Prima la musica, poi le parole

Television

In the wake of my longwinded praise of Magdalena Kozena I watched her again in Orphée et Eurydice yesterday afternoon. It had been a very long time since I'd seen it. I'd forgotten just how low the role sits, too low really for Magdalena - she's said so herself. Despite that she pulls it off with aplomb, not to mention the most insanely fabulous cadenza at the end of ... one of the arias which isn't "Che farò". I'm not exactly head over heels for the Robert Wilson staging but it doesn't bother me as much as it might some. Magdalena doesn't look overjoyed about all the twisty-turny choreography but, like the singing, she still manages to do it convincingly. Patricia Petibon is ideal casting (visually and vocally) as Amor.

Then this afternoon there was yet another Orfeo ed Euridice (in Italian this time) on the Arts Channel. I only caught half of it. Orfeo in leather jacket and light blue jeans. The lyre an electric guitar. Ahem. However, Jochen Kowalski was sounding pretty fantastic in the title role. A boy soprano is probably a more logical choice for Amor but I still prefer Patricia to the child in this one. However I didn't stay with it too long.

One encouraging aspect: subtitles. Many many operas screened on the Arts Channel come without subtitles and it drives me to distraction. Yes, alright, if I have an opera on DVD, I tend to turn the subtitles off once I've seen it once or twice. But most of the operas I watch on TV are operas I've not seen before and since I don't necessarily trust my Dictionary of Opera & Operetta, I'd like to know for sure what's happening. Besides, a synopsis only goes so far. It's nice to know, at least to begin with, exactly what's being said at a given moment. Essential in comedy in order to get the joke.

However the other opera screened on The Arts Channel had no subtitles. Rossini's Tancredi. In this case it was easy enough to cope. The aforementioned dictionary wasn't a great deal of help; but I've spent enough time lately in the embraces of Opera Rara that my bel canto Italian is pretty good and I could follow enough of what was being said to get by. After all, all anybody does in bel canto of this kind is disown their children or part tearfully from their lovers. One has the feeling a twenty or thirty word vocabulary is more than enough to be going on with.

Anyway, subtitles or no subtitles this was good fun. Very straightforward, traditional staging, lots of pretty costumes and stock gestures. And why not? Bernadette Manca di Nissa was swaggering and fabulous as Tancredi, handling both the sonorous depths and the fierce fioritura of the role with remarkable ease; a sort of Ewa Podles For Beginners perhaps. Argirio was the very impressive Raul Gimenez. Until now I'd only seen him as Don Ramiro to Cecilia's Angiolina in La Cenerentola. Argirio (the mandatory daughter-disowner) is a much larger and virtuosic kind of a role and he was more than equal to the task. Ildebrando D'Arcangelo (whom I'd adore for his name alone) was such an excellent Orbazzano I couldn't help but forgive him for his villainy. Villainy? Prevented from marrying Almenaida, he tries his best to have her executed for treason. Poor little Almenaida. Except that in this case I had no sympathy for her. Maria Bayo, from whom I expected much better, looks and sounds a whiny, malnourished Almenaida. She shares more chemistry with her father than her so-called lover. She has passages of beautiful singing but as soon as things start to go up high the voice thins out to an unpleasant degree. Even at her best she seems somehow afraid: of the music, of her voice, of singing in general. The audience thinks she's wonderful and so do the reviewers on Amazon. I actually have a couple of Maria Bayo CDs; I think her Chants d'Auvergne are delightful. Here though I was not at all happy. No matter: Bernadetta Manca di Nissa was alone worth the three hours spent with this opera. Particularly striking was the final scene, in which she managed about 15 minutes of sung death-throes while lying flat on her back. As luck would have it, I just last night ordered a House of Opera Semele which, if I'm not mistaken, features Bernadette as Juno. Not, of course, the reason I ordered this Semele (which, believe it or not, comes on audio cassette) but certainly another reason to look forward to it.

Non stop opera

TV last night.

