As I sat watching the evil machinations of Ledger's Joker, I couldn't help constantly remembering that he was dead. It tinged the viewing with a sadness and regret for the actor he may have become, and dismay that there would be no happy, clean-faced post-Batman interview to reassure us that he was not the miserable psychopath he appeared to be on screen. It is an uncanny performance. With the make-up, it is hard to believe it is Ledger at all. It's "just" a movie, and yet he seems so committed to the role I wonder if he didn't lose himself in it. Indeed, I was depressed by the tricky crimes and the murder and the angst, and I doubted it would arrive at a suitable, satisfying end. It all seemed rather serious and grotesque.

I came out more hopeful about humanity than I expected. My brother-in-law argued that in life you have to trust people, and even the Joker trusted people. I didn't view the Joker's actions as based on trust, but assumption. He assumed the worst of people, and he was disappointed. Happily, the people of Gotham had souls and ethics and morals.

But I cannot stop thinking about Heath Ledger. Art is communication, dialogue, expression, commentary, beauty. It can explore subjects we have trouble talking about or facing in "real" life. We can address fears, biases, opinions, politics, and morality through art. Art can be alarmingly powerful for the creator as well as the audience. Just because you use art as the tool doesn't mean it is safe or lacking consequences. Is there a point where it stops being art and starts becoming something that is decidedly not art and potentially ... unhealthy? That is not to say art should never challenge or be hard to swallow, or that we should narrow the definition of what art is. Art, like beauty, is largely in the eye of the beholder. It just seems unlikely that playing that role had zero do to with Ledger's death. Was it worth it?

Last fall, I played "Miles" in Benjamin Britten's opera, The Turn of the Screw, based on the Henry James novella of the same name. It was an invaluable experience, but one that I'm not anxious to reprise. Playing a sexually-abused boy who is murdered by his governess is not my idea of a great time, but I could get behind the director's vision. Garnett Bruce sold me on the idea that the Governess is evil and she kills Miles, as opposed to the more traditional staging in which the Governess is trying to save Miles from Quint, a ghost she believes is haunting the child. Our interpretation allowed us to think and talk about subjects such as sexual predators and child abuse. Was I in any way damaged by those few months dealing with such serious and depressing subject matter? No, I don't think so. But it was a dark fall for me, and I was playing the victim, not the abuser.

Jeg har på det sidste - nej - ikke købt flere CDer, end jeg sædvanligvis gør. Egentlig ikke. Vistnok. Men alligevel føler jeg et vist pres. Jeg lytter og lytter -- men kan næsten ikke følge med. Mig selv. Det vil sige min grådighed.

For eksempel har jeg endnu ikke fået lyttet ret meget til den Earle Brown-CD, som jeg - ellers - havde glædet mig meget til at høre -- og i dag modtog jeg Louis Andriessens og Peter Greenaways opera, "Rosa - Death of a Composer". Købt billigt hos Ingo's Plattenkiste. Og - altså - jeg har slet ikke fået skrevet noget om min nyeste Dawn Upshaw-CD, Joseph Canteloube: "Complete Songs of the Auvergne". Hér er essensen af, hvad jeg ville have skrevet, hvis min hastighed havde været en anden: CDen er fantastisk, og du er en sær, masokistisk klyde, hvis du ikke under dig selv at høre den.

Har modtaget den nye Per Nørgård-CD, men har endnu ikke givet den mange chancer. MEN: Til gengæld har Bent Sørensen og Benjamin Britten - på skift - kørt nærmest i døgndrift. På det seneste. Ind-i-mellem afbrudt af uddrag af Birtwistles  "Nenia". Som jeg har forelsket mig i.

Har nu læst 450 sider i min fede bog og er nået til Messiaen. Ross bruger i bogen forholdsvis meget krudt på hhv. Sibelius og - netop - Benjamin Britten, begge en slags outsidere -- i hvert fald i forhold til den mere militante modernisme, repræsenteret af (først og fremmest) Boulez og filosoffen Adorno. Og Schoenberg og (især) Schoenbergs disciple. Men - både Sibelius og Britten - gevaldig meget mere populære end deres strenge med-musikanter. Brittens "Peter Grimes" er (indtil videre) det eneste værk, som Ross i bogen giver sig tid til at gennemgå i detaljer.

I går havde vi besøg af Gitte, Niels-Arne og ungerne, som var på retur fra sommerferie i Sverige. Tak - til dem - for god ro og orden.

Modtaget med posten: "The Turn of the Screw". Har tænkt mig at tilbringe søndag på sofaen, hvor jeg vil ligge og lytte til CDen.

