Showing posts with label Royal Albert Hall. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Royal Albert Hall. Show all posts

Tuesday, 25 November 2025

The Wheel of Fortune

"Experience the thunderous power of Carl Orff's Carmina Burana like never before". So went the blurb on the Royal Albert Hall website...

So, of course, Madam Arcati and I simply had to book tickets for this one-off performance on Sunday!

On the bill were The Philharmonia Orchestra (conducted by David Hill), the very lovely Ailish Tynan (soprano) [who we know from being a regular guest on Radio 3's In Tune show when Sean Rafferty was still presenting it, before he unceremoniously departed], Sean Boylan (baritone), Robyn Lyn Evans (tenor), and the combined forces of the Highgate Choral Society, The London Chorus, The Bach Choir, Wimbledon Choral Society and The Southend Boys' Choir - 400 voices in all! Needless to say, we were excited.

As we were by merely being there...

But first... the opening segment was a sublime exercise in musical excellence all of its own, as the orchestra launched into the lively wake-up call that is Glinka's most famous overture:[Needless to say, there is no coverage from the evening itself, so you'll have to make do with an American combo instead...]

That was merely the amuse bouche, however. As my dear reader will be well aware, there is nothing we like more than a young man running his fingers all over a massive organ, and so it was that the floor shook and our chests rattled, as we experienced for the first time the 9,999 pipes of the one in the Hall - on Saint-Saens' paean to the instrument! [Again, unfortunately no footage is available of the young Paul Greally's fingering skills - so here's one from the Proms from a few years back].

Catching our breath, it was time for the interval, a drink, a pee and a fag (and some more photos)...

...then it was time for the "main course".

Some wise person once said "if a thing is worth doing, it's worth over-doing". That's an epithet that could have been written for Orff's 1936 "magnum opus" Carmina Burana [a work that has, incidentally, had a chequered history; it, like its composer, was at first condemned by the Nazis as "decadent", and later embraced by them]

It's a brilliant cantata, that perhaps surprisingly has its origins in some deeply cynical, satirical and anti-religious texts originating in the 13th century. I'll leave it to the Carnegie Hall website to explain its complexities:

Orchestrally, the score of Carmina Burana relies upon a large ensemble with an enormous battery of percussion. The work contains 25 individual movements separated into four major sections and a prologue, “Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi” (“Fortune, Empress of the World”). The opening chorus, “O Fortuna,” conjures the relentless drive of Fortune with its four-note motivic idea, pulsating rhythms, and gradually expanding orchestral canvas. The lament over the fickleness of Fortune continues in “Fortune plango vulera,” with Orff using a strophic scheme alternating men’s voices with the full chorus.

The first section of the score falls into two parts, with the first entitled “Primo vere” (“In Spring”). The movement “Veris leta facies” begins with an awakening call from high woodwinds and piano before the chorus rises from the lowest registers to greet the change of seasons. “Omnia sol temperat” presents the first solo voice in Carmina Burana, a baritone who compares the joys and pains of Love to Fortune’s inconstancy. “Ecce gratum” is a choral ode to Spring, brightly invoking the spirit of folk dances in another strophic plan.

The second part of the first section, “Uf dem anger” (“On the Green”), opens with a literal dance for orchestra, emphasizing strings, woodwinds, and horns. Another choral ode in Latin and German follows, “Floret silva,” praising the newly flowered forest and the games it offers younger lovers. The spirit of playful love continues in “Chramer, gip die varwe mir,” now with the addition of sleigh bells. The ninth number in the score, “Reie,” opens with another dance for orchestra followed by a succession of choral passages that alternate between erotic courtship and outburst. The brief final movement of “On the Green” opens with grandiose fanfares and proclamations but ends smuttily with a lusty statement about the Queen of England.

“In Taberna” (“In the Tavern”) forms the central section of Carmina Burana and presents various songs inspired by drinking and carousing. The solo for baritone “Estuans interius” is another jeremiad about the misfortunes of love. The rotating misery of Fortune takes a humorous guise in the movement “Olim lacus colueram,” with a tenor singing the plaintive song of a swan as it roasts on a spit. “Ego sum abbas” parodies monkish plainchant as the baritone assumes the character of a drunken abbot. The final movement, “In taberna quando sumus,” conjures up the whole rowdy world of a tavern with its gambling, drinking, and debauchery as if it were a Breughel canvas come to life.

The mood goes fully amorous and ribald in the next section, “Cour d’amours” (“The Court of Love”). The opening movement, “Amor volat undique,” features children’s voices smugly praising couples in love while the soprano soloist depicts the pain of those who remain alone. “Dies, nox et omnia” presents the lovelorn baritone, the love’s sorrows pushing him to the highest reaches of his tessitura. “Stetit puella” presents a statuesque vision of a young girl adorned in red, perhaps the same sweetheart the baritone pines for in “Circa mea pectora.” “Si puer cum puellula” presents the baritone and solo members of the chorus acapella, extolling the delights of fleshly love. The full chorus returns in “Veni, veni, venias” in another roundelay of lust. A meditative air returns with the soprano’s solo movement, “In trutina,” as the choices of desire and chastity are weighed.

...speaking of which - Miss Tynan performed this beautifully for us, but [again, thanks to the lack of video footage of her] let's instead enjoy an utterly wonderful (and exceptionally camp) version by the late, great Lucia Popp:

The story continues:

[following that] “Tempus est iocundum” pours forth in joyous waves as the soprano, baritone, chorus, and children’s chorus exalt the games of love before the soprano swoons in stratospheric ecstasy in “Dulcissime.”

