Ten days of great Zoom visitors

I rely upon the kindness of great performers for adrenalin highs in my Zoom classes, and a recent run has, though I say it myself, been spectacular on both the Opera in Depth and Mahler 1 courses - I might as well drop the names right now: Anna Larsson, Golda Schultz, Robin Ticciati and Mark Wigglesworth. You may need to click to enlarge a lot of these screenshots, and I've tried to reduce them to a cross-section rather than the full crowd, but above, bottom right, is glorious Golda, part of a very special duo of visits. 

Robin Ticciati decided he'd like to see us between final rehearsal and first night of the sensational (opera production of the year?) Dialogues des Carmélites at Glyndebourne, and for it was better since I wouldn't be prone to gushing about the first night, so overwhelming that I took the liberty of snapping a full company bow, Ticciati and director Barrie Kosky included.

I reviewed that here on theartsdesk; you might conversely say I'd drunk the Ticciati kool-aid, but what I think of as the professional relationships I have with the great and good are based on total respect in the first place. Of course I'm at liberty to say if there was a style mismatch, or I didn't think the work was quite as great as the performer did - The Wreckers, prepared at the very highest level, was a case in point. But we know how Poulenc's masterpiece - one of the greatest in all opera - never fails, even if I wasn't prepared for the cruelty and devastation of Kosky's vision. 

After a very excited RT phoning on Thursday to say he was ready to talk, Friday's visitor was very reflective - clearly tired, but so friendly with everyone, and so eloquent as ever. He talked, among other things, of the joy and necessity of being there at the start of rehearsals, how inspiring Kosky was in his first speech to the company, the special nature of silences (something that had struck me when I first met him, sharing a panel at the end of a study day on Jenůfa, which he conducted on the Glyndebourne tour) and finally - very movingly - the nature of home. Which is now, for him and his wife, very much Sussex. Over six years in Berlin, he loved the experience of living in the city but never felt entirely at ease with the level on which he could converse in German. And the Glyndebourne experience is, at its best, the most enriching you can have in the operatic world.

Golda, whose presence was due to another positive spirit who's just joined my course, Julia Noakes, was bright and bouncy on the Monday afternoon. She'd had the day after the first night to come to herself, and the parallels with the down-to-earth, forthright, empathetic and incorruptible Madame Lidoine, the second Prioress, whose arrival brings a breath of air in to the claustrophobic world so emphasised in Kosky's production, are striking. Golda thought of becoming a nun at 17, but her priest-advisor suggested her gifts might be used on other ways. And so they are. A marvellous human being in every way. I'm going to segue to my next guest via two production shots, cropping to emphasise the connections (credits: Glyndebourne image, Richard Hubert Smithl Garsington image, Julien Guidera, I think - I got sent three different sets of photos). It's amazing how strong an image is a reassuring hand laid on another, and Schultz's Lidoine does that in Kosky's production, more than once.

It's also a very moving moment in Bruno Ravella's Garsington production of Strauss's Ariadne auf Naxos when Young Woo Kim's Bacchus places his right hand on top of the left hand of Natalya Romaniw's Ariadne.

I'd never been more moved by this scene. and never heard a Bacchus as good live. The South Korean tenor is adored by his colleagues, another blithe spirit, as I think one can tell from his performance on stage. In my review for theartsdesk, I suggested that though Carmelites and Ariadne are very different operas, the respective Glyndebourne and Garsington achievements are on the same extraordinary level - thoughtful production, perfect cast, and radical but perfect conducting: in this case from my long-term generous visitor to the classes Mark Wigglesworth. 

I enlisted MW's help in my Mahler 1 course, covering Symphonies 1-5, Das klagende Lied and the earlier songs (the second term, starting in late September, will deal with 6-9, Kindertotenlieder and Das Lied von der Erde). He's conducting the BBC Philharmonic in the First Symphony at the Proms on 18 July, but was heavily involved in Ariadne rehearsals when we covered that. So just before the last of the 10 classes, on movements 3-5 of the Fifth, he visited for a more general discussion, but again with fascinating chapter and verse (I must summarise at some point, but need to watch again).

First of the visitors, and absolutely not least, was the great Anna Larsson. I used a mixture of DVDs for complete movements, and when it came to the Second and Third Symphonies, it had to be Abbado in Lucerne; AL is his mezzo/contralto soloist in both, on stage from the beginning and engaging directly with the audience sans score. and she confirmed that these performances were beyond any others. 