Harrison Birtwistles helt tossede "Punch and Judy".

Og Benjamin Brittens helt uhyggelige "The Turn of the Screw".

Where is the line between a musical and an opera? And where does an operetta come into it? I have just seen that English National Opera are doing Candide, this to me is more of a musical but Bernstein’s music is tremendously operatic. Also ENO seem to have a wonderful cast of British opera singers. I know the old story about Bernstein’s desire to have singers who could act rather than actors who can sing but this is another level. Candide is also directed by the great opera director Robert Carsen. I will be paying another visit to the ENO as it looks like a lot of fun.

Some years ago I went to Drury Lane in a party with members of a local drama group. The musical was Miss Saigon, and let’s just say that it wasn’t a very rewarding evening. When I pointed out that Madama Butterfly had the same plot with better music and dramatic construction, I was told “ That’s opera though, much too posh for us”. Stupid bastards!

I think that there is a very real problem when composers of musicals feel that they have to seek to be significant. The more solemn they sound, the more boring they get. Rodgers and Hart, Irving Berlin and Gershwin all knew this, Rodgers and Hammerstein steered a bit close to the wind. There’s nothing on the stage more mawkish than the opening scene of Carousel.

West Side Story certainly uses operatic techniques as an integral part of its structure. The way in which Bernstein uses the interval of the tritone throughout to both unite the piece (the interval in fact appears in nearly all the major tunes) and to give it a sense of yearning and incompleteness. Also, the dance sequences (in contrast to most musicals) are emotionally expressive and part of the drama rather than being merely tacked on for display. In fact, the whole piece is through composed in a way more common to opera than to a musical.

However, when you get to the final scene and Maria’s speech over Tony’s corpse, “Are there any bullets left?” Bernstein made several attempts to set it as an aria but just couldn’t find a way of setting it operatically. In the end it is rendered as spoken dialogue. This I would suggest makes West Side Story more of a musical than an opera.

Of course you can make some of these points about many operas (ballets which are tacked on for display, the use of spoken dialogue, etc.). As always it pays not to be too dogmatic about these things.

Think of the spoken dialogue at the end of Peter Grimes (“Sail out until you lose sight of land”). We’ve been through the emotional wringer in the previous couple of hours and are reduced to mere speech.

As for the difference between opera and musicals, the more I think about it, the less sure I become – I can find operas which have characteristics of what I would expect to find in a musical, and vice versa. Or do I just say that musicals are designed to be amplified, operas aren’t?

Rock Werchter was vergeven van de Britten. Ik weet dat dit festival daar populair is, maar dit jaar hoorde je vaak meer Engels dan iets anders en ik heb hier niet op de taal waarin gezongen werd. Het is me al vaker opgevallen welke varkens Britten kunnen zijn. Plat, lomp, dronken. Gelukkig zijn ze dat meestal op zichzelf.

Ik heb nog nooit zo'n goede plaats gehad op een camping op een festival. Voor het eerst zat ik op A1, die een luxe te noemen is in vergelijking met enkele andere velden. 's ochtends (enfin, 's middags) kon je naar The Doghouse voor spek met eieren; wie het kon gebruiken, had warm water of toiletten die je kan doorspoelen en de camping had zelfs zijn eigen secretariaat.

Zo'n festival valt of staat natuurlijk grotendeels door je gezelschap, dus een bedankje aan de fijne bende die mee was. Onze beatsman Seppe liet zich ontvallen ooit wel eens te willen vuurspuwen. Twee minuten later had hij een fakkel in de hand en olie in zijn mond. Het is eens wat anders dan een theelichtje.

Zoals elk jaar is de laatste avond op zo'n camping een opeenhoping van testosteron en heerst er een grimmige, zelfs ware apocalyptische sfeer. Op ons gedeelte van A1 viel het nog mee dit jaar, al waren de Jackass-toestanden die sommigen uithaalden behoorlijk dwaas en onverantwoord storend en gevaarlijk voor mensen die wel verkozen te slapen (en voor zichzelf uiteraard). Bende kinders.

Mendelssohn - Obertura Les Hèbrides

Liszt - Jocs d'aigua de la Villa d'Este

Respighi - Fontana di Valle Giulia all'alba

Saint-Saëns - Aquarium (del Carnaval des Animaux)

Britten - Quatre interludis marins de Peter Grimes

Tot molt aquàtic... A més amb l'acústica del Museu serà gairebé com estar allà a Escòcia contemplant les roques i les coves :-) Ens veiem allà a les 19'00!

