Pedals, steel: Heather Leigh, Rebeca Omordia

That slightly panicky feeling again... that I'm seeing and hearing things I want to write about faster than I can actually write about them. So much to share, so little time. However, I went to two concerts recently that I definitely want to enthuse about before they recede too far in my memory - and it gives me another excuse to recommend the relevant albums by the artist concerned. (Regular readers - thank you, darlings, thank you - might recall as they read on that I included both of these artists' most recent recordings in my best of 2018 round-up.)

Back in January, I went to see Heather Leigh at London's Café Oto. I only discovered HL's music relatively recently, when I read in a magazine about her performing in a duo with avant-garde jazz saxophonist Peter Brötzmann. As Leigh's instrument is the pedal steel guitar, my interest was immediately piqued at the unusual combination. The music they make together (that I've heard) is both demanding and rewarding, untethered, full of contrast with the seemingly infinite soundscape of the strings with the sax's agitation.

So it was a natural next step to investigate HL's solo music. As luck would have it, I went straight to her latest release from last October, 'Throne'. I was surprised and overjoyed to fall this hard for an album that I might so easily have never come across, that could have slipped through the net and been lost to me for good.

'Throne' is a remarkable statement of intent. It's one of those records where the cliché "it's unlike anything you've ever heard" is probably, for many listeners, in fact true: every reference point I reach for seems somehow inadequate. What you get: six songs, one of which is a brilliantly sustained 17-minute epic. They are measured, stately, almost all the instrumentation coming from Leigh's endlessly inventive manipulation of the pedal steel (and more pedals besides). The arrangements almost seem to suspend time: beats are minimal, and rather than straight melody or rhythm, the sound is as much an environment, a kind of gossamer sheen for HL's vocals to drift through. The voice is a wonder in its own right: richly sensual with a close-miked, confident intimacy to it. There is definitely an eroticism to this music - it's bold, uncompromising, and I want to say powerfully feminine - by which I mean, it has a take-no-prisoners frankness and the songs build and shape entirely on their own unconventional terms... but there is no aggression or self-aggrandisement either - the atmosphere is all-consuming, welcoming even, drawing you in rather than pushing you away.

Why detail the record so much when I'm supposed to be writing about the concert? Chiefly due to Leigh's decision to tour the album by performing the whole thing live, as a complete suite. Café Oto is in fact a terrific venue for intense music like this: it's small, and soon packed, with the audience and stage virtually tumbling into each other - it makes you commit, you're part of the experience - but it never feels too claustrophobic because it has windows and door out into the street. Even though HL, seated at the pedal steel, is inevitably static to some extent, her charisma fills the venue as much as the sound. With only laptop-brandishing John Hannon providing additional effects, she brings the soundworld of 'Throne' alive with deft hand and foot movements, head close to the mike, measured vocals inviting us to hear her confession. It's sometimes hard to reconcile the power and occasional fury of what we hear with her serenity and coolness, so lightly is her dexterity worn. There's no pause or applause between the songs, partly because she doesn't break character or mood, sustaining a thrum or pulse to link one tune to the next, and partly because fans of the album, soon aware of what she's doing, gladly surrender themselves to listening to the entire record in the most electrically alive circumstances.

(Heather Leigh, 'Soft Seasons')

One of my favourite tracks on the album, 'Soft Seasons', has a particularly scorching riff which seems to rupture the drift of the preceding songs - and I can only say that experiencing this hook kick in live was like a release, a moment of true euphoria in a sequence of expertly paced songs that simmered and smouldered in our Oto-shaped universe.

You must hear Heather Leigh in concert if you can, but in the meantime, you can buy 'Throne' directly from the artist here.

A few weeks later, in mid-February, I went to a recital at the October Gallery (also in London) by pianist Rebeca Omordia - prompted by really enjoying her 2018 CD 'Ekele'. RO is half-Nigerian, half-Romanian, and 'Ekele' features solo piano music by three Nigerian composers, aiming to bring them to a wider audience. It's a superb listen - a real ear-opener because it genuinely sounds (especially to an 'untutored' listener like me) like several different genres or even traditions of music wrapped up in one style. It is, in part, 'classical' music as a Western listener might strive to classify it; but the bold, syncopated rhythms - particularly in the bottom end - just as readily call to mind jazz, or what we somewhat inadequately call 'world music'.

