serenata and it is ample compensation; whatever the music, her voice is always itself: vivid, golden-hearted magic.

Dawn who?

Alright, fine, I know Osvaldo Golijov's Three Songs for soprano and orchestra are forever linked to the Upshaw, who premiered them and for whom they were written. Far be it from me to question the Upshaw's status as supreme Golijov soprano, I've never heard her sing any so I'm in no position to make any kind of comment. What I can comment on, however, is the second soprano ever to perform them. She is, of course, the divine Patricia Wright, who could surely cause even the most devout Upshaw acolyte momentarily to forget their idol. How can songs composed specifically for a certain voice be so perfectly suited to a very different one? I don't know. But they are. She inhabits them, owns them, and sings up a storm, golden and glorious. She captures perfectly the spirit, the ecstasy, the haunting beauty of each song, and her engagement with each text, be it Yiddish, Gallego or English, is complete, and captivatingly so. I don't think, incidentally, that I've ever been quite so overcome by a singer's way with the English language. Sometimes all we can ask is that a singer be capable of making his or herself understood in English but Patricia again and again makes a convincing argument for English as a truly musical language. Her performance of the final song, (a setting of two short Emily Dickinson poems - which reminded me once again how perfect I think Copland's Emily Dickinson songs would be for Patricia) 'How slow the wind', was heart-stopping. They're all three of them truly incredible songs and I am utterly enchanted.

And it gets even better. Next month I'm going to Christchurch to hear her perform with the Christchurch Symphony - and she's singing some Chants d'Auvergne and these three songs. If they're this killingly beautiful on radio then I can hardly begin to imagine the wondrousness of a live performance. The concert was an exciting enough prospect before I'd heard these songs; now it's almost too much to bear.

Sacerdotessa assoluta

I haven't been praying at their altar con fe sincera but nevertheless the programming gods of Concert FM seem to like me. Or more probably: they like Patricia Wright. As they should! In any case, they're making me very happy. On the 7th of July, Patricia can be heard singing Golijov songs with the Auckland Philharmonic; and tonight's Music Alive concert was 'Verdi: King of Italian Opera', recorded in the Auckland Town Hall last July with soloists Simon O'Neill, Shaun Dixon, Grant Dickson, Sarah-Jane Rennie and - yes - Patricia Wright. Incredibly exciting not just because it's Patricia but because this was my first time hearing her actually sing opera. I've heard her in British art song, Italian songs, Canteloube, Bach and the Verdi Requiem - but no opera. Until tonight. And she was - naturally - glorious.

Her first aria (and the only solo aria she sang) was 'Ah dagli scanni eterei' from Aroldo/Stiffelio. Revelatory. The audience started clapping in the pause before the cabaletta but you can hardly blame them - I'd have been tempted to start clapping in the middle of the aria. And after such a performance, it seemed wildly unjust that the next two soprano arias in the programme were both taken by Sarah-Jane Rennie. I could have been annoyed about this, but it was a little difficult to be - in 'Solingo, errante, misero' from Ernani, Patricia proved that even in ensemble she far outshone anything in Sarah-Jane's solo repertoire galaxy. And then she went and evened things up once and for all by being the most goldenly beautiful Desdemona one could hope for, in 'Gia nella notte densa' with Simon O'Neill. If she'd finished there, taken a curtain call and gone home, I'm sure everyone would have left happily in awe. There was, however, more: 'Possente, possente Ftha' - which I think is just about the most beautiful part of Aida - with Patricia singing the Sacerdotessa. I don't quite know what to tell you. It was - unexpected, to say the least. To say more: it paralysed me. I was truly powerless to move until she stopped and the chorus chimed in. The sort of Sacerdotessa who could steal the show... there can't be a great many of those. The sort of Sacerdotessa who could steal my heart - and has...there's only one of those. It was like entering an Italian, Verdian version of the Presentation of the Rose - silver and shimmering and not-quite-of-this-earth musical levitation. As if I didn't already have enough reason to pray fervently for a Patricia Wright Marschallin. And if she sounds like this on Friday - which I suspect she might - I am, quite simply, done for.

For all this, I did actually manage to take some notice of the other soloists too. Simon O'Neill is just brilliant, and deserves all the success which I think probably awaits him. Artsville a few weeks ago had a documentary about him, filmed while he was in New York covering Placido Domingo for Die Walküre, and he's charming in his own funny way. Adorably starstruck when he actually got to meet the man he was understudying, and get from him both a lesson and an autograph. From seeing him practice, I'd say he makes a pretty fantastic Siegmund too. And he's first-rate in Verdi too; 'Quando le sere al placido', from Luisa Miller, was excellent; and his Otello was simply stunning. Shaun Dixon on the other hand is much less my cup of tea. Unfortunately the Italianate tendencies which marred his peformance in the St Matthew Passion here in Dunedin aren't particularly attractive even in the repertoire you'd expect them to suit. 'La mia letizia infondere' I found weak and unconvincing, and 'De' miei bollenti spiriti', from my beloved Traviata, just seemed far too much of an effort. Then again, he got bravo-ed for both, so maybe the radio - or I - was unkind. (Or not..) Sarah-Jane Rennie got to sing both the soprano 'hits' in the concert: 'Caro nome' and 'Addio del passato'. Sadly neither treated her very well, the former forced on the high notes and perilously unsupported down low, the latter far too overblown to be persuasive (but then we probably could have predicted that when she read the letter like it was a billet doux.) All five came together for the single encore, the Brindisi from Traviata. Rather an odd experience. Shaun Dixon would seem to have the more obviously suitable style for the part, but in fact Simon proved a far superior and more attractive Alfredo; and Patricia proved herself an infinitely better Violetta than her colleague, demonstrating a depth and lyricism which made me - and I'm sure I'm not alone - long to hear her 'Addio del passato'. They started with the two tenors in unison (except not quite in synch) , then the two sopranos in unison (except once again not quite), and then they went turn about, with bass Grant Dickson (about whom I'm ambivalent) joining in on the choruses. But perhaps they ought just to have given the duet to Simon and Patricia and let the other three go home - effectively it - and indeed the whole concert - was their duet anyway. Now there's an idea for a CD...are you listening, Morrison Music Trust?

Made in New Zealand

At some point I think I'll have to stop telling myself that twentieth century New Zealand music is not very close to my heart, and face the truth. After all, I adored Anthony Ritchie's The God Boy. Not so long ago Douglas Lilburn's Aotearoa Overture - no singing at all! - rather won me over. And now it's happened again...

Concert FM's 'Made in New Zealand' programme tonight opened with Kenneth Young's Symphony, conducted by the composer, with the NZSO and soprano soloist Patricia Wright. And there, of course, is the reason I made the effort to listen to a symphony by a living New Zealand composer - not just a soprano soloist (a very attractive prospect on its own when it comes to me and symphonies) but la belle Patricia. I'd listen to twenty minutes of static if it included soprano soloist Patricia Wright. So I duly tuned in at 6pm. What I was expecting, I don't know - but I was hooked from the very first bars. It was just enchanting. My intention was to leave it in the background and only really listen properly when Patricia was singing but how could I? There were dishes to do and conversations to have but even so, I gave as much of my attention as I could do the gorgeousness emanating from the radio.