Part 2 of Golden Voices on Film. I have this on video, though with a slightly different title, a different narrator and a couple of clips missing. However, it's some time since I've watched it. The contexts in which these films came into being make for some unusual viewing. Seeing Bob Hope introduce Kirsten Flagstad is, it has to be said, slightly odd. Charles Laughton introducing Renata and Jussi Björling is even odder. "As a man, I would hope to be as Jussi Björling sounds." Right. Still it's wonderful to have these performances preserved on film. Best of all is Joanie's description-defying "O beau pays de la Touraine". Did the woman ever breathe?

But then, Opera Easy: Don Giovanni. Now, in my post about An American Tragedy I said I'd never consider hitting a soprano with an oar. But I lied. Because Natalie Choquette, who hosts this abomination of a series, does in fact tempt me to physical violence. The patronising "let's demystify opera for you, you idiot" tone is truly horrifying. I mean, the "demystifying" is dodgy ground already, particularly as this show uses a one-question quiz (answer: Seville), an "interview" with Da Ponte (as 2005-style lech), painfully un-funny monologues by Choquette and almost no actual music to do the so-called "demystifying". But this revolting cocktail is such a hideous creation that it's not just bad opera-themed television, it's bad television full stop. And for all that, it might perhaps have been saved, had it had an appealing soprano at the helm. Natalie Choquette is not that soprano. I've heard her sing once before, in the five minutes of The Diva's Nightmare I was able to endure. There she plays a soprano who loses her voice halfway through "Let the bright seraphim". To which I say: Not A French Canadian Tragedy. (Though no doubt she gets it back in the end.) She apparently considers herself at once comedienne and diva supreme: but nothing she says in this Opera Easy is remotely funny and when she sings, it's only to murder a few bars of Zerlina's music. Take my advice: steer clear of Opera Easy, and if you do come near, do it in a row boat.

Relief, however, in the third show of the night, a delectable La Serva Padrona with Patrizia Biccirè and Donato di Stefano. No Serva Padrona, of course, can beat the black and white film with Anna Moffo, which is one of the most wonderful things ever, but this one surely came as close as is possible. I'd never heard of Patrizia Biccirè but obviously I should have. The whole performance was just gorgeous. Hilarious, and with beautiful singing from both performers.

And it's a good thing I was able to get such a fix of opera last night. Because after that I listened for the first time to A Bouquet of Melodies, Yvonne Kenny's 1995 disc of French song. And quite frankly I can see no reason why I should ever listen to anybody sing anything else ever 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.

Television

A nice little show yesterday afternoon, John Eliot Gardiner rehearsing a Bach cantata with the English Baroque Soloists. I like John Eliot Gardiner. Not as unreservedly as I adore William Christie but still, he does excellent things and it's fascinating to watch him at work. His work with the chorus especially, his attention to the significance and the nuances of the German text, details like the best pronunciation of the vowel in "quälen" or the shades of meaning in the various ways the word "Strahl" is set: meticulous but never pedantic, and the results he gets from the choir are immediately evident and strikingly effective. Particularly fascinating for me, however, was watching Sara Mingardo in action. Slightly strange, this. It seems hardly possible that such a voice is in fact produced by a mortal, by a flesh-and-blood woman. You sit and watch a singer, apparently like any other, simply doing her job, singing Bach. But the sound of it. She may be of this earth but her voice surely is not. And she finishes, and the world goes on, and John Eliot Gardiner says "beautiful" and everyone keeps working - and nobody stops to say: just a moment, where in the world did that come from? Except me.

Then tonight, Monteverdi. Il ritorno d'Ulisse in patria, from Glyndebourne, 1973. Featuring a cast of psychedelic Renaissance-Seventies-style suitors, Odysseus seemingly dressed as a teddy bear, a decidedly unheroic-looking Telemachus and in the midst of it all: the phenomenon that is Dame Janet Baker. Now, Janet Baker is a singer I've long admired but never entirely warmed to. Tonight, for once, the connection was made. Not only a glorious voice but a performance of near frightening intensity. As usual on the Arts Channel, no subtitles: but such power in her singing that even when I'd no idea what specifically she was saying, I felt beyond a shadow of a doubt that I had understood. She was surrounded by suitors dressed in ridiculous shades of pink and yellow and sporting outrageously hideous haircuts and she transcended it all, by turns terrifying and adorable. How any man could dare to continue his slimy advances after she declares her chastity - "Non voglio amar no no" - is quite beyond me. However perhaps best of all is the gradual and dignified ecstasy of the final scene, the reunion with Ulysses. In her singing and in her nuances of expression she reminds us that there is a world of difference between reunion after a short separation, and reunion after twenty years of hardship, uncertainty and hard-won chastity; to me she is a more convincing and more human Penelope than Homer's. Besides all of which, of course, she sings this music like nobody's business, and it burns.

