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| A Night at the Opera... I had seen a production of Mozart's The Magic Flute about twenty years ago, so I guess that it was about time that I got around to seeing it again, so off I trotted to the Coliseum with a �10 English National Opera ticket. To be (nearly) honest , it's almost worth the price of the ticket just to experience the grandeur of London's newly-restored largest theatre. I had been there before, but previously those of us exiled to the balcony could only enter the building by what seemed to be the tradesmen's entrance, and once inside, access to the remainder of the auditorium was verboten in some kind of economic-artistic apartheid. Having said that, it still is a fearfully long way away from the stage up in the Gods, and the pew-like, (and admittedly not hugely comfortable) seats still do seem to lean forward rather vertiginously. For ten pounds though, I could not really complain..thesedays opera has become the working man's football. However,I did enjoy the production very much- the sets were unfussy yet atmospheric, the costumes were on occasions, inspired- I particularly enjoyed the Queen of the Night and her ladies dressed up in something Bananarama might have thought about wearing something for a video circa 1986. Of course, you can't really go wrong with the beauty of Mozart's music...there are themes and melodies that have run and run and will do long after the ephemeral fancies of the musicals playing in the West End have run their course and the coachloads of daytrippers find something else to enthuse over... ...but here I am getting all rather snobbish again. One visit to the opera in three years and suddenly I'm Jonathan Miller. But seriously (at least try to be, Mike), I had talked about the Magic Flute to a friend who is keen on going to see The Valkyrie. "Well, " I had said, "I suppose that the Magic Flute is rather like having a puff or two on some cannabis, without inhaling, whilst Wagner is more of an intravenous hit of pure heroin followed by being killed in a gangland drive-by shooting in comparison." As is the case with nearly all of my analogies, I guess it's an imperfect one. Still, the interplay of good and evil in the worlds of The Queen of the Night and Sarastro, whilst it may appear confusing is satisfying to unravel, and there's some wonderful comedy in the Papageno-Papagena love duet to be enjoyed. Well, I left the Coliseum very satisfied. People have been entranced by the Magic Flute for over two centuries. Now, that is a hit run... Links: English National Opera The Magic Flute: synopsis Listen to excerpts, courtesy of iclassics.com |
| I have an old school friend to thank for introducing me to the music of Nick Drake, the talented, tortured singer-songwriter whose brief life ended three decades ago. Three albums and a few scattered recordings exist from his career, which were largely ignored at the time, but they are now revered by a cultish and ever-growing following of fans.
The tragedy of Drake is well-known: I recently read Patrick Humphries' biography of him, and if you can ignore the fact that the book is occasionally ineptly written, there are many revealing comments from peers, contemporaries and family which describe his descent into a depressive illness, which ultimately, whether intentionally or not, claimed his life. The album covers illustrated above seem to me indicative. The first, Five Leaves Left show an artist enclosed, but looking outwards; Bryter Layter shows him slightly hunched over his guitar, the darkness drawing in; Pink Moon divests itself of Nick altogether: a surreal clown's flace looks out from a lunar eclipse, a traditional harbinger of doom. The reverse reminds me of Orwell: If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face - for ever. Snippets of the albums can be heard here, courtesy of Amazon,- but they can't really prepare you for the intensity of the albums as a whole. What immediately struck me was the purity of Drake's voice, but on each subsequent listen, some other facet gently calls out for your attention- the lightness of touch that renders an ethereal, unworldly quality to his guitar playing; the flicker of pain engendered by lyrics such as fame is but a fruit tree so very unsound. It can never flourish 'til its stock is in the ground. Go to the unofficial and informative nickdrake.com for much more, but my old school friend's advice to me after I had listened to Bryter Layter, cannot really be bettered: If you think 'Northern Sky' is perfect then wait till you hear 'River Man' from 'Five Leaves Left'. It inhabits the same rarified heights beyond perfection that do 'Good Vibrations' and 'Who Knows Where The Time Goes'. |
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| Mike, the trainee Deadhead Oh, I know so little about music. It's sooo frustrating. A friend told me I think I'd have bet money against you ever saying " The grateful Dead are fantastic". You can read whatever you like into that by the way. I guess I was always put off by the album covers. Am I normally that shallow? Let me know...anyway, I bought "the Very best of the Grateful Dead" the other week, and although this was a legendary live band, I found myself really finding an awful lot to like in these studio recordings: some great harmonising, lots of really inventive doodling (for want of a better word), lyrics that sound entrancing if occasionally rather disturbing. I guess I liked the earlier material more, but you have to say that about everything don't you? It's like proving you're a real bloke by understanding and discussing the Arsenal offside trap. Oh well, it's early days, doubtless I'll go back to listening to the Dooleys' Greatest Hits next week. Favourite tracks so far: Touch of Grey, Uncle John's Band , Box of Rain and the lullaby-like Ripple. You know, I never thought I would fall asleep listening to Jerry Garcia. Links: BBCi: Grateful Dead Listen to the Box Set online |
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| Mike's Desert Island Discs #1 Madame George from Astral Weeks- Van Morrisson Considering that Astral Weeks is regarded as such a seminal, classic piece of work it is depressing just how few friends of my own age have heard it- it's as old as me, and I have to say it has aged with far greater maturity. I really could just hurl a whole truckful of cliche-driven praise at this album, and it could never diminish its value to me.Even Van once saying that the album was about Swiss Cheese just makes me love it all the more. Of all the songs, Madame George cries out to me for particular adulation- nearly ten minutes of perfection, the aural collage of the almost Joycean lyrics, masterful arrangements, and Morrison's voice combine in a rare moment of musical snergy. On Amazon.com, Sinnead o'Connor is quoted as saying "Van Morrison should be friggin' canonized." Someone should tell the Pope. |