And if I thought the purely orchestral sections were beautiful, there was of course the soprano soloist for whom I had tuned in in the first place. Oh my. Lately I've been listening to Patricia Wright sing English songs, and praising things like her diction and engagement with the text. But of course what really makes those songs so wonderful is that radiantly golden gorgeous voice; and in this Symphony, that's all we have. The voice here is an instrument like any other, with no words, only sound, and so it has to be distinctive and beautiful. I mean, you couldn't just use any old voice for this kind of singing, could you? With no text, no story to hang on to, a boring voice would crash and burn immediately. You need a singer with a voice which will send you spinning even without words, who can make the pure sound meaningful and beautiful. And she does, she does. I've long suspected that the simple sound of Patricia's voice would be enough for me on its own, without words - so nice to be proven right.

This recording of the Symphony (the only recording of it I think) is one of the only Patricia Wright recordings I don't have. (I don't have her Jane Austen Songs yet but it's only a matter of time.) And the reason I've never bought it is because, being me, I was convinced there'd be altogether too much symphony and too little Patricia for my tastes. Neither, as it turns out, is in any way true, and I might just have to hunt out a copy for myself after all.

Song Quest semifinalists (III)

I managed (thanks partly to half a dozen notes strategically placed around the living room) to remember to listen to the final four Lexus Song Quest semi-finalists on Concert FM tonight. I must say: bravi tutti. And that goes for the other eight as well, including the four I didn't hear. Everybody has sounded so good, and certainly there hasn't been a single moment of 'how in the world did he/she get to the semifinal?' I'm really quite impressed.

Now, to tonight's singers. Two I've heard before; the two I hadn't were Jamie Frater and Allison Cormack. Both sang very well indeed. Allison's 'Wie Melodien zieht es mir' was probably her best piece; but'Art Is Calling For Me' (a disaster in the wrong (Te Kanawa) hands) was nicely handled too, and came more or less complete with the appropriate 'vocal frills'. Jamie Frater also sounded best in his Brahms piece, as it happens (I forget the title, it was something something 'Wald' I think). The Stravinsky setting of 'The Owl and the Pussycat' I did not like at all. Nothing to do with Jamie's singing, which was admirable: but honestly, it was the musical equivalent of a "my five year old could do that" painting. His 'Votre toast' from Carmen was a little dry and plodding to my ears, but would have livened up considerably, I'm sure, with an orchestra and a bit of context.

We also heard from Stephen Chambers, Dunedin tenor and youngest semi-finalists, performing at his absolute best. 'Am Feierabend' from Die Schöne Müllerin was excellent, as was 'Wenn der Freude Thränen fliessen' from Die Entführung; however the piece which really took me by surprise (strangely enough) was 'Treefall' by Dorothea Franchi, a New Zealand composer. Stephen and I think one or two other singers performed this during last year's vocal competitions but I barely took any notice: 20th century New Zealand art song and I are generally not the best of friends. This time round, however, it was something a bit special and very very nicely done. Brilliantly selected programme, Stephen, and sounding fabulous. Well done.

However I am, after all, a soprano nut ('soprano snob' by some accounts) and I've saved the best for last. Anna Pierard. Quelle voix! Quelle femme! Some of the most gorgeous singing I've heard from all the semifinals, and definitely the classiest: there must be something (not that...) in the water in Amsterdam, where Anna's been studying. Anna was a finalist in the 2002 Song Quest - at that point she was a soprano. Now she's a mezzo and I have to say: excellent decision! Not that she wasn't lovely as a soprano; but as a mezzo she's a star. 'Oh la pitoyable aventure' from Ravel's L'heure espagnole is a pretty horrendous aria; I had to stop falling asleep to Magdalena Kozena's French Arias CD because that aria kept waking me up. But Anna handled it with aplomb. 'Près des remparts de Séville' was even better, and the Ross Harris song 'Inside the Rainbow Air' (written for her) was also lovely. International study clearly makes a very real difference: there was a sophistication and a sensitivity in all of Anna's singing which I haven't really heard - at least not to the same degree - in any of the other semi-finalists. And I would have loved to have seen her Ruggiero in Die Nieuw Opera Academie's Alcina. The girl has definitely got something!

Tomorrow's the big night: the announcement of the six finalists. I've already picked my six, but I'm not telling yet. I shall return tomorrow when all is revealed. Terribly exciting, isn't it?

Aida & Rosenkavalier

Radio:

Yesterday's opera from the Met was, of course, the All Star Aida, which I've been   looking forward to immensely since the broadcasts started. It did not disappoint. But am I going to review it? Not really, no. After all, what can possibly remain to be said? Leontyne Price, Grace Bumbry, Carlo Bergonzi, Robert Merrill. I already loved Leontyne and Grace, and liked Robert a lot; now I love all four of them, and love Grace even more than ever. It was magnificent. But... I hope this isn't sacrilege... what I really really want to hear now is Renata's Aida. I do just love Renata.

CD:

Der Rosenkavalier. (Chandos Opera In English.)
I should have reviewed this the moment the CD finished, but I ended up writing instead about the Kiri revelation I'd had earlier in the evening - and I didn't want Kiri and this CD forced to share the spotlight.

I must say, listening to Rosenkavalier in English is a seriously odd experience. I can cope with Mozart, Handel, Rossini etc. in English if need be, because it doesn't really matter: the tune bounces along regardless of the words. The other night it took me a minute or two actually to register that the scene from Il Barbiere being played on Operadio was actually being sung in German. With Strauss, though, the music and words are tied up and tangled together. And a lot of the charm of Rosenkavalier is tied up in its language. The reason that, in my mind, an English Rosenkavalier doesn't really come off too well, is not the translation but the whole English language. The translator really has done an excellent job, and on paper it reads well: but this stuff really does need to be sung in German, I think.

Anyway, on to the singers. Diana Montague has a lovely mezzo voice and makes a very sympathetic Quinquin, even if no threat to Christa Ludwig & co. Rosemary Joshua is the least interesting Sophie I've ever heard, but this is only a highlights disc; perhaps she'd make a better go of things in a complete performance. John Tomlinson, in the few appearances these highlights allow him, is a perfectly fine Baron Ochs. None of this makes for a particularly noteworthy Rosenkavalier. But it's got one more trick up its sleeve: Yvonne Kenny. ( Yes, that's right, Yvonne again. I'm allowed to be obsessed, that's the point of sopranos. ) I was scared of what hearing Yvonne's Marschallin might do to me. Hearing anybody's Marschallin is almost too much sometimes. But I coped, and it was wonderful. Very, very different from the other Marschallins (Marschallinnen?) I've heard. Very different from pretty much anything I've heard. There's a purity and seeming effortlessness in her voice which works beautifully with Strauss, especially the conversational tone of this opera (which can still be heard in the music, regardless of the English text). The Marschallin's monologues should be taken delicately, floated through, not attacked and oversung, and Yvonne does this beautifully; so wondrous is she that her final line, a simple 'Ah, yes', packs more punch than all of Sophie and Octavian's Act III duet. Yvonne is the unquestioned star; but her performance is more tantalising than it is transcendent: she's robbed of her full quota of magic by the highlights format and the English text. In a complete original language recording, or, even better, on stage (my heart's desire) she would surely be utterly entrancing.

