Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Tomorrow
I'm doing a talk about ALICIA'S GIFT at East Sheen Library tomorrow evening, with readings given by the actress Geraldine Moffatt, who does the different voices better than I ever could. 7.30pm start, wine & nibbles included in the £2 ticket. All welcome! Full details here.
well done
DJ Mills is right: it's Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, in an article written in 1911, the year before his untimely death.
I liked Steve's suggestion of Prince Charles, though! I find it intriguing that, apart from the gently archaic language, the sentiments SCT expresses here are seen as something that could still be said today, nearly a century later (albeit just by one relatively isolated part of the audience).
Must dash - am having an Indy Panic, results in paper (I hope) on Friday.
I liked Steve's suggestion of Prince Charles, though! I find it intriguing that, apart from the gently archaic language, the sentiments SCT expresses here are seen as something that could still be said today, nearly a century later (albeit just by one relatively isolated part of the audience).
Must dash - am having an Indy Panic, results in paper (I hope) on Friday.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Who said this?
Who said this? Answer tomorrow. Suggestions welcome in the interim (no prize offered).
"...few recent compositions really move one - though many of them astonish. It seems as if the composers would wish to be classed with the flying man in his endeavours to 'go one better' than the last...much of the music of the period reminds one of the automobile and the airship. It is daring, clever, complex and utterly mechanical.
The question is - Should an imaginative Art follow such lines? Should it not rather come from the heart as well as the brain?
Of course, a fine technical equipment is a very desirable thing, and nothing of worth can be accomplished without it; but should 'What do you think of my cleverness?' be stamped so aggressively over nearly every score that we hear?
The lack of human passion in English music may be (personally I think is) merely transitory. It is being pushed aside only while the big technical Dreadnought is in its most engrossing stage of development. Soon the builders will have the time to love again - when the turmoil is hushed somewhat - to give the world a few tender and personal touches amidst the strife, which will 'make us feel again also'."
Monday, March 12, 2007
Speaking of new music...
In the light of the Gant/Wordsworth debacle, here's another take on attitudes to new work of debated quality.
In today's Independent, I have an interview with Simon Keenlyside, who is singing Prospero in the revival at Covent Garden of Ades's smash-hit opera The Tempest, which opens tonight. I believe he's one of today's most fascinating baritones, a man with a brain as astute and analytical as any scientist, maybe more so than some.
Some of you may remember that Keenlyside took the leading role in Lorin Maazel's 1984 at Covent Garden a couple of years ago. Now, that opera must have been among the most critically reviled creations to hit the London scene this decade, partly because Maazel was known to be funding its staging himself, partly perhaps because some people knew something that others of us didn't until we heard it. I was willing to give it a chance, but Tom and I were both so disappointed with the music that we voted with our feet at the interval. But the production team and the cast nevertheless gave that opera everything they had. The standards were world-class in every respect. One audience member has since assured me that it was the best evening he'd ever spent in the theatre.
I asked Simon Keenlyside about 1984 in the interview, but in the end decided not to include the topic in this article, since space is limited and of course we were focusing on The Tempest which is a very different kettle of Calibans. His answer was still very interesting. I don't generally include what you could call out-takes of interviews here in blogland, but under the circumstances, I will - because he found countless positive things to draw out of the experience. Here is a slightly edited transcript:
UPDATE, 5.55pm: Over at On An Overgrown Path, Pliable casts some extremely interesting light on the background to the Gant/Wordsworth story. It seems that the political leanings and writings of the work's commissioner, R Atkinson frere, may be not irrelevant and will be highly uncomfortable, not to say repugnant, to much of the British arts community. Pliable applauds Wordsworth's decision. He may be right.
In today's Independent, I have an interview with Simon Keenlyside, who is singing Prospero in the revival at Covent Garden of Ades's smash-hit opera The Tempest, which opens tonight. I believe he's one of today's most fascinating baritones, a man with a brain as astute and analytical as any scientist, maybe more so than some.
Some of you may remember that Keenlyside took the leading role in Lorin Maazel's 1984 at Covent Garden a couple of years ago. Now, that opera must have been among the most critically reviled creations to hit the London scene this decade, partly because Maazel was known to be funding its staging himself, partly perhaps because some people knew something that others of us didn't until we heard it. I was willing to give it a chance, but Tom and I were both so disappointed with the music that we voted with our feet at the interval. But the production team and the cast nevertheless gave that opera everything they had. The standards were world-class in every respect. One audience member has since assured me that it was the best evening he'd ever spent in the theatre.