The final section contains two movements. First, the epic “Ave formosissima” extols the great beauties of medieval literature: the princess Blancheflour, Helen of Troy, and the goddess of Love herself, Venus. Then, like a cataclysm, the true queen returns in all her fury—Fortune, Empress of the World, and the “O Fortuna” closes out the work.

It is, of course, that very finale that just about everybody knows best - and it was palpably the bit the whole audience in the Hall was waiting for, with very good reason. Four hundred voices, a full orchestra, drums, tubas, the lot?! We were in ecstasy.

Even the Netherlands' finest purveyor of "pop-classics" André Rieu, his orchestra and chorus pales in comparison with our evening's version [but it's all we have...]:

By the end of all that, we were absolutely drained!

An utterly stupendous, unforgettable (and unrepeatable) experience.

Sunday, 23 November 2025

Orff we go!

Madam Arcati and I are off this afternoon for another slice of culture with a capital "K"; to experience the splendid Carmina Burana by Carl Orff - in the magnificently opulent surroundings of the Royal Albert Hall, no less!

Meanwhile, a bit of "Sunday Music" is in order, courtesy of our "house band" here at Dolores Delargo Towers - a classic pop choon as you never heard it before...

Faboo!

Monday, 15 September 2025

Will you do the Fandango, the typewriter, or the arrows of desire?


That frock! [click to embiggen]

From the Financial Times:

At the end of the (Proms) season the BBC always likes to blow its own trumpet — this year it reported surging numbers for online viewing and listening — but what other festival of mostly classical music can fill a venue of 6,000 capacity (including standing places for Prommers) on so many nights over eight weeks?

The closing jamboree was the most fun Last Night for years. Those who get offended by classical music being mixed with rock, musicals and comedy, look away now.

Indeed. For in a second-half opener like no other I can remember [and we did only watch the second half of the Last Night of the Proms] - as opposed to something in the classical or romantic canon, the orchestra revved up for a tribute to Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody, which was released fifty years ago this year [gulp!], and the excellent lead singer Sam Oladeinde was joined by Sir Brian May on his guitar, and Roger Taylor on Britain's biggest gong!

Wow.

From one camp melodrama to another, as the BBC Symphony Orchestra launched into Shostakovich's Festive Overture, then followed it...

...with the arrival on stage of our soprano for the night Miss Louise Alder as "Eliza Dolittle", for a 60th anniversary tribute to My Fair Lady! [As I said in yesterday's blog post, this was the second time in two days we were treated to the greatest hits from the movie musical.]

Typically for The Proms, there always have to be some more avant-garde moments in any concert - and the final ever live performance by ace trumpeter Alison Balsom with some virtuosic riffs from Bernstein's Prelude, Fugues and Riffs certainly fitted that bill. There also has to be at least one premiere work, and Rachel Portman and Nick Drake's rather disappointing The Gathering Tree ticked that particular box.

However, in-between, there was another genuine treat in store - as comedian and "national treasure" Mr Bill Bailey dead-panned his way through Leroy Anderson's quirky classic The Typewriter:

He's faboo!

All that out of the way, it was time for our conductor Elim Chan to lead the celebrations and get the traditional flag-waving, party-atmosphere finale started, opening (as it always does) with the "Promenader-pleasing" Fantasia on British Sea Songs, arranged by the season's founder Sir Henry Wood, followed by the return of Louise Alder - in that frock! - with a remarkable rendition of Thomas Arne's Rule, Britannia!

Gob-smacking!

By this stage, we're on a roll, flags a-flapping - and straight into another beloved piece (and contender for "the best National Anthem we never had") Elgar's Pomp and Circumstance March No. 1, better-known, of course, as Land of Hope and Glory:

Our throats hoarse from singing along - in our living-room - it was time for the traditional conductor's speech, closely followed by the most famous and beloved of all hymns [if it can be called such, given that its words were from an allegorical poem by William Blake], Hubert Parry's Jerusalem:

With the singing of the (real) National Anthem [and we still can't get used to it being God Save the King, rather than Queen], that's generally it by the time we get to Auld Lang Syne - but no! - Mr Bailey (and the Royal Albert Hall's massive organ) had the last word...

For bringing us an utterly tremendous evening's entertainment, and indeed, for the previous eight weeks - all hail, the BBC!!

Sunday, 15 September 2024

Bring me my arrows of desire!

The biggest party of the season - the Last Night of the Proms - certainly lived up to its reputation! Yesterday evening's eclectic concert included a bit of everything - from Saint‐Saëns to spirituals, from powerful Puccini arias to the Pink Panther, from William Walton to Welsh nursery tunes (arr. Grace Williams), and from Samuel Coleridge-Taylor's wistfully appropriate Summer Is Gone to the Match of the Day theme (part of a faboo new work Extra Time by Ian Farrington).

This year's soloist, US soprano Angel Blue charmed the pants off the Promenaders, not least with her wickedly flirtatious Al pensar en el dueño de mis amores (Carceleras) (from a zarzuela (operetta) Las hijas del Zebedeo by Ruperto Chapi) [no video of the night, unfortunately, but here she is performing it in 2016], during which she tossed flowers into the audience and even handed one to our conductor Sakari Oramo, who then proceeded to try and conduct with it (until it broke)!

