A Tale of Three Operas (In Two Acts)

Listening To – Il Trovatore (Domingo/Plowright/Giulini)
I recently travelled to The Met and attended performances of three operas – Die Walkure in Lepage’s new production, Capriccio and Il Trovatore. Lepage’s Die Walkure will follow in a subsequent entry but for now to Capriccio and Il Trovatore.
First, the respective casting:
Capriccio – Renee Fleming, Joseph Kaiser, Russell Braun, Peter Rose, Morten Frank Larsen & Sarah Connolly. Production – John Cox. Conductor – Andrew Litton.

Il Trovatore – Sondra Radvanovsky, Marcelo Alvarez, Dmitri Hvorostovsky, Dolora Zajick. Production – David McVicar. Conductor – Marco Armiliato.

On paper similarly strong casts. Yet in reality how differently they turned out.

Capriccio had a superlative cast and with the exception of Andrew Litton, none of them were part of the original 1998 production which featured Kiri Te Kanawa. Naturally Fleming is today’s consummate Strauss interpreter, and while in places she had a tendency to overact – something she seems to do increasingly these days – hers was an almost definitive performance, superbly supported by an incredibly strong ensemble. Of course there is Sarah Connolly, but the Flamand of Kaiser and Braun’s Olivier were vividly brought to life, beautifully sung and provided perfect foils to Rose’s La Roche. The main cast was completed by Frank Larsen’s dashing and beautifully voiced Count.

Everyone’s diction and sense of ensemble was perfect. It reminded me precisely what a gem Capriccio was – a beautifully balanced scored, full of the achingly beautiful lines of Strauss’ final years. The final scene was just ravishing.

The production was simple yet effective, transplanted to 1920s Paris without any sense of loss in terms of the specific 18th century references to Gluck and the Guerre des Bouffons. The three and half hour performance – without an interval – flew by. Before the audience knew it, Litton was launching into the orchestral prelude before the Countess’ final monologue.

Litton’s conducting – he is simply underrated in the UK – was fluid and revealed a deep understanding and love for the luminosity of Strauss final opera. The Met’s orchestra achieved a real sense of warm glow, with the wind skittering brightly throughout the score.

The standing ovation – so common at the Met where the audience gives standing ovations to every production – was richly deserved. This was almost superlative Strauss.

I am so glad that I caught this – the final – performance. And one thing suddenly crossed my mind during the performance. Perhaps she chooses neither Flamand or Olivier. She ardently defends La Roche and subsequently commissions an opera for him to direct. Now La Roche is always portrayed as an older, slightly rotund figure. Almost a cultured Baron Ochs. Now what’s to say that in fact he isn’t Madeleine’s choice, bringing words and music together with his own skills of producer/director. And it is meant to be the 18th century when women married men older than themselves. Now that would make for an interesting denouement!

Unfortunately the same cannot be said of Il Trovatore. This was my first ever production of this opera. It was at the Met. What could possibly go wrong?

It was obviously conceit on the Met’s part, and perhaps a fear of not shifting tickets for a commonly performed opera, that led them to cast the original quartet of principals.

In 2009 all four were probably – I imagine – at their peak and all are renowned Verdi performers. Sadly this just wasn’t the case on the evening I attended. From the start things went awry. In the opening scene Stefan Kocan’s Ferrando lagged behind the conductor, and Radvanovsky disappointed from the start. I have her singing Tacea la notte on CD and while I realise that a studio recording is vastly different from a performance on stage, at the Met her voice was unresponsive, bland and – dare I say it – forced to the point of being more suited to steering ships through the fog. Hvorostovsky fared no better. Il balen del suo sorriso was almost painful as he struggled to sing sotto voce and failed. His conceit at holding the final note – with no finesse – simply added insult to injury.

And Ms Zajick was simply a disaster. Her voice has seen better days and now her soprano is simply ravaged. Tonally it was all over the place, there was no sense of line and simply a desperation to get to the end, which the audience obviously took for passionate interpretation.