I am two fools, I know,
For loving, and for saying so,
In whining Poetry.
(John Donne, The Triple Fool)

Before a recent performance of Britten’s War Requiem, I was talking to an acquaintance and she happened to mention Karl Jenkins. I gave my not very complimentary opinion (I think he’s a wanker), and was immediately accused (not for the first time) of being a “musical snob”. Now, I don’t think I’m a snob at all. Is there something wrong with liking certain types of music and not others, or even thinking one type of music is “better”? If so, why? I’m no philosopher, but I’ve often wondered about this question. I happen to prefer Bach to Elvis Presley. If it were the other way round, I wouldn’t be called a snob. As it is, I am (not that I really care). I don’t get it.

I think snobbishness comes in when musical tastes are used (or indeed formed) in order to cultivate a particular “image”, to claim that one’s musical preferences make one a more sophisticated or intellectual or “cool” sort of person, and such snobbishness always combines (professed) liking for one thing with disdain for another, and the pretence of some kind of objective criteria for both. It works for both Bach and Elvis, I think.

Now Verdi is an interesting case. Nowadays he is regarded as a Great Composer, possibly with the additional cachet that, although maybe not working class in the strict Marxist definition, he was at least only one step up from the peasantry (and like Dickens and Shakespeare he never had any higher education).

At the start of my second year at university there was an undergraduate who subsequently became a music critic (not a very good one). I have even heard him interviewed on BBC Radio 3. Getting to know him in hall, he told me he liked music. “I like Verdi,” I said. He emitted an affected laugh. “O, vulgar Verdi!” he said and told me how he couldn’t possibly take Verdi seriously as he had seen a production of Nabucco, where the chorus all threw up their arms at the end of the big number.

I prefer Stravinsky and Beethoven to Elvis and the Beatles but prefer John Coltrane and Abba to Radiohead or Coldplay. I guess I risk being called a snob or an inverted snob depending on the company. It’s all about being associated with a certain “in group” in both cases I suspect. A load of bollocks really.

I suppose we all have our heroes and ogres amongst our former teachers. My own school (Charterhouse) had two music teachers, and both were former Cambridge organ scholars who had become organists of London parish churchs. Both gave regular recitals (which we were supposed to attend) of Reger and Karg-Elert (who apparently were major composers). One of these buggers also regularly directed either the St John Passion or the St Matthew Passion (in alternating years) and once again, attendance was compulsory (I was even cajoled into taking money at the door, my first involvement in Concert Mismanagement). (One small detail – they hated each other and refused to speak to each other). From them I learnt many useful and valuable things:

Sir Edward Elgar was Britain’s greatest composer
The finest work of the 20th century is A Child of our Time
Shostakovich was a talentless author of pinko cacophony
John Cage will soon be locked up and sent to the electric chair
If you listen to Wagner your penis will shrivel up and you will go blind
All music written before Bach was written in modes, because the composers were incompetent
Percussion, with the exception of timpani, is not a genuine group of musical instruments
If no organ is available, an orchestra may be used as a substitute for it
John Rutter is the greatest living composer
Saint David Willcocks is a finer conductor than any of those Krauts or Wops
Hiawatha’s Wedding Feast is one of the finest compositions known to man

That’s what I learned in school. So it must be right.

I remember being told that the Tudor church music tradition was musically “more important” than the Viennese classical tradition; that Britten and Tippett’s personal lives (and both were still alive at the time) were unbecoming to those aspiring to the hallowed rank of composer (and part of the reason why they never wrote anything to match Tallis, or Byrd, or even Weelkes, for God’s sake); and that the highest musical ambition to which a boy could aspire was a Cambridge choral or organ scholarship.

But the greatest bugbear of all was opera. Not proper music at all. I well remember that in the Fourth, boys were expected to write a project on a composer – influenced by the fine things I heard at home, as I began to rifle through my father’s extensive record collection, I chose to do mine on Verdi. I was taken aside and told that Verdi wasn’t really a proper composer at all, a purveyor of sensationalist trash to the nineteenth century Italian masses, not worthy of serious study, and I should reconsider if I wanted to get a decent grade.

I can't tell you how happy this made me.

Vés per on he acabat amb una lila a casa, amb les ganes que en tenia... La Mireia i els seus apreciats regals vegetals, aquest cop després del concert al Palau de la Música.

Si el públic s'ho ha passat tan bé com nosaltres, deu haver estat un molt bon concert! S'haurà d'esperar a la crítica, però la veritat és que ja n'estem satisfets. El programa ajudava, era preciós, variat, i crec que anava bé al cor. Encara que sempre hi han coses en directe, a la primera part, ajudats per David Malet al piano i per Marisa Martins, crec que hem fet bona música, i la segona part ha quedat afinada i precisa com mai! Però sobretot que ens ho hem passat genial.