Musical arranger and star pianist Sir Stephen Hough was also centre-stage and, as an encore, performed a hilarious and breath-taking arrangement of tunes from the Sound of Music mingled with bits of Beethoven and Ravel, as well as providing superb accompaniment to Miss Blue's gorgeous vocals.

Following the interval, it was time for the real event - as the BBC Symphony Orchestra and Chorus and BBC Singers launched themselves into the traditional opener by the Proms founder Sir Henry Wood's Fantasia on British Sea Songs. Then it was time for Miss Blue to make her triumphal return - complete with Union Jack "joker hat" - for the first of the three songs that make up the finale [any of which could, and should, be our National Anthem], Rule, Britannia!:

...closely followed by a second, Land of Hope and Glory:

After that exhausting double-bill, it was time for Mr Oromo's conductor's speech - in which he compared the successes of the Proms season with the equally-triumphant-for-the-UK summer of sporting events, including the Olympics. Three cheers for Sir Henry, and it was on with the show! The triumvirate of flag-waving, sing-a-long numbers concluded with the classic Jerusalem:

With that, God Save the King, and Auld Lang Syne, it was all over for another year. After eight weeks of serious musicianship, and seventy-three concerts up and down the country, it was just what we deserved...

Monday, 11 September 2023

And did those feet in ancient time


[click to embiggen]

A long-standing tradition of ours here at Dolores Delargo Towers is to celebrate the time-honoured end of the "Summer Season" with that flag-waving, patriotic sing-a-long, the Last Night of the Proms!

Traditionally it formed a key part of the annual Proms in the Park concert that "our gang" gathered for in Hyde Park, but that no longer exists. And what with COVID and the Queen's death there hasn't been a full Last Night with an audience for the past three years, so the anticipation for Saturday's event was palpable.

It was worth the wait! Madam Arcati and I only watched the second half of the evening's entertainment (on the BBC, naturally), which opened with a world premiere of Laura Karpman's theme for the forthcoming MCU film The Marvels. [We noted that the entire Royal Albert Hall audience was wearing snazzy LED bangles that changed colour - red, white and blue, naturally - in time with changes in the music; someone must have sponsored them, so we assume it was Disney and that's why the unusual inclusion of that corporation's film score on the programme.]

Our star "players" cellist Sheku Kanneh-Mason and soprano Lise Davidsen were both utterly remarkable, taking the eclectic selection of openers Samuel Coleridge-Taylor's Deep River, a Hungarian showgirl's song Heia, heia, in den Bergen and the aria Cantilena from Villa-Lobos' Bachianas Brasileiras in their stride, before the traditional "party" really kicked off!

The reliable lineup of the BBC Symphony Orchestra, BBC Chorus and BBC Singers proved once again that they are the best in the business, and "mistress of ceremonies" was American conductor Marin Alsop, commemorating the 10th anniversary of her being the first female conductor to lead the Last Night - and so the world-famous all-British finale-to-beat-all-finales began, of course, with the traditional "Sea Shanties".

All bobbed-out, it was time for the audience (and their klaxons and balloons and amusing costumes and all) to welcome Miss Davidsen back to the stage - wearing what could only be described as a scarlet battleship (she's 6'2", and towered over the orchestra, and especially the tiny Ms Alsop)! - to belt out Thomas Arne's most bombastic should-be-national-anthem:

An even bigger "audience sing-a-long" followed; Elgar's finest:


Marin Alsop's (mercifully short; some go on forever) "conductor's speech" focussed on her hope to see even more inclusiveness and diversity in the Proms, hailing its founder Sir Henry Wood as a pioneer of "progress" in this regard [to this day, there are always £8/10 tickets available to stand - or "promenade" - at every single one of the season's eight weeks of concerts, including this one] and, in thanking the participating ensembles in turn, elicited a huge ovation for the BBC Singers, only recently under threat from budget cuts.

This done, it was back to the patriotism [despite the presence of so many damned EU flags, given out for free by determined - and ineffably smug - campaigners for the "Rejoin EU Party"], with Hubert Parry/William Blake's "hymn", another national favourite:

And, with the (actual) national anthem God Save the King [the first time "King" has been sung at the Last Night since 1951] and the customary Auld Lang Syne (complete with red, white and blue ticker-tape), it was all over.

Same time, next year? I should bloody well think so!


PS We didn't see any footage of the rest of the season (although we listened to quite a few Proms on BBC Radio 3).

This would have been a great one to go and, see, I'm sure...

BBC Proms official site.

Sunday, 12 September 2021

Bring me my arrows of desire

It was with a palpable sense of relief last night that we welcomed the return of one of the eternal highlights of our "Social Calendar" - its final denouement, indeed - the Last Night of the Proms, in front of a (traditionally "rowdy") live audience again [and in the 150th anniversary year of Royal Albert Hall, no less]! The Madam and I, despite being on our own at home (not even a Zoom meet-up, as was the case with last year's "cut-down version"), grabbed our Union Jacks and cleared our voices for the traditional sing-along...

For once, there wasn't too much dross to sit through in the run-up to the finale, thank goodness [of course we only joined it in part 2, after the interval], as it opened with the jolly Juba Dance by Florence Price.

The duo of Tango numbers (Piazzolla's Libertango and Aníbal Troilo's Sur) featuring the rising star accordionist Ksenija Sidorova was actually rather brilliant [no footage our there yet; thanks BBC!]. The round-the-UK folk song segment, not so much.