Poor Alvarez. Lumbered with such weak colleagues he too failed to shine. The end of the Second Act, combined with terrible ham acting, was almost the nadir.

Yet the final nail in the coffin was Armiliato’s completely lacklustre conducting. Uninspired. Dull. And simply failing to find the colours, sense of breadth or rhythm that Verdi so beautifully crafted into the score.

A shame as two things almost saved the evening for me. First the chorus provided the only sense of musicality on the stage. And McVicar’s production, inspired by Goya, was suitably brooding. As I said, almost saved the evening. It is an inexcusable conceit to cast as clumsily – or greedily – as this. There are other – and better – performers who should have had the opportunity to perform this production.

Strangely the audience seemed to love it and especially the principals. Clapping rapturously after every number even when it was clear – as in the case if Ms Zajick- that she had simply failed to hit the right notes, at the right volume or make any attempt to clear enunciate her words. As I mentioned above, the Met audience – or at least the Met’s Verdi audience – seem to think it is necessary to go wild for anything and everyone.

It was all I could do to get back to my hotel and immediately listen Domingo and Plowright under Giulini’s admirable baton.

Now that’s Il Trovatore as it should be performed.

Verdi’s Otello – A Fitting Farewell

Beethoven – Symphony No. 4, Karajan (1977)

Saturday – This evening I am seeing Verdi’s Otello at Bridgewater Hall. The cast is Clifton Forbis in the title role, Barbara Frittoli is his Desdemona and Lado Ataneli is Iago. The conductor is Noseda. I am not a huge Verdi fan. Simon Boccanegra is my favourite and I am seeing the new production at ENO late this year. I am hoping that it isn’t the dog’s dinner that they made of Il Ritorno d’Ulisse. But who knows?

Apart from Simon Boccanegra, Don Carlos, Otello and La Traviata are the only other Verdi operas that I would choose to see. It somewhat surprises me that I enjoy Simon Boccanegra so much. It doesn’t have a dominant soprano role like La Traviata so perhaps it’s the sense of tragedy, like Otello and Don Carlo, that appeals.

Anyway, back to Otello. For me it has one of the most thrilling openings of any opera. That huge wall of sound from the orchestra and chorus. Reminds me of the his Requiem. And of course the wonderful duet at the end of the First Act, Iago’s chilling Credo and Desdemona’s beautiful scene before the final denouement. And of course, in this opera more than the others, Verdi shows himself to be a master of orchestration. The orchestra during Desdemona’s scene, and around that single phrase, “un bacio” are genius.

I haven’t heard any of the performers before although I do have Frittoli on CD. And while I have heard of Frittoli and Clifton Forbis, Ataneli will be new to me so I look forward to that. Noseda I have heard before and enjoy his conducting of orchestral music. This will be his ‘opera first’ for me. It should be interesting.

Next week I am off to The Met for Die Walkure with Deborah Voigt – twice if you can believe it, Renee Fleming in Capriccio and a performance of Il Trovatore, a first performance completely. Last time I travelled to The Met to see Voigt in Tristan und Isolde, she cancelled. So, fingers crossed!

Anyway, back to tonight’s performance. It’s a concert performance which, as you would expect, is a different experience altogether. For me it’s slightly purer. Don’t get me wrong, I love staged productions, but concert performances are more focused. I remember a Elektra at the Barbican with Jean-Michele Charbonnet in the lead, Felicity Palmer as Clytemnestra and Gergiev conducting. It was mesmerising and completely exhausting. She was thrilling to listen to and watch, Palmer magnificent and Gergiev’s conducting electric, if you will pardon the pun. Charbonnet’s voice isn’t exactly beautiful and she didn’t always have the heft for the role, but she had me from the very start.

Last year I saw a concert performance of Otello with simon O’Neill, Gerald Finley and Anne Schwanewilms at the Barbican. Finley, a complete revelation in the role, stole the evening. I was surprised with Schwanewilms. I’ve seen her in a Strauss – Ariadne auf Naxos and Elektra – so was intrigued to hear her Desdamona. I wasn’t disappointed but neither was I amazed. More Strauss please!