Watching the virtuosic Omordia play these pieces live was exhilarating, as at times it simply seemed like her hands were being operated by two different bodies, different brains. As the right hand soared, airborne, dancing across the keys with the lightest of touches, the left hand dug into the earth, rooted in thorny, twisting bass lines. Jaw-dropping; foot-tapping. My favourite composer from both the CD and the concert was Ayo Bankolé, who created a striking piano sonata based around a narrative of the passion of Christ, by turns tense, hymnal, tragic and gentle.

(Rebeca Omordia plays 'Ya Orule', composed by Ayo Bankolé)

Elsewhere, more miniature masterpieces abounded, not only from Bankolé, but also some of the brilliant '24 Studies in African Rhythms' by Fred Onovwerosuke: most well under 2 minutes but needing no longer to bottle that sense of 'classical-fusion' that made the entire recital so exciting and fascinating in equal measure.

I was pleased to see that 'Ekele' the gig opened out to feature other composers not on the record... which makes me wonder if at least one further volume could be in the offing...? I do hope so. As surprise treats, RO played 'Toccata' by Romanian composer Paul Constantinescu, then Ravel's 'Scarbo' (renowned as one of the most tricky piano solos ever written) - not only stunning showpieces but also a properly unified part of an evening that rejoiced overall in dazzling ability and rhythmic complexity.

Buy 'Ekele' directly from the record label here.

Chilled to perfection: 'Anthropocene'

There's something particularly exciting about seeing a new opera - by which I mean brand new (not just new to me). The opportunity to go in completely 'cold' - very appropriate in this case - and treat the work much like a first encounter with a book or film, with no idea of what to expect or how things will turn out... it's surprisingly rare. Perhaps one of the most satisfying aspects of Scottish Opera's production of 'Anthropocene' - the latest collaboration from Stuart MacRae (music) and Louise Welsh (words) - was that the opera itself carried those feelings of exhilaration and suspense right through into the action. I left Hackney Empire as wrung out with the tension as I would have been by any Christie play or Hitchcock film.

(image copyright Scottish Opera)

Much like one of those dramas, our characters are contained in a confined space: the ship 'Anthropocene', owned by Harry King, an egotistical businessman who has financed the Arctic research expedition for which the vessel was built. King himself is on board, along with his daughter Daisy; Miles, a journalist King has hired to write up the voyage; crewmen Ross and Vasco; and last but not least, the leader of the expedition, Professor Prentice with her husband Charles, also a scientist.

(Pause for thought: Although the run is now over - and the programme includes a synopsis and complete libretto - I will try and avoid including too many spoilers. I think there's every chance the piece will be revived or recorded, and hopefully enter 'the repertoire', and the more people who get to experience it without full knowledge of the evening's surprises, the better.)

As the opera begins, Charles, Daisy and Miles are away from the ship, exploring the ice. Back on deck, as the water freezes around the Anthropocene, Prentice has the agonising decision of whether to leave while the ship can still move, or wait for the party to return. She makes up her mind to go, but too late: they remain trapped. Meanwhile, the trio come back with an unexpected discovery - a block of ice with a body suspended inside.

On seeing the creature's eyes move, Vasco breaks the block apart to reveal a young woman, who we come to know only as 'Ice'. Various divided loyalties and hidden motivations among the crew cause the group to fracture - especially as, for horrifying reasons, rescue seems increasingly impossible. In the meantime, Ice gradually recovers her faculties, and ultimately her memory of her origins and identity. These two plot strands - one rooted in a grimly human psychological horror, the other in a more timeless, mystical register - beautifully converge at the end of the opera, as the characters are faced with a dilemma that renders their scientific reasoning and emotional instincts inseparable.

I loved pretty much everything about this. In particular, the production makes brilliant use of the way time moves in opera - how we take it as read that what we do see is likely to happen very slowly (everyone has to sing everything for a start), and that certain leaps might be made elsewhere for storytelling economy. 'Anthropocene' absolutely thrives on this stuff. Just as the characters wait for rescue, we the audience suffer our own, relentless, ruthless delays: the almost unbearable opening scene when we're already unsure if all the characters will start the opera alive; the nervous circling of the still-intact block; Miles's drawn-out, desperate attempts to speak to his editor over the phone; the patient coaxing of Ice's first words... and this is all just Act I.

