Yesterday I was mostly enjoying opera.
I woke up horribly early and then had hostly duties to perform (we had a very interesting woman staying, as well as 2 Spanish volleyball players). By about 10.30 I was back at my desk trying to finish off the talk I was to give at 6.00pm, "A Close Shave: the Barber of Seville and the French Revolution". Although I had written 3/4 of it and had got most of my slides together I still couldn't quite tie it all up... also I hadn't really written it beautifully, because I was hoping to be a bit spontaneous... eventually, after sketching out a description of what happened on the first night - which was funny - I suddenly had an idea for a paragraph which would tie everything together.
I then had a couple of hours, so I had a bath and a 15 minute nap. It was magnificent, I had got into bed feeling confused and still scratchy from yesterday - and woke up feeling almost a new person - talking about "knitting up the ravelled sleeve of care!". M and I went down to the theatre, I was set up, had a glass of wine (some very nasty provencale chardonnay unfortunately) we switched on the overture - to get me into the mood... and off I went. This year I had quite a large audience - about 30 which was enormous. I got through it - not always audible because I forgot to get a mike - but apparently there was lots of interesting stuff. I was happy to see Eyvor and Michael and Rick and Kate in front, but on the other hand, it was slightly unnerving to be lecturing one's friends... however, a great many people were there who I didn't know - so that was OK too. Later I discovered another friend had been there - fortunately the lighting prevented me seeing much of the audience.
Afterwards we went down to the front and Gina found us some concealed spare chairs and we sat down. It was a little chilly but we sat there cheerfully. There was a Pimm's and beer tent, but we opted for sharing a box of fish and chips and some water (trying to cut back the drink) and while we were sitting there I scanned the crowds and recognised various people. It's a funny thing about the "square" people - the little sets that establish because they live in the same square or lawn - they are consistently fairly middle class and comfortably off, they consume the arts rather than making it - and they sit in groups. When I first lived here I felt I belonged with those people - they didn't share my vision. I now feel that I definitely have very little in common with them. I definitely like people who are rather more rackety and intellectual/creative - not that there aren't racketty/intelligent people living in the squares, but they tend to be not part of those groups. I remember dear Paul C talking with asperity about the set in his particular square... unfair that they are still sitting there drinking Pimm's out of plastic cups, when he's gently decaying (actually, heaven probably is more fun than a chilly night at the opera!).
I found that even during the opera I was still casting around the crowd, noting who was there and what they were doing. I realised that this experience of the opera was a much more authentic one - it was probably like being in an Italian provincial opera house in the 18thC - seeing and been seen - less like sitting at Covent Garden or ENO - but being amongst one's friends and neighbours and gossiping and observing. "He's here - but his wife hasn't come" - "Where's _____, he's usually mad for this sort of thing?" "Oh, they've brought their children - that's nice."
The performance itself was suitably spirited, with a very good Figaro - and a slightly less good Count - Rosina's voice was on the shrill end of the soprano spectrum... but for these "boutique" operas acting often counts for more. The accompaniment was on piano keyboard - which obviously makes it cheaper, but I suppose I've always found the orchestra one of the deep joys of opera - and being at Covent Garden and listening to a familiar overture as the curtain rises has often provided a dose of what used to be called "the tingle factor". Still, one was close to the action - especially when we all had to move our seats forward, because the radio mikes weren't working - and also when Figaro sang "largo al factotum" around the audience. It is true the opera does slightly wind down before the end - the beginning has much of the best music - but the acting helped keep it fun. Somehow sharing a cultural experience with a lot of people you know, rather than an auditorium full of strangers is just a much better experience.
I woke up horribly early and then had hostly duties to perform (we had a very interesting woman staying, as well as 2 Spanish volleyball players). By about 10.30 I was back at my desk trying to finish off the talk I was to give at 6.00pm, "A Close Shave: the Barber of Seville and the French Revolution". Although I had written 3/4 of it and had got most of my slides together I still couldn't quite tie it all up... also I hadn't really written it beautifully, because I was hoping to be a bit spontaneous... eventually, after sketching out a description of what happened on the first night - which was funny - I suddenly had an idea for a paragraph which would tie everything together.
I then had a couple of hours, so I had a bath and a 15 minute nap. It was magnificent, I had got into bed feeling confused and still scratchy from yesterday - and woke up feeling almost a new person - talking about "knitting up the ravelled sleeve of care!". M and I went down to the theatre, I was set up, had a glass of wine (some very nasty provencale chardonnay unfortunately) we switched on the overture - to get me into the mood... and off I went. This year I had quite a large audience - about 30 which was enormous. I got through it - not always audible because I forgot to get a mike - but apparently there was lots of interesting stuff. I was happy to see Eyvor and Michael and Rick and Kate in front, but on the other hand, it was slightly unnerving to be lecturing one's friends... however, a great many people were there who I didn't know - so that was OK too. Later I discovered another friend had been there - fortunately the lighting prevented me seeing much of the audience.
Afterwards we went down to the front and Gina found us some concealed spare chairs and we sat down. It was a little chilly but we sat there cheerfully. There was a Pimm's and beer tent, but we opted for sharing a box of fish and chips and some water (trying to cut back the drink) and while we were sitting there I scanned the crowds and recognised various people. It's a funny thing about the "square" people - the little sets that establish because they live in the same square or lawn - they are consistently fairly middle class and comfortably off, they consume the arts rather than making it - and they sit in groups. When I first lived here I felt I belonged with those people - they didn't share my vision. I now feel that I definitely have very little in common with them. I definitely like people who are rather more rackety and intellectual/creative - not that there aren't racketty/intelligent people living in the squares, but they tend to be not part of those groups. I remember dear Paul C talking with asperity about the set in his particular square... unfair that they are still sitting there drinking Pimm's out of plastic cups, when he's gently decaying (actually, heaven probably is more fun than a chilly night at the opera!).
I found that even during the opera I was still casting around the crowd, noting who was there and what they were doing. I realised that this experience of the opera was a much more authentic one - it was probably like being in an Italian provincial opera house in the 18thC - seeing and been seen - less like sitting at Covent Garden or ENO - but being amongst one's friends and neighbours and gossiping and observing. "He's here - but his wife hasn't come" - "Where's _____, he's usually mad for this sort of thing?" "Oh, they've brought their children - that's nice."
The performance itself was suitably spirited, with a very good Figaro - and a slightly less good Count - Rosina's voice was on the shrill end of the soprano spectrum... but for these "boutique" operas acting often counts for more. The accompaniment was on piano keyboard - which obviously makes it cheaper, but I suppose I've always found the orchestra one of the deep joys of opera - and being at Covent Garden and listening to a familiar overture as the curtain rises has often provided a dose of what used to be called "the tingle factor". Still, one was close to the action - especially when we all had to move our seats forward, because the radio mikes weren't working - and also when Figaro sang "largo al factotum" around the audience. It is true the opera does slightly wind down before the end - the beginning has much of the best music - but the acting helped keep it fun. Somehow sharing a cultural experience with a lot of people you know, rather than an auditorium full of strangers is just a much better experience.
No comments:
Post a Comment