Enough for now. More post performance.

Sondra Rodvanovsky, Verdi Arias
Sunday – It was a great night. First and foremost the night was Noseda’s. He drew magnificent, supple and intelligent playing from the BBC Philharmonic. The end was, as you would expect for his final performance with the orchestra as Chief Conductor, emotionally charged. But undoubtedly he is an ‘opera’ conductor, as comfortable in orchestral repertoire as he seems in opera. Or Verdi at least, as I have notheard him conduct any other opera. But he was recently at The Met and is also associated with Turin. I will be making an effort to see him conduct more opera.

From the opening bars, he kept a close rein on the orchestra, allowing it to shine but never overpower the singers. The strings had a sheen and warmth to them that is rarely heard in a British orchestra. The brass, bar some awkward timing issues in the Third Act, were bright, and the wind playing was exemplary. The opening of the Act Four was beautifully done.

As far as the singers, the night was stolen by Ataneli and Frittoli. As I mentioned I hadn’t heard of Lado Ataneli before last night. His Iago was on a par with Finlay’s. He has a rich, even tone which easily carried above the orchestra for the most part. With an orchestra in the pit he would easily sail above it. His Credo was chilling, and his sense of ensemble was intelligent.

Frittoli performed an intelligent, sensitive Desdemona. She certainly has the heft for the role and again roseabove the orchestra and her other colleagues when required. Yet she also spun the most beautiful portamento for the most part, floating to top notes with great ease and discipline and displaying a real sense of phrasing. A small gripe? In the Ave Maria she was slightly too literal in her first rising phrase. But a small gripe in an otherwise beautifully felt and delivered performance.

Unfortunately, Cifton Forbis was a disappointment. He was, from the start, clearly struggling with the role. But what struck me was Noseda’s sensitive and intelligent support. If I think back to Dresden, where the hapless Tristan of Leonid Zakhozhaev was simply drowned out, Noseda steered the orchestra around Forbis. However based on last night’s performance I had to wonder, as I did with Schwanewilms’ Desdemona, whether the role suited. From his biography I see he is also a Wagnerian – do the two sit comfortably together I wonder? There were some moments of great insight but for most of the time he struggled and, I am afraid to say, delivered for me at least, a bland and insensitive performance.

Otello is very much a show shared between Iago and Desdemona. The other roles were well performed well – particularly the Cassio of ??? – and again there was a real sense of ensemble.

But at the end of the performance, to quote Noseda himself, the night “belonged to Verdi”.

Almost Perfect Wagner

Listening to – The Valkyrie, Goodall.

Every so often along comes a production where the performances, conducting, production and direction all come together almost perfectly. Die Walkure in Hamburg was just one such occasion. What was more, having seen their production of Götterdämmerung last year which had struggled in places, the success of Die Walkure was all the more satisfying.

First the cast. Although the production boasted Angela Denoke as Sieglinde and Katarina Dalayman as Brunnhilde, the cast as a whole was incredibly strong. Falk Struckman’s Wotan was an incredible presence. His diction – even for a non-German speaker such as myself – seemed incredibly clear and his voice was strong through every register. Admittedly he did crack on a few top notes, yet it made little difference as overall his musicality dominated. Never for have I been so enthralled by Fricka as I was in this production. I had never heard of Lilli Paasikivi before arriving in Hamburg and admittedly the scene between Wotan and his wife in the Second Act often leaves me impatiently waiting for it to end. But on this occasion I was completely enthralled. Paasikivi is an incredible artist. Vocally she has a rich, characterful mezzo and her interpretation of the role was invested with the right balance of vengeful wife and vainglorious goddess. Even her silent appearance at the end of the Act carried great weight – a real sense of judgement achieved and a wife satisfied. She is a mezzo I shall be following with great interest from now on. The Valkyrie – as a group – are a difficult bunch to cast I would imagine. The individual roles are tough vocally and Wagner clearly gives each of them a distinct character. On stage this often means that they don’t sing completely well as an ensemble and their acting is wooden. They come across as individuals only, vying for vocal attention rather than – it often seems to me – listening to one another when the music dictates it. Not so here. As soloists they shone when required but when the ensemble was demanded they melded their voices. And as with every other member of the cast, their diction was clarion-clear. The role of Hunding was well observed by Alexander Tsymbalyuk With just the right balance of menace and cruelty. It’s a thuggish role musically and was well performed. He even managed to convey the ‘whining’ at the close of the Second Act before Wotan dispenses with him. Christian Franz’s Siegmund – who was announced as indisposed before the opera started – in fact performed incredibly well. I would imagine that on a good day his tenor is bright and clear. On the night he vacillated between caution and then recklessness, but his phrasing was particularly fine and particularly in the second Act his rose to the challenge. Shame he wasn’t Siegfried in last year’s Götterdämmerung.