[Per cert, que ahir tenia massa son per comentar-ho tot]: molt agradable l'experiència de cantar al Palau! El públic se sent molt aprop, es veuen les cares... i sobretot quan acaba una obra posen una llum maquíssima que et fa agrair està allà. Bé, a part de que estàvem tots guapíssims perquè com diu la Joana hauríem de fer un cor de models, directora inclosa... :-DDD En fi, que realment vaig trobar molt agradable la meva estrena al Palau.

Gràcies Madrigal, David i Mireia per aquests assajos i concerts!

Would Roger Wright’s BBC Radio 3 broadcast 3½ hours of silence to illustrate what had happened and why the performance was so emotionally charged thereafter?

The production was extremely controversial, set in Chechnya with tanks on stage, and an already angry audience booed it with full force, sometimes during the music. Half the audience left at the interval. The incident with the bomb hoax needs to be remembered in connection with the Moscow theatre siege, which had left many dead in its wake – responsibility was claimed by a Chechen terror cell. And now we were going to watch Aida set in Chechnya.

It always seems to happen to Aida ... by complete chance I was at the Romanian National Opera production of the opera at the Royal Albert Hall that was brought to a halt by a gay rights protest (at the time of the show, all homosexual relationships were deemed illegal by the Romanian government). The theme of Aida is about a conflict between what your government says, and where your heart leads you – and intentionally or otherwise, it was a very poignant moment.

Again, would BBC Radio 3 broadcast every second of the concert – including protests that bring it to a halt? I think not.

I know a very successful performer who suffers (secretly) from stage fright, to a near-debilitating stage ... but she has learned strategies for coping with it. A delayed start to a show would leave her crawling up the walls. “Topped and tailed” transmissions will not capture the emotions involved in such moments.

I know that in the very recent past performances have been cleaned up before transmission. I was at a performance at the Royal Northern College of Music in Manchester a few months ago where the horn player messed up the very opening notes of the Britten Serenade for Tenor, Horn and Strings. I listened to the recording on BBC Radio 3 a few days later – fuck me, no bum notes! Nice for the horn player, but not a true representation of the concert. I’ve heard other examples, too.

I’ve spent quite a bit of time around players of the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra before they were about to perform, and, while they always knew that every note they played almost anywhere would be broadcast by the BBC at some time, there was always an extra frisson of anticipation (and possibly nerves) among them when they knew that a concert was to be relayed “live” – and this, in turn, often added palpably to the excitement of their performance.

There was a level of concentration there that I think could only be generated by their awareness of the size and immediacy of their audience. I’m sure they’ll also be made aware from now on whether their performances will be broadcast “as live” (or whatever the euphemism for “recorded” is) but I fear that the lack of that element of risk might sometimes dull the edge a little.

El Penderecki és una obra d’extrems, mentre que el Pärt és un continu de so de mi menor que va creant una atmosfera repetitiva. Quant a Britten, no n’hi ha cap de senzilla! En aquestes vuit rimes medievals, des del text, en un anglès de vegades més semblant a l’alemany, fins al ritme o l’harmonia, tot és un repte.

Personalment, per a mi que ja era fan de Britten, aquesta obra ha estat un descobriment: la força de St Godric’s Hymn es converteix en histèria al segon número, I mon waxe wod (“Em torno boig”), amb un gran papelón per les altos. Al tercer, Lenten is come (“Ha arribat la primavera”) vénen l’alegria i els jocs rítmics, i a The Long Night es torna a la força i fins i tot violència (que a les sopranos ens fan baixar fins a un si bemoll 2, si això no és violència... J). Yif ic of luve can (“Si jo conec l’amor”) comença amb una mena de coral (fantàaastica l’harmonia) que diu que quan veu a Jesús a la creu, i al seu costat Maria i Joan, amb les seves ferides “for the luve of man”, no pot més que plorar. I esperem no fer plorar al públic nosaltres, les sopranos primeres, i fer la nostra entrada com cal, que amb aquest atac pianíssim, agut i sense vibrato... Ara, si queda bé és fantàstic. I després ja respirem i ens preparem per Carol, que parla d’una noia sola a un terreny erm que menja flors i beu aigua d’un pou (?), i una mica de calma amb Ye that pasen by (que seria un O vos omnes però en anglès medieval). Per acabar A death explica amb un munt d’efectes això, la mort d’un home, els ulls que se li ennuvolen, els llavis que se li tornen negres... I diu llavors, (m’enterraran,) casa meva em quedarà damunt del nas, i no m’importarà res d’aquest món. Ole.