Unmasked

A rather fascinating little film on the Arts Channel last night, Don Giovanni Unmasked, starring Dmitri Hvorostovksy and Dmitri Hvorostovsky. As Giovanni and Leporello. Which I'll concede sounded a little narcissistic to me in theory; but in practice, excellent. The film is a Barbara Willis Sweete creation: she of The Sorceress. But there's deeper thought gone into this one. It could have been a Dmitri Hvorostovsky vehicle - that's what I expected to be - but believe it or not, it isn't.

I doubt I can explain the concept of the film without making it seem hopelessly complicated. It's a film-within-a-film, set simultaneously in the 1930s and 17th century Spain. Death is the projectionist; Leporello hosts a black and white film of the Don's exploits which will apparently reveal his (Giovanni's) true identity. I know. But it's better and more comprehensible than it sounds. (And far better explained here.) Without getting too preposterously analytical and over the top, it really is a neat little exploration of Don Giovanni as a character, of the nature of Leporello's and Giovanni's complex relationship. 'Unmasked'? Well, he is and he isn't, and that's sort of the point.

Just as a film, I think it's extraordinarily effective; Barbara Willis Sweete and I seem to share a similarly flavoured fascination with the opera's dark ambiguities. Musically too it is stunning, the sort of Don Giovanni I dream of, and thus can only wish existed in a complete version (the film runs less than an hour.) I said it wasn't a Dmitri vehicle, and it isn't; yet it almost is because he's quite breathtaking, in both roles, differentiating them just enough but allowing the line between the two characters to be blurred as well. His Don is all one could wish for, commanding, but suave and even sweet when called for, his Leporello grave but still with that vicarious glee in his master's conquests. It is Don Giovanni who dominates proceedings, and so it is in that role that Dmitri's singing is its most thrilling: an irresistably silken 'Deh vieni alla finestra', 'Finch'han del vino' a perfectly articulated quasi mad-scene, and a truly terrifying dinner scene. Which brings me to the orchestra, the Canadian Opera Company Orchestra under Richard Bradford. There's nothing very giocoso going on here; Bradford's reading is as dark and tense as the film, and the result is taut, chilling and quite brilliant. I love hearing Don Giovanni like this. And I also loved seeing it like this.

Most of the hits (especially for Giovanni and Leporello) are here, but this is an independent creation, not just the film equivalent of a highlights disc, or a sort of potted Don Giovanni for the short of attention span - both of which it could have become. Neither is it as relentlessly serious and arty as I fear I may have made it sound. It's a smart concept, and it's nicely executed - visually, dramatically, and musically. Quite special.

