By the end of this last week at work, everyone seemed to be saying that they were glad that it was the weekend. So, I really wasn't looking forward to going out to English National Opera and particularly for a work that I knew was going to be demanding.
I'd last seen Tippett's King Priam back in 1985, the day before I heard Joan Sutherland sing her last London Lucia. I'd found it quirky and interesting and revisitable which is why I had booked - even though my last exposure to a Tippett Opera had been dispiriting. In the event, it was a triumph, a wholly mesmeric musical experience revealing much lyricism in the sound world and voluptuousness in the vocal lines.
It was also one of those occasions when I wished Ross could have been there. I am sure he would have totally gotten off on the painterly use of colour in the settings, lighting and costumes and the sculptural use of space and place.
There was valiant support from an ensemble cast but it was Andrew Shore who shone in the title rôle. I've seen him triumph as Don Pasquale, Gianni Schicchi and Dulcamara (L'elisir d'amore) which are all comic parts. He was good as Wozzeck some time ago but it didn't prepare me for the complete assumption of this rôle. The pain of a man who is both father and king who cannot have his son killed but who knowingly therefore destroys himself and his civilisation was keenly drawn. And from that came a seeringly anti-war statement of men killing enemy men who killed their men who killed enemy men back in a chain of destruction that is called heroic.
Opera North who originated the production (and who provided me with such entertainment last weekend) are to be wholly commended. Along with their productions of Britten's Gloriana (which was a triumph) and Walton's Troilus and Cressida, they have done a real service to opera in this country by reminding us of the little regarded treasures that this country produced in the 50s and 60s.
I was so excited by the whole experience, production, music, singing, themes, characterisation, that I couldn't sleep for ages and when I did it was shallow and restless sleep. Saturday I bumbled off to help Ross with his prospective move, I went for another cranial osteopathy session, I shopped at Tesco's and I wrote whilst listening to Karl Jenkins' Adiemus and The Very Best of Disney. I could have listened to an opera on Radio 3 but, frankly, I felt as though I've ODed on opera in the last 10 days.
Sunday was a wet and windy day. I was glad to sleep in til 9am. The following two hours were lazily spent bathing, yoga-ing, breakfasting, etc before heading off round the M25 to Linda's for a Sunday lunch with the family. Lovely time. Mary is growing rapidly. It's evening now and I'm off to bed. It's just gone 8pm. There's the sound of Diwali fireworks in the air. I hope nothing is so loud as to keep me awake.