I'm glad my New York student Alan compared her with Christa Ludwig and asked if they'd met, because we had a fascinating chronicle of how Abbado, having first heard Larsson in audition, told Ludwig she must hear her. Intense sessions followed. Here's another performer with feet firmly on the ground, colleagial and warm (we'd become friendly when I visited the musically excellent Rheingold she facilitated in the barn of the family farm in Dalarna, in which she sang both Fricka and Erda). But then I think it's true of (nearly) all artists who are truly at the top of their profession: they are secure in what they do, and generosity flows from that. 

Finally, a sadness. Sondra Arning's son gave his mother the present of joining these classes. She has been a vibrant contributor, with so much to say about all the music she experienced and - as a singer - participated in while living in New York. Soon her husband Patrick also joined up; they both attended both courses this term, sometimes on separate screens, sometimes together (as pictured above). Having made some pithy observations as usual, Patrick had to leave the last Mahler class early to go to see his doctor. On the Friday he felt il in an interval at the Wigmore Hall, where they were regular visitors. He died of a massive heart attack on the Saturday. A huge shock to everyone, above all to Sondra - they had been married for 51 years - but in one way, since he'd reached a great age, a blessing, as there was a lot wrong with him and cancer had just been detected. 

Patrick will be with us in spirit when we embark on the summer course, Wagner's Parsifal, in association with the Wagner Society of Scotland (it's a while back that I began an adventure which began with the first two Ring operas up in the Trossachs, the last two online, followed by Tristan and Meistersinger). More on that, and the season proper, anon.

Harp swirls for Czech Music Zoom class 1

My Opera in Depth course this term - half devoted to Janáček's Jenůfa, the other to Martinů's Julietta - had already been under way for three weeks before I launched the Thursday class, a more general survey of a genuinely Czech music from Smetana through to Martinů, with a preludial look at 18th and early 19th century works by Bohemian composers in the European lingua franca of the time. 

The main point, though, was to reach the epic at the heart of Czech musical experience, Smetana's Má vlast, which launches every Prague Spring Festival on the exact anniversary of this founding father''s death. And I was lucky to know the Czech Philharmonic's principal harpist since 2005, the vivacious Jana Boušková, who with her colleague Barbara Pazourová usually kicks off the stirring first symphonic poem in a magnificent sequence, 'Vyšehrad', capturing the essence of the proud castle which stands above the River Vltava.

Jana accepted the invitation without hestitation. I'd become friendly with her at Paavo Järvi's Pärnu Music Festival, the best in the world for connecting with musical hearts and souls; and indeed she was invited there because she'd played in the Má vlast which Paavo conducted in the 2016 Spring Festival.

That year Jana and Barbara played the opening statements of the work's main theme, plus cadenzas, together; as it's written in the score, the second harp plays the melody and the first elaborates. Jana has actually played alongside five of her students in a Prague Conservatoire opener conducted by the late, great Jiří Bělohlávek. The one I had to hand to show the class was with a mere five harpists (students minus Jana). 

Another beauty of our introductory session was that I moved on to the most celebrated of the six symphonic poems, 'Vltava' (still better known outside Czechia as 'The Moldau' - but in the transcription made by the harpist and contemporary of Smetana Hanuš Trneček, in Jana's performance at a Czech Philharmonic fundraiser in the Rudolfinum during the first Covid spare, to help fund Prague hospitals (the number you see on the top right is the figure in Czech korunas, which shot up throughout).On the CD featured up top, Jana has referred to Trneček's work, but the transcriptions of the first three symphonic poems and of the rest of the works on a superb disc are her own.

The students warmed immediately to Jana - how could anyone not? - and there was much emotional discussion of the high level of musical education and literacy in that remarkable country. It was also vital, when Jana grew up, to have music as the world you inhabited when life under the Soviets was not so good - and to think of touring to the unimaginable rest of Europe or America as a top player, as her mother did (her father was a flautist in the Czech Philharmonic, so the couple played beautiful Mozart, inter alia, together). If you click to enlarge the image, Jana isn't difficult to spot - she has the Prague Old Town skyline behind her.

Today we move on to the Hussite chorale used in the last two symphonic poems of Má vlast, 'Tabor' and Blanik', as well as in crucial works by Dvořák (Hussite Overture), Suk (Prague) and Karel Husa (Music for Prague 1968). I'm still mapping out what the other eight classes will bring, though I'll divide fairly equally between 19th and 20th centuries, and the four greats, as depicted in this postcard of which I'm so fond, will have the lion's share.

The 10-week course on Wagner's Tristan und Isolde ended the week before we started this one. We had a virtual post-course drinks on the Friday, to which Dame Anne Evans was able to return, having been voiceless in the final class. Many laughs were had by the small but very vocal group on that evening  (Annie second from left in the bottom row).

I was also  delighted to record a Tristan chat with Robin Ticciati on the heels of his run at Glyndebourne, concluded with an orchestrally unforgettable Proms performance.

