"Drop in the Ocean"

It's safe to say, that I'm really jealous of Latvia. It's literally overflowing with choirs. Virtually every company, society, school sings. Singing seems to be an intrinsic part of their culture, and the quality that comes from this is outstanding. The 'Kamer...' choir that recorded this disc are a youth choir...once you listen to the piece you'll understand how unbelievable this is.

I listened to what is apparently the best track on a disc bursting with virtuosity; and that is the effervescent and haunting, "Drop in the Ocean". Using text from Psalms and The New Testament, the composer, Esenvalds has succeeded in creating an arresting and original sound, that often mirrors it's title - each sound creating a ripple, that gradually builds into a full blown wave, before dying down once more.

The piece is basically unaccompanied, a backing of eerie, haunting sounds being the only addition to the choir - and it doesn't exactly serve as a musical starting block for the choir anyway, who seem to have a magical ability to pick out the correct pitch from thin air. The pure sound of the choir really suits the religious theme of the text, and the pious sound is whipped into the 21st century with a good dose of chromaticism here and there. It's really breathtaking when the entire choir comes together, in a raucous, brilliant climax - which is set off by some great counter rhythm in what sounds like the tenor section. And this somehow disappears into thin air, as the phrases repeat, each time gradually thinning, before vanishing completely with some magnificent diminuendo. Though, this is far too complex for me to fully understand I think, unfortunately. It's beautiful to listen to though...and at least, thankfully, I can appreciate that.

"Where shall I fly?"

I've become a complete Handel fiend...so I'm going to keep going in that direction I think :)

In my meagre 17 years, I've come to realise that Handel must have been psychic. Or a woman. Or both. This may seem like a bit of an odd statement - but he seemed to really know the exact limits of the female voice, had the ability to write to the very boundary, and tiptoe along the line of the voice's capability. This makes for a) some brilliant music to sing and b) a great listening experience. This aria, "Where shall I fly?", from Hercules must be one such boundary-tiptoeing example. Taken from Joyce DiDonato's collection of 'mad scenes', Furore, this aria is quite simply terrifying - especially when you see her amazing crazy acting...

The aria, as the title of DiDonato's CD suggests, constitutes the mad scene, and the denouement, of Handel's musical drama. Hercules' wife, Dejanira, is pretty pissed at the thought of her husband returning home with a rival for his love: Iole, daughter of murdered King Oechalia. However Dejanira thinks she has and ace up her sleeve, and sends Hercules a robe that apparently possesses the power to restore his love for her. Little does she know that it had actually been poisoned by a centaur who was mortally wounded by Hercules. Dejanira is driven mad with grief and regret when she learns of her husband's death - resulting in the exert that I've been having a listen to.

There are so many elements of this aria that just scream 'I'M ABSOLUTELY CRAZY', that it's going to be quite a challenge to just focus on a few. However, the first thing that arrests the listener is the very very busy orchestral accompaniment; it seems to mimic the thoughts that must be running through, and completely suffocating, this woman's mind. It seems to run away from itself, as Dejanira must be desperately trying to run away from the reality of her actions. This is interestingly contrasted by the eerily beautiful interlude, where she asks to be hidden from 'their hated sight' - the complete contrast in mood created by the different styles of expression, perfectly paints Dejanira's madness - as she skips seamlessly from one emotion to its polar opposite. Aristotle, the father has tragedy, has said that the perfect example of this genre must evoke 'fear and pity' in its audience - and this is certainly achieved here, as we travel with Dejanira through fury, grief, fear, and back again.

I was scared watching DiDonato singing this. It's a truly amazing, yet terrifying experience - mainly for the fact that she completely embodies the character. Or maybe she is a little bit crazy; who knows! I love how she slightly lets her voice go - there is what seems like a subtle relaxation in relation to sound production which really allows all emotion to just pour out of her. There is a raw sound to all of it - some parts even verging on cultivated shouting - that just equal perfection for me. I now can't hear anyone else singing it. Plus, she's got the 'Hello, I'm mentally disturbed' anxious rocking down to a T.

"Fairest Isle"

I've just been sent a bunch of sheet music by the lovely people at the Worcestershire Baroque Orchestra for a course/workshop I'm doing in a couple of weeks, and I was immediately drawn to this air from Purcell's King Arthur.

Now, as I've probably said before, my sight singing is nothing like what it should be...I think a few decades of solfege is in order! So I can't say that I was drawn in by what I was hearing in 'my mind's ear'; no, it was purely for the fact that (and I quote myself directly here) 'this music's so old that the notes are written the wrong way!'. So with my highly intellectual and inspirational observation to spur me on, I dove into Venus' aria...

King Arthur, based on the legend of the man himself (amongst other works such as Shakespeare's The Tempest) , is a 'semi-opera' really...as the principal characters don't sing - you're only roped into that if you're a supernatural character; in this case, the goddess of love, Venus. Her only aria appears in the final act, as Britannia rises out of the waves, standing on the 'fairest isle'.

The first thing that struck me about this was its overwhelming purity. The accompaniment is thin, mainly worked around the figured bass; so the focus falls entirely on the vocal line. Another interesting feature is the sort of mirrored rhythm that is repeated several times throughout; crotchet, minim, minim crotchet. Considering the piece is in 3/4 it kind of subtly stilts the flowing movement...I'm not entirely sure why though. I think it makes the melismas stand out though - and they're really the most heart-stopping thing about this...and make it obvious that it's Venus herself singing. There's an absolutely perfect example, that comes directly off the word 'excel' - the 'ssss' noise acting as a spring-board to the melismas which really do 'excel'...nice word painting there Mr. P.

Sylvia McNair, who's recording I discovered on youtube, has an extraordinarily pure voice, which matches perfectly with Baroque style of course, but also with the context of the piece and the character. Also, the not overly operatic voice makes diction much clearer, and every single word is perfectly enunciated. The only problem with this is that I always feel English sounds a little strange...and can't compare with the poeticism of Italian, French, or even German. Then again...I wonder if native speakers of those languages feel exactly the same way? Who knows...

"Ohime, se tanto amate"

Now time for a spot of musical innuendo, in the form the madrigal Ohime, se tanto amate by revolutionary Renaissance composer Claudio Monteverdi! Yay!

Some of Monteverdi's good old revolutionary ideas crop up in this madrigal, though he manages to weave them in to what was normal practice at the time. There's lots of false relations (like...notes moving to their next-door neighbour, so to speak, with no preparation) which was quite common at the time...but Monteverdi looks several centuries ahead of his time, including a lot of chromatic intervals...adding to what's already a bit a-tonal; there are 4 different keys within the first 4 bars!

But now onto the slightly weird stuff...you'll see what I mean when you read a translation of the lyrics:

Ah me, my lady, if you so delight

to hear a breathed 'ah me',

Why then so swiftly doom to endless night

A wretch that breaths 'ah me'?

For if I die, brief will your pleasure be

to hear one weak and anguished last 'ah me',

But if you grant me grace, my lady bright,

Then shall you hear my ecstasy

Ten thousand times breathe out a soft 'ah me'...

