I offer you this incredible performance by La Yuja partly because life feels ever so slightly like this piece of music right now. I don't know what Rimsky's bees are on, but whatever it is, I may need some. Fasten your seatbelts.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Die Walkure: a roof on the hoof
I've been to some incredible Proms in my time, but I think Barenboim's Die Walkure simply took the biscuit. Here's my review, from the Indy: http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/classical/reviews/classical-review-prom-15-die-walkre-daniel-barenboim-berlin-staatskapelle-8729734.html
Above, how the hall looked during the ovation last night (sort of).
Bristol calling
As a techno-twit, I've been trying to get my head around the dizzying digital heights of the Bristol Proms. Fascinating chats with Tom Morris, artistic director of the Bristol Old Vic and the brain behind the series; Max Hole, chairman of Universal, which is throwing its weight behind the series; and Clare Reddington, digital suprema of Bristol's Watershed. All in the Independent, right now.
http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/classical/features/an-ear-to-the-future-bringing-classical-music-into-the-21stcentury-8728936.html
Meanwhile, here is my review of Barenboim's very steamy journey up the Rhine at the (London) Proms on Monday night, and I am just busy writing up last night's Die Walkure...
http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/classical/features/an-ear-to-the-future-bringing-classical-music-into-the-21stcentury-8728936.html
Meanwhile, here is my review of Barenboim's very steamy journey up the Rhine at the (London) Proms on Monday night, and I am just busy writing up last night's Die Walkure...
Friday, July 19, 2013
Friday Historical: Horowitz Live in London
This is Vladimir Horowitz's second-last recital in London, filmed live at the Royal Festival Hall in May 1982 (the last one was a week later. Thanks to my pianophile-in-chief consultant for the correction). He was not a well man by then, and apparently was on much medication, but the old magic is alive and well despite some slips; listen to the tone, the voicing, the variety of imagination, and a Polonaise-Fantaisie that certainly draws the tears from fanatics like me... And the way he plays the national anthem at the outset is a sliver of piano genius in itself, though this audience of 31 years ago stands to attention and doesn't applaud. (Prince Charles and co are in the royal box, not looking their most comfortable ever...).
The concert hall, which we see at the start, stands in grim concrete isolation in a lifeless area. It's a bit different today, happily.
The programme is:
Part I
01. God Save The Queen
02. Scarlatti Sonata in A flat major K127
03. Scarlatti Sonata in F minor K466
04. Scarlatti Sonata in F minor K184
05. Scarlatti Sonata in A major K101
06. Scarlatti Sonata in B minor K87
07. Scarlatti Sonata in E major K135
08. Chopin Polonaise-Fantaisie Op.61
09. Chopin Ballade No.1 Op.23
10. Horowitz talks about himself
Part II
01. Schumann Kinderszenen Op.15
02. Rachmaninov Piano Sonata No.2 Op.36
03. Chopin Waltz Op.69-1
04. Rachmaninov Polka de W.R.
05. Scriabin Etude Op.8-12
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Favourite things: the Soweto String Quartet
Nelson Mandela is 95 today. This video shows the Soweto String Quartet playing at the Kirstenbosch botanical gardens in Cape Town and a vision of all its audience - young, old, black, white and much in between - loving the music and the dancing and the beauty of the landscape together.
Perhaps the last happy day I spent with my father was in this exquisite spot, back in 1996. He was already suffering from terminal cancer, but we had two weeks of quality time in South Africa, with the most beautiful outing of all at Kirstenbosch. He'd refused to go back to his native country while apartheid was in place, but after Mandela became president he started spending his winters there. I realised, seeing him then, that he'd missed it all his life.
I haven't been back. But heading home from central London latish in the evening, in the underpass from the Imax to Waterloo Station I frequently see a Rastafarian busker. He has a guitar, dreadlocks, a ready smile and a warm and generous voice. He often sings this song. I cannot tell you the number of times he's cheered me up with it, nor how many times - after an uninspiring performance somewhere that should have been better - I've thought it the most heart-warming music I've heard all evening.
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