Prima la musica, poi le parole

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?