Right...Just listen to the piece and you'll see that Monteverdi was in fact very skilled in word painting. It's weird to imagine this being sung at a party somewhere...must have been like the Renaissance equivalent to having Eddie Izzard in to do stand-up; really rude, but funny all the same. Minus the cross dressing of course. What an odd twist that would be.

"Ye boundless realms of joy"

I've just got back from Evensong rehearsal - and all I can say is - Anthem 18 from Handel's 'Chandos Anthems' is LOTS of fun to sight sing. In the frantic effort to get in notes and words, it was a surprise I came through alive. But I did! Hurrah!

Unfortunately we don't have a Baroque orchestra accompanying us, but I think I'd trade them any day for the wonderful acoustics we get in a Cathedral. One of my teachers has said that it's best to have lessons in a 'dead' room so that you're pleasantly surprised at even a slightly better acoustic - but there's nothing like the vaulted ceiling of a Cathedral to put a singer at ease!

This, kids, is contrapuntal to the extreme...it was so mental to sight read whilst everyone was doing their own thing around you...though, that's a choir for you! Matters weren't made all that much better due to the interesting publication we had, which had a lovely octave G over the page turn...oh HI! However, no amount of moaning can detract from the fact that this is a lovely anthem.

One of my particular highlights, is how every part comes from their different winding paths for certain important phrases such as 'His praise your song employ', 'above the starry frame'...and so on. Very simple, but has a very poignant effect on singer and listener alike I think. Though it's the weaving of the vocal parts that really pulls the listener along, and gives it that lovely baroque bounce :)

"Dans le silence de la nuit"

I couldn't find a great picture to accompany this...so I settled on this photo I took whilst in Italy...I only wish I had fancy equipment so my camera could see what my eyes were seeing! But it captures 'le silence de la nuit' quite nicely...

Firstly, I apologise for the massive error on the Fleming overload of late...but...I started listening to one thing...then was led to this...and I love, love, love that voice - just a pity about the shoddy French diction.

I'm not entirely sure what to say about Rachmaninoff's chanson 'Dans le silence de la nuit' other than the fact that it's beautiful. In true Rachmaninoff style, the guy clearly couldn't quite stray from his beloved piano. The effect of staying faithful to his instrument is a subtle battle for the limelight between vocal and accompanying part. Unlike, say, a song by Brahms, the piano seems to exist separately from the vocal line (a bit similar to Fauré) - and could easily be separated entirely and played as a solo. However, the stunning, heart-rending effect comes when both strong lines play off each other, creating an emotional swell that vanishes into nothing... presumably le silence de la nuit...

"Ero desso, il figlio mio"

Of all of the Italian beasts of Bel Canto composition, Donizetti is the one I am least acquainted with, so I hope Lucrezia Borgia is a good place to start...

Based on Victor Hugo's play (which itself was based on the legend of Lucrezia Borgia), Gaetano Donizetti's opera didn't get off to the best of starts. When the opera opened in Paris in 1940, Monsieur Hugo said the production breached copyright and performances were forced to be cancelled. But the day was saved when someone had a stroke of genius and simply changed the Italian characters to Turks and slapped a new title on it; 'La Rinegata'. This was deemed sufficient for the French copyright bigwigs, and performances were resumed.

The plot centers around Lucrezia Borgia herself; resident masked murderer and wife of the Duke of Ferrara. Gennaro is her son, though he doesn't know it yet, and in an act of defiance against the havoc wreaking Borgia family, he defaces the coat of arms outside the house, knocking off the 'B' to leave 'orgia'...and I'm sure you can guess what that means. Lucrezia is clearly pissed off and orders the vandal to be killed, though only just manages to give Gennaro the antidote to the poison given by the Duke, before imploring her son to escape from the city. Her thirst for murder clearly isn't quenched though, and in a revenge attack for a barrage of insults on her family, she poisons all of Gennaro's friends at a party. Only...Gennaro never left the city, and as his friends all die around him, he attempts to kill Lucrezia, who only narrowly escapes death by laying down the 'Stop, I'm your Mother' card. Lucrezia once again offers her son the antidote, but he choses to die with his friends; and in this final cabaletta 'Ero desso, il figlio mio', Lucrezia mourns her loss. EPIC.

You can tell, from the very first beat of this piece that it's going to be tragic in truly epic proportions. Not only is the tragedy in place very quickly, but as is Lucrezia's love for her son. The powerful, almost violent, beginning suddenly gives way to a softer flute interjection; which is so reminiscent of Bellini's magic morbidezza. Thinking about this, of all of the famous Bel Canto composers, I'd say (from my very small dose of Mr. D!) that Donizetti seems to have an overall style of composition most similar to that of Bellini. Also, the first chord and subsequent pulsing violin accompaniment instantly (and oddly) reminded me of Prokofiev's ballet Romeo and Juliet for some reason...but either way, the stage is set for anguish and calamity before Lucrezia's even opened her mouth.

And when she does, all of the musical forces of tragedy come together. In the version sung by Renée Fleming on youtube, you can sum up the entire piece by listening to the second word she sings - all of the anguish in her heart is pushed out like some grand scale catharsis on the word 'desso'. Fleming isn't well known for her Bel Canto technique, and therefore the cadenzas are a little more murky than what you'd expect from a singer experienced in this repertoire, however no one could fault her vocal acting, which is just superb. Her best cadenza is an 'improvised' unwritten one, where she goes up to an eye-watering G if I'm not mistaken, which is quite breathtaking.

I'd be quite interested to hear a mezzo soprano singing this...Renée Fleming is great in that she has the dark vocal colour that is needed - however, this is lost slightly on the extreme lows. Though I'm not sure I'd trade those passing moments for the sparkling high register...though I suppose there are plenty of mezzos out there who can more than handle the two octave runs with impressive agility (DiDonato springs to mind...watch this space!).

I wish Lucrezia Borgia was performed more often, as based on this short extract, I would most definitely buy my ticket; albeit the cheapest ticket 'up in the gods'...

"Ach! So fromm, ach! So traut"

And now, Lyonel's aria, one of the most famous arias from Friedrich von Flotow's 'romantic comic' opera, Martha.

Before I start on anything at all, I adore this man's voice. As I've said before in the Nina entry, I love the fact that at first you feel like you're listening to a baritone, until he hits those glorious high notes. I'd be really interested to see him in a baritone role at some point...I wonder whether he could handle it?

Set in England in 1710, Martha is nice and stereotypical and begins with...wait for it...a disguise! Lady Harriet, bored with her life and suitor, Sir Tristan, decides to mix it up a bit. She and her maid go incognito as country girls 'Martha' and 'Julia' to a country fair. Brilliantly, Sir Tristan is persuaded to go as 'Farmer Bob'. In a slightly creepy twist, the country girls are auctioned off for work at the highest bidder's farm; and brothers Plunkett and Lyonel win Martha and Julia. There is much confusion involving farmwork, Farmer Bob, a group of hunters and the Queen herself - but all ends happily with Lady Harriet's bizarre behavior being forgiven Lyonel being made the Earl of Derby, and Plunkett marrying Nancy aka Julia. Brilliant.