And of course, both Denoke and Dalayman were superb. I have seen both in other roles, most notably as Salome and Isolde respectively. On the evening Denoke had the slight edge but it was close. She is an intuitive and incredibly talented artist. Her voice cut through the orchestra, riding above the rich orchestration when required but equally delivering the purest sotto voce when needed. And her acting was simply brilliant. Over the course of two acts she went from broken women to lover to widow to heroine so convincingly that her final departure was almost too unbearable to watch. Naturally the audience loved her. From her first entry, Dalayman’s Brunnhilde was vocally to be reckoned with. She has the heft for the role but also the ability to float her voice. Again her performance in the Second Act helped me invest more attention than in the past, and she was superlative in the closing scenes. Occasionally she over-compensated vocally but only on few occasions. Alongside Nina Stemme she must be one of the leading Brunnhilde’s on the stage at the moment.

Simone Young was simply masterful. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it until I returned home and listened to Goodall’s The Valkyrie. Immediately there was a connection between the two. Ms Young drew such a glorious sound from the orchestra. The opening, always a thrilling moment, was both dripping with menace as well as propelled forward by a real sense of desperation. The brass throughout were particularly fine and her handling of the closing scenes demonstrated a deep love of the score. Leb wohl was a heart-stopping moment.

But the biggest surprise for someone like me who has a love-hate relationship with Personnregie was the directing and set design by Claus Gruth, Chrstian Schmidt and Michael Bauer. First the directing. It was clear from the beginning that a great deal of thought and work had been done here. Often with Personnregie actions are performed merely – it seems – to fill space. Not so here. Each action was invested with meaning. The characters really did ‘live’ their roles. The stillness created in the opening scenes was almost suffocating. There was action only when it was required and with the minimum fuss or excessive display. Three moments particularly stuck in my mind. First, in his return, Hunding’s disdain for his wife when he realises not that she has drunk his beer, but rather than she has used his tankard. Secondly when Brunnhilde washes her face like an errant child before being sent to bed early as punishment and finally, once Wotan has consigned her to sleep, he picks up her boots and looks at them, smiles and shrugs, as if reminiscing over a private yet happy memory.

Similarly the stage design was simple yet nuanced. The opening scene at first seemed like it was being performed on an all-white disco dance floor. A single door moved around the stage with a small kitchenette and table and chairs set at opposite ends of the floor. By simply moving the door, the director managed to convey a real sense of Hunding’s home without being intrusive or distracting. When Siegmund and Sieglinde ‘stepped outside’ as it were, you really believed it. I wondered how they were going to ‘reveal’ the sword. Simple. Wotan – who from the start was seen to manipulate the characters on stage, simply placed it in situ. With the opening of the Second Act, the set that preceded it became clear. Now we were in Wotan’s studio. Along the walls were architectural models – including the set of Götterdämmerung – and propped up against the wall a model of the world, partially covered in bubble wrap. Nice touch. But on the table was a light-box with a model, complete with figures, of the First Act. As Fricka and Wotan argued they moved the figurines around before finally tumbling the set over. Brilliant.