Apart from the marvellous BBC Symphony Orchestra, the BBC Singers and the genial conductor Sakari Oramo, the real star of the show, however, was Australian "James Corden looky-likey" tenor Stuart Skelton. He had already tackled Wagner in the first half, and in the second not only sang the traditional Brigg Fair (as arranged by Percy Grainger) and the aforementioned Tango elegy Sur, but also performed a sentimental version of Peter Allen's I Still Call Australia Home - wearing a sequinned shirt in tribute to the uber-camp singer-songwriter [see here] (who was, of course, immortalised by the lovely Hugh Jackman in the musical The Boy from Oz).

That done, the "fun bit" began - starting with the customary opener, Sir Henry Wood's Fantasia on British Sea-Songs, with the audience all bobbing along to the shanties and doing the "fake dabbing-of-the-eyes" for "There's No Place Like Home" (Tom Bowling), before Mr Skelton returned to the stage, this time in full Aussie cricket gear, for the rousing Rule, Britannia!

We'd hardly put our flags down for a swig of booze, and we were off again, singing along with gusto to the "National-Anthem-in-all-but-name" Edward Elgar's Land of Hope and Glory:

After Sakari Oramo's heartfelt speech, highlighting the devastating impact the pandemic had had upon the lives and livelihoods of musicians and singers over the past year, as well as the traditional "three cheers" to the founder of the Proms Sir Henry, we headed to the finale, with that other magnificent sing-along number Hubert Parry's Jerusalem:

And, with The National Anthem and the closing Auld Lang Syne, that was it for another year...

Utterly wonderful - and a tradition that should be preserved against "the slings and arrows" of hand-wringing "wokeness", self-delusional Europhiles and the rest!

Read about this year's Last Night of the Proms in detail, song by song, courtesy of the BBC.

Sunday, 10 September 2017

All day and all of the night



Wow. We had another excellent day of entertainment this year's Proms in the Park yesterday - in spite of the wind, the showers, the depleted number of attendees from "our gang", Tony Blackburn and all...

The closing party fo the extensive Proms season has long been a highlight of our social calendar here at Dolores Delargo Towers, serving as a most fitting end to the "Summer Season", and the herald of the "Autumn/Winter Collection" to come. For many years, we have attended en masse, but this year it was just Madam Acarti, Baby Steve, Houseboy Alex and I. We still managed to bring enough provisions for a siege, however, and had a hoot, to boot!



Having got through the security blockade (very early, considering the doors weren't supposed to open till 3pm), we made our usual dash and bagged a spot in our usual area close enough to the stage, but not hemmed in, and cracked open the booze. Oh, and food, too.



Holding court over the early section of proceedings was the annoying longest-serving DJ on Radio 2 Tony Blackburn. We ignored his inanity, as he introduced the opening act - the rather cute and immensely talented Hungarian pianist Peter Bence - a world record-holder for the most piano key hits in one minute (765) - who treated us to some examples of his mastery with a selection of interpretations of rock and pop hits by the likes of Sia, Queen and Michael Jackson. Like this one:




It did rain. Quite a bit, for a while. But the wind soon blew the black clouds away, in time for our next act.



After resounding applause, Mr Bence gave way to the universally popular and brilliant Texas! With a back-catalogue such as theirs - including Black-Eyed Boy, Summer Son, Inner Smile and (of course) the anthemic Say What You Want, and with the charismatic charms of lead singer Sharleen Spiteri, the audience was singing and dancing along. Everyone thoroughly enjoyed their set.

Up next was the very talented and energetic cast of the musical Five Guys named Moe [based around the boppy jazz music of bandleader Louis Jordan], which, with the incorporation of brilliantly choreographed and instantly recognisable numbers such as including Is You Is Or Is You Ain't My Baby? and Choo Choo Ch’Boogie, was excellent entertainment indeed!



Speaking of sing-and-dance-alongs... Our final act on the "daytime bill" was the one we had been looking forward to the most - those incomparable "party faves", Steps! We sang, we attempted their famous dance routines, we whooped and cheered! Celebrating twenty years this year since they first formed, they whipped us all into a frenzy with a cavalcade of hits such as One for Sorrow, Last Thing on My Mind, Story of a Heart (written by Abba!), After The Love Has Gone, Neon Blue and their barn-stormer Tragedy. [One comment on the whole thing, however - despite all the rehearsal (we heard Steps while we were queuing), why was the sound so shit? The BBC should be ashamed.] Here (with some very shaky hand-held phone-camera work by someone in the 40,000-strong audience) they are, performing Stomp:


As the screams from the audience subsided and the sun began to set, it was time for the break, and the inevitable trek to the loos. For the second half we had a far more sensible MC, the lovely Michael Ball who (inevitably) opened with a song. But it wasn't he who was the "proper" opening act. Oh, no - that honour went to the booming tonsils of the superb Sir Bryn Terfel, with a couple of fabulous numbers including the Welsh folk song Ar Hyd y Nos (All Through The Night).



But then it was his turn to give way to another "national treasure" - the powerhouse that is Elaine Paige! She sang (beautifully) an eclectic clutch of songs, including Radio Ga Ga by Queen, Piaf's Hymn to Love (If you love me, really love me), and As if We Never Said Goodbye from Sunset Boulevard. Sadly missing from the set were such "hand-wavers" as Memory, Don't Cry For Me Argentina or I Know Him So Well. Which left us feeling a bit deprived, really.