The interesting thing about this piece, by German composer von Flotow, is that it is so typically french. An interesting twist that may help to explain this, is that Flotow's musical training was all French, hence why the lyrical line of the melody is something that you'd expect from the tip of Massenet's quill. It's slightly unnerving therefore to here the German lyrics...but it's so beautiful that in the end you don't really mind.

"Alélyoua"

After hearing the news that a survivor has been found, a full 11 days after the Haitian earthquake, I felt I needed to find some music that could lift spirits and make us believe that miracles can happen.

Little needs to be said about this choral piece by Haitian composer, Emile Desamours, as anyone who listens to it will surely be able to feel the palpable joy. One note though; there is a vocal technique that runs through it that takes my breath away every single time - where the entire choir push the sound forward in such a focused and concentrated way, that it sounds like a single voice. Mixed in between some 'traditional' harmonies, there is a definite percussive element which creates a 'folk' feel - making a perfect bridge with the traditional music that is so intrinsic to Haitian culture.

Hopefully, in the very near future, Haiti will experience this joy again, and have the inspiration to create more of this spirited music.

"Duet from 'Nina'"

And now to an Opera who's DVD cover makes it look like the love-child of hollywood director Tim Burton and little known composer Giovanni Paisiello; Nina.

The sentimental comedy that is Nina, is not very well known at all, in fact, according to the web, it barely exists at all. The only synopsis I can find is a vague one, but gives a bit of background to this wonderful duet.

So apparently I'm not that far off with the crazy Nina/Tim Burton description...as apparently Nina is a patient in a 'sanatorium', losing her reasoning due to her father's disapproval of Lindoro, her first choice for a husband. Though all is not lost, as Lindoro returns, and adopts the role of a friend when Nina doesn't recognise him. Through a series of hints, Nina slowly starts to realise who he is, and it ends happily ever after as they rejoice in their rediscovered love.

So this duet comes at the end of all this, when Lindoro has returned, and Nina is slowly coming to her realisation. Or she's already realised...I'm not entirely sure. There are several things that could be interpreted in both circumstances, so I'll give both sides. For example, there is a brilliant section, where both orchestration and vocal line, gallop ahead of the tempo set previously. This could indicate either a wave of realisation on Nina's part, that Lindoro is standing right in front of her. Or, considering the fact she's focused on removing his waistcoat, could be post-realisation excitement for who knows what...

When I first heard the music, I was immediately struck that it was a mix between Rossini Mozart-like orchestra accompaniment. There's something about the sweet, melodic line in some of the passages that so reminds me of phrases from La Clemenza, whereas the increasinly rhythmic focus as the piece goes on, makes me think of most Rossini compositions. There's also a violin phrase that comes inbetween vocal phrases that just has Rossini written all over it. Though this is just my ears, which may be a little uncultured...take a listen yourself to make up your own, probably more accurate, mind :)

It's interesting that Cecilia Bartoli is singing this role, written for a Soprano, even though she does have an impressive range. It's quite difficult to tell whether this is a wise choice or not, without any available comparisons, however, I enjoy the quality of her singing, which is so strongly based on the use of breath in rhythmic sections. Her face scares me slightly though; it's one of the most intense singing faces I've ever seen! I'm 100% sure that 97 year old, slightly blind Edna in the back row of the Met would be able to see every single one of her facial expressions. And that's no bad thing, she certainly tells the story! Jonas Kauffman on the other hand, is so relaxed in everway; vocal production and acting. That baritone quality of his tenor range really sets him apart from other tenors of his generation; creating a richness that you usually expect from the 'villian' and not the 'prince charming'.

I'm very excited that this is available on DVD...I may have to check it out on amazon.com - I'm becoming they're most valuable customer...

"Bevo al tuo fresco sorriso"

This beautiful chorus number from Puccini's La Rondine is my parent's favorite piece of classical music, probably due to the fact that it's the epitome of Puccini. The rousing melody makes a lasting impression, and stays stuck in your mind for days - but has the magic of staying new every time you hear it. The marriage of the soaring strings and resonant voices create what seems like one of the first examples of a show-stopping chorus number; a predecessor of it's musical theatre cousin.

Puccini pulled out all the stops on this; absolutely every element of opera is involved in this stunning, breath-taking piece. It's like the opera equivalent of a Bruce Springsteen anthem; you've got the 'kitchen sink' effect - EVERYTHING is in there. Chorus, full orchestra, soloists - everyone going hell for leather. And the result is just...well it brings tears to your eyes. Every-time.

The piece comes about halfway through Act 2, after Magda, disguised as 'Paulette', (as it simply wouldn't be classed as an opera without an element of disguise) meets Ruggero for the first time (as Paulette...) and the two fall in love. The piece is without doubt, a wonderful musical painting of their hearts soaring as they find themselves together, as the vocal phrasing suddenly breaks then continues up up and up to glass-shattering vocal heights in both the lead tenor and soprano lines. The video is truly mind boggling due to the fact that both Alagna and Gheorghui achieve this seamlessly...whilst sitting down. That's some real technique right there. Their acting is so brilliant that they seem enclosed in their own little bubble, as the celebration in song happens around them; they are too in love to notice. Though, at the time of recording, I suppose they really were...

The magic really starts to happen as soon as the full company come in. The chorus, though whole in sound, seem again like parallels of Magda and Ruggero - everyone is caught up in their own romance - their participation in the song binding them together by the dizzy state that links them all. They creat such a rich, vibrant and joyous sound - you can't help but be carried away by its romanticism. The melody of people enveloped in love generously crosses the orchestra pit, is given to the audience, and lifts your spirits like nothing before.

"Mild und leise wie er lachelt"

I'm scared of Wagner. Who wouldn't be when you hear stories worthy of Halloween about fated trips to a Der Ring das Nibelung lasting 24 hours over 4 days due to some particularly geriatric conducting. Even apparent musical geniuses such as Elina Garanca have had a painful Wagner experience; Tannhauser "bored [her] to tears". Albeit she was 7 at the time...Anyway, needless to say, I've avoided Mr. Wagner like the plague; until now...

In retrospect, having taken the Wagnerian plunge, so to speak, I'm not entirely sure what I was so scared about. Sure, I've not actually watched an entire 5 hour opera...but it's not really what I was expecting - my main Wagner knowledge coming from piano pieces that are just like the musical manifestation of Nazism. In fact, it's quite the opposite - as the title suggests; 'soft and gentle'.

This dreamy lament, 'Mild und leise', comes at the very end of Tristan und Isolde, when surprise surprise, there's a dead body to weep over. In a situation mirroring that of the famous Romeo and Juliet, this scene is referred to as 'Liebestod' - sticking together the German words 'liebe' and 'tod' meaning 'love' and 'death' - which basically means that the love is proven in, or after, death. Pretty tragic stuff really.

The melody grows out of complete silence; and there is something so soft and spiritual about this effect, as not only the dynamics grow, but the texture of instrumentation does too. When I hear it I can almost see Tristan's spirit leaving him, in front of Isolde's very eyes. What starts off as Isolde's personal, soft anguish, turns into externalised despair as the orchestration gets thicker, and the vocal line more desperate, as she tries to plead with herself, imagining Tristan reviving - asking 'do you not see?', 'how his eyes fondly open'.