Conspiracy

Hofstra University's radio station is out to get me. Last week there was the Csardasfürstin/Bleecker Street fiasco. I thought things couldnt' get any more upsetting. But last night I tuned in again, thinking it possible that they had realised their mistake, and would broadcast Csardasfürstin this time. The outlook from Operacast wasn't promising: the listing there said it was La Forza del Destino. But then, the listing last week was wrong too, wasn't it - that was the root of all the trouble. So I remained optimistic while trying not to raise my hopes too high: two disappointments might be too much to bear. I tuned in 10 minutes early, reminding myself that last week there was silence until the opera started. But this time, the opera didn't start. There was just silence. For an hour. I had the time right, I had the station right, but there was no opera at all, neither Forza nor Csardasfürstin. It's a conspiracy, I'm certain of it. But will I go back and try again next week? No doubt. I am, however, incredibly sick of typing the word Csardasfürstin. Anyway, it's back to old fashioned radio this afternoon for Aida. Which I'm preparing for right now by listening to... Aida. With Aprile Millo, Placido Domingo, Dolora Zajick, James Morris and Samuel Ramey.

Also a few more acknowledgements: the impressive JSU has added me to his formerly minimalist sidebar at Unamplified Voice; I'm a haunt and/or lurk of this Future MD; and strangely enough, I've been linked to in this article about classical music blogs from La Blogothèque, where I find myself in some very humbling company.

The joys of radio

Operacast is my New Best Friend. Despite the Csardasfürstin fiasco, I've been visiting daily and mastering the art of converting GMT, and I found something fun today. More Menotti, believe it or not. I was annoyed and sulking for most of The Saint of Bleecker Street the other night, but nevertheless it did penetrate somewhat and the more I've thought about it since, the more it - and Menotti generally - has interested me. So this afternoon I was really quite thrilled to see that a radio station somewhere in Oklahoma was broadcasting a Menotti double feature: The Medium and The Telephone

The Medium is an odd, dark little thing. Fake medium holds séance, has real ghostly experience, loses it, and eventually shoots daughter's mute boyfriend in a fit of paranoia. Bleecker Street it ain't, musically or dramatically, but it still has its charms, along with a few moments of brilliance: Monica's Waltz is the 'hit' of the show, but her haunting 'Mother, father, are you there?' which returns again and again, each time gathering sinister significance, is probably the best thing she sings. And the close of Act I, where Monica's ethereal tones float over Madame Flora's desperate, monotone repetition of the Ave Maria, is quite stunning. Menotti, I think, had a gift for characterisation if nothing else: Madame Flora's duped clients only appear relatively briefly, but in their words and their music we can hear the whole history of their grief; the sweet and fragile Monica contrasts sharply with her troubled and domineering mother; and even the frustrations and outpourings of the mute servant Toby can be heard in the music. All of this, of course, is helped along by the cast, which is excellent. The recording is the soundtrack from a 1950 film of the opera, and includes sound effects and extra music composed specifically for the film. Marie Powers is a simply stunning Madame Flora: a fabulously dark, dramatic mezzo voice which captures both the forcefulness and the vulnerability of her character. Anna Maria Alberghetti sings Monica, and is just gorgeous, blurring the line between herself and the ghosts she plays during the séance. Hers is exactly the voice the part requires: so light and sweet that at times it seems barely to be there, yet with enough depth never to lose a sense of character and emotion.

The Telephone, on the other hand, is fluffy and comic with no deep meanings to worry about. Ben has to go away, and wants to propose to the telephone-addicted Lucy, but naturally every time he starts to speak, she has to take or make a call. It's all very silly. But it's good fun, and Menotti (being, as usual, his own librettist) comes up with some great lines, while taking off as many musical styles as possible. And both Marilyn Cotlow (Lucy) and Frank Rogier (Ben) are excellent comedians and excellent singers, which helps.

The two Menotti works were followed by a celebration of Handel's birthday. I had hopes of a nice selection of various bits and pieces, but in fact all they did was put Renée's Handel CD on. Sigh. I still have issues with this CD. All in all, I like Renée a lot more these days than I used to, but I do wish she could just stick to the repertoire that flatters her. Her Mozart and Strauss is to die for. Her CD Signatures: Great Opera Scenes proves that somebody somewhere has a sense of what she ought to sing. But she seems determined to have a go at everything, and to record the results. When I was typing out Luisa Tetrazzini's words of wisdom for Antologia last night, I kept thinking it was like a letter to Renée from beyond the grave.

While it is well to cultivate versatility so far as possible, it is a mistake to sing music of a kind which you are not suited. Patti loved Wagner, for instance, and was a frequent visitor to Bayreuth. But she did not sing his music. She liked to hear it sung by others, but she realised that it was not for her. Voice, personality, training, temperament, all impose necessary limitations.
People blame me sometimes, for instance, for confining myself mainly to music of a certain school. But I think I know best as to this, and that I am exercising sound judgment in adopting this course. There is much music which I admire and love, but I do not always try to sing it. In the same way I may admire frocks which I see on other women, but I do not necessarily try to wear the same myself. I have the good sense to recognise that they would not suit me.

That's it exactly, don't you think?

Now listening to: Kiri Te Kanawa. 'La Flûte enchantée'. French Songs & Arias.

Cruda sorte

Mme Grisi Pasta of Trrill let me know a few days ago that Salieri's Prima la musica, poi le parole was to be broadcast on a station with an online presence. As a result I paid my long-overdue first visit ever to OperaCast. The timing of the Salieri means that sadly I shan't be able to listen to it, but this evening I thought I'd see what was on offer tonight. So imagine my excitement when I discover at 10pm that in an hour's time, WRHU Hofstra University's radio station will be broadcasting Die Csardasfürstin, starring my own adored Yvonne Kenny. It was all I could do not to run about the room shrieking. But I calmed myself down, figured it all out, set the oven timer to remind me and started looking for some background on the opera (found just about none, incidentally). Ten minutes before broadcast time I tuned in, and started stressing because they were broadcasting silence. However, I did my best to persuade myself that the opera, being played at 5am ET, was the beginning of the day's broadcast. Neverthless, at 10.59 my heart was racing; when a minute later a 'welcome' announcement started, my relief was immense.

Immense, yes, but shortlived, as the announcer continued talking and introduced The Saint of Bleecker Street. I beg your pardon? The Saint of Bleecker Street?! I was NOT happy. This wasn't just coal in my Christmas stocking, it was coal plus a nasty note from Santa. Here I am, every inch of my being geared up for the divine Yvonne singing operetta, and what do I get? Twentieth century American verismo. Ingiusto ciel.