The Third Act was the weakest of the three but didn’t detract from the overall production at all. Set in what seemed to me to be a run-down orphanage, the curtain rose on the Walkure as errant children pushing the bunk beds around the room. And not one of them vocally faltered. Form the final dialogue the room was cleared, with Wotan nicely giving one of the beds a helpful kick off-stage. Now the lighting director came into his own. The starkness of the room allowed for the intelligent use of light and shade and the space was convincingly used by the two protagonists. Even Loge’s fire at the end was subtly done.

So all in all as near perfect production of Die Walkure as I have seen. Comparable, if not stronger than Zambello’s production in San Francisco. But I will revisit that when I seen The Ring there later this summer.

So of course this begs the question, why don’t we see productions like this in London? For 60€ I saw a production that was incredibly intelligent and superbly performed. Not a week before I left ENO’s dreadful production of Ulisse in the interval. As I said above, I don’t mind Personnregie but Ulisse was a poor man’s interpretation and vocally sub-standard. It communicated none of the finesse of Montrverdi’s magnificent music but instead dreadfully affected and falsely strained.

Perhaps when Kasper Holten arrives at Covent Garden we will see more European sensibility adopted. Perhaps ENO will find it’s mojo again soon. Until then my money and time goes to Europe.

Now back to Goodall.

A Matter Of Choice

Listening to – Rodelinda (Il Complesso Barocco)

I recently attended two performances where – at the last minute – there were changes in the line of principals. Now I am not naive enough to think that this is not an occasional hazard for ensembles and that they make every effort to find suitable replacements. Yet the two performances I attended show how very different the experience can be.

First of all let it be said that in both cases the replacement artists were – we were clearly informed – both well-known in the respective roles themselves.

In the first instance the stand-in was in every way, superlative. I do not only mean in terms of the actual performance itself, but the fact that in her interpretation she did not in any way attempt to emulate the stylistic mannerisms of the performer that she replaced and which sometimes the audience expects. She very much made the character and the performance her own and this made for an unforgettable experience.

The second experience was not so enjoyable. It was hard to believe that the tenor in question had in fact performed the role in it’s entirety before. Of which more anon.

So back to the first performance. Alcina with Les Musiciens du Louvre. Anja Harteros was to perform the title role – for which she had already been lauded by critics. However she was unable to perform in London – the cold weather was blamed. Disappointing as it potentially was, she was replaced by Inga Kalna and I admit that she was not a soprano I was acquainted with. The slip note informed us that Ms Kalna had not only performed the role before in Europe, but had performed this specific role with Minkowski and Les Musiciens in Grenoble, their home town. So on paper at least she had form. And in performance she did not disappoint. Hers was an interpretation that was obviously built on experience, and while she did not deliver the vocal fireworks that I – as well as many people no doubt expected from Ms Harteros – was expecting, she provided vocal fireworks aplenty of her own. Her Ah! Il Mio Cor was not only heart-rendingly beautiful, but delivered with a real sense of musical pathos. My only gripe was that perhaps Minkowski took it a tad too fast. But overall Ms Kalna created her own Alcina – rich in both interpretation and character – which enabled the rest of the cast to reach their own musical and emotional peaks.

One small aside before I move on. Vessalina Kassarova. Despite what some critics wrote, she was superb and I feel that this was in no small way a result of Ms Kalna’s performance. Indeed her performance as Ruggiero led me to listen again to her CD of Handel arias with renewed interest – and taught me (again!) – never to take a critic’s opinion at face value.

And so to Tristan und Isolde. Now I am the first to acknowledge that this opera presents – even when the cast does not change at all – significant challenges. The original cast was meant to be American tenor Stephen Gould in the title role, with Katarina Dalayman as his Isolde. Unfortunately Gould was replaced by Kirov tenor Leonid Zakhozhaev. A quick glance at his homepage and nothing would seem amiss. Plenty of references to his perfect German diction and in fact, one glowing review of his performance of Tristan. As I have already said, this blog is about my personal experiences and opinions, but on this occasion I do not think I was far off the mark. I am sure that in some repertoire Zakhozhaev is an exceptional performer. Needless to say I would imagine he excels in Russian repertoire and indeed in most other tenor roles. But not as Tristan. I admit that some external factors need to be considered. He was dropped in cold into a production that he did not know. But the production was not challenging. For once, and with some relief on my part, it did not display the usual affections of Personregie that you sometimes see in German productions (Because it was a co-production with Montpellier perhaps?) and was pretty much static. Clearly the direction was just a little north of ‘stand and deliver’ but Zakhozhaev made this seem even more wooden.