The great thing about Jessye Norman's voice, is that it's simply huge. Even in the highly dramatic phrases in this aria, I never find myself thinking 'oh wow, she's completely spent now', instead; I always believe she's got some back up reserve of uber-power. This seems to work really well with this, as the orchestra creates what seems almost like a resistance, keeping the vocalist back slightly - which is, I suppose, the musical representation of how Isolde is constantly hitting the barrier of reality, preventing her imagination, and her voice, from soaring and bringing her beloved Tristan back to life.

Well...after that success, might even try seeing the whole thing! This will be a truly monumental occasion - perhaps this can be Musical fear No. 3 to overcome; greek myth and children down, Wagner to go!

"Pochudilis mne budto golosa"

I love Tchaikovsky more than most things in the world. There's something so richly melancholic about his intrinsically Russian music - I really really more than anything in the world wish I could be Russian when I hear any of his work - especially the vocal pieces; I have a particular soft spot for his Lullaby and At the Ball. Eugene Onegin was/is still, a total masterpiece; one which I can't fault in any way...especially when we have such a brilliant interpreter of Tatyana, and Russian music as a whole; Renée Fleming (yes...I may be a little bit obsessed...)

Anyway, I bought her CD 'Homage; the Age of the Diva' just the other day, and needless to say, skipped ahead straight to the Tchaikovsky - this little gem, 'Pochudilis mne budto golosa' from The Oprichnik...which I don't know at all...

From what I can tell from my sparse research, the Oprichnik were like mafia men/secret police for Ivan the Terrible in the 16th Century...carried such fashionable objects such as brooms and severed dogs heads...rode around on massive black horses in huge black cloaks...basically tortured everyone in the name of Ivan the Terrible...and all the time attempting to uphold the fact that they thought they were a bit like monks. As soon as Ivan realised he'd made a massive error, he disbanded these guys and made it punishable by death to ever mention it again. Way to end the terror there, Ivan, good plan. Anyway, seems to me an odd basis for a plot, even by operatic standards. Though, it does actually follow characters, set within this strange context; as opposed to Tchaikovsky being centuries ahead of his time and thinking 'hmm I know, I'll do a bit of docu-drama!'.

Anyway, legend has it that Mr Pyotr was largely displeased with the opera when he was getting going. In letters he was found to have said "I've been terribly lazy of late; the opera is stuck at the first chorus", that he'd "only written a couple of scenes". It seems to me though, procrastination whilst writing an opera is SO much grander then procrastination whilst...say...writing an essay. I mean, the guy's writing an OPERA - he deserves a break once in a while don't you think?!

So, Nataliya's Aria from this collection is beautiful. To be honest, I don't know the context of the piece at all, I only have a translation...so it's quite difficult to place it and make judgements about it - but I'll give it a go all the same.

The opening string melody (set under Nataliya's slight recitative section, where she questions whether she hears the sound of footsteps) for some bizarre reason makes me think thats she's escaped outside of a soirée somewhere, or that she's on the outside of some social breakdown...I think it must be the slightly distant style of the strings...and the text explaining how she "all alone" looking for a "glimpse" of her love. However, lets face it, looking at the history of the Oprichniks, something tells me there aren't going to be any lovely parties happening - it's just a strange interpretation I guess...I can't wait to see how completely wrong it is :) However, the pain which "stings [her] heart" really become obvious with the desperately soaring vocal line, perfectly displaying her anguish. The string accompaniment too, is a perfect example of Tchaikovsky's melancholic style. My absolute favorite part of the whole aria, is when the desperate searching for this "glimpse", which she prays to come "quickly"(nicely painted with the impatient movement forward of the music, like the thoughts rushing around in her head) is broken. What follows is a stunning prayer like lament - begging the wind to "carry [her] love back to her". It's like the musical equivalent of a roller-coaster. At the beginning, you're going down the steep drops, round the corners, feeling your stomach up in your throat. Then the string accompaniment rhythmically pulses and slows down as you reach the steep climb...you can feel the carriage pulling foward...then you reach the perfect moment at the top, when the momentum just carries you over the curve, into no-bars-held emotional free fall. The movement of this aria is one of the most heard rending I've heard - it's not only the notes that do it for me.

The thing as a whole is heartbreaking, and I love it, of course. There's nothing quite like Russian music, and it's certainly a favorite...I may explore some more...watch this space :)

"Cara speme"

I went into HMV today and spent such an obscene amount of money on music, that I think I'll have shoppers guilt for the rest of my life. However, in no way, shape or form do I feel guilty about buying this Wigmore Hall live recital disc. I was pretty much in tears when I went to book tickets for DiDonato's 2010 recital, only to realize it was completely sold out already; so I bought this as a, only slightly less exciting, consolation prize.

All of it's stunning, as expected - especially Hahn's 'Venezia' cycle, of which I'm already looking for the sheet music. However, as a newfound Handel fan - it was the encore of 'Cara Speme', from Giulio Cesare which really caught my ear :)

The aria is sung by Sesto (who was initially cast as a Soprano but Tenors were used even in Handel's lifetime) when Cleopatra agrees to help him avenge the murder of his father...by killing her brother...Oh opera, you're so brilliant in every single way. However, far from a fierce declaration of revenge (a bit like Magdalena Kozena's version), DiDonato gives this a softeness, and pensiveness which makes you feel he's doing this, without doubt, for the love of his father. This probably owes to the legato accompaniment as much as her sweet voice.

What first struck me about this recording, with simple, flowing piano reduction - was that I couldn't hear a lot of the typical Handel-y elements that are present in a lot of the Baroque recordings. However, the 'bounciness' of Handel would stick out like a sore thumb on this CD, which is really akin to 'easy listening'. I also love music with killer baseline. To illustrate this, I can tell you that, next to my numerous recital, full opera, extract, ballet, and song CDs - I have Lauren Hill, The Fugees, Eminem and Alicia Keys. I'm not all nerd...but the nerdy stuff's the best. But anway, a killer bassline...this has one, believe it or not. In fact, much of the accompaniment is only in bass and tenor clef :) So, as I was saying, the piano not only makes it fit in perfectly with the other repertoire on the disc, but also gives it a bit of a facelift, slightly modernizing it.

There is one part, in this entire aria, that I wait for - simply for that 'goosebump' sensation that only great music can cause. It comes on the word 'lusingar', and it leaps and descends and then rises again so majestically...I've rewound so many times to listen to it (it happens at about 1.45 in the Kozena video clip). Strangely, this part stuck out to me as sounding oddly 'modern' - even by Handel's 18th Century standards. I don't know what it is about it, but the series of notes seems decades ahead of its time compared to the rest of the piece - even on the more traditionally baroque recordings. It also has my beloved piano baseline running underneath it :)

Either way, the entire thing is beautiful - and what was initially intended to be the 'consolation' CD, has now made me even more disappointed that I'm missing out on seeing this great artist live. I'm going to have to see her sooner or later - she more than deserves to join the legends who've signed my i-pod :)

Top left: Roberto Alagna, Middle right: Renée Fleming, Bottom middle: Elina Garanca...there's some room for Joyce there somewhere...