I've checked out all the schedules. This was supposed to be last week's opera. But I suppose that's promising: there's a good chance that Yvonne will be next week. All I can say is she had better be. In the meantime, however, I'm sitting here listening to Gian-Carlo Menotti's The Saint of Bleecker Street. Which, apart from one major fault (ie, it's not Csardasfürstin), is actually quite good. If it were a movie, I wouldn't watch it, but as an opera it's not bad. I'm only semi-following the plot, but the music's enjoyable enough. I can see why people call Menotti a Puccini-wannabe, but true or not, I'm not really bothered. The singing is respectable and listenable, even if it's the music and text rather than the individual performances which are making things interesting. I think I rather like it really, enough even to think I'd like to hear it again some time. I suppose we could call it a silver lining, because chances are I otherwise would have taken years to listen to this opera, which I've always more or less assumed wouldn't much interest me. But honestly, I'd turn it off in a second for that Csardasfürstin.

Chants d'Auvergne

Even if they'd done nothing else to deserve it, Concert FM would by now have earned every ounce of the praise I wrote in my last post - at 8pm tonight in Music Alive we had a live broadcast of a concert by the Auckland Philharmonia under Xian Zhang. Brahms' Tragic Overture, Tchaikovsky's Symphony No 6 (Pathétique) and, oh yes - 6 of Canteloube's Chants d'Auvergne, sung by the incomparable Patricia Wright. I'd endure a week of crossover for a treat like this. Warm and golden and gorgeous. That same sense of commitment to text and music that blew me away when I saw Patricia in Nelson singing Bach & Vaughan Williams was in evidence tonight. The orchestra was also sounding excellent, and her voice blended perfectly with it to create the most amazing world of sound, the kind these songs deserve. The songs have been lushly orchestrated, yes, but they're still folk songs at heart, and the balance here was struck perfectly: just the right combination of soaring, dramatic beauty and intimate personability. Kiri Te Kanawa (sorry folks) put me off these songs a bit; Anna Moffo brought me back to them, and Patricia has again confirmed what slices of gorgeousness they can be. And I can't help but think that when I see her sing them (along with some Golijov songs) in Christchurch later this year, it will all be even better.  Can't wait.

Ode to Charlotte Wilson

Perhaps not quite. But. Not so long ago, I wrote some rather grumpy things about Concert FM, and more particularly, its presenters. In truth, everything I said still stands - the same things still annoy me to the same degree (although I'm trying harder to be tolerant).

But whether or not my own criticisms are justified, there's one thing of which I'm growing ever more certain - they're just not a very big deal. A post by Alex Ross last week about the decision by WETA, Washington DC's public radio station, to drop classical music programming in favour of an all-talk format because "We're in the business of trying to create a larger audience and have more people join our station" (read more here) was a genuine shock to me: I didn't really realise things were in that sort of state. But then I remembered something Lisa Hirsch of Iron Tongue of Midnight wrote a couple of months ago, about the equally desperate plight of classical radio in the San Francisco Bay Area. I was just as stunned then, too. The existence of multiple opera houses and real-deal concert halls, and legions of renowned orchestras in the States has, I suppose, caused me to assume that the radio situation was likewise more robust than here. But it seems not. Five minutes' research throws up this post by the frightening A.C. Douglas, which includes the following:

National Public Radio -- that thirty-years-old bastion of high-grade programming presumed free from the strictures and pressures of ratings and money-grubbing commerce -- has, for the express purpose of attracting more listeners and thereby increasing donations, recently made the decision to dump a major portion of its cultural programming in favor of more news, news-talk, and expanded coverage of the pop culture scene

This is scary. And then here there's more:

The number of classical music radio stations in the US has shrunk to 30-some commercial outlets and a little more than 100 public channels, and new casualties are added with each year. Longtime Chicago classical station WNIB was recently sold and no longer plays classical, and Washington station WETA is eroding its music schedule in favor of more news/talk. Many mid-size American cities no longer have radio stations that play classical. Those that do (and are successful at it) are accused of dumbing-down their play-lists, till they are little more than a background pacifier. [The original post contains relevant links and is worth a look.]

Call me naïve, but I had no idea. Not just no idea that things were getting so dire - I had no idea we were so lucky. Irritating presenters are nothing, given the absolutely outstanding programming we get from Concert FM. Personally speaking, there's a good deal of music played which is not my cup of tea - but I think this is an excellent thing. This is not a station which caters to the 'World's Best Relaxing Adagios'-buying crowd. In fact, I've heard the blush in the announcer's voice as he told us that 'Best Relaxing Classics' was included in one night's overnight programme.

Era-wise, the programming goes right through from the medieval to the 21st century. There's some jazz and world music (complained about recently in letters to the editor of the Listener) but not a whole lot, and what there is - although not my thing - is intelligently handled. There's a healthy proportion of New Zealand music, and good number of excellent locally-produced documentaries, as well as the crème de la crème of imported programming. Every Sunday at 3pm, there's an opera. Right now it's the current Met broadcast season, but we've had all sorts of things: a good dose of core repertoire, including New Zealand productions of Falstaff and L'elisir d'amore, but also plenty of unusual, unexpected pieces too. All in all, it's a very balanced diet, with no dumbing down, no crossover and some genuine challenges. I, of course, wouldn't say no to an utterly unbalanced diet of sopranos, but objectively speaking, it's very good indeed. And unlike KDFC, which Lisa Hirsch talks about (no vocal music, basically) there's definitely a fair share of everything: enough singing to keep me happy, plus plenty of string quartets, oboists, brass bands, baroque ensembles and everything else you could name (I'm told there was someone on the glass harp this morning!). There's always a 'Composer of the Week', often not an individual composer but a uniting theme which makes for some interesting daily programmes: 20th century French organists, musical settings of Faust, 'Songs without words' (not just Mendelssohn) and contemporaries of Mozart, to name just a very few. And did I mention it's 100% government funded? No ads - unless (ha ha) you count promos for classical music events.

I think I've taken this station for granted for too long. To think that I've complained because there weren't enough sopranos programmed that week, or because Lucia Popp would only appear twice during the month. True, the live opera situation here could do with some help, but it seems we've a lot to be grateful for in our radio station. Long may it continue.

Now listening to: Ruth Ann Swenson: Positively Golden. 'O beau pays de la Touraine'. Les Huguenots. Giacomo Meyerbeer.

Vive la France

I continue to adore my belle Française, the lovely Natalie Dessay. For the first time since Jennifer Larmore's one, I remembered to listen yesterday to the Thursday 'Appointment' on Concert FM - Thursdays are more or less always singers. Usually I don't listen to it: either because I forget, or because it's Jon Vickers. But I spotted Natalie's name in the programming listings several weeks ago and somehow I actually managed to retain the information, and listen to the show.

I do wish, though, that there was slightly less singing in these 'Appointments'. They're hour long interviews with Jon Tolansky, but in fact the interview probably amounts to only ten or fifteen minutes of the whole. Not that I mind forty five minutes of Natalie, naturally, but I can listen to a CD any time: what I'm really interested in is hearing Natalie speak. Because firstly, she's very interesting, and secondly, she has a wonderful French accent. (I'm a fool for a good accent.) Nevertheless, it was good fun. Jon Tolansky is an excellent interviewer, brief though those interviews are. He's also very very good at finding superlatives for the singers and the songs he introduces. Sometimes he spends longer praising the singer than he does asking them the next question and where sopranos are concerned, this is no bad thing. And Natalie emerged as what I already knew she was: an intelligent singer with a sense of humour and a Voice With A Capital V. I would very much like to see her Amina and to own her Lucie de Lammermoor. And I need the DVD of Ambroise Thomas' Hamlet: Ophelia's mad scene, which appears on both of Natalie's French Arias CDs is out-of-this-world gorgeous. Never heard such a spooky 'La la la la la la la la' before.