El concert serà a les 22h a l’Auditori Josep Carreras de Vila-Seca, abans de presentar el mateix concert a l’Auditorio Nacional de Madrid el dia 26 d’abril. [quan espero ja ser llicenciada...]

[edit després del concert]: Ole, ole y ole! Quina passada de concert. Tot i que la primera part potser es queda una mica freda, la segona... Com ens ho vam passar de bé! La qualitat de la música que vam aconseguir em va fer oblidar-me de tota la resta (véase, el projecte...). Per molts concerts com aquest!

Comme c'est la première fois, c'est très difficile d'émettre un avis, de ne pas juger tout l'opéra en tant que genre à travers celui-ci. Mais comme c'est le code que je me suis fixé, je vais vous livrer mes impressions.

Je ne me suis pas ennuyée, les costumes étaient vraiment magnifique, et le décor aussi. L'histoire est bien sur un peu "niaise" peut être mais ce n'est pas grave. Je la connaissais et je pouvais donc me concentrer sur la musique. Raison principale de ma venue à l'Opéra. Mais l'aspect drôle de la pièce m'a empêcher d'écouter, ou de ressentir.

Voila le problème : je ne me suis pas ennuyée et pourtant je n'ai pas ressenti de choses nouvelles. J'avais l'impression d'être devant un bon film, pas un grand film. Je ne veux offusquer personne en disant cela parce qu'on m'a dit que musicalement c'était vraiment remarquable et j'ai toute confiance dans les personnes qui me l'ont dit. J'étais devant du divertissement.

Et j'étais noyée. Les chanteurs chantent très bien mais jouent moyennement bien et notre attention est sollicitée par tant de choses à la fois que nous n'arrivons pas à écouter le chant convenablement. Il faudrait regarder les décors, la mise en scène, écouter. C'est trop, et ça nuit à la qualité d'attention, à la disponibilité du public, à ma disponibilité.

Je serai contente que toi lecteur tu puisses me donner ton avis et peut-être me conseiller d'autres opéras. C'est vraiment très facile à faire, il suffit de laisser un commentaire.

Tout commença début janvier avec cette vidéo: [Sans doute une des plus belles publicité de Levi's (j'y reviendrais...)]

" - Ce que tu vois? Tu vois une canaille dont tu es jaloux.Je vais rester et déambuler et je vais chanter.

- Quel ange m'éveille de ma couche fleurie?

-Qu'ils entendent que je ne suis effrayé.

-Je t'en prie gentil mortel, chante encore. Mon oreille s'est enamouré de ton être. Ainsi que mon œil est ébloui par sa forme.

Je t'aime."

Comment ne pas rester insensible à de telles paroles? Ils faut que j'en sache plus! (Oui, je suis différents des autres...)

Elles sont tirées de la pièce de W. Shakespeare, "Le Songe d'Une Nuit dEté"... William Shakespeare... Déjà entendu parler (^^) mais jamais lu... C'est les vacances, j'ai pas grand chose à faire alors pourquoi pas!? Direction le Décitre de La Part Dieu pour acheter "Roméo et Juliette", "Le Songe d'Une Nuit D'Eté", "Hamlet", "Othello" et"Macbeth"... Voilà qui va m'occuper deux ou trois après midi!

Deux ou trois après midi plus tard... Impressionnant! Willy t'es trop fort, je suis admiratif devant tant de talent, qu'est-ce que j'aimerais être aussi habile que lui avec les mots... Franchement, c'est beau à lire... C'est comme ça que mon intérêt pour le théâtre a été ravivé. "Tiens et si j'allais faire un tour sur le site de l'Opéra de Lyon ?" (ça a dû être comme ça que j'ai atterri sur ce site)

Et là qu'est ce que je vois? "Le Songe d'Une Nuit d'Eté" du 3 Avril au 13 Avril 2008

HASARD? AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Clicage express sur "Achetez Vos Billets en Ligne" et hop chopage de place à un prix dérisoire 10€ au lieu de 35€ avec la carte Pass'Opera (5€) pour les moins de 26 ans ^^. Pas une once d'hésitation, j'enchaîne les différentes étapes de la procédure. Place K25 au niveau du parterre... ça m'a l'air pas mal... de toute façon, y'a pas à chipoter, c'est une des dernières places (c'est bon signe ça, surtout 2 jours après le début de la vente). Et voilà! Aprés avoir retirer ma place à l'Opéra, il ne me reste plus que 3 mois à attendre...