Bryn came back to the stage to perform a fabulously OTT rendition (complete with a milk churn as prop) of a song with which we all identify - If I Were a Rich Man from Fiddler on the Roof. Superb! Again, he handed over the baton - this time to that unlikeliest of '70s pop superstars, Mr Gilbert O'Sullivan. Never a "house favourite", nevertheless we all knew ever word to every song he performed - and sang with gusto to such "classics" as Matrimony, Nothing Rhymed and of course, the eternally popular Get Down:


This year, our "hosts" BBC Radio 2 celebrate fifty years as a broadcast station (previously known as "The Light Programme"), and here is the lavish celebratory video montage they put together for the occasion, which is fab:


[Needless to say, it was "Our Tel" Terry Wogan - long-time host of Proms in the Park - who go the biggest cheers.]

That over, it was time for our headliner, the legend that is Sir Ray Davies, erstwhile leader of The Kinks (looking slightly frail). Regardless, he managed to whip up a storm with a romping set of hit after hit, including Sunny Afternoon, Victoria, You Really Got Me, All Day and All of the Night, Dedicated Follower of Fashion, Days and, fittingly, Waterloo Sunset:


Brilliant!

However, of course, no "headliner" can compare to the riotous entertainment yet to come, as we transferred our attentions from park ("Hello Park!") to the Royal Albert Hall ("Hello, Hall!"), starting with a rather wonderful Finlandia performed by the BBC Symphony Orchestra [in celebration of the centenary of Finnish independence]. Then, without further ado it was time for the traditional Grand Finale - opening with the hugely popular "Sea Songs":


Swedish Wagnerian soprano Nina Stemme stormed onto the stage dressed as a Valkyrie to deliver Rule Britannia:


After the impassioned speech by conductor Sakari Oramo, we braced ourselves for the lung-bursting, flag-waving, foot-stomping final numbers - Land of Hope and Glory...


...and Jerusalem:


Thus, with fireworks, Auld Land Syne and the National Anthem, that was it. Farewell to another great evening, and farewell to summer...

Same time, next year?!

Saturday, 30 July 2016

Who knows? Not me. We never lost control



I sing with impertinence, shading impermanent chords
With my words
I've borrowed your time and I'm sorry I called
But the thought just occurred that we're nobody's children at all, after all

Live your rebirth and do what you will - Oh, by jingo
Forget all I've said, please bear me no ill - Oh, by jingo
After all, after all


The lyrics of David Bowie's nowadays-obscure 1970 album track After All (from The Man Who Sold The World) - done as a "sea-shanty" by the ensemble cast by way of a finale - sort of summed up the artistic endeavour that was the Bowie Prom that Paul and I went to see at the Royal Albert Hall late last night [and it did go on rather late; I didn't get home till 2am!].

Some, indeed, may well have accused the raft of arrangers (including Michel van der Aa, Jherek Bischoff, David Lang, Anna Meredith, Greg Saunier and Josephine Stephenson) who were called upon by the avant garde German ensemble s t a r g a z e [sic] and its artistic director and conductor André de Ridder to re-work and "re-imagine" selections from Bowie's vast and wide-ranging repertoire of such "impertinence" in meddling with a Master. There were definitely many examples of "impermanent chords" in some of the more - ahem - liberal interpretations of his music ["Did you recognise that?", Mr de Ridder said at one point. "That was 'Rebel Rebel'"; the arrangement, of course, bore no resemblance whatsoever to the original, so we were glad to be put out of our misery in that particular "guessing-game".]

Discordant and dissonant moments aside - you knew what you were letting yourself in for when the evening's performances opened with a new version of the already impenetrable scratchiness of Warzawa, upon which the entire string section was let loose with jarring consequences - the Prom was, thankfully, a lot greater than the sum of its parts. What it certainly was not, however, was a conventional panegyric. One suspects, from various opinions being bandied around the interwebs, that this disappointed some fans who had clambered for tickets for a "celebration" in the hope that it would be just that...

What made the evening great was not, perhaps, some of the indulgent orchestrations, but the brilliantly-talented performers.

Mr Neil Hannon (of The Divine Comedy) was very well-chosen for the opening Station to Station; his own vocal style echoing Mr Bowie's so closely at times it was quite scary. His This Is Not America, however, was almost (but not quite) fucked up by the inclusion of a verse done by a rapper...

His partner-in-crime/duettist, arch Bowie-ite and all-round fabulous performer Miss Amanda Palmer [formerly of the Dresden Dolls, who we so enjoyed at Patti Smith's Meltdown Festival tribute to Bertolt Brecht Stand Bravely Brothers way back in 2005] was herself a constant highlight throughout our evening. Indeed, her version of Heroes towards the end of the evening was utter bliss...


Unknown quantity Mr Conor O’Brien gave a rather lovely downbeat take on The Man Who Sold The World, but it was our beloved Marc Almond, the all-round audience-pleaser, who got the heartiest reception for his fine cabaret-tinged interpretations of Life On Mars and (later) Starman, which (despite stumbling over the words several times) were both excellent - in spite of the best efforts of the arrangers to steer the familiar into unfamiliar territory.