I asked Simon Keenlyside about 1984 in the interview, but in the end decided not to include the topic in this article, since space is limited and of course we were focusing on The Tempest which is a very different kettle of Calibans. His answer was still very interesting. I don't generally include what you could call out-takes of interviews here in blogland, but under the circumstances, I will - because he found countless positive things to draw out of the experience. Here is a slightly edited transcript:
JD: I saw you in 1984 and thought you were magnificent, but I must admit I had some problems with the piece.
SK: My job, if I accept the job, is – what’s that expression? Put up or shut up... If you’re booked to do a job, why would you want to pull the carpet out from under your own feet? If you’re on a stage, you’ve got to commit yourself 100%. And I’m not going to comment on the music, you wouldn’t expect me to of course, but I once read an old soldier saying that he always went to a man’s weaknesses through his strengths, so I’ll go as far as the strengths. I thought it was a good evening in the theatre. Whatever you think about the piece, I found a lot of worth in it and found it very enjoyable to do. Also I had Robert Lepage to deal with, which was an absolute privilege. Maazel is a brilliant man – just to be under his baton is a privilege. I’ve never seen anyone with such control, such ability to run a recipe like that and still have room in his head to talk to you. It’s great... Besides, people pay a lot of money for those tickets, and how can I argue my corner about opera, about music, if I think 'These people have paid a lot of money, they‘re in an uncertain state and we’re not committed to it?' I think most people are committed on stage, even if you didn’t like it. All of us have to take part in productions we can’t bear, we have no control but we’ve still got to give it our all...
UPDATE, 5.55pm: Over at On An Overgrown Path, Pliable casts some extremely interesting light on the background to the Gant/Wordsworth story. It seems that the political leanings and writings of the work's commissioner, R Atkinson frere, may be not irrelevant and will be highly uncomfortable, not to say repugnant, to much of the British arts community. Pliable applauds Wordsworth's decision. He may be right.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Decomposition?
Yesterday The Times carried a most extraordinary story. It seems that on 25 February the estimable maestro Barry Wordsworth decided at the last moment to drop a world premiere from a concert with the Brighton Philharmonic Orchestra. The work, entitled A British Symphony, had been commissioned from the composer Andrew Gant by Rowan Atkinson's businessman brother, Rodney.
Gant is organist, choirmaster and composer at the Chapel Royal, inviting comparison with some of the most distinguished British composers in history - Byrd, Gibbons and Purcell were official organists there. One GF Handel wrote Zadok the Priest while he was in post as official composer to George II.
Wordsworth had decided he 'did not believe' in the piece. But was this unprofessionalism, a middish-life crisis, something vaguely political (the title suggests a patriotism deeply unfashionable on these shores) or real artistic integrity? Unfortunately, we haven't heard the piece, so we can't say.
Can you imagine the works that would never have been performed if their conductors had decided not to believe in them? Tannhauser might never have hit 1860s Paris. Otto Klemperer might have ditched some Korngold (I remember reading he refused to take a bow after conducting Die tote Stadt for the first time. That's his problem.) On the other hand, we might never have had to suffer a single note of...well, don't get me started.
If we don't hear new works, though, we can't assess them - finito. Any artistic 'age' is going to produce mountains of dross and a few really great pieces, and while sometimes it's clear which is which, sometimes also it is not. So it's worth sitting through the occasional piece of c*)p - and conducting it, if that's your job. Who knows, someone somewhere might like it.
Gant is organist, choirmaster and composer at the Chapel Royal, inviting comparison with some of the most distinguished British composers in history - Byrd, Gibbons and Purcell were official organists there. One GF Handel wrote Zadok the Priest while he was in post as official composer to George II.
Wordsworth had decided he 'did not believe' in the piece. But was this unprofessionalism, a middish-life crisis, something vaguely political (the title suggests a patriotism deeply unfashionable on these shores) or real artistic integrity? Unfortunately, we haven't heard the piece, so we can't say.
Can you imagine the works that would never have been performed if their conductors had decided not to believe in them? Tannhauser might never have hit 1860s Paris. Otto Klemperer might have ditched some Korngold (I remember reading he refused to take a bow after conducting Die tote Stadt for the first time. That's his problem.) On the other hand, we might never have had to suffer a single note of...well, don't get me started.
If we don't hear new works, though, we can't assess them - finito. Any artistic 'age' is going to produce mountains of dross and a few really great pieces, and while sometimes it's clear which is which, sometimes also it is not. So it's worth sitting through the occasional piece of c*)p - and conducting it, if that's your job. Who knows, someone somewhere might like it.
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