...Tic Tac Tic Tac...

Quand enfin, le Jour J arrive...

Lyon, Jeudi 3 Avril 2008, 19h00...

A SUIVRE...

P.S :Désolé mais il est 3h du mat' demain j'ai un grand prix de F1 à suivre alors faut que je me lève tôt enfin avant 14h...

IV: Humanidad Sonoramente Organizada

• Cuando los venda sienten hambre, o están ocupados evitándola, no encuentran tiempo ni energía para hacer música. Ni tampoco imaginan que la música pudiera, de una forma mágica, aliviar su hambre, del mismo modo que los magos que provocan la lluvia no esperan que la lluvia caiga si no han visto primero el movimiento de los insectos que la anuncia. La música está en ellos, pero para surgir requiere unas condiciones especiales. Los venda hacen música cuando tienen el estómago lleno porque, conscientemente o no, sienten las fuerzas de la separación inherentes a la satisfacción de la autopreservación y se sienten impulsados a restaurar el equilibrio mediante una conducta especialmente cooperativa y exploratoria.

• La tshikona (tipo de música/danza venda) es universal tanto en su contenido como en su forma: todo el mundo asiste o participa en ella; sintetiza el principio de individualidad en comunidad (como un coral de Bach, es interesante para todos los intérpretes, en contraste con el acompañamiento habitual de los himnos, que reduce a contraltos y tenores a la condición de esclavos de sopranos y bajos).

• Si la música inglesa parece mas compleja que la venda y es practicada por un porcentaje menor de personas, ello se debe a la división social del trabajo, no a que los ingleses estén menos dotados para la música o a que su música sea cognitivamente más compleja. Los individuos de diferentes culturas no han de aprender ni más ni menos cosas y, en el contexto de cada cultura, éstas no son básicamente ni más ni menos difíciles.

• Los problemas en las sociedades humanas comienzan en el punto en que las personas aprenden menos de lo necesario sobre el amor, pues el amor es la base de nuestra existencia como seres humanos. Kierkegaard lo expresó en los siguientes términos: "una generación puede aprender mucho de otra, pero lo que es propiamente humano, ninguna generación puede aprenderlo de la precedente. En este aspecto, cada generación comienza de nuevo desde el principio. [...] Ninguna generación ha aprendido de otra cómo amar, ninguna comienza en otro punto que no sea el principio y ninguna tiene ante sí una tarea menor que la generación precedente."

• Aunque un compositor pueda sentir el mayor respeto por la música de Tchaikovski, si fuera consciente y le preocupara la tarea contemporánea de ser humano y quisiera decir algo sobre ello en su música, no podría reproducir ese tipo de música en una sociedad cuyas tareas son distintas de las de la sociedad de Tchaikovski. Así, si un compositor quiere producir una música relevante para sus contemporáneos, su principal problema no es realmente de naturaleza musical: es un problema de actitud hacia la sociedad y la cultura contemporáneas en relación con el problema humano básico de aprender a ser humano.

• Como me dijo un jefe venda: "vas a oír la interpretación más brillante imaginable de nuestra danza nacional: llamaré a todos los músicos disponibles en el distrito para que acudan aquí". Mahler, de un modo muy parecido, afirmó: "para mí, escribir una sinfonía significa construir un universo con todas las herramientas de la técnica disponible".

• Muchos críticos han descalificado la Cuarta Sinfonía de Tchaikovski como pobremente construida sobre la base de que su material temático no fue tratado de acuerdo con las reglas convencionales de la construcción sinfónica. En realidad, esta obra podría describirse como un salto intelectual hacia delante en el que Tchaikovski fue conducido hacia una manera innovadora de elaborar la forma sinfónica; y resulta interesante que las consecuencias musicales de este logro básicamente humano sean apreciadas de manera intuitiva por los oyentes legos, aunuqe sean tan pobremente entendidas por las mentes cerradas de algunos expertos musicales.

• Las diferencias entre culturas y el desarrollo de sus tecnologías son el resultado de diferencias no de intelecto, sino de organización humana.

• La historia de muchas civilizaciones ha mostrado que una sociedad y su cultura pueden acabar colapsándose a causa de la alienación humana. La máquina deja de funcionar cuando falta el único poder que puede moverla: la fuerza creativa que surge de la autoconciencia humana.

• La música no puede cambiar las sociedades como pueden hacerlo los cambios en la tecnología o la organización política. No puede llevar a la gente a actuar, a menos que esté social y culturalmente predispuesta a hacerlo. No puede infundir hermandad, como esperaba Tolstoi, ni ningún otro estado o valor social. Lo más que puede hacer en las personas es confirmar situaciones que ya existen. Por sí misma no puede generar pensamientos que beneficien o dañen a la humanidad. Pero puede hacer a las personas más conscientes de sentimientos que han experimentado.