Equally thoughtful (and the other great British conductor as far as I'm concerned) was Mark Wigglesworth on Jenůfa, squeezing in the time to speak during work with the BBC Philharmonic in Salford (hence the dull hotel room background).

Just recorded another Jenůfa conversation, this time with tenor Nicky Spence, which I hope to air on Monday. Indebted to Mark for suggesting Nicky would make an excellent guest when I was running the course at the Frontline Club. As he did, and I love the generosity of all these exceptional artists, true Menschen all - that goes for Jana and Anne every inch as much as the men. Further guests, TBC, will materialise on the Czech music course anon. Not too late to join - just comment with your email here; I won't print but I promise to respond.

A puzzled room with an angry Stew

For once in my theatrical experience, I don’t quite know what to think. Being told that the brilliant, quick-reacting and baroque-writing Stewart Lee habitually harangues his audience and pulls the rug from under stand-up expectations was no help. He really did seem to think that he’d never had an audience as crap as we were at Wednesday's 9.30pm slot in the Leicester Square Theatre. The fact that he seemed to be genuinely cracking up in bewilderment at how awful we were made it seem real. He really wanted us to believe him that he’d gone off piste in the second half to give some good material (it was) to the worst of audiences.

Or have I been hoodwinked by the Chinese boxes, the smoke and mirrors? In drama, one would get signposts in amid the confusion to let one know, in one of Henry James’s favourite phrase ‘where we are’. A comic who really falters and blames his audience deserves no mercy, but enough people knew the ropes to respond kindly. So was every bit of it a game? Lee got his embarrassed silences from a crowd who seemed to be lapping it up at the start. The two guys behind me roared, I laughed a lot, just-21-year-old goddaughter Rosie somewhat less so. She wasn’t the right target when he slagged off apathetic, screen-fixated youth; I know no-one more politically active. 

The first routine in what he told us were try-outs for 30 minute TV slots was about being pipped to the post at the BAFTA Awards by Graham Norton, who didn’t do much more than say ‘Hello x, I hear you’ve got a film out’; x: ‘Oh yes, it’s awfully good’. The running gag was ‘not jealous, really, but…’ Bout Two seemed to aim more at uneasy silences than building a scenario, with the ghosts of dead comics at his shoulders who'd committed suicide because of shit audiences like us. Definite discomfort when he reeled off names of other comedians he’d shared a Montreal stage with who were no more. Slow fade, and a sense of irritation on my part that a comic should get away with blaming the audience, however jestingly; while there are bad nights, the performing essence is to work your magic on the crowd, and this worked in the other direction after a while.

Last half-hour, much funnier and including the apparently spontaneous detour I've mentioned, about Daryl Hannah showing interest in a script of his for Hollywood and his catching a glimpse of Matthew Broderick looking less than thrilled about press interviews (good exaggerated impersonation, but one needed to suspend disbelief about loserville: Broderick had a good run and on-screen success in The Producers. He's pictured above at that time. So much for downhill all the way after Ferris Bueller’s Great Day Out). The running gag knotted together these three ingredients:

Can’t spoil any of the jokes: when this was originally destined for The Arts Desk, the comedy ‘hub’ gave me some rules which revealed why reviews in that genre aren’t funny in themselves. Wednesday evening had me thinking that a responsible reviewer should go to see every comedian's show twice, just to disentangle truth from play; if I went again, I'd find out, wouldn't I? As for the overall impression, I suppose I was disappointed that no sequence rose to the heights of two stints I'd seen on YouTube: his Ukip attack ('bloody foreigners, coming over 'ere...') and his wicked play on Top Gear's 'only joking'. You can find a link to the first and an embedded second on this blog post.

The next morning I caught the train for a wonderful 24 hours in Edinburgh, with Robin Ticciati launching his Scottish Chamber Orchestra Brahms series in the kind of style I’d hoped, and more: one with wings which helped me pinpoint what was so awfully wrong with the lumpy Barenboim/Dudamel Piano Concertos I discussed with Sarah Walker and Andrew McGregor live on BBC Radio 3’s CD Review yesterday morning (it's on the iPlayer for the next month - we're on around the 1h15m mark, but I liked what I heard of Hannah French's Building a Library choice of Haydn Trumpet Concertos, so maybe catch that too). More on the rep anon.

Ticciati's Brahms One fired up in media res with crack timpani playing, silvery strings and wind, all inner parts clear but nothing unnaturally light about it. Right at the start, in the Academic Festival Overture, the detail made me realise that lines which I thought were the main events actually only served as counterpoint to thematic development one doesn't usually hear. Supernatural sounds in the symphony's dewy but never over-sentimental slow movement and crucially flowing intermezzo-like third echoed the tone quality ‘from the other side’ we’d got in the last few minutes of the Berg Violin Concerto.