So to his actual singing. Tristan requires a tenor that not only has the notes and the ‘heft’, but also one that that sing in shades of colour and delicacy. Heppner had this once and occasionally it still gleams through. Zakhozhaev struggled from the beginning. Singing at one volume, in one flat tone even his German – to a non-German like me – sounded strained, with his diction almost non-existent. His struggle was clear from his first appearance and his struggle at the end of Act I did not bode well for Act II. And he didn’t disappoint. The duet was long and arduous – for the audience. And there was clearly no ‘frisson’ between Zakhozhaev and Dalayman and even she gave up trying to lead him on stage. Needless to say the final Act was a disaster. Within minutes of his monologue I was myself praying that Isolde’s ship would come earlier and cut short both his and the audience’s agony.

I know that when a principal cancels at short notice it can be difficult to find a replacement. However I remember most recently when Christian Gerhaher was delayed en route for Tannhauser, the understudy more than ably performed until his arrival. Indeed much as I was thrilled by Gerhaher’s arrival in time for the final act, I did feel somewhat sorry for the understudy who so valiantly and rather brilliantly took on the mantle at short notice.

On this occasion I cannot believe that Zakhozhaev – all the way from St Petersburg – was the best option. Perhaps I am wrong but surely in the whole of Germany or indeed Northern Europe a more suitable Tristan could have been found than the lacklustre and troubled Zakhozhaev? Even if that meant – as at Covent Garden and Tannhauser – the replacement sang from the side of the stage while someone else acted the role.

Katarina Dalayman was an impressive Isolde. She certainly has the heft for the role but perhaps because of Zakhozhaev she was not at her best. The Liebestod – while moving and a worthy intepretation – was ‘of a single volume’ with little subtlety, and therefore any sense of a ‘blissful’ state was hard to muster or convey. However again this could be down to her Tristan.

A small word for Liang Li as King Mark. He made this small yet vital role come alive. His Act II monologue was palpable with regal disappointment and betrayal.

The production was interesting and, as I have said, pretty much devoid of the usual affectations prevalent in most Personregie – such as making tea or breakfast. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes – as in Loy’s Tristan und Isolde – subtle and well-placed direction adds great value and insight, but more often than not I find the discipline of Personregie sinks to the banal and a desire to fill the music with action. I won’t try to understand the ‘Samurai’ lilt to the production, but not too much was made of this. I did admire the inference that Isolde was trapped in her own mind that the bare walls of Act I produced and the second Act was beautifully conceived in terms of portraying the ‘endless night’.

And finally to Asher Fisch. I admire and enjoy his conducting of The Ring and in Tristan und Isolde he did not disappoint. He found the ‘chamber’ element in the orchestration and for the most part succeeded in finding the balance between the singers and the orchestra.

Apart from when Zakhozhaev was singing and at thus points – particularly when the tenor was exposed or alone – he ramped up the orchestral sound.

Confidence in his Tristan? I think not.

Enough said.

Goldberg Variations (Gould)

I thought i would give WordPress a go so this is an original blog entry from blogspot …

First of all please note that this is a blog. These are personal views. A mental meander through my own thoughts on music. Not based on a career as a critic but on a passion for classical music and a fundamental but I would hope thorough education many years ago in the subject.

This is a place where I will publish my own thoughts. I don’t always agree with what other people say and I definitely don’t expect people to agree with what I think about classical music, specific performances or performers. However I hope that if this is read then people will feel that they can start a discussion and share their own thoughts.

So why? I don’t profess to be an academic. I don’t profess that anyone will read this. I admit that all blogs are vanity projects and anyone who tells you otherwise is a liar. There is a side to me that wants to see if I can generate debate. Perhaps I will. Perhaps this will fall flat on its face. Although that would be impossible for a blog. Rather perhaps it will dissipate after a few entries. Either when I not longer feel compelled. Or I simply get bored. Who knows but perhaps bear with me for now.