Other news: as hoped, I officially like Beverly Sills. The Very Best of Beverly Sills is a very cleverly chosen collection of arias and shows her off brilliantly. Most of it consists of the hits from various complete opera recordings; my favourite without question are the bits of La traviata, which are incredible. Her Rossini is likewise excellent, and makes me even more convinced that in the right hands, quibbles about Rossini being boring all but evaporate: she's about the cutest Rosina I've ever heard. And 'Dis-moi que je suis belle' from Thaïs, well... that poor priest.
The Essential Jessye Norman which I finally listened to tonight is another happy addition to the collection. Gorgeous in every track, be it Wagner, Bernstein, Strauss or Mozart. The Habanera from Carmen was naturally perfect; 'When I am laid in earth' from Dido and Aeneas and Strauss 'Wiegenlied' were other highlights for me.

And right now, I'm listening to the opera that started it all: Monteverdi's L'Orfeo. Yes, yes, Jacopo Peri, Dafne, I know but this is the first proper opera, and the first to survive, and who knows: without this one the art might have died aborning and then where would we all be? I started wanting this when I fell for Natalie but it took me until last week to buy it. By which time I was buying it as much on account of Emmanuelle Haïm as Natalie. A good thing, seeing as Natalie (as, appropriately enough, La Musica) sings for all of about 3 and 1/2 minutes. Never mind. There's a clutch of other singers, all sounding very nice so far; there's some magnificent music; and as I said, there's the fabulous Emmanuelle Haïm and her Concert d'Astrée, a downright edible period ensemble. And at this very moment, drums! Fabulous!

The wanderer returns

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

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

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

Patricia Wright.

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

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

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

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

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

L'orco dagli occhi verdi

Thanks to the frighteningly comprehensive site MetManiac, here's a list of the Met 2004-2005 broadcast season: it comprises 22 operas and begins with I Vespri Siciliani so I think we can safely assume that this is the series of operas Concert FM is lavishing upon us. Looking at the line-up, I think I can probably forgive any of their announcers for any of the below-mentioned atrocities... how could I hold a grudge against anyone who'll supply us with all of this. Included in the upcoming treats: Renée Fleming's - I mean Handel's - Rodelinda; Ruth Ann Swenson in La Bohème, along with Patricia Racette, who I've been interested in hearing for a while; Karita Mattila and Magdalena Kozena in Katya Kabanova (which by itself is unbearably exciting; Deborah Voight singing Wagner, Susan Graham's Octavian; Maria Guleghina, David Daniels, Peter Seiffert (Mr Lucia Popp II), Kurt Moll, Jose Cura, Barbara Frittoli, Dorothea Roeschmann, Salvatore Licitra, Roberto Alagna, Denyce Graves... and we're only just beginning.

I suppose the thing to do with all these wonderful pieces of Metropolitan glory is to try to forget that New York is full of people who either saw or had, in theory, the opportunity to see these operas performed live. And that New York is just the biggest, most star-studded example of a country where major (and not so major) cities have proper opera houses with grown-up sized seasons. You see? It's not just Europe we have to envy, not just Germany with an opera company (supposedly) in every village. I bit the bullet and paid for a year's subscription to The Opera Critic: but for my own mental health I have to ration my visits- spend too long and I find myself wallowing in pointless longing for performances already in the past. There's so much of it and none of it is here. Yes, we have a couple of proper opera companies. But they're limited to seasons which consist of three operas a year. Inconceivable to your average Met patron, i'm sure.

That's the plan, anyway: forget all this for a few hours every Sunday for the next 22 weeks and just enjoy what is there, rather than feeling frustrated by all the stuff that isn't. Besides, it's not as if this country is entirely devoid of operatic attractions. I mean, on the 29th of January, Dame Kiri Te Kanawa- one of the most important and adored sopranos to walk the earth- is giving her first piano recital in decades, in Christchurch. I'm certain there are fans worldwide who at that moment will feel towards Cantabrians what I feel towards New Yorkers and the Milanese most of the time. And it only costs about $100, which- considering who it is- is pretty reasonable. Although that's partly because all the more expensive tickets have sold out. I thought I might go. I've never been Kiri's most ardent admirer but she is Kiri. Patriotism is neither here nor there: I'd like to see any soprano of her stature, from anywhere in the world, if she was singing in Christchurch, regardless of my personal opinion of her: it's what you do in a country where, unlike other places, a 'choice' between upcoming operatic events doesn't exist.

Except that on this particular occasion, a choice does exist and I'm choosing against Kiri. Not for me the love of Bernard Levin's life- I'm going to Nelson for the Adam New Zealand Festival of Chamber Music, to see this:

Packed With Power

Bach-Arias for Soprano Oboe Violin and Continuo

Vaughan Williams-Blake Songs for Soprano and Oboe

Brahms-Viola Quintet in G Op.111

Bach-Brandenburg Concerto No.3

New Zealand String Quartet, Nobuko Imai - viola, Christoph Richter - cello, Robert Ingliss - oboe, Patricia Wright - soprano, Martin Jaenecke - violin, Victoria Jaenecke - viola, Douglas Mews - fortepiano, Euan Murdoch - cello

There's not much in this world I'd rather hear Patricia Wright singing than Bach. I mean, Patricia Wright singing anything would probably win out over Kiri's recital; the fact that it's Bach leaves me utterly powerless to resist. It's quite possible I'll just turn to mush in the Nelson Cathedral and never be heard from again, but that's a chance I'm willing to take. And besides, there's a reason for me to steel my nerves and survive the performance: she's singing Donna Anna with the NZ Opera in June and July. Patricia singing Mozart.. how could I ever have said those mean and sulky things about the state of opera in New Zealand? I won't take them back- but for a few hours in June I think I shall probably forget all about them.

Speaking of Mozart: Visions of Love. I'm still not entirely comfortable with the title, but it transpires that, after my initial course of Renée-reconsideration, her Mozart CD does a great deal more for me now than it did the first time I borrowed it. I more or less liked it then, with reservations. Now I'd like to eat it, I think. We could do without the 'creative' 'Deh vieni', some of the very highest notes aren't really quite there, and 'Ach ich fühl's' is taken at a ridiculously galloping pace. But guess what? I Don't Care. It's heartbreakingly, life-sustaingly gorgeous singing. I didn't appreciate that the first time I had this CD out: it all sounded like Renée Fleming, and I wasn't very good at listening to Renée Fleming them. But my recent efforts have changed that and now... this CD is indescribable. Wanting to love Renée has forced me to accustom myself to a new kind of sound, and to taking pleasure in different things- and the journey isn't over yet. But Visions of Love doesn't require any conscious effort or deliberacy on my part: its wondrousness is inescapable and I love it unreservedly.