UPDATE: Check out this legend...I found him on my youtube travels :)

"Abendsegen"

As well as my previous prejudice of things based on greek myth, I also have a slight fear of dramatic works in which children are played by adults. It seems to leave the roles open to massive exaggeration, and I end up sitting in my seat praying for the ground to swallow me up.

However, I heard of this piece, "Abendsegen", or "Evening Prayer" from Humperdinck's "Hansel and Gretel", and realised that the singers need nothing more than to sing the duet; the childlike simplicity and innocence of the writing doing all of the work for them. This clip is also worth listening to simply for the brilliance of Frederica von Stade - who has the power to make anything sound wonderful.

I came across the duet in a search of lyrics for a SATB lullaby I'm currently composing, and I not only found said lyrics, but also a beautiful duet that I really want to try.

I get the impression that if you didn't know this was from an opera, you'd think it was a sacred piece. It's the harmonizing mezzo line that gives me this impression, with melismas underneath the held soprano line, creating the feminine cadence that you come across in a lot of sacred music. I think. I'm not really explaining this very well...I'm having a musical mental block - just take a listen and you'll see what I mean. Obviously it's a child's prayer, and has religious connotations, and the style of composition is so reminiscent of works sung in church. This is, after-all, probably what Humperdinck wanted us to think, where he wanted us to be transported.

Also, you can forget the tenor/soprano duet; there is nothing quite like a mezzo/soprano duet. Someone important, I can't specifically remember who, has said that nothing quite conveys love like the sound of a female/female duet - hence the presence of so many castrati/trouser roles in opera. Clearly in this case, with the singers being young children, that love is in an innocent, divine love - voiced through this beautiful prayer.

I wish I could do this piece more justice...I've left writing far too late and now I'm struggling to think of anything remotely worthwhile to say. It may also have something to do with staying up until 2am to pour my heart out about Carmen last night. I might have to revisit this later on, I feel like I'm letting it down. Look out for Abendsegen Part II!

But finally, let's just hear it for Engelbert Humperdinck - the man with THE best name since...forever. There's a saying that 'Guiseppe Verdi was just plain Joe Green back home'; but Engelbert Humperdinck must have been awesome wherever he went. I would have bowed down in the street to a man with a name like that.

Richard Eyre's "Carmen"

It's 11.30 - and thus ends one of the most awesome cinematic experiences of my life- ever. And that is by no means an exaggeration. I've just got back from the Met's live broadcast of Richard Eyre's production of "Carmen", and too emotionally drained to write about anything else, I figured I might as well write about this :)

Bizet's masterpiece, Carmen, is amazing. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say it's one of the most appealing operas ever written. That doesn't mean the best necessarily; but you could go to Carmen at any point in your life, on any day, at any time - and get lost in the drama. I was discussing this with my friend Anna as we were sitting amongst our white haired counterparts, and we settled on the fact that it works so well because you have the marriage of a stunning score and gripping plot. This may seem pretty obvious, but if you look at some other opera's that are less 'easy' to listen to then you'll see what I mean. Der Rosenkavalier, for instance, is stunning because of the music - the plot line is a little bit wacky, and it's generally believed that you have a better understanding of it later in life. Eugene Onegin, my favorite opera of all time, is a tale of very frustrating non events. In Carmen however you've got music, intrigue, seduction, love, lust, deception, betrayal, murder...and apparently comedy.

I can safely say that everyone in the theatre fell in love with Elina Garanca over the course of the opera. I wouldn't be surprised if every man and woman in that theatre was seduced by her intelligent, sultry, and witty interpretation of a role so open to cliche. I was eavesdropping a bit in the theatre, and most people confirmed my belief that she's such a convincing and natural actress that it's hard to believe she's doing all that whilst singing with such technical security (and sometimes dancing as well!). The amount of comedy that she brought to the table, be it by teasing the officers or doing bizarre bugle impressions, gives the Carmen that we all know so well, a realistic and 3 dimensional edge. And who knew eating an orange could be so seductive? But what she really pulled off, was the element of spiritual freedom (with which she tempts José in the second act) as well as a perfect dose of nonchalance; she was like a sly cat playing with the poor little mice before eating them. This made the whole journey of the character, and her swapping from man to man, much more believable. This is just perfectly demonstrated after poor Don José pours his heart out to her, in a 'bravo!' worthy rendition of 'La fleur que tu m'avais jetée'. She keeps her facial expression the same throughout, only to blow away the dried leaves of the flower which José holds out to her. It got quite a laugh from the obviously sadistic opera fans.

And I haven't even started on her voice! But it won't take long. It's just amazing :) The richness and depth has certainly developed even since the autumn run at the ROH. 'En vain pour éviter les réponses ameres' was even more moving second time round, because of the intensity and resonance of the lower register. And of course, she more than pulled off the old war-horses with a combination of the heart-stopping voice and, surprise, surprise - doing away with all cliché.

Roberto Alagna, reprising his famous Don José, was the perfect puppy-dog come pit-bull. I heard on the opera grapevine that he had a cold prior to this performance, but you wouldn't tell thanks to that impeccable voice, with some really stunning pianissimi. Hats off as well, to stand in Baritone, Teddy Rhodes, who must have been really wetting himself, having only got the call 3 hours before curtain up. He greatly surpassed Ildebrando d'Archangelo in the ROH production, bringing a brilliant mix of testosterone and a surprise hint of modesty to the role. I was also pleasantly surprised with Barbra Frittoli's Michaela, whom I always feel is a bit wet and no competition for Carmen whatsoever. However, Frittoli's colour is much darker than what the role usually demands, adding to an already stoical interpretation of what is essentially a meek character. The level of singing was so high, that the cast generally achieved what, paradoxically, every singer sets out to achieve; to make the audience forget they are singing.

Richard Eyre challenged so much of the stereotypical elements of Carmen with a stunning set, and all-round intelligent interpretation. I feel like I've seen a completely different opera to my ROH experience. First time, I felt that the love between Michaela and José was a one way street, with poor, annoying Michaela's love unrequited. This time, the clear passion, feeling and understanding between the two characters gave the whole turn of events not necessarily a different meaning, but certainly highlighted Don José's changing character and motives. I was also greatly touched by Carmen's declaration of love to Escamillo in the final scene, feeling that instead of it being Carmen at her old tricks again, this time she really meant it. Which of course makes her untimely murder all the more tragic.

Never have I seen such an intense final scene in opera. The murder of a mezzo soprano is so much more exciting than the slightly random death of the consumption riddled sopranos...yes I mean you Violetta/Thais/Mimi/Manon. But in this scene, I thought I was having a minor heart attack, my heart was racing that much. I know the story, I could hum 'C'est Toi...C'est Moi' to you right now; but the connection between the two protagonists was just unreal. That is, unreal in the sense that it was hard to believe such a 'real' connection could be achieved on stage. I felt I was witness to real events unfolding before my very eyes. My friend, and opera companion, Anna, was in a fierce battle of wills, knowing that Carmen is murdered in the end, but still holding out that every time José lets her go, he might not try again. This production didn't need black stallions, donkeys and chickens, as in Francesca Zambello's rustic staging - it was the chemistry between the characters which electrified the audiences.