The Sorceress

On Monday night we had Australia's darling; tonight New Zealand's. Our fabulous Kiri. New Zealanders have a terrible habit of clutching at straws for any possible 'New Zealand connection' to any kind of success or celebrity - a national inferiority complex. But it's obviously pointless because no national achievement could possibly outdo this one. Even though I realise she's not a national achievement. She's her own personal achievement, and she's wonderful. It's a shame, but it's true, that many New Zealanders don't quite realise that Kiri is as important to people in other countries as she is to them. They see "Kiwi girl done good" and don't necessarily know that she's excelled by anyone's standards. She hasn't just done well for a New Zealander, she's done well for a soprano and for an artist of any variety. But anyway: she was on TV tonight in The Sorceress. Surely the kind of film which I would concoct - though I might leave out the ballet. An hour of Handel, a slight attempt at a plot but mostly just an excuse to give Kiri the best arias from four or five different operas. She's Alcina, she has her eye on Ruggiero for a toyboy, Bradamante is haughty and awful. Yes, the characters from Alcina but not the plot: Alcina gets her boy in the end. And deserves him too because she's a sorceress, but evidently not an evil one. In fact she's warm and loving and sweet; and manages to be convincingly in love with that dancing Ruggiero, even though he's not allowed to touch anything but her coiffure and the tattoo behind her ear. Dignified always, and desperately beautiful. (Well you've seen her. She's gorgeous and apparently doesn't age.) But with a human touch. Her singing too is warm, joyful, affectionate and sincere. It's an exquisite voice to be lost in, and if I were the Ruggiero of this film she would need no spells or magic sceptre to keep me in her palace. I mean for heaven's sake, she's got Christopher Hogwood and the Academy of Ancient Music under the floor. Though I confess her Spirits of Darkness are a little disconcerting in their catsuits and Batman masks, reminding me of nothing so much as the leatherclad girls who dance with a whip-brandishing Lucille Ball in Ziegfeld Follies. The film, as a film, is not exactly great art. Often it's terribly silly. Kiri is exquisite in her snake-encrusted gown, the eighteenth century dresses are pretty, but the cavernous sets are awful. Kiri's magnetism surpasses anything else the film has to offer, in serious artistic terms, but it's terribly fun. Whoever devised this thing is my hero and I think all sopranos should be required to make a film like this. Oh Kiri, Kiri, Kiri.

P.S. Two new additions to the blogroll: Night After Night, and the Wellsung twins.

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.)

On screen

Three things I've seen recently - one at the movies and two on TV - are worth mentioning. Firstly a rather lovely French movie, Comme une image, whose title in English is the somewhat less subtle Look At Me. The plot in one sentence, from the NZ Film Festival website: "An insecure young Parisian opera singer struggles to escape the shadow of her superstar novelist father." So of course I went. As I say, an excellent movie. But more important, there's real singing in it. We see Lolita, the soprano, at her voice lessons, in rehearsal and in performance, and the music is gorgeous. What's better, it's authentic - the soprano who provides her voice is at the same level as the character, so she makes mistakes, she falters, and then she triumphs. The final concert, in a tiny French country church, is just beautiful. Highly recommended, see it if you can. And I think the actress playing Lolita bears a slight resemblance to Cecilia every now and then, but nobody agrees with me.

The Arts Channel hasn't had a great deal operatic to offer of late, but this week we have had two rather special shows. One, surprisingly enough, was Chamber Music: Puccini. I say surprising, because Chamber Music is, as much as anything else, a dance series - life and works of a composer interpreted by Les Boréades, a French-Canadian dance troupe. In between the dancing there are pieces of straigh documentary-style biography, but there's a lot of dance, really not my cup of tea. But since this one was Puccini, I figured we were almost guaranteed some sopranos, and I could just ignore the dancing. Which more or less is what I did. In earlier Chamber Music shows I could sort of see a point to all the choreography, even if it didn't appeal to me. But here it was just strange - unlike, say, a string quartet, a Puccini aria has a definite plot to it, because it has a text. So it was offputting, for instance, to see the whole of Mimi's and Rodolfo's first encounter taking place as a representation of just 'Mi chiamano Mimi' - doesn't make a great deal of sense. It seemed that if you were going to go to all this trouble, you might as well just act the scene, lip-synch it even - and in fact that's more or less what happened for the Tosca excerpt.

However, if the dance aspect didn't exactly win me over, the music absolutely did. I love Puccini anyway, but one can get a little jaded about his Greatest Soprano Hits. But this was different. It was those hits, but sung with piano accompaniment only. The effect was amazing, intensely personal, and revelatory. And the soprano, a Monique Pagé, was equally enchanting. Throughout the film I kept thinking, who is that? Having learnt her name, I'm still not a great deal the wiser, but I'd certainly like to hear more of her.

The other Arts Channel treat - another screening of the fabulous documentary Beyond Music: Montserrat Caballé. I've seen this three times now and each time, I'm spellbound. Great film-making and an even greater subject.  I wrote about this documentary back in January, the first time I saw it, and you know, I think I'll just copy and paste.