Another stunning performer who really made the evening something rather special was Miss Anna Calvi! Another of those artists I really should explore more, yet haven't (yet) - she has energy and power that belies her diminutive stature. This was more then evidenced in her wonderful Lady Grinning Soul, but the moment of all moments - the point at which I was reduced to breathlessness was her duet with the aforementioned Miss Palmer on David's final single while he was still with us - Blackstar:

Paul Buchanan, lead singer with another band of whom I know very little, The Blue Nile, has a beautiful vocal style, and presented a most wonderfully emotional rendition of I Can't Give Everything Away (marred only by the moronic people next to us who I had to "shush" as they were determined to talk or use their phones all through it), as well as a rather interesting take on Ashes to Ashes:


Laura Mvula was effervescent and sassy on Girl Loves Me, and even more so her jolly version of Fame. Counter-tenor Philippe Jaroussky, however, brilliant though he may be on Vivaldi, Monteverdi, Bach and Saint-Saëns, would never in a million years have been my choice for Always Crashing In The Same Car. It just made a sinister, deep and dark song sound like a parody.

And then came John Cale. The only man on the entire bill who was there when Bowie emerged, whose work with Velvet Underground David acknowledged in that famous sleeve note on Hunky Dory referring to Queen Bitch: "Some V.U. white light, returned with thanks." He was triumphant - taking Valentine's Day to a hugely synthesised new level, and giving Sorrow (with Anna Calvi again) the treatment it truly deserved in a reverent nod to The Great Man. His Space Oddity (with the lovely House Gospel Choir, members of whom I spoke to much later while we were all waiting for a bus home at Aldwych) was also great, if somewhat drawn-out in its repetition of the "sitting in a tin can..." stanza.

And so, with After All, and a rather cheesy - for obvious, audience-participation-reasons - Let's Dance to conclude, that was it.

In many ways this was a challenging experience, but the Bowie Prom was one I am very proud to say I was there for...

The Bowie Prom on the BBC website.

The review in The Guardian

Thursday, 30 April 2015

Sweetheart, lover, could I recover?





Madam Arcati, Alistair and I were mega-excited on Tuesday, as we headed to the ultimate in prestigious venues The Royal Albert Hall for a one-night-only production (by TV star Craig Revell-Horwood) of Stephen Sondheim's classic Follies! Being three "arch-Sondheimites", and given the all-star cast and the fact the show has not been seen (in is entirety) in London since 1987, this was certain to be a treat.

It definitely was all that, and more!

Follies is one of Sondheim's proudest achievements, crammed full of his most timeless and clever songs; its premise is the reunion of a (now-faded) troupe of former showgirls at the variety theatre that saw some of their greatest triumphs, just prior to its demolition. The story focuses in on the underlying regrets of two of the original stars, "Phyllis" and "Sally" about their life choices (mainly, their respective unhappy marriages to "Ben" and "Buddy", the "boys at the stage door" who courted them when they were famous), and is traditionally - and camply - staged as a "star vehicle" for a parade of the kind of ageing showbiz troupers so beloved of "gentlemen who are light in their loafers". And it is true - of the 5,000 capacity packed house, a sizeable majority were most definitely homosexualists...



The cast in this glittering "In Concert" production was a remarkable collection of faces beloved of us at Dolores Delargo Towers - Stefanie Powers, Anita Dobson, Betty Buckley, Lorna Luft, Anita Harris, Roy Hudd - and, best of all, Ruthie Henshall as "Sally" and Christine Baranski as "Phyllis"! What more could we ask for?

It was brilliantly staged, considering the vastness of the Hall and the looming presence of the City of London Philharmonic orchestra and chorus, with the use of (moveable) huge dressing-room mirror frames to shape and highlight the intimacy of different scenes. Particularly effective was the way the mirrors were used (especially in the operatic duet One More Kiss (performed beautifully by Charlotte Page) and the rumbustious Who's That Woman?) to "reflect" the showgirls singing and dancing in time with the "ghosts" of their younger selves.

Speaking of Who's That Woman? - this was Miss Dobson's finest hour (she allegedly learned to tap dance specifically in order to lead this "old chorine/young chorine" ensemble routine); I for one have never known such a tumultuous standing ovation for one number in the middle of a show before. We saw her hubbie Brian May before the show - he must have been so proud.





And what of the "big name troupers"? Of the "turns", only the duet between Miss Harris and Mr Hudd Rain on the Roof, sweet and cuddly as it was, failed to "gel"; they are not natural duettists, it seems, and were somewhat wobbly. Miss Luft was as brassy and belting and brilliant as we could have hoped on Broadway Baby, the predestination of her genes saw to that. Miss Powers was a revelation - we never realised what a fabulous singer she is, and her Ah, Paris was a delight.



Miss Buckley was simply great on I'm Still Here - she's no Stritchy, nor Eartha, but she twinkled and purred and evoked exactly the right world-weary tone for the lyrics, before ramping it up a gear or several for the climactic final verses... Wonderful!