• En un mundo de crueldad y explotación como el nuestro, en el que en aras del beneficio económico proliferan la mediocridad y el fraude, es necesario entender por qué un madrigal de Gesualdo o una Pasión de Bach, una melodía de sitar de la India o una canción africana, el Wozzeck de Berg o el War Requiem de Britten, un gamelán balinés o una ópera cantonesa, una sinfonía de Mozart, Beethoven o Mahler pueden ser profundamente necesarios para la supervivencia humana, al margen del mérito que puedan tener como ejemplos de creatividad y progreso técnico. Es también necesario explicar por qué, en determinadas circunstancias, una "sencilla" canción "popular" puede tener más valor humano que una "compleja" sinfonía.

John Blacking: ¿Hay Música En El Hombre? (Alianza)

I don't have much to say other than this was probably the finest display of cello playing I have ever seen in my life, and probably will see for a very long time.

Wispelwey's playing is as close to flawless as it can get (i.e. a flawless live performance does, in fact have flaws, even if the CD is perfect) and his personality shines through his antics, stage presence, and sound. Both the Bach and Britten suites were dynamic, engaging, and vibrant. And while all three of those comments can be seen in the scores, Wispelwey himself equaled the compositions' virtuosity without any doubt.

He gave introductions to both of the Britten suites, playing a bit of the beginning of each movement to help orient the audience as the piece went along. I enjoyed these introductions, as I always enjoy when I performer treats the audience as though they are present (i.e. speaks to them). I found that they also greatly assisted in conceiving of the pieces on a first hearing (which both of the Britten suites were to me).

Sorry to be brief, but I am truly speechless about his playing.

The orchestra is the brainchild of conductor Simon Over.  It has no state funding (surprise surprise!) and is maintained by a large roster of generous supporters and huge amounts of goodwill, particularly through partnerships with ‘grown up’ orchestras such as the Academy of St Martin in the Fields, the BBC Concert Orchestra and the Orchestra of the Royal Opera House, who provide coaching, playing opportunities and ‘sit-ins’ alongside professional players.  And imaginative sponsors like accompanist Malcolm Martineau who provides free refreshments at concerts – hooray!

Monday’s concert was part of the lunchtime recital series at the Royal Opera House, though moved into the spacious (and echoey) surroundings of the Paul Hamlyn Hall (formerly the Floral Hall).  A slightly rum programme...

It began with a Vivaldi Concerto for Two Trumpets, bravely performed without a conductor.  The soloists (Christopher Seddon and Rob Wallace) were two cool dudes to whom evidently nothing was a problem – they enjoyed every minute and played faultlessly, stationing themselves antiphonally either side of the band.

Two quibbles:  how could anyone think it’s OK to perform any kind of baroque concerto without a keyboard continuo??  Just because it ‘sort of’ works to have just a cello and bass accompanying the soloists, that doesn’t make it right.  And no, the slow movement is not just ‘a mere six bars long... a passage of modulation played by the strings alone’ – which is how they played it, earnestly and meaninglessly:  no, it’s the basis for something – keyboard improvisation?  Violin improvisation?  (Probably not the trumpets, as they need the rest.)  Something has to happen, and somebody has to take a decision about what.  Awful sinking feeling that STILL nobody in the music colleges is taught anything beyond the received nineteenth-century ways of playing things.

They need to read a certain series of helpful books...

The orchestra was joined by Australian soprano Anita Watson, a rising star in the ROH’s firmament and a radiant smiling presence (I previously enjoyed hearing her in Donizetti’s Rita – read more here).  Her choice of arias – Mozart’s ‘Nehmt meinen Dank’ and the ‘Et incarnatus’ from the C minor Mass, and Richard Strauss’s ‘Morgen’ – suited her to perfection.  Lovely violin solo in the Strauss, from leader Tatiana Byesheva.

In between Anita Watson’s items, Graham Sheen conducted his arrangement of five Danzas Gitanas by Joaquin Turina.  The rather vague programme note did not describe the individual movements or even tell us what forces Graham had arranged them for.  As far as I could see, it was a wind decet (flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, horns) with extras – piccolo, cor anglais – plus two trumpets and a double bass.  Smashing arrangements, full of vivid colours and rhythmic life.  I slightly felt that the clarinets had a raw deal – perhaps because the trumpets had grabbed their share of the melodic interest?  Very nice anyway, and must have been great fun to play.  I hope they’ll be published.