Isabelle Faust (pictured above by Detlev Schneider), maybe the Berg Concerto's best living interpreter, was the perfect colleague there, making true chamber music with some of the world’s most charismatic orchestral principals, and also a voice from another world in the Bach encore (it could only ever be Bach after Berg). The best of the Brahms had to come last, with perfectly-gauged vollies of volatile excitement after Alec Frank-Gemmill’s perfect horn call bearing out the quality of the SCO's new hybrid horns (mixing valves with the sound of the natural instrument). How he got that quality was revealed to me by Robin T in what I can only call a Brahms One masterclass plus the next morning, and will have to wait until the interview appears.

Congratulations coincided with the launch of the series: RT takes up a new post in 2017-18 at the Deutsches Symphonie-Orchester Berlin (formerly the Berlin RIAS Orchestra made so great by Ferenc Fricsay, an imaginative, focused temperament not unlike Ticciati’s). Their first and only previous collaboration  – a Berlin concert featuring Britten’s Cello Symphony with Steven Isserlis and Bruckner Four – was love at first sight. Much fascinating work still to be done in the meantime – and hopefully beyond – both in Scotland and at Glyndebourne.

The (almost) 24 hours were not wasted. Installed myself in the amiable, quiet and comfortable Parliament House Hotel on Calton Hill and then walked through Princes Street Gardens via Oktoberfest strains coming out of a big tent and passing a lot of young people in Lederhosen to have a quick snack with Debra Boraston opposite the Usher Hall. On to the concert with godson Alexander, who drummed his enthusiasm for the electrifying end of the symphony, his dad Christopher - who'll write up his thoughts on the concert along with the second in the series for The Arts Desk - and the delightful Vina Oberlander. Afterwards we crossed the road to Bar Italia which has changed hands since I last went there and now does superb dishes of home-made pasta with many original variations.

After the interview with Robin in the splendid Balmoral Hotel by Waverley Station, I wandered via the Fruitmarket Gallery to the inevitable National Gallery of Scotland, where I spent time on a Tintoretto I’d never really studied before – an unusual Entombment – wondered at how ‘real’ Rembrandt’s self-portrait from a year of terrible crisis seemed compared to its neighbours and went downstairs to the print display. The Renaissance works in question showed mostly scenes of immortals torturing mortals in horrible ways, including two ‘Flayings of Marsyas’; this one, by Melchior Meier operative in Tuscany between 1572 and 1580, incorporates Midas’s ass’s-ears punishment too. The flayed body is especially horrid.

A boy was going round the exhibition with his dad looking intently at each print: ‘Poppa, that swan and that lady seem to like each other. Poppa, that swan and that lady are kissing’. I’m not sure how much detail Poppa gave Oscar about the state of Prometheus’s liver or the the skin of poor old Marsyas.

Upstairs between the French 19th century paintings and 18th century treasures – another 'real' picture, a typically quirkily composed Stubbs, knocked spots off the rest - there was a half gallery of loans from the Lunde Collection in New York, mostly of powerful landscapes led by Norwegians Johan Christian Dahl and Thomas Fearnley (a nice complement, Sue's comment below prompted me to remember, to the later landscapes of Nikolai Astrup I wrote about in my Bergen blog entry). This Bernese Oberland view from above Lauterbrunnen to the Jungfrau massif by Alexandre Calarne isn’t that special, but it triggered off a great Sehnsucht to rediscover that very special part of Switzerland I didn’t really appreciate as a schoolboy.

Quick lunch - excellent boudin – at Chez Jules on Hanover Street, then just time to pop into the Scottish National Portrait Gallery where I got no further than the first room to the left – a brilliantly juxtaposed selection of portrait sculpture mixing old and new (the deconstructed head below is by Jonathan Owen).

Loved most of the captions, the Sultan Ahmet medallion, the several Epsteins and these three: John Duncan Fergusson’s bust of the Anglo-Saxon Eastre subtitled ‘Hymn to the Sun’, possibly a portrait of his wife Margaret Morris;

Kenny Hunter’s down-to-earth red fibreglass bust of Trade Unionist Jimmy Reid, which sits on a plain low table; 

and Glenys Barton's ceramic bust of Jean Muir, instantly recognisable but totally original.

Then to pick up bag from the Parliament House Hotel and catch the 3.30pm back to London, beguiled all the way by the latest in Marilynne Robinson’s Gilead series, the simply beautiful Lila. When I've finished it, I'll have to go back and re-read the first in the sequence to be published (you could actually read them in any order). A day, then, that ticked many of the boxes needed to make it a good one.