I did honestly think that I'd be bursting to be out and about and start being convivial once lockdown was eased a little more.
But no. I've been more that happy to confine myself within my pleasant little social bubble.
Social distancing may well be replaced by social media.
I did finally watch True History of the Kelly Gang which is based upon the novel by Peter Carey and is a truly hallucinogenic re-telling of the story of Ned Kelly.
Directed by Justin Kurzel, it is visually incredibly startling and unsettling. The acting is powerful and absolutely up to the director's vision. George MacKay stands out as Ned Kelly as does Essie Davis as his mother. Nicholas Hoult (Constable Fitzpatrick) keeps popping up all over the place and seems to be quite at home wherever he lands. Charlie Hunnam as Sergeant O'Neill and Russell Crowe as Ned Kelly appear in smaller roles and give them immense substance.
I'll watch again some time.
Colin and Roland came round for wine, nibbles and a dose of opera just before Ross returned home. We chose Pietro Mascagni's Iris as the opera to watch. Captured on film at Bard SummerScape in 2016, the production is one of a number delivered in circumstances not unlike our own summer opera season but, in this case, using young musicians throughout the ranks.
I liked the Australian tenor Gerard Schneider as the menacing and callous Osaka and he was easily matched by the soprano Talise Travigne who followed the line of the innocent title character's abduction, grooming and suicide with fearful clarity.
The great chorus to the sun which both starts and heralds the end of the work is a mighty achievement. The American Symphony Orchestra under the baton of Leon Botstein played very, very well.
Two concerts under Vasily Petrenko brought live music back into my life. I don't think I shall have the need to listen to Prokofiev's Sinfonietta again but it was pleasantly done. We also had two of Delius's pieces for small orchestra - On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring and Summer night on the river both of which are charming mood pieces.
Neither made for an outstanding concert but Paul Lewis's performance in Beethoven's Piano Concerto No1 gave me the musical sustenance which I needed. Everything was elegant and nimble certainly paying a debt to Mozart but also providing a way forward to Chopin.
It was excellent and well worth a shout at the end.
The second concert gave me the chance to hear Victor Kalinnikov's Serenade for Strings live for the first time and I would happily sit through it again on another occasion. Shostakovich Piano Concerto No1 I have now heard at least three times at the Phil and I shall be quite happy not to hear it for a long while. Barry Douglas seemed to have his foot on the sustain pedal for the whole piece and produced a clangorous sound from the same instrument which Paul Lewis had used to evoke velvet magic only a week before.
We ended with the best performance of Tchaikovsky's Serenade for Strings I have ever heard. Vasily Petrenko kept the surface elegance and dancing and folkloric element well to the fore but also gave voice to the disquiet of the artist living a life of fear as a counterpoint without tipping the whole work over into psychotic neurosis.
One of the delights (and there have been very few of them) of the past eighteen months has been the access to the livestreaming repeats from the Met Opera in New York. I've not been slavishly following the whole series but have briefed myself to be able to pick up the occasional offering. So it was with Fedora on Saturday night.
I've caught the work only once on stage at Covent Garden in December 1995 with a young José Cura as Count Loris Ipanov and Maria Guleghina as Princess Fedora Romazov. I remember a pleasant but not shattering evening in the theatre. The Met offered two operatic superstars already well past the first flush of middle age in Mirella Freni and Plácido Domingo. They tore up the stage and music big time and raised the bar several notches.
Lavish does not even begin to describe the sets and costumes of Beppe De Tomasi's production. Nevertheless the crowd control was admirable and the music under Roberto Abbado was given its best possible chance at being functionally well crafted. Pretty good all in all.
I've also dipped in and out of a live relay of Parsifal from Vienna. Whatever the problematic nature of Serebrennikov's staging, I was left in no doubt of the absolute artistic necessity for young Nikolay Sidorenko (playing the silent role of Young Parsifal) to show off his glutes to the lads in the Jockey Y-Fronts Club.
Unfortunately, the view was only dorsal and so I remain ignorant of any claim he may have to be able to rival the driver of this shuttlebus.
I met up with Matt and Jay for a joyful 90 minute burst of erotic pleasure. Matt has chubbed a little over the last eighteen months but remains as good natured as ever. Jay continues to show promise and has a good sword-swallowing technique as well as the ability to take a good pounding off two men.
There's also been a lot to view on the Bulletin Boards. Tom Holland spend a long weekend in Monaco for the Grand Prix and messed about on boats with Harrison and others.
Canadian boy singer Johnny Orlando has now reached the sweet age of 18 and has decided that it is now time to start releasing thirst trap photos to encourage a greater and wider take-up among his online audience.
Troye Siven cause a major meltdown in Leo's household and around social media in general. There was a queue formed waiting for their turn to face plant between those ass cheeks.
Tom Daley gave us the opportunity to check out Matty Lee in his tighty whities.
And both Phil Foden and Ben Woodburn continue to offer stimulation and delight in the cute ass department.