The Arts Channel just screened the most wonderful documentary, Caballé: Beyond Music. Somehow until tonight I was unaware how amazing this woman was and is: Norma, Fiordiligi, Sieglinde, Elisabeth in Don Carlo, the Verdi Requiem, duets with Freddie Mercury, Strauss lieder and apparently everything else as well. Much is made of Maria Callas' back-to-back Norma/Isolde performances but I'd no idea that Montserrat Caballé sang an even huger and more varied repertoire, with the added bonus of (don't kill me) sounding a darn sight better. She's also gorgeous, gracious, sweet and very funny. All I was expecting was tonight was one of those early-90s, English voice-over quick biography kinds of documentaries, which are fine. But this is a film from 2003, directed by her fabulous brother Carlos, who was largely responsible for his sister's success and seems to have just happened to discover José Carreras along the way. So the only narration is from Montserrat herself, in interviews and in conversation with Carlos. And everybody who's anybody shows up to add their two cents: Renée Fleming, Marilyn Horne, Cheryl Studer, Sam Ramey, Dame Joan Sutherland, her daughter (Monserrat Jr, who also sings), her adorable husband (she sang Butterfly and married her Pinkerton) and many many others. It's a wonderful film: there's no voiceover spelling out to us how successful and talented she is: it's just patently obvious. There's are excerpts from an amazing Norma, the adorable Barcelona concert with Freddie Mercury, Tosca, Roberto Devereux, masterclasses, everything. We see her visit her music school and pay tribute to her first teacher. She tells wonderful stories, as does her brother. And she sings. The world doesn't rave about those piannissimi for nothing. She's a gorgeous actress too. There's just nothing lacking- whether she's one of your personal favourites or not, there's no denying she's magnificent and destined forever to be unmatched.

I don't think there's anything much I can add to that. This is unquestionably one of the best singer documentaries I've seen. And worth watching for the Norma clip alone - an outdoors performance, sung in strong winds which, rather than being a problem, only add to the magic of it all - her robes and her hair trail out behind her, and you'd swear it was she who brought the wind with her. Quite incredible.

Artsville

Very interesting watching Artsville tonight: a behind-the-scenes at the Lexus Songquest documentary. The synopsis promised it would be 'warts and all' but there really wasn't very much trauma. After all, criticism from La Bumbry was part of the deal, and as in the public masterclasses, nothing she said (on camera at least) was unnecessarily harsh. Apparently she did say some rather scary things during singers' interviews with her - but even that was with the purpose of getting more out of them on the night. She's a tough woman, is Grace Ann, but she knows what she's doing. (Obviously.)

But the wondrous Grace aside, it was nice to see some of the singers as themselves. The documentary followed six semi-finalists, two of whom (Matt Landreth and Paloma Bruce) didn't make it to the finals, and four of whom did - Penelope Muir, Madeleine Pierard, Jamie Frater and Allison Cormack. Once we got to the finals, they also focused on Joanna Heslop, but strangely enough Robert Tucker barely appeared at all. I can only imagine - and hope - this was a decision on his part, not a directorial one. It was also a good chance to hear a couple of these singers again too. The clip of Paloma Bruce singing 'Donde lieta usci' sounded infinitely better than it did on radio - good to know - and I fell for Allison Cormack all over again. If she plays her cards right I really do think Allison has a shot at serious stardom. On the other hand I have to confess I was no more impressed by Joanna Heslop than I was on the night. I think there's a lot of potential, yes, but a lot of work to be done. Maybe that's just me.

So anyway, yes, an interesting if not particularly in-depth behind-the-scenes view. What I'd really like of course is something feature-length along the lines of Spellbound. Now that would be brilliant.

Rosenkavalier & Xerxes

Must get these reviews out of the way before I forget (or get distracted.)

The Sunday Met broadcast of Der Rosenkavalier was fantastic. As you guessed, perhaps, from my Strauss raptures the other night. Angela Denoke is unquestionably a Very Important Marschallin. Even sharing the limelight with Susan Graham, she shone. A beautiful pure sound, sensitivity to the music and the character; and the ability, even in the midst of that great billowing orchestra, to sing quietly and simply and nevertheless rivet the attention. Sometimes I thought she would simply disappear into the orchestra but she never ever did, and the tension was something quite special.