Concert FM

I'll admit there are some very good things about Concert FM. They play a lot of interesting music, old standards beside new works, and they appear to have a healthy dislike of the 'classical music=soothing' assumption which can ruin things. And even better, from this weekend, the Sunday operas for the next 22 weeks are all to be selected from the current Met season. We're beginning with a Vepri siciliani, and they're going to broadcast (Renée devotees sart holding your breath now) the Rodelinda at some point too. So at this moment Concert FM is my friend. Sort of. There's still one big problem I have: the announcers.

I'm sure it can't just be me. Surely in other countries there are classical radio announcers who know what they're talking about? I would have thought that knowledge of the genre would at least be a little helpful. Not to say that they're totally ignorant, I don't want to accuse them of that. But on the other hand, they don't appear to know a whole lot- or particularly to care. Some are worse than others, but what almost all are guilty of is reading their script in such a way as makes it pretty obvious they don't know what they're saying. I've heard one of them introduce a string quartet with a little blurb about the structure of the piece and he could have been reading in Esperanto for all the sense it seemed to make to him. There are times when announcers read out in much the way I did in third form German: you know how the words sound but you've got not a clue what you're saying. Except they don't always know how the words sound. Now, I don't expect classical music radio announcers to go off and learn a dozen languages in order to pronounce people's names correctly; but on the other hand, I do expect people whose profession consists in such great part in reading words from foreign language to have some grounding in correct pronunciation. There are even guides out there on the internet with words spelt out sound by sound: I really wouldn't have thought it was that difficult. But apparently it is. They guess their way through their languages, seemingly believing that a generic quasi-European accent, coupled with English pronunciation, will suffice. It doesn't. Admittedly for the most part you know what they're saying, but sometimes the garbled mess that comes out truly is unintelligible. And even if they do manage to scrape through in the big three (French, German, Italian), things like Russian or Czech are generally given up on entirely- they just start at the first letter and make noise until they hit the last one.

(Edit: paragraph of somewhat unnecessary mean-spiritedness removed. Yes, it's censorship, but at least it's self-censorship.)

But the languages thing is, in part at least, just my own pet hate. There is a bigger problem. Mindless interviews. The others are guilty of this too. Thankfully, the station plays a lot of overseas programmes, where we can hear people from the States or Canada or the UK having intelligent conversations with composers and performers. Here though, it's a different story. And I'm sorry to say, it's Ms Wilson once again. I'm left speechless by her apparenty inability to process information, and can only put it down to the fact that she doesn't speak the same (musical) language as her subjects. It seems that every time I happen upon one of her interviews, she's having to be corrected by the subject themselves after misunderstanding the answers: taking for instance, a choir director's mention of the 'darker' tonal colour of European choirs as meaning that New Zealand choirs sang better and more clearly. Apparently there's no difference between sounds except 'good' and 'bad'. And I also remember her talking to a conductor who more or less had to conduct the interview himself, avoiding or ignoring her mindless questions in order to talk about interesting things; the woman had a chance to talk to an opera conductor about opera, and all she could manage was 'are New Zealanders as good at it as everyone else?' and stereotypical ideas about singers' egos. The conductor (I'm very sad to have forgotten his name, he was fascinating) clearly went totally over her head with his comment that 'difficult' singers were the best to work with "because they're perfectionists". I shouldn't target Charlotte exclusively though- I also remember one of the men talking to a couple of the sopranos from the Cosi which was on last year, apparently with very little knowledge of either that opera or opera singing in general: mostly they spoke and he said 'Mmm' and 'Yah'.

It shouldn't have to be like this. Wayne Mowat on National Radio hosts wonderful decade-based popular music shows and he really does know his stuff- or if he doesn't, he's gone and found out about it. That's the problem I think: the Concert FM announcers just seems to take the script they're given, read it, and leave it at that. I don't want to sound too evil about all this: after all, I do very much like this station, generally speaking, and (although personally I'd like lots more singing) their programming is for the most part intelligent and well-chosen. And these Met broadcasts coming up- which I'm accepting as the closest we'll ever come to just having the Met weekend broadcast on the radio live, like other countries- a certainly a welcome gift. I just hope like nothing on earth that they'll retain the between-acts commentary from the broadcast, and not replace it with more banalities. We shall just have to wait and see. In the meantime, if I have the energy, I'm going to experiment with some overseas classical radio stations online: see if the problem is more widespread than I thought.

But enough venom. I've been listening to Anna Moffo sing the Habanera from Carmen. My oh my oh my. Gorgeous and beautiful in fan-yourself kind of way. No wonder Don José got hooked... I'm surprised he didn't just die on the spot. Then again, the Don José in Anna's Carmen is Franco Corelli, so I don't suppose he does too badly in the swoon-inducing stakes either. It's frightening how good this woman sounds. How do I come only to own one solo CD of my favourite soprano- and that a slightly unusual one, Canteloube and Villa-Lobos? I need the 'Arias'. I need her Mozart CD. I need the one called 'Recital'. And I need them now. What a woman.

Quartet

Do you know, I think I might need to write a fan letter to Anthony Ritchie. Or else find an opportunity to throw myself at his feet with Wayne's World-type cries of 'I'm not worthy'. The man is a genius, pure and simple.

Yes, there is a reason for my outburst. I accidentally stumbled across his chamber opera Quartet this evening. Well, can I call it an accident? I saw it listed on the Concert FM schedule a week or two ago and made a mental note (also known as a guarantee I'll forget) to remember and listen to it. I forgot about it, naturally, but was reminded after the Sunday opera last weekend (a somewhat lacklustre L'elisir d'amore) and thought, yes, I really must remember to listen to that. So of course I proceeded to forget about it entirely. But arriving home tonight at half past nine-ish from my Italian lesson I decided I'd rather have Concert FM than Michael Palin being intrepid. I turned the radio on. Two thoughts struck me simultaneously: dear me, modern opera; and dear me, this is great. Seconds later, when I realised they were singing in English, everything flooded back to me and I knew that I was listening to Anthony Ritchie's Quartet. I can't tell you the triumph I felt: usually things conspire against me, but here I was, despite my hopeless memory, actually hearing it after all. And loving it. Not only wonderful music but excellent singers making sense of a fantastic and very very funny libretto. It was captivating and perfect and I was feeling dangerously pleased with myself. Dangerously? Yes. Because (I should have known) what I'd in fact managed to do was catch about the last 15 minutes. Just as I was getting seriously involved, bang, it was over. Needless to say, I am not a very happy chappy.

However, I'm happy at least that I did get to hear some of it. It truly was brilliant. The Arts Festival website has a good description, so I'll quote it here:
The Ithaca String Quartet begin their New Zealand tour on the beautiful West Coast, but although their performances radiate harmony and idealism, behind the scenes they are riven with greed, jealousy and backbiting.
Violinist Penelope is married to Julian, a budding composer, but she’s developing an unhealthy friendship with Buddy. Julian, meanwhile, is obsessed with the manic depressive Russian violinist Nadezdha, who can’t stand his pretentious compositions. As the stresses of touring increase, can the group keep it together for the tour’s finale – the Arts Festival? A remarkable collaboration between one of New Zealand’s leading composers and one of her major playwrights, Quartet is a delightfully anarchic comedy chamber opera that combines exquisitely crafted music with a wickedly witty libretto in a hilarious and memorable night out.
It's even better than it sounds, I think. Can I make that judgement, having heard so little? I think so. Wish I'd heard more. Wish I'd seen it. Anthony Ritchie is a Very Important Person.