And to top it off, who should be presenting the HD broadcast but the Met's very own darling, Renée Fleming; who, as always, added to the experience with some wonderfully insightful questioning of the cast, conductor and choreographer.

All in All? Without doubt 11/10

"Waterloo Sunset - Choral Collection"

So I was flicking through my Classic FM magazine, as you do, when on the 'opera & vocal' review, I came across The Kinks. Well that's something you don't expect! I love the song 'Waterloo Sunset' though, so I thought I'd check out this choral arrangement. And it got 4 stars...so it better be good!

I have to say, from my first listen I was slightly disappointed. As it's essentially 'Waterloo Sunset' as we already know it...just using a choir instead of solo backing vocals. As Classic FM says, 'Davies's melodic genius feels reborn - without ironing out any of the Kinks'. And I suppose with a seminal song as 'Waterloo Sunset', you can't really go about changing it that much for fear of some sort of divine retribution.

It's interesting how with a choir, the entire piece becomes much more reflective; which is exactly what Ray Davies must have been doing as he arranged the choral part. And someone's clearly been to harmony class. The choral element removes the somewhat 50's feel of the original song; the 'sha la la's' morphing from typical 50's scat like backing singing, into a solid, unified sound. It's also clever how the choir have replaced much of the instrumentation of the first version, creating a more acoustic, slightly more sparse sound - that is until the entire choir is singing at once - after their staggered entrances. A few other more 'classical' elements sound like they've been thrown in, most notably a lovely rallentando before the final 'coda' comes in.

I nearly jumped for joy when it was over. Not because it was over, I was really rather enjoying it, but because there was an authentic cadence! I remember constantly stressing out and having to resolve the fade out of the original version. It just ended with a lingering imperfect cadence, that just hung in the air afterwards, haunting me! I think I really might have problems...I cried upon hearing a I-VI chord progression today...this clearly isn't good.

"Che faro senza Euridice"

I just watched a wonderful production of Gluck's, 'Orfeo ed Euridice', broadcast a while ago from the Met, and was completely blown away by the heartbreaking music, stunning staging, contemporary dance and a magnetic performance from Stephanie Blythe. I feel blessed to have been able to see the result of a great performer singing a role that seems to have been written just for her. It was that perfect.

One of the moments that has stuck in my mind from seeing the recording only once, was the terribly sad (if not slightly frustrating) scene when Orfeo finally gives in, and looks at his beloved Euridice, only to see her carried back to the Underworld. The aria that follows is one of the most touching pieces of music I've ever heard. And despite the fact that it's very popular, I'd never heard of it until now...shows how much I know! I've really been missing out...

"Che faro senza Euridice" is gorgeous. The strings introduce us to the melody, which is set underneath a pulsing accompaniment, which I imagine to be poor Orfeo's heart, as he contemplates the rest of his life without Euridice. The octave strings follow the voice throughout the melody, which somehow just makes it all the more melancholy. I'm not sure why, but I like to think that this string accompaniment somehow symbolises Euridice; perhaps it's the sound of her voice in Orfeo's imagination...I don't quite know. The text of this piece breaks my heart too- as Orfeo constantly repeats 'what do I do', 'where do I go'. He calls out Euridice's name and begs her to respond, with a beautiful high note, that just falls the octave when he realises it's all in vain.

Stephanie Blythe's voice facinates me. There's something about it that is so obviously rich, and majestically feminine - but it has an edge. In the lower register she achieves an almost tenor like colour, which kicks in just where the passagio sounds like it should be - but of course, she's so awesome you'd never be 100% sure she had any kind of passagio whatsoever. To me, her voice is like a skort. You know, those things that look like skirts, but then are actually shorts underneath? No, really, hear me out here. Essentially her voice is a skirt - feminine, rich, what you'd expect. But then there's a little hidden shock - shorts; a bit of a masculine edge. That was the worst metaphor of my life. But at least it got across my point...I hope.

So overall, Orfeo ed Euridice = amazing! I'm glad I tackled my slight phobia of opera based on greek myths, and even discovered lots of lovely music and a great singer along the way.

Right, now it's time for the final act of the Der Rosenkavalier DVD - the kleenex are ready and waiting.

"In questi estremi istanti"

The Rossini from the previous post, perhaps unsurprisingly, led to some more Rossini; in the form of a beautiful trio from Maometto Secondo...

Elina Garanca's 'Bel Canto' was probably the CD that completed my transformation from 'average teenager' to 'obsessed nerd'. So much of my musical taste has stemmed from this single CD; obviously starting with Bel Canto music, and then basically moving through Garanca's repertoire to the more Romantic roles of Charlotte and Carmen.

I specifically remember stumbling across recording of her singing the famous 'Flower Duet' from Lakmé with Anna Netrebko. Instead of focusing all my attention on the soprano (a crime I'm often guilty of...though I'm getting much better!), I was totally captivated by the mezzo and her intelligent, modest performance. Needless to say, I didn't learn the soprano line I was meant to...

Anyway! Maometto...not a very well known opera really, in anyone's books; but as is so often the case, there are some really great pieces of music in it, that deserve to be heard. The stunningly simplistic trio 'In questi estremi istanti' is certainly one of them.

Cut down to the bare essentials, the haunting melody is established by the mezzo, then repeated by soprano and tenor, whilst the others harmonise. Sounds pretty basic on paper, but the simple ideas are always the best! The clever thing about this trio, it seems, is how all of the parts perfectly blend together, and that the momentum builds as each layer is added. Parts are passed down like a production line as more parts enter, and the harmonic effect is truly beautiful. My personal highlight is at the beginning of the second 'verse', for want of a better term, when the soprano starts to harmonise the mezzo line. In my mind's eye, I can see a bow shape being created as the vocal lines progress; the mezzo coming down, the soprano going up - creating a seamless overlap that gets me every time.

I also love this because a trio isn't something you get very often. We love our duets - or in Rossini our quintets and octets! And you can forget about 'The Three Tenors'...what about 'The Mezzo, Soprano, and Tenor'...hmm...not quite as catchy though.

Only a relatively short post for tonight I think...I fancy going to bed and watching Rosenkavalier...and we know that can't be done in a hurry.

"Fra il padre"

So, I decided against my first choice - the extract of 'Quant'e grato all'alma mia' - on this recording purely for the fact that I realised I'd heard it all before...kind of. The aria, composed before Barbiere or Cenerentola, contains extracts of (in)famous arias from both operas; 'Una voce poco fa' and 'Non piu mesta' respectively. Both of them I've tried...but I did the musical equivalent of 'dipping my toe in' and then quickly ran back to my Handel. In true opera composer style, Rossini robbed brilliant ideas from an opera that didn't do fantastically, and created two absolute monsters of the operatic repertoire. Legend.

Anyway, enough of that; on to "Fra il padre", which I've been obsessively, incessantly humming for about 3 days. I apologise profusely to anyone who I've been around, as it can't be all that fun to have my constant trilling worming into your poor little ears...