Yet for all that, the opera feels pacy - it bends time both ways. On several occasions, we need to keep our eyes on all corners of the stage: what is character X up to while we listen to Y speaking to Z? Even the interval is pressed into service (and apologies for the slight spoiler here): as the curtain opens on the severe winter of Act II, the characters are visibly more frozen, their suddenly snow-white faces like death-masks. Their haunted, monochrome expressions - so matter-of-factly present - are a visual coup worthy of any horror film, plunging you back into the situation in an instant, washing any interval warmth away. Among them, Ice walks, unaffected, in a t-shirt.

(Production photos from Scottish Opera website, by James Glossop)

The staging and overall look of the thing - stylised yet not completely surreal - are crucial to the atmosphere. Again, there are filmic gestures: the name 'ANTHROPOCENE' is prominently displayed at the front of the stage, looking like an elegant title-card, but in fact forming the name on the ship itself. The sides of the deck compress our view almost into a 4:3 'Academy ratio' screen shape reminiscent of old monster movies.

I enjoyed the way that the characters' suits were colour-coded - possibly a function of King's ego to establish a hierarchy? He clothes himself and daughter Daisy in red; Prentice and Charles in orange; Ross and Vasco in navy (I think!) and loner Miles - with no on-board ally - in light blue. As the action progresses and loyalties blur and dissolve, these codes are abandoned until everyone - literally in the same boat - is in white.

I had the luxury of a great seat, close to the stage (not usually an option for me somewhere like the Royal Opera House!) - and I felt privileged to see such accomplished acting and singing from the cast. As I've hinted at before, facial expression is vital for the piece to operate at full power, and in a story like this - where almost every character is at the limit of their physical endurance for a sustained period of time - we're talking about real dramatic commitment. I can't remember seeing a group of performers quite as intensely 'on' as this - able to deliver the sung conversations with real conviction while shivering, crumpling, on the point of collapse. Benedict Nelson's Miles was an absolute masterclass here: constantly watchful, terrified, scheming while near-deranged with panic: a bold, selfless, charismatic turn.

Other standouts included Jeni Bern's Prentice: through her character, we seem to investigate the irony that this woman of science is buffeted by heightened emotion, trauma and superstition - in other words, a more traditional/sexist view of the 'feminine', especially in opera - but at no point does she weaken or waver from her convictions. Even her final decision - which will send friends out arguing into the night - is reasoned and thought through, for right or wrong. Bern sang the role with finely-wrought steel, giving the scientist a genuine tenderness in a beautifully-judged scene with Charles, but with the necessary grit and wilfulness of one in charge.

Jennifer France made a captivating Ice - her crystalline soprano voice perfect for the brittle nature of the character: the superb scene where she essentially learns to speak again, so can only get the words out in staccato bursts at the top of her range... it really felt like the fall of a tiny shard, or intermittent drop. It looked to this lay listener like a massive technical challenge - worth it, for such a spine-chillingly effective result.

But then, what a piece the cast had to work with. Stuart MacRae's score - in the hands of the Orchestra of Scottish Opera, conducted by their Music Director Stuart Stratford - felt so flexible and versatile. Lyrical when a short-lived sense of relief was needed (Daisy and Vasco's flirtation, mirrored with the older, more lived-in love of Prentice and Charles, that I mentioned above)… but elsewhere, the orchestra were made to stretch and groan with each lurch of the ship and crack of the ice - at one point the Arctic wind whistled so convincingly I thought the pit might freeze over. The contrast he created between phenomenal climactic crescendos and unnerving near-silences moved me nearer and nearer the edge of my seat.