One other thing before I go. I've prepared a little something, if you've the time/energy/inclination. I mentioned a few days ago the surreal DVD of Jean-Pierre Ponnelle's 1975 Carmina Burana. Well, in a very low-tech roundabout and no doubt not very legal way (dark living room + digital camera + pause button on remote) I've managed to put together a few photos of the production. And you can see them here. (Let me know if it doesn't work). Of course, this is but a taste: there's all sorts of other amazing/bizarre stuff too; really I think you could freeze absolutely any frame in the whole film and get some sort of weird image. Anyway, enjoy.

(Also, apologies if you're having trouble reading the blog, I'll get the colours sorted out soon I hope.)

I'm used to waking up of a morning to Concert FM. But this morning the experience was rather more special than usual. Instead of somebody's nine millionth piano concerto, or Armenian folk music, I woke up this morning to Renée Fleming in recital. How's that for luck? It was a lieder recital, and although admittedly I prefer Renée so far in operatic mode, it was still an excellent waking-up treat: songs by Marx (not the communist I gather), Rachmaninoff and Richard Strauss, with the gorgeous 'Marietta's Lied' from Korngold's Die Tote Stadt as an encore. There aren't many better ways I can imagine to spend the last morning of my holidays.

And things just got better, the longer I listened. After Renée has finished being wonderful, a programme called 'Pressing On' provided some Händel (the oratorio Saul) and some Nellie Melba (it's 100 years since her first recordings were made).

Then at 3 was the Sunday opera. Usually I forget about the Sunday opera, or I don't bother with it because none of my sopranos are in it, or something similarly inexcusable. But when I heard them saying who was in it, well, I could hardly refuse. I love a good coincidence, and today's opera, a New Zealand production of Verdi's Falstaff included as Meg Page none other than Carmel Carroll- the star of last night's post. And as if that weren't enough, Nanetta was Deborah Wai Kapohe, my absolute favourite New Zealand soprano. The Bardolfo was Brendon Mercer, who I've seen live three times now: in Die Fledermaus and Madama Butterfly (both here in Dunedin) and as a soloist in an all-Berlioz concert in Wellington. The rest of the cast, excepting Ford, Anne's jealous husband, was from New Zealand too. The only other name I recognized was Helen Medlyn, who was singing Mistress Quickly.

Falstaff, let it be said, is in no danger of overtaking La traviata as my favourite Verdi opera. But still, I enjoyed it. Knowing my tendency to let things fade into the background, I actually sat at the computer throughout the opera with the libretto in front of me. It hurt my eyes a little but it did help me to actually listen and concentrate. There don't really seem to be any arias as such in this opera. Sometimes one person sings by themselves for a while, but I still wouldn't call it an aria. This wasn't a problem, the music was still great and so was the singing, although there was the odd moment, especially for the soprano singing Anne Ford, that I realised how much better she might sound with a nice conventional chance to let her voice soar.

Carmel Carroll didn't disappoint me after last night's brief experience- she's very very good. But the star for me, as I knew she would be, was Deborah Wai Kapohe. Deborah has two singing careers: one in opera and one as a singer/songwriter. I absolutely and overwhelmingly prefer her in the former role; so even though she clearly likes doing both I tend, selfishly, to wish she would devote herself entirely to opera. It's not to be however, so I content myself with the fact that at least she does some. And she does it stunningly, beautifully well. Nanetta is such a small part she didn't really have time to steal the show, but she got as close as possible. Every moment she was singing, my spirits lifted: and the best line Nanetta gets, melodywise, which fortunately she sings three or four times- "Anzi rinnova come fa la luna"- was meltingly gorgeous. I can't say enough wonderful things about Deborah. There's a Kathleen Battle-ness to her voice, but with more depth or something to it as well. Hard to explain, but as you can see I'm a big fan.

In the end though, it was probably a good thing that Deborah was there to keep me listening properly. I liked the opera, but without her I probably would have lost energy halfway through and kept it playing while I did something else. Unfortunately not everyone was as compelling as Ms Wai Kapohe. Brendon Mercer seemed to me to be straining a little- I never quite felt that he was happy in his part; Nanetta's lover Fenton was rather unconvincing, something made clearer by Deborah's excellence; and Helen Medlyn was probably fabulous on stage (this, like all Concert FM Sunday operas, was a live recording) but the comic effects she added made her difficult to listen to at times: I think when I see something on stage, the most important thing really is that it's in some way compelling to watch; when all I'm doing is listening, the drama is important but I like to above all to be beautiful.

So the verdict? A very good performance of a very good opera, although nothing about it is likely to make any top ten lists any time soon. Except Deborah of course; if only Nanetta was a bigger role.

Cd du jour: Deborah Wai Kapohe:Canciones españolas. Unfortunately this is Deborah's only classical CD so far. I hope there are more to come, but for the time being this one will have to do. Luckily it's packed full of great stuff. And for most of it, she accompanies herself on guitar- she's not only a fabulous soprano, she's also an unbelievably good classical guitarist. Apparently there's no end to what this woman can do.

I've been debating for a while whether or not to recommend this little toy, but I think that really I should- so tonight I shall. Some out there no doubt know about it already, others perhaps don't. If you go to www.operadio.com and sign up (it's free) you can listen, via either the website or a downloadable player, to a 10 channel internet opera radio station. Sounds rather too wonderful to be true, doesn't it? Well, it is true. But there are some warnings I think need to be out there about Operadio.

It's a fabulous thing. When it's working, you can choose from Performance, Bel Canto, Oratorio, Archive, Romantic, Orchestral, Bach, Baroque, Interviews and Broadway. You can get the artist and CD information for every song you hear. Cecilia, Renée, Kiri, Maria, Angela, they're all here- everyone is, at some point.
But. There are some problems. For one, the website never seems to be updated, even though the playlists are.

When I was using the downloadable player (because until I starting using XP, the onsite one refused to work) there would be days, even weeks, when I couldn't connect. The advertisements (for Operadio) referred to video channels and something called 'linkshows' which I could never find any mention or sign of anywhere. The ads- but this has changed now I think- were significantly louder than the music: you'd turn the volume up for Edita Gruberova singing Norma then be deafened two minutes later by the woman promoting the station. Track information scrolled underneath, but sometimes referred to the wrong track, or disappeared altogether.

Things are much better, I've found, with the on-site player; but perhaps they've improved the other one as well now. Connection problems happen of course but they're a given with internet radio, and they're nowhere near as common. And sometimes the quality goes suddenly downhill, to an unlistenable extent.