The repeating woodwind theme, that first makes an appearance at the very beginning of this piece, is the cheeky little melody thats been on 'replay' in my mind. I must have listened to this 20 second section more times than Rossini himself, purely to hear the octave piccolo (I think/hope) which makes me want to nod my head in time. Much of Rossini's composition is so fiercely rhythmic, and, for me at least, this piece is just such a wonderful example of that signature style; no one else could have composed it. Perhaps if I listen to this in the car, and people see me nodding, they'll think I'm listening to hiphop, and my social status will take a sudden climb...maybe something to try!

I'm slightly suspicious of Rossini and his apparent use of the 19th Century equivalent of 'cut and paste' on the massive virtuosic vocal passages that are apparent in so many of his real 'finale' type arias. However, credit where credit's due - the guy's pretty talented at conveying emotion. In the slightly less crazy quasi-arioso, 'Tanti affetti', directly before 'Fra il padre', Elena, the titular Lady of the Lake, is singing about the multitude of emotions that are 'crowding [her] heart' and the 'immensity of [her] hapiness' that she 'cannot express'; well, I'd beg to differ. The coloratura in the aria itself seem to me the perfect representation and expression of a racing heart, overflowing with feelings that literally run away with her, vocally and emotionally. The finale of the piece, where the orchestra comes in with a bang, and the vocal rhythm suddenly pulls out and stretches just like elastic is truly majestic- with Joyce DiDonato's voice soaring high above the rest.

As for Ms. DiDonato...I have no words! Well maybe a few - That voice is out of this world. That's all bases covered I'd say? 'They' say that Isabella Colbran, Rossini's muse, must have possessed an unbelievable voice, or at the very least, been a truly convincing actress, to sing all of the parts that Rossini wrote for her. Joyce would have kicked her butt any day. The CD is a triumph, and by far the best christmas present I got this year, from one of my precious few friends who can truly sympathise with my inner geek.

Dear Lord, I pray that one day I'll be able to sing Rossini. I pray that I don't continue to sound like a varying range of strangled animals when attempting the 16th notes. I pray that I'll be able to find somewhere to breath in between said 16th notes. I pray that somehow, somewhere, I'll be able to sing his music at faster than half speed. Amen.

"Priveghiati si va rugati"

Before I begin, I don't pretend to know anything about the Romanian Orthodox Church and its music; but a friend recommended this sacred aria to me, and I'm very glad he did. So though I might not have anything worthwhile or insightful to say about it, it's definitely worth a listen.

This recording of "Priveghiati si va rugati" by composer Gheorghe Popescu of course includes the internationally acclaimed Romanian soprano, Angela Gheorghui, singing alongside The Romanian National Chamber Choir. It seems to me that something magical happens when people sing material from their homeland. Angela and her counterparts seem to have such a strong passion and affinity with this music, which is perfectly conveyed to the listener. Of course this is aided by the fact that they are perfectly comfortable in the language, and can focus entirely on its sacred meaning.

The new orchestral introduction, written for this recording, is an odd choice, (as it seems it would have worked just as well as a purely choral piece, as it always has been) however, it's works as a perfect introduction to the peaceful Romanian National Chamber Choir. The choir's sweet, effervescent sound is the perfect contrast to Gheorghui's slightly darker tone. She sounds like an Angel, coming to declare some Divine advice, as she somehow powerfully caresses her first line; 'Priveghiati si va rugati', or 'Watch and Pray'. The two vocal elements blend beautifully, with a superb bass pedal being held almost constantly to create a wonderfully ancient and holy sound.

Listen carefully and close your eyes. I was transported directly to somewhere that looked a little something like this:

I was taken to a specific building, half way across the globe with this stunning music. The power of the voice endlessly fascinates me.

Tomorrow: Either something from La Donna del Lago or Elisabetta, regina d'Inghilterra...haven't quite decided :)

"Nel suo amore rianimata" and a bit of a rant...

Before I get the music related stuff going, just wanted to include this picture I took of my beautiful 10 year old cousin Megan 'singing opera'...would you look at that relaxed jaw!

I love this CD. It's the type of thing that you can listen to over and over again and not get bored of it :)

I'm in a group on Facebook who claim that 'you either love or hate Renée Fleming's voice' - however, as a definite lover, I'm really in the dark as to how you could hate it. Even my mother has said (I quote), 'Oh she has a nice voice...she makes those high screechy bits sound not so high and screechy'. That, folks, is praise indeed.

The recording of "Nel suo amore rianimata", from Giordano's Siberia, didn't initially grab me. The CD's full of hidden treasures (amongst the old war horses like "Si, mi chiamano Mimi") and for the time being I was far more preoccupied with the other tracks. It took a two minute performance slot on the Craig Ferguson show for Ms. Fleming to really sell this piece for me - and boy did she!

The simplistic piano reduction of the orchestral score, is present enough to hold the piece together, but sparse enough for the vocal line to really ring out...I've never heard a studio audience so at peace! It's not a 'rangey' aria by anyone's books; and it's the sustained melody and then sparkling climactic high notes that Renée does so well - and she's really allowed to shine with this arrangement. The music and the text are so deeply poetic that I simply fell in love with the entire thing. I've spent more time than I should trying to find a copy of the music, orchestral or otherwise, but to no avail!

As Siberia is not the best known opera in the world, it's sad that pieces like this never really come to light. In my opinion, it's fantastic that Renée Fleming is confident enough to perform such a rare piece with such conviction and poeticism on national television; a format where opera is not used to such exposure. Sure, we have Nessun dorma, and the Habanera - but just how many people have heard of Turandot? Carmen?

So you can imagine how excited I was when I heard that a new show about opera was coming to British television screens. This feeling ceased very quickly when I heard the name of said TV show; 'Popstar to Operastar'. Now, I'm all for opera exposure but here are my main problems with this concept: (prepare yourself for my inner grumpy old woman...)

1) Popstars will be coached how to sing in the operatic style; not only does this take years and years to develop, it's actually very dangerous if done incorrectly - these guys surely have careers to maintain after doing this show?!

2) If the aim of the program is opera exposure, they may be going about it the wrong way - taking the arias out of the exciting and dramatic context. If we want people to be interested in opera, surely we could broadcast more live productions; not just stand and sing the same old tunes.

3) Host Katherine Jenkins has never been in an opera during her professional career, and co-host Andrea Bocelli is only slightly better for having been involved in a handful - surely the competitors are setting off on the back foot anyway, and deserve input from people actually involved in the opera industry (not to mention the fact that this'll give a false impression to the TV viewers)

Rolando Villazon is the only saving grace of this new show, and I really hope that he kicks some butt and brings everyone down to earth a little bit - in a way that only a 'primo uomo' could.

Massive rant. BUT - I want to connect the two subjects by saying that if we want to get opera into the public eye, we need to take a leaf out of Renée Fleming's book (and if you haven't read the ACTUAL book, I suggest you do!). We need real, technically secure artists, acting and interpreting new extracts. We need live broadcasts of new productions, to bring the story and the context alive; to give people a real idea of what opera is all about - not simply a commercial TV show capitalising on renewed interest in classical music thanks to the winners of other reality TV shows...

Rant over. The End.

Tomorrow: "Priveghiati si va rugati" from the Romanian Orthodox Church repertory

"Ubi Caritas"

So carrying on with the slightly holy/choral theme that I've seemed to establish, I stumbled across what is apparently a very famous setting of 'Ubi Caritas' by Maurice Duruflé - but I know little/nothing about this type of music so it's all news to me!