Louise Welsh's libretto is a handsome achievement in its own right: the economy of expression allows the dialogue to 'snap', even at opera speed. Ice speaks with a folk-poetic turn of phrase ("Only blood can melt the waters") that marks her out as something other. King's Boy's-Own nautical obsessions bleed into his language as he imagines his businesses "crashing against the rocks". The scene between Prentice and Charles that I keep mentioning - because it still haunts me - merges the worldly and otherworldly as Prentice tries to shake off her nightmares, when she momentarily accesses Ice's poetry ("Sleep unlocks labyrinths … Death wound itself around me") but speaks to Charles with an open-hearted clarity: "I love you but I had to make a choice".

Seeing 'Anthropocene' with next to no advance knowledge was an unforgettable experience - but even though I now know all its secrets, I just wish I could see it again. Let's hope for a recording or return to the stage - we don't want this one to melt away.

Retrospecstive 2018: live

It has taken me a little longer than I expected (so long, January!) to get this post together, but finally! Following my round-up of favourite recordings from 2018, here is its companion post, looking back at the 18 (or so - was close to running out of countable digits) live events that really stood out for me over the year.

Where I wrote about the performance at the time, I've quoted from (and linked to) the relevant post, as those descriptions are inevitably more vivid. But one of the pleasures of this survey is that I can still draw attention to some of the great events I was lucky to attend but didn't get the chance to write about at the time.

I hope you enjoy it. It's more or less chronological through the year, so (cue wobbly flashback screen effect) we rewind all the way to January 2018 with...

*

Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir (Milton Court)

(Photograph by Kaupo Kikkas)

The glorious EPCC focusing on music from their homeland. I wrote:

"The first half was given over to the hypnotic serenity of Pärt's music, highlights for me being the 'Magnificat' and 'Nunc dimittis' that appear on the Choir's latest recording, along with the powerfully direct 'The Woman with the Alabaster Box'. These glorious rendition inspired a somewhat devout response from the audience, held rapt, with no applause given (or invited) until the interval. The second half was a bit more chilled out - and gave full rein to the Choir's versatility. Alongside the Harvey, we heard a pair of gorgeous Psalm settings by Kreek, and finally two pieces by Tormis. The closing song was a tour de force: the mythological, almost surreal 'Raua needmine', or 'Curse upon Iron', which gave us a pounding, ritualistic drum (one of the tenors having the time of his life), underpinning evocative and at times terrifying vocal effects. A stunning climax to an evening characterised by conductor Kaspars Putniņš's ability to draw a wide range of dynamics from his singers, allowing many of them the chance to shine as individuals amid the collective sound."

More here.

Ruby Hughes and Joseph Middleton (Wigmore Hall)

A beautiful, personally heartfelt recital focusing on parenthood - and displaying the versatility of both performers in a programme ranging from Schumann and Mahler lieder to a startling new song cycle from Helen Grime - by way of Britten and Ives. My advice - never pass up an opportunity to hear Ruby Hughes sing if you can help it. (And buy her album with JM, 'Nocturnal Variations'.)

Barb Jungr & John McDaniel perform Sting (Pizza Express Jazz at the Pheasantry)

This superb duo unites one of the UK's greatest singers and interpreters teams up with one of the US's finest arrangers. Perhaps an unexpected songbook to choose... until you hear what they do with it. I wrote:

"Here, you could detect a sense of missionary zeal as if aware that for some listeners, they would be making a case for the material. As such, they were a Formidable Unit. It's hard to imagine two performers more determinedly in sync. Immaculate two-part harmonies, sometimes sustained for virtually entire songs, inventively exploiting her deeper, fuller timbre against his lighter tones. Moments where BJ would embellish the basic tune - one I keep thinking about is the 'Confront your enemies, avoid them when you can' lyric from 'Englishman in New York', where on 'avoid' she found something else in the melody, and JMcD instantly mirrored it in his accompaniment, the songs seemingly effortlessly wrapping themselves around his fingers."

More here.

Raf & O as 'The Kick Inside' perform the songs of Kate Bush (Temple Pier)

This is no simple tribute, but a particularly gifted, insightful and empathetic band completely re-imagining the way one of our most distinctive artists could sound. I wrote:

"Already so expert in suggesting parallel musical worlds with their own music, Raf and O as 'The Kick Inside' show us another alternative reality: where Kate Bush still wrote all those spectacular songs, but was never seduced by technology, submerged in band arrangements or occasionally dated production, perhaps never even became a perfectionist, or near-recluse. In this other dimension, she never stayed away from the stage for three decades - instead, she's out there, performing for the love of it, seeing the effect the sheer immediacy of her words and music has on the audience."