And a definitely rum item to finish – Manuel de Falla’s Seven Spanish Popular Songs, but with no singer!  Hamlet without the Prince?  I am reliably informed that it was never intended that Anita Watson should sing these.  But they sounded distinctly ‘so-what’-ish in their orchestral guise.  Ah well.

* * * *

Then yesterday (Thursday) – one of the Southbank Sinfonia’s series of ‘rush hour’ concerts at St John’s, Waterloo, chamber music this time.  (Yet another nice old church used as a concert venue:  it used to be very down-at-heel and scruffy, but has been nicely cleaned up, albeit in shades of nursery-school creams and yellows with some awkwardly naïve holy artwork scattered about.)  A great idea to make budding orchestral players play chamber music – keeps them out of bad habits!

First up was Jonathan Dove’s magical Figures in a Garden for wind octet, introduced by my niece Rosie Burton who explained that it was one of a series of wind serenades written for Glyndebourne’s Mozart Bicentenary season in 1991.  Dove’s inspiration was Le nozze di Figaro, and it was fascinating to ‘spot the tunes’ as he wove them into the textures.  It’s one of those pieces that are infuriatingly much harder to play than they sound, particularly the ‘Susanna in the rain’ movement of quietly drizzling background sextuplets.  (And must be all the harder on period instruments, as originally intended.)  Anyway, very atmospheric, lovely music, nicely played (though in the boomy acoustics of St John’s, Waterloo, the horns tended to swamp everything, particularly the slightly underpowered-sounding oboes).  The piece was conducted (which must have made it a lot easier) by David Corkhill, better known as a percussionist but evidently a fine conductor and coach – he is in charge of the Southbank Sinfonia’s chamber activities.

Then a string quartet – Haydn’s Op. 33 No. 2, the ‘Joke’ – very nicely and securely played, very little sense of student earnestness, great intonation and ensemble, lots of character especially for the eponymous joke at the end.

Finally, David Corkhill conducted Britten’s Sinfonietta, Op. 1 – an astonishing piece for an eighteen-year-old RCM student to have written – Frank Bridge meets Schoenberg (the rising horn theme straight out of Schoenberg’s Chamber Symphony No. 1) .  The young Britten had a hard-edged fire and passion which one can’t help but feel went soggy later in his career – although there are enduring musical thumbprints that are already present here, along with the disciplined thinking and ear for instrumental sounds for which Britten always strove (‘magic and efficiency’, in his own words).  Far too ‘modern’ to be appreciated in the early 1930s, the work is imaginative, colourful, energetic and concise to the point of impatience.

Invidious to single out individuals from the ten players, but some lovely sounds, especially from the flute (Claire Overbury) and bassoon (Rosie! – big warm commanding tone, in what I had previously thought of – from my own student experience – as a tricky and un-gratifying part to play).  I also appreciated the rock-solid horn (Paul Cott) and gutsy double bass (Annabella Leslie).

Good to know that the future of our orchestral players is in safe hands.  Let’s hope there will be jobs for them to go to – and that the dumbed-down Arts Council hasn’t by then starved all the remaining orchestras out of existence, and the dumbed-down education system and our dumbed-down media haven’t deprived potential audiences of any notion of what real music is and why anyone should want to come and hear it.

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pictures stolen from the SbS page of the Parliament Choir website and the London SE1 community website -- thanks!

A TV ad campaign featuring lingerie-clad women praying for beautiful hair has been banned by the advertising watchdog because it might offend Christians.

The series of three TV ads, created by ad agency TBWA Manchester for beauty firm ghd, had an overall religious theme using the strapline "Ghd. A new religion for hair".

Ghd's ads showed scantily-clad women in various positions, such as lying on a bed, while looking upwards with their hands clasped as if in prayer. Some had objects that looked like votive candles and rosary beads.

Viewers could hear the thoughts of each of the women, in various languages including English, which centred on having great hair.

One woman was thinking "May my new curls make her feel choked with jealousy", while another was saying to herself "May my flirty flicks puncture the heart of every man I see". At the end of each ad an endline ran: "Thy will be done".

The Advertising Standards Authority received a total of 23 complaints, including one from the Archdeacon of Liverpool, objecting that the ads were offensive to the Christian faith.

The complaints particularly highlighted the use of the phrase from the Lord's Prayer and the depiction of the letter "t" as a cross in "thy".

"Yes lets censer it cause we might offend some one. And God forbid we offend some one."
What the hell is wrong with people? Who cares if some one gets offended, there are allot of things that offend people are they going to ban them all?