So were to begin? Perhaps with the genres of music I enjoy. Then at least you can decide if you wish to read any further.

I enjoy all classical music. While that is a sweeping generalisation, it is simply true. I can and do sit through a lot of music. Some in performance, some on radio and some on DVD. But while I listen to a wide range of genres and styles that doesn’t mean that I enjoy it all.

What I particularly love is vocal music – opera in particular – and orchestral music. To hone this down even further I prefer the music of Richard Wagner, Richard Strauss, Handel and Mozart when it comes to opera and vocal music, but do also enjoy forays into the works of lesser known operatic composers. In terms of orchestral music, Richard Strauss again features as do Mozart and Handel, but the Bachs feature heavily as do Beethoven, Mahler and Haydn. And with regards choral music, JS Bach is right up there with of course the great choral moments in Mahler – religious experiences in a sense – together with the great polyphonists.

But if I look at my iPod I have Korngold – perhaps not so surprising considering my love of Strauss – but also Bruckner, Couperin, Chausson, Gretry, Hartmann, Lebrun, Lorenzo Palermo, Lully, Messiaen, Porpora, Rossini, Schmidt and Suk to name a few. But each can draw a line back to my first list in some way.

And naturally some composers I have come to later than others. A good friend of mine – who sadly died a few years ago and with whom I enjoyed many memorable concerts – once said that as you grew older the appreciation accorded to composers changed with life experience. It is something that I have heard on countless occasions but always as a sense of moving inexorably forward and discarding composers in your wake. He taught me how to listen to new composers – or should I say ‘other composers’ – through the prism of those I already loved and admired. It’s how I came to appreciate Mahler – a composer I had for so long struggled with. And more importantly it meant I never lost my love for other composers.

So it surprises me that as I write my first entry I am in fact listening to Bach’s Goldberg Variations. My intention is to note what I am listening to at the top of each entry. So having written that my primary passions are opera, vocal and orchestral music, here I sit writing this while listening to the complete opposite. Music for solo keyboard. I think perhaps that this blog will be full of these contradictions but on the whole chamber music – as I call it – generally leaves me cold.

So why Glenn Gould’s performance of the Variations. And does it matter that it is the 1955 recording. Does that make me a snob in some way? No. But simply I sat down to write after I had selected this piece of music. I love the beautiful simplicity of his performance. Many years ago, my piano teacher said to me that the secret of a great performance was that the listener should feel that he could walk to the stage and feel that he or she could perform the same piece of music. Not necessarily to the same artistic standard, but feel inspired to give it a go.

Now I know that I cannot play to the standard of Gould but his performance makes me want to ‘get inside’ the music and the only way I know how would be to sit at a piano and bang away. Not with the aim to recreate perfectly the sense of balance and finesse that he brings to this beautiful piece of music, but rather to discover and enjoy my own sense of musicianship and interpretation that his performance compels me to find.

Does that make me strange? Does anyone else ever feel the same compulsion?

So Gould compels me to leap to a piano. I would if I had one so instead I feel compelled to leap to this alternate keyboard! Another thing – often when listening to the Goldberg Variations I stop every four or five and return to the original Aria. This is something I started doing only recently. Why? It isn’t like Bach does not ensure that the Aria is recognisable even in the most complicated or abstract or the thirty-two variations. But after three or four variations I feel the need to once against marvel at the shear simplicity of the opening Aria. I cannot think that there is a single piece of music apart from this Aria where the simplicity of the opening few bars is so starkly beautiful that is takes one’s breath away. And then evolves into veritable avalanche of music thought.

And at the very end. A return to the original Aria. Beautiful.

So there you have it. My first entry. I had thought that I would wax lyrical about Wagner or Strauss. Or perhaps even Handel. But there you have it. I said there would be contradiction and there it is. In my first entry.

But what a beautiful contradiction it is.

Thank you.