More here.

'Rinaldo' (Barbican)

Just an unbeatable combination: Handel, the English Concert and Iestyn Davies - here joined by some stellar colleagues including Sasha Cooke, Jane Archibald and Jakub Józef Orliński. Luxurious, moving and ultimately, an evening of pure joy.

The Handsome Family (Round Chapel)

One of my favourite groups of all time, husband and wife duo Brett & Rennie Sparks have made richly disturbing music for some 25 years. Originally a Chicago band, they in fact mesh two sensibilities. Rennie (hailing from New York) writes eerie, unforgettable short stories in lyric form - often, but not always, macabre, they are clued-in to both natural and supernatural phenomena and the way they can both have us at their mercy. Brett (originally from Odessa, Texas) oversees the music, marrying these tales to a heady stew of folk/country/blues that increase the songs' power to surprise. I could recommend so many of their albums - but this concert was something apart, as they played their breakthrough LP, 'Through the Trees', in its entirely to celebrate its 20th anniversary. Those songs are special to me: as is the soundtrack to any process of falling in love with a band. Hearing them all again live was spine-chilling, in the best sense.

Jean-Efflam Bavouzet plays Debussy (Milton Court)

An entire day's worth of concerts, spotlighting Debussy's solo piano repertoire in the most engaging of company. I didn't want it to end - as I wrote at the time:

"You couldn't ask for a more enthusiastic or evangelical guide through Debussy's music - JEB gave us a mixture of historical anecdote, in-depth analysis of compositional techniques and comparisons to other composers (technical expertise worn very lightly), and - best of all - would talk to us from the piano, willing to play over various excerpts to clarify the points he was making. I soon realised that even after four or so hours in his company, I could happily have listened to Bavouzet continue playing - and speaking - long into the night."

More here.

Sylvia Schwartz and Malcolm Martineau (Wigmore Hall)

More used to the 'album-tour-album-tour' routine of the rock world, I'm always fascinated by the frequent disconnects you get in the classical world of when an artist might release a recording (if and when they are in a position to do such a thing) and play a related concert. SS and MM made a truly lovely album of Spanish art song for Hyperion Records, which came out in 2013. Here was the first time I had been aware of an opportunity to hear them perform some of that repertoire live, with the added first half bonus of some Berg and, especially, marvellous lieder by Wolf. A proper event.

'Satyagraha' (English National Opera)

I'm a Glass devotee. I was in the lucky position of knowing this would be brilliant, getting unspeakably excited about it, and then having my sky-high expectations met, or even surpassed. I wrote:

"[Conductor Karen Kamensek] keeps the orchestra motoring like absolute clockwork, while bringing alive every dynamic shift and nuance. For me, part of the power of Glass's music is that it uses its regularity to, in fact, play with time. Events can speed up, or stand still. As the sequences stretch out, you have time to appreciate the artistry of Improbable and director Phelim McDermott as endlessly inventive visual motifs fill the stage. McDermott explains the use of newspaper and corrugated iron as key materials linked with Gandhi's environment - the oppression of both opinion and poverty - but this is just the start. Giant puppets form an imposing crowd, while the silent 'icons' (the historical figures that provide a linked focal point for each act) are either still or move in slow motion against the 'normal' speed of the protagonists. The skills performers move with such precision that they can hold up scraps of newsprint to receive caption projections. And the meticulous score does not preclude cast and chorus injecting the sacred text of the libretto (adapted from the Bhagavada Gita) with real emotion - especially in the prayers of Toby Spence's superb Gandhi."

More here.