Good times and bum times, I've seen them all
And, my dear, I'm still here
Plush velvet sometimes
Sometimes just pretzels and beer, but I'm here

I've stuffed the dailies in my shoes
Strummed ukuleles, sung the blues
Seen all my dreams disappear but I'm here.
I've slept in shanties, guest of the W.P.A., but I'm here
Danced in my scanties
Three bucks a night was the pay, but I'm here

I've stood on bread lines with the best
Watched while the headlines did the rest
In the depression was I depressed?
Nowhere near, I met a big financier and I'm here

I've been through Gandhi, Windsor and Wally's affair, and I'm here
Amos 'n' Andy, Mah-jongg and platinum hair, and I'm here
I got through Abie's, Irish Rose, Five Dionne babies, Major Bowes
Had heebie-jeebies for Beebe's, Bathysphere
I got through Brenda Frazier, and I'm here

I've gotten through Herbert and J. Edgar Hoover
Gee, that was fun and a half
When you've been through Herbert and J. Edgar Hoover
Anything else is a laugh

I've been through Reno, I've been through Beverly Hills, and I'm here.
Reefers and vino, rest cures, religion and pills, and I'm here
Been called a 'Pinko', commie tool, got through it stinko by my pool
I should've gone to an acting school, that seems clear
Still someone said, "She's sincere", so I'm here

Black sable one day, next day it goes into hock, but I'm here
Top billing Monday, Tuesday, you're touring in stock, but I'm here
First you're another sloe-eyed vamp
Then someone's mother, then you're camp
Then you career from career to career
I'm almost through my memoirs, and I'm here

I've gotten through, "Hey, lady, aren't you whoozis?
Wow, what a looker you were"
Or better yet, "Sorry, I thought you were whoozis
Whatever happened to her?"

Good times and bum times, I've seen 'em all
And, my dear, I'm still here
Plush velvet sometimes
Sometimes just pretzels and beer, but I'm here

I've run the gamut, A to Z
Three cheers and dammit, C'est la vie
I got through all of last year, and I'm here
Lord knows, at least I was there, and I'm here
Look who's here, I'm still here!


However, none of the aforementioned ladies (and gentleman) were the actual stars of the show. That honour went to Miss Henshall and Miss Baranski (ably matched by Alexander Hanson as "Ben" and Peter Polycarpou as "Buddy").



Miss Henshall was in fine voice (and was very convincing) as the "woman-on-the-edge" Sally, rejected in love as a girl by Ben and desperately making herself and the errant philanderer Buddy unhappy in their subsequent marriage as a consequence. Her poignant In Buddy's Eyes (which sounds like a love song, but in context is anything but), and fraught Losing My Mind were definite highlights, as was her and Mr Hanson's duet about their long-ago romance Too Many Mornings.

But nothing compares to the magnificent Miss Christine Baranski in full-on bitch-mode... Icily dismissive of Ben, their high society lifestyle and everything in-between, silently mourning what could have become of her life had she stayed in showbiz yet all the time realising she's left it too late, she performed an absolute corker on The Story of Lucy and Jessie - and her acidly bitchy Could I Leave You? was utterly wonderful!

Leave you? Leave you?
How could I leave you? How could I go it alone?
Could I wave the years away? With a quick goodbye?
How do you wipe tears away when your eyes are dry?

Sweetheart, lover, could I recover?
Give up the joys I have known?
Not to fetch your pills again every day at five
Not to give those dinners for ten elderly men from the UN

How could I survive? Could I leave you
And your shelves of the world's best books
And the evenings of martyred looks, cryptic sighs
Sullen glares from those injured eyes?

Leave the quips with a sting, jokes with a sneer
Passionless lovemaking once a year?
Leave the lies ill-concealed and the wounds never healed
And the game's not worth winning and wait, I'm just beginning

What, leave you, leave you? How could I leave you?
What would I do on my own? Putting thoughts of you aside

In the south of France, would I think of suicide?
Darling, shall we dance? Could I live through the pain
On a terrace in Spain? Would it pass? It would pass
Could I bury my rage with a boy half your age
In the grass? Bet your ass!

But I've done that already or didn't you know, love?
Tell me, how could I leave when I left long ago, love?
Could I leave you? No, the point is, could you leave me?
Well, I guess you could leave me the house, leave me the flat

Leave me the Braques and Chagalls and all that
You could leave me the stocks for sentiment's sake
And ninety percent of the money you make
And the rugs and the cooks, darling, you keep the drugs

Angel, you keep the books, honey, I'll take the grand
Sugar you keep the spinet and all of our friends and
Just wait a goddamn minute!

Oh, leave you? Leave you? How could I leave you?
Sweetheart, I have to confess, could I leave you?Yes
Will I leave you? Will I leave you?

Guess!


It is no wonder that is one of my favourite songs - and watching/hearing such an icon as Miss Baranski give it her full Broadway treatment was an utter joy.

[It could never match David Kernan's "gay version" in the original London production of Side By Side by Sondheim; then again nothing can...]:

[...but I digress...]

Full accolades must go, of course, to the younger versions of the cast - especially the leads Sally (Amy Ellen Richardson), Buddy (Jos Slovick), Phyllis (Laura Pitt-Pulford) and Ben (gay pin-up-du-jour Alistair Brammer) - all of whom were vocally excellent, and showed tremendous skill when (frequently) called upon to be the synchronised "ghosts", dancing and gesticulating in time with the older stars. Full marks to choreographer Andrew Wright for the excellent routines!

Despite the imbalance between opening segment (two hours) and finale scenes (half-an-hour); despite the awkwardness of being seated in "the pit" at the Hall, where the audience's heads are all at one level; and despite the venue selling out of programmes before we had even arrived, this was a truly awesome (and once-in-a-lifetime - we'll never see this cast perform together again!) experience. I was blown away by it all (and I am still humming the choons).

Remarkable!


PS I think Meryl enjoyed it too. We didn't speak.

Thursday, 24 July 2014

He dreamed of machines



Oh. Deep. Joy.

Last night, I was treated (by our good friend Paul, for my forthcoming birthday) to a most incredible evening - not just "a Prom" (in the glittering Royal Albert Hall), but THE Pet Shop Boys' Prom!