What first hit be about this was the complete lack of sopranos. Now don't worry, I'm not some sort of diva who refuses to sing anything where we are not the 100% focus, infact many a time I've wished I was a mezzo. So though the sopranos may only have 14 measures in the entirety of this motet, I love the gentleness and warmth that it creates; omitting the sometimes, admittedly, overbearing upper line. I'm also a fan of closer harmony, which the low alto and doubled tenor part creates. But that's just me :) It's clever as well, how the sopranos come in for the 'exultation', stepping it up a level, and making a really obvious contrast - therefore conveying the meaning, even if you don't know what the text means.

However, the piece took on a new level for me when I looked up the meaning of the words. The message so simple, but so effectively put across. The first gentle passage, 'where charity and love are, God is there' and 'may we love each other with a sincere heart' surely just sum up what it's all about. Unfortunately the poet is unknown, but many believe it was written shortly after the first millennium. It thrills me that stuff that truly ancient can still be appreciated.

I can't believe this was composed in 1960. Duruflé was clearly captivated by the ancient history of this text, and used the original Gregorian melody (the picture at the top shows it!) that was composed somewhere between the fourth and tenth centuries. What's a few hundred years between friends eh?! I believe that thanks to this inspiration, the piece just oozes simplistic calm. The melody moves in steps as you'd expect, with few surprises - but still manages to be innovative and fascinating with the odd melisma. That fantastic melisma in the alto part to prepare the final cadence left me with goosebumps.

The great thing I feel about this is - every part of it expresses what it's trying to express. The melody, the text, the structure; the simplicity, calm and warmth of this musical expression surely mirrors what the liturgy is about in the first place. Divine love.

Tomorrow: Some Giordano performed by Renée Fleming

"Cantique de Jean Racine"

I can't wait to sing this. Suggested as the 'big push' for our rapidly improving (and growing) school choir, Fauré's "Cantique de Jean Racine" could be brilliant. If we pull if off of course...

I laughed at my pitiful attempts in harmony class upon hearing this fantastic choral piece. The rich harmonies of "Cantique de Jean Racine" just scream 'DO ME JUSTICE AND GET AN OBSCENELY LARGE CHOIR TO SING ME'. My initial laughter was then quickly replaced by utter disbelief when I learnt that Mr. Gabriel Fauré was a mere 2 years older than myself (19) when he composed this whilst at the École Niedermeyer. That, to me, is simultaneously amazing and soul destroying...

Fauré influenced the teaching of harmony so strongly during 20th Century; and this is just a lesson in how to do it. But the great thing about it is that no chord seems fashioned - everything seems to come from the composers heart. Anyone can put pen to paper to a certain extent, but I fully believe that composers are born to be composers.

[Just want to put in a quick note on the text, courtesy of Jean Racine himself, before we get onto the hardcore stuff. The text of course is wonderful; and as a French student I am particularly happy to see 'nous rompons' in there - as perhaps the best sounding of all French verbs :)]

Firstly, if I was a man, I'd be a Bass. There's nothing better, or more manly, than a good bass in choir. It doesn't even have to be a good bass...any bass will do! So I was delighted when I heard the manly solo entrance to this piece; imitatively working upwards until the soaring sopranos come in. Though despite the fact that every choir member was involved, the gentle dynamics made it just encapsulate 'peace'. Peace :) that's what was the overwhelming feeling of this.

For me, this is like a wave, moving in and out with dynamic change and phrase structure. Just when you think that gentle piano is here to stay, it swells with fabulously built up crescendo; and Fauré does this build up so eloquently. The alto/tenor/bass lines remind me of the strength and grace of a cello (the best instrument on Gods earth) as they glide over crotches underneath the soprano's held dotted minim; this just pulling the listener towards the soaring release on 'divin sauver' (the video clip has the music so you can see what the hell I'm going on about!).

The structure sounds a bit like ABA, and before returning to the beautiful first melody, Fauré makes a bigger scale wave; section B being a stronger force than soft section A. The texture changes slightly here too...it's never completely homorythmic - but the rich harmonies are brought out more as they move at pretty much the same time. Imitative entrances and a key change put me on edge a bit, before coming back to section A, which was like slipping into a lovely warm bath (with candles!).

Urgh I've changed that last paragraph at least 8 times...it was horrific; I imagine reading version 1 would have been like wading through very boring, slightly scientific, not very interesting treacle...whatever that's like. I apologise :)

I just love this. It's beautiful. The end :)

As an added note; Handel's Messiah arrived in the post this morning...all 256 pages...lets get learning :)

Tomorrow: A beautiful setting of 'Ubi Caritas'

"Poèmes pour Mi"

I want to like this. I should like this. I'm not adverse to a bit of 20th century dissonance - I'd even go as far to say that I like it. I love French. The autobiographical love story is beautiful. I love Renée Fleming, whom I first heard singing these poems which for which Olivier Messian set his own text. So why aren't I moved by this celebration of the spirituality of love?

I think, from writing that little rant about my narrow-mindedness, I've stumbled across my problem...

I imagined that listening to the Poèmes would be a similar experience to hearing Richard Strauss' Vier Lezte Lieder; being flooded with emotion and beauty from the very first note. But this didn't happen to me with the Poemes.

This Strauss/Messiaen comparison may be an odd one, but the music stereotype side of my brain wants to swap the stormy dissonance of the Poemes, and instead give them the glorious gentleness of Strauss' (also autobiographical) masterpiece, which convey love and nostalgia so perfectly.

As well as this gentle portrayal of love, (as in countless lied, especially Schubert's "Du bist die Ruh") we have become accustomed to Puccini-esque soaring strings as a musical symbol too; we hear it and straight away we go 'AH...LOVE', just like we hear a minor key and think 'AH...SAD'. Dissonance just doesn't do love...right?

But maybe it does; it's certainly growing on me! Having listened to it non-stop for about an hour, I've realised that what I first thought was dissonance, has now sort of grown into a polymodality...it's not as chromatic based as I thought it was - it simply keeps on changing. This is quite clever really, because if you look closely at the text, it’s also focused around change; going from marriage preparation to a spiritual union.

I always struggle with identifying time signatures - I don't know why, it's just always been a bit of a tough gig for me. So I thought it was just me being stupid when I just couldn't stick to a set time signature - but apparently it seems that Messiaen couldn't either; the original Piano composition didn't have one at all. This clearly suits, and helps to paint, the free spirituality of the text - the soloist liberated to float the melodic line to her heart's content - as well as have a bit of fun with those melismas!

For me, it's the text that makes this, with truly haunting words; Olivier was quite the poet! In this video clip, Renée Fleming describes the poetry with much more poise and grace than I could possibly attempt...

Despite my initial negativity, this poem cycle is far, far from a letdown - and I have a favourite poem :) "Printemps Enchaine". It just seems it's going to take a bit of work - and more than one listen - to hear this cycle's full beauty. I'd love to be able to sing this at some point - it seems like a piece you need to dive into and sing before you really get to know, and understand, exactly what it's saying.

Tomorrow: Fauré's "Cantique de Jean Racine"