So I've decided, in the end, that I do recommend Operadio. Perhaps not as 24 hour a day background music- the problems can be a little offputting. But as I'm typing this, the Bel Canto channel is playing Anna Moffo singing 'Ah tardai troppo'. So I really can't complain too much. Some singers (unfortunately not my Anna- this is the first time she's turned up)do seem to be a little over-represented. This isn't necessarily a bad thing- the crowd who turn up again and again are mostly the sorts of people you'd like to hear a lot of anyway. Only one more thing: the interview channel. I haven't been there in the last few weeks, but it does seem like they play the same 3 or 4 interviews endlessly. However, the site does mention new names in the station description now, but still it's possible that once you've heard all these, you'll want to stay away from the station for a while.

But if you get the chance to hear the Kyra Vayne interview there, stop and listen. The woman is unbelievable. Her last name should be spelt V-a-i-n. She was a Russian/English opera singer, reportedly fabulously talented, who made some recordings and then through various accidents of fate missed out on the sort of career she deserved. Then her recordings were discovered and re-released and she made up for her earlier bad luck in later life, recording again in her 80s. She's entertaining enough, and endearing in her own way- but she's also definitely one of her own biggest fans. No doubt she was very good; no doubt she didn't deserve to miss out on a career the way she did: but her own conviction of this fact can be a little hard to take. Her autobiography, A Voice Reborn, might be worth a look. I have it sitting somewhere. But one shouldn't be too unfair (or speak ill of the dead) so I'll make my disclaimer now: I've never once, not even for a moment, heard this woman sing. Perhaps I'll fall in love and forgive everything if I ever do.

CD du jour is an Elisabeth Schwarzkopf one released by Testament (I think). I don't know what it's called and I can't recall what's on it. I don't own it yet: but tomorrow when I finish my third and final exam for the semester, I'm walking straight into town and buying it as a reward.

The Weekend's Highlights

This may just be me, but I tend to feel that the highlights CD of any given opera should to a certain extent cover the main plot points. I realise that in the end the music is more important, really, than the story but nevertheless there is a story there and it seems a shame to forget about it. Highlights CDs are significantly cheaper than complete operas and so there are no doubt many people whose first experience of an opera on CD is through highlights. Thus the first impression they have of it comes this way, and I think it's nice if that first impression is an accurate(ish) one of the plot as well as the music. The title of this blog perhaps suggests otherwise but no matter. This all comes about because I just bought two days ago an EMI Red Line Don Giovanni highlights CD and it goes from the overture to Madamina, il catalogo e questo with nothing in between. This means we miss The first appearances of everyone except Zerlina and Masetto, the murder of the Commendatore, Donna Elvira's background: more or less all exposition in fact. After that the selection of highlights (which, to be fair, is never going to able to please everyone) makes a little more sense except for one thing: the Commendatore-as-statue makes not a single appearance. This CD comes from a complete recording but for some reason all the Commendatore's appearances have been left out. Bizarre.

I've also just listened, as planned, to Ruth Ann Swenson as Rosina in the Met Broadcast of Il Barbiere di Siviglia, which was rather lovely. When I became a fan of Ruth Ann a couple of years ago, I wouldn't have expected ever to hear her sing as a mezzo (she chooses not to sing Rosina as a soprano, which is an option) but I thought she was just wonderful. This was my fourth Barbiere- I have Jennifer Larmore and Cecilia Bartoli on highlights CDs and Cecilia also on DVD- and (as I've just made obvious) since my interest is mostly in the Rosina, not the boys, my attention was rather divided when she wasn't on stage. Nevertheless, a very nice performance- and apparently a funny one too. On radio, of course, there's no indication of the physical humour going on onstage, but there were quite a few laughs from the audience.

And finally, an idea I've just had. A 'CD du jour': whatever I'm besotted with or listening to or think ought to be promoted etc. So...

CD du jour: Endless Pleasure- Ruth Ann Swenson (Handel and Mozart Arias). The title is taken from an aria from Handel's Semele but, to make an entirely predictable and unoriginal comment, the CD truly is endlessly pleasurable.

Solved Mysteries

There are few things more satisfying, I think, than discovering what that mysterious bit of opera on the radio at 2 in the morning was. I listened to something the night before last for long enough to realise that it was some sort of opera spoof, à la P.D.Q. Bach perhaps, using the Pyramus and Thisbe story. It was certainly funny but at that time of night I didn't really have the attention span or the energy for it so I gave up in favour of Magdalena Kozena's Le belle immagini (Mozart, Gluck, Myslivecek) CD instead. But today I determined to find out just what on earth it was that was on the radio. Not, as I had thought possible, a recent work using existing Baroque music but in fact Pyramus and Thisbe: A Mock Opera by John Frederick Lampe who worked in Händel's orchestra in London and then became a composer himself.
The best synopsis I can find is that of 'a music fan' reviewing the CD on Amazon:

Pyramus & Thisbe is a musical parody on Italian opera, embedded into a spoken mini-play in which two English musicians are attempting to persuade their third colleague who had just returned from Italy that Britain has as much to offer by way of high brow entertainment as does Italy. The two advocates of home-grown opera thus present the haughty Italophile with the opera of their own creation. By the end the critic becomes persuaded; and the characters of the opera step out of their roles and express a wish that we, the audience, become persuaded too.

So that was an interesting little discovery to make.

However, I must say I don't regret turning it off for the ever-lovely Magdalena Kozena.

Local talent

Before the beginnings of my adventures today with buses and trams and trains (public transport not my forte) I listened to a semi-interesting recital on ABC Classic FM:

Teresa La Rocca, soprano
Peter Auty, tenor
Christopher Franklin, conductor
Recorded by ABC Classic FM in the Sydney Opera House Concert Hall last year

It was rather a hits-oriented recital: arias from Carmen, Traviata, Madama Butterfly, etc. I prefered the soprano to the tenor although I almost always would. I thought she made a very nice Violetta though her Butterfly took some getting used to. She also sang Ch'il bel sogno di Doretta from La Rondine. Now this was interesting. It's an aria I've heard over and over again- a favourite local soprano of mine (and, to tell the truth, a favourite of everyone in Dunedin who's heard her sing- and even some who haven't), who looks like being headed for major stardom, sang it in our national aria competition, the Mobil Song Quest and we've got it on a video which we watch rather frequently. Added to that I've also ended up with three different recordings of it: one by Montserrat Caballe, one by Kiri Te Kanawa, one by Renata Tebaldi. I've also heard it sung by another New Zealand soprano, the fabulous Deborah Wai Kapohe. Now my personal favourites have actually been the perfomances by Anna Leese (the Dunedin soprano) and Deborah, but all of the girls I've heard (including Teresa today) have done it beautifully. But the point I'm taking a long time to get to is that when you've heard something 20 or 30 times you know what to expect from the accompaniment as much as the singer. And at the risk of doing nothing more than parading my own lack of an ear for music- although the orchestra was the Sydney Symphony Orchestra, something in the piano introduction just seemed to go terribly wrong. And in fact all the accompaniment seemed off throughout- silence where I've never heard silence before, and in that silence (although this may have been coincidence) a strange tapping which matched the points where the note Teresa-as-Magda was sustaining changed. Rather unusual. Other than that there was nothing really to distinguish the concert. The second half was mostly instrumental, excepting a duet from West Side Story so I turned it off and went shopping.

My newfound adoration of Anna Moffo grows and grows..