Opening with a heavily melodramatic orchestration of several PSB chart hits - Overture to Performance, masterminded by arranger Richard Niles - we knew we were in for a real treat. And when none other than the legendary Chrissie Hynde took to the stage to perform the next piece (“Four songs in A minor”), we were thrilled. As described admirably by Adam Sweeting in The Telegraph:
Chrissie Hynde teetered to the microphone in white blouse and tails, skinny jeans and high heels, like some sort of Nashville gunslinger.

She added the right amount of frayed world-weariness to Badalementi’s mooching, indigo-tinted arrangements. Love Is a Catastrophe felt like the aural equivalent of a bourbon hangover, while her duet with Tennant on Rent was piercingly bittersweet.

I couldn't help but think, however, that when it comes to the clipped, lyrical songs of Messrs Tennant and Lowe, a legendary diva with somewhat clearer diction might have worked a bit better.

It was a remarkable experience, nonetheless - but nothing compared to what was to follow!

For this was the world première of the Boys' classical meisterwerk - a tribute to the pioneering computer genius Alan Turing - A Man From the Future. Part Chris-Lowe-synthesiser-odyssey, part orchestral symphony, with narration by Oscar-winner Juliet Stephenson, the piece told the tragic story of the gay outsider genius from boyhood love and loss, through his amazing contribution to wartime code-breaking, to his persecution, death and eventual belated pardon by the establishment.

Mr Tennant stood in the sidelines as a part of the chorus, while the BBC Concert Orchestra (conducted by Dominic Wheeler) and Miss Stephenson took centre stage (the latter, bizarrely suspended in a commentary box in the proscenium). As the story unfolded, so the music mirrored the emotions - and throughout, He Dreamed of Machines...


The whole eight-part composition was an utterly beautiful feast for the senses (and, given its subject matter, an emotional journey through a life ruined by bigotry).

I feel privileged to have experienced it.

A Man From the Future on the Pet Shop Boys website.

Saturday, 12 September 2009

I write the songs that make the whole world sing



What a fantastic evening we had at Proms in the Park yesterday - the weather was the best it had been for days, we brought a huge and unhealthy picnic with loads of booze and managed to get a prime spot near the stage and the giant screens, ahead of a crowd of at least 40,000 people.



The first half of the concert (hosted this year by the affable Ken Bruce) is, as has become traditional, the home of the "tribute band". Last night we had three of them - all very good, admittedly - the Counterfeit Stones, One Night Of Queen, and a Motown act The Emperors of Soul. Think what you will of tribute acts, this lot got the crowd in a really good mood and we were all up and dancing and chanting along...



After the break Our Tel took to the stage to thunderous applause, appeasing the cheering crowd by stating "Rumours of my retirement are somewhat premature". In his own inimitable style he led us through the evening's entertainment, opening with the incredible voice of Icelandic tenor Garđar Thór Cortes, who was simply breathtaking. Faux-classical strumpets Escala strutted around the stage like the Pussycat Dolls, giving the elderly men a heart attack and the younger ones something to "phwooar" about.

Katherine Jenkins proved to possess a far better mezzo voice than her publicity and reputation would lead one to believe, and looked absolutely stunning to boot. Charmingly, she also gave us a rendition of the first song she sang in public at the age of four, I'm Going Down The Garden To Eat Worms.



But the block-buster headline act that many of the audience (particularly the women d'un certain age) had really come to see was a certain multi-million-selling megastar Barry Manilow!

Several of our little gang (Julie Pie Lady and Madame Arcati in particular) loathed him, yet by the time he was into his second number all of us were singing and dancing our hearts out. As I said in yesterday's blog, he may be the epitome of cheese, but many of his songs are indeed classics.

Then came the ultimate surprise, as Mr Manilow was joined on stage by none other than John Barrowman! The crowd went absolutely bananas, of course (you could practically hear them fainting onto their picnic blankets...), as they duetted on I Made It Through The Rain. Our throats were hoarse after singing along to numbers such as I Write The Songs, Bermuda Triangle, an up-tempo version of Could It Be Magic, The Old Songs and of course Copacabana.

Whew! I was impressed by his performance - it reminded me that love him or hate him, the man is the consummate showman. Throughout his hour-long set, he kept the audience exactly where he wanted them and never failed to deliver. I like Barry Manilow.





After the shower of fairy-dust of Bazza, John, Kathryn and Gardar it was time to go over live to the Royal Albert Hall, starting with the by now obligatory link-up between musicians in other outdoor Proms events in County Down, Glasgow, Swansea and Salford, playing some awful atonal "Fireworks Fanfares" by new young composers (yawn). This dull bit was soon forgotten as we were treated to excerpts from Handel's "Music for the Royal Fireworks", accompanied by actual fireworks - a first for all of us - which was spectacular.

Although we were disappointed not to get the Henry Wood "Sea Songs" this year, we still managed to do a bit of a bob up and down as the traditional build-up to the finale began. The excellent mezzo-soprano Sarah Connolly (dressed bizarrely as Nelson in men's naval costume) led the sing-along for the rousing Rule, Britannia!, followed by Land Of Hope and Glory, Jerusalem and the National Anthem. More spectacular fireworks exploded overhead, we sang Old Lang Syne, and it was all over for another year.. A fabulous night's entertainment!

And here's the finale of the Last Night, for your delectation...




Sublime.