My heart, unlike Octavian's, never once belongs to anyone but die schöne Feldmarschallin. I have a soft spot for little Sophie, however, and Laura Aikin was very nice. I mean, she's no Lucia Popp but who is? Laura's Sophie was a sweetheart, and especially touching in Act Three. And her Octavian was a gorgeous Susan Graham. Seems Octavian is her operatic destiny, and she well and truly fulfilled it here. She lacked, perhaps, a little of that earnest enthusiasm which can be appealing in an Octavian but such singing: quite irresistible. Speaking of which: Peter Rose's Baron Ochs! Generally I don't much like Baron Ochs vocally any more than I do as a character. .But here he sounded so good I almost (gasp) liked him! I wasn't just sitting there thinking him unworthy to breathe the same air as the Marschallin - I was enjoying his singing. He's still awful, naturally, but I couldn't help forgiving him a little when he sounded like this.

Now, on to the English National Opera Xerxes which was on TV on Monday night. Interesting. Xerxes isn't exactly the pinnacle of Handel's operatic achievement, perhaps: but even average Handel is better than most things, and Xerxes is far from average. Anne Murray in the title role was spectacular. Things got off to a shaky start, with a train wreck of an 'Ombra mai fu' but she redeemed herself almost immediately and never looked back. She was captivating - about as convincingly male as Marlene in her tux, but no matter. If the opera had just been a three-hour one-travesti-show, that would have been just fine. Although there would be one significant drawback: the absence of Lesley Garrett. Yes, I can hardly believe I'm saying this of the Crossover Queen, but she was stunning. Why, Lesley? Why didn't you keep doing this? Why all the 'Soprano in Hollywood', 'Soprano Inspired', 'Soprano Dragging Horse Along the Beach' rubbish? Lesley's Atalanta was (apart from Anne) the star of the show. Gorgeous singing and phenomenal coloratura, plus a genuine sense of Handel singing which seemed to elude some others in the cast. Surely they must have watched her and thought "Oh! That's how it's done! I had no idea!". She truly was a delight. She was also adorably channelling the spirit of Debbie Reynolds in Two Weeks With Love - quite appropriate actually, given the plot of the movie (kid sister in love with blonde older sister's goofy boyfriend.)

I thought, though, that Atalanta should have ended up with Xerxes. In this production, anyway. Lesley and Anne were getting on so well together, and despite all her machinations, this Atalanta came across as a genuinely nice person. Besides, I'm sorry, but Amastris is pointless. I mean, it's nice to have yet another mezzo in this already soprano-friendly opera, but why is she there? If a reason does exist, Jean Rigby wasn't much help finding it. Nice enough voice but honestly, every time the vocal fireworks started up, she looked like she couldn't wait to be home in bed. Newsflash: no matter how twisted and florid that coloratura gets, you are still singing a word. Dear me. Even worse was Valerie Masterson's Romilda. What a mess. True, she was always going to be a problem for me, simply by virtue of Not Being Yvonne Kenny. The liner notes for Yvonne's Handel Arias include photos of her in this very production. So to begin with I was annoyed with Valerie for not sounding like Yvonne. But as time wore on I was just annoyed with her for not sounding like an opera singer. When shouts of "Sing properly" come involuntarily from my mouth, it really isn't a good sign. Sometimes I thought she was just going to lose it all together and give up. Perhaps she ought to have. Besides which, she was the most profoundly unlikeable Romilda you could imagine. Part of this, no doubt, was down to the director, and it's a reasonable angle. But she was even unpleasant during the parts evidently designed to soften her up: "Chi cede al furore" was bland and emotionless - no mean feat, given the fabulous music. When I think what Yvonne must have been like in this part...

But it was an excellent production nevertheless, thanks to Anne, Lesley, the stage director and the sets and costumes. I'd certainly watch it again. I might just nap during the Romilda parts.

And now, dilette amiche, I'm off to that distraction.