'Lessons in Love and Violence' (Royal Opera House)

(Barbara Hannigan as Isabel and Peter Hoare as Mortimer, photograph by Stephen Cummiskey)

After 'Written on Skin', could lightning strike twice? Yes - and, arguably, burn more brightly and savagely than before. 'WoS' could boast both timelessness and yet, the 'shock of the new'. But this latest work mines similar depths from a more familiar historical setting, and somehow the cut of the scalpel seems deeper and more precise. I wrote:

"Benjamin's music and Crimp's words are so closely-linked that the score clings to the vocal lines like hands around a twisting rope, and the never-ending tense rumble of the orchestra (on terrific form) veers as much into sound design as any kind of conventional musical accompaniment. … [As] characters collapse or go off the rails, the score seems to 'break' along with them, like a coiled spring finally snapping. ... Voices in similar registers blend and clash - the intimacies of the male lovers are expressed by two baritones as King and Gaveston, while further sexual tension is generated between Isabel (soprano) and Mortimer (tenor) - so every duet feels very 'close', narrow and intense. At times, it feels there is barely any room to breathe."

More here.

Carolyn Sampson, Iestyn Davies and Joseph Middleton (Wigmore Hall)

This was the superbly programmed and performed CD 'Lost is My Quiet', but in live format. Could you wish for anything more? No. I wrote:

"As actor-singers, they generate a pleasurable tension between their 'angelic' registers and the physical expression of the more earthly, sensual subject matter of the songs. CS gives us wide-eyed wonder, tenderness and terror; ID an occasionally wracked, noble presence, at times leaning to the piano as if for support, then unfolding, straightening, to face the listeners, gesturing towards us, recharged. ... The stage is not large, but the eye contact, easy body language and frequent smiles between them speak volumes and communicate their enjoyment of the songs directly to us. The intimacy of the Wigmore itself - which I really felt, after seeing both CS and ID at 'opera house distance' recently - amplified the whole experience, sound and vision. The superb acoustic also allowed us to fully appreciate how versatile and sympathetic an accompanist JM is - always keeping an ideal balance with the voices whether flying round the keys at breakneck speed … or anchoring some of the steadier tunes with sonorous, rich tones …"

More here.

ENO Studio Live

In its second year, this enterprise - essentially ENO's house company of Chorus and Orchestra taking the reins and producing left-field work outside the Coliseum - built handsomely on the triumph of the previous summer. I wrote:

"The initiative takes the music staff and ensemble out of the Coliseum, and lets them loose on smaller-scale works that give free rein to their imagination, dedication and talent. Let's say your favourite band (and ENO's Chorus & Orchestra are certainly one of mine) are at the level where they only play arenas - and then you suddenly get the chance to see them in a tiny venue or club. That's what ENO Studio Live is like. That's why it's so exciting."

On their Handel production...

"An environment like this really brings home what matchless communicators we have in the great troupe of actor-singers in ENO's mighty Chorus. In the Coliseum, you can still perceive them all as carefully-realised individuals, making up that unstoppable wall of vocal sound. But here, with all them acting up a storm, every [character] is enjoying their own evening, having a whale of a time. As they work the stage area, interacting with each other during the chorus sections, you can discern their separate voices depending on who is nearer to you, or further away - so the balance shifts and the blend changes, while the combined 'whole' remains glorious. I love the idea that the half of the audience on the other side will have heard a distinctly different 'mix' to me. You really are 'in it' that much."

More on 'Acis and Galatea' here.

On their hugely successful takeover of Wilton's Music Hall for some great Britten...

"I thought this was one of the most deftly thought-through stagings I've seen, precision-tooled for the venue. The orchestra were vertical rather than horizontal, arranged in storeys at the back of the stage - meaning no playing area separated us from the actor-singers. Under Matthew Kofi Waldren, they negotiated the lightning shifts in style with real pizzazz, finding that under-explored middle ground between pit and nightclub. As the story got darker, red blinds gradually drew over the players, as if twilight was descending on the stage. The recording of Bunyan's voice (a rich, booming Simon Russell Beale), neon lights and plastic props presented a kind of 'electric cabaret', conjuring up a mid-20th century New York milieu, channelling it through the history in the bricks and mortar of Wilton's, and bringing it all into collision with the enchanted forest. The use of the space to maximise the effect of the voices was breathtaking. The opening moments would have been worth the price of admission alone, as we suddenly realised we were surrounded by the ENO Chorus, and we were inside the sound they were making. … a wall of glorious surround-sound as the choristers moved around and among us."

More on 'Paul Bunyan' here.

'Mary's Hand' (McCaldin Arts at Holy Cross Church)

(Clare McCaldin as Mary I, photograph by Robert Workman)

This one-woman opera felt like a potential 'hidden gem', so thrilled to see it come back this year for a short tour and attract more attention. I'm going again. Check it out if you can. I wrote:

"Martin Bussey's elegant, expressive score makes maximum use of seemingly minimal resources. Written specially for the mezzo-soprano performing the role, Clare McCaldin, Mary's part deftly moves between spoken word and sung passages. In a performance that's somehow both handsomely relaxed and precision-sharp, McCaldin at first negotiates almost patter-like passages that draw us in with speech while seasoning the text with sung notes. The effect is a 'best of both worlds' hybrid - the musicality and cathartic power of opera, combined with the intimacy and immediacy of a monologue. ... While it would be lovely to think this opera might be recorded one day, as written and performed it's a truly multi-sensory experience, making best use of its close-quarters visual richness in tandem with the taut, evocative soundworld. Well played, indeed."

More here.

Wagner / Strauss / Nørgård (BBC Prom 51, Royal Albert Hall)

One of those full-on, 'didn't-see-THAT-coming' experiences that the Proms can often specialise in, this terrific concert by the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra under Thomas Dausgaard just built and built in intensity. Already in raptures from the 'Parsifal' Act 1 Prelude, we were then treated to the 'Four Last Songs' from the brilliant Swedish soprano Malin Byström (the Royal Opera's most recent Salome)… and at the climax, an epically exciting UK premiere of the Danish composer's 3rd symphony - made all the more special by Nørgård being there to hear it, clearly delighted by the whole experience.

Ian Bostridge and Thomas Adès (Wigmore Hall)

I never ever tire of hearing 'Winterreise' - Schubert is my favourite composer and this is arguably his finest achievement. Its icy allure encourages multiple listens, and multiple interpretations. But it was still a highly pleasant wake-up call to hear a rendition that set me re-thinking the whole work yet again. I wrote:

"But in Adès's performance, I felt like I was hearing something completely new to me - an accompaniment that sounded recognisably like it was being played by a composer. ... I had the impression TA had taken the whole cycle apart to see how it worked, then put it back together again. … This now had something of the unpredictability of an Adès score. We seemed to be hearing new things. … Something about Adès's fearless way with the material meets Bostridge's technique head-on, and the outcome is a surprisingly robust, wilful interpretation that doesn't skimp on the anguish or even horror, but doesn't give in to it, either. Already a pioneering work when first penned, this performance made 'Winterreise' sound for all the world like a new, contemporary cycle."

More here.

The Ring Cycle (Royal Opera House)

It's almost impossible to write about this. It was my third Ring Cycle, but my first fully-staged (before then, I'd seen the sequence in concert. conducted by Barenboim at the Proms, then in Opera North's terrific semi-staged production). At the time, I was overwhelmed, really, and never managed to clear enough leisure writing-time to sit down and properly address it. An astonishing privilege to witness, really - I know that long-term Wagnerians will always dissect the merits of various casts and productions (and why not?), but I am still green enough to just applaud the immensity of the undertaking and achievement. Don't get me wrong - my critical faculties were operational - but all I remember clearly are the things I loved. Stuart Skelton's monumental Siegmund; the dual casting of a soprano I've long admired, Emily Magee, as two of the cycle's 'wronged women', Sieglinde and Gutrune; Stefan Vinke's tireless Siegfried opposite Nina Stemme's unmatched Brünnhilde… and, rightly, conductor Antonio Pappano bringing the entire orchestra onstage to receive their applause at the very end.

English National Opera's current season

I write often about ENO (as do many other people), so I won't add too much here - except to say that I think, over the past few months, they've been on fire. A 'traditional' success with 'Lucia di Lammermoor' (though nothing traditional about Sarah Tynan's superb interpretation of the title role), a storming 'Porgy and Bess', and the remarkably powerful staging of the 'War Requiem': even watching the production I was ambivalent about - 'Salome' - I had a blast, because of its riot of visceral ideas. I described ENO as having 'venom in its fangs' - that we were seeing challenging, provocative work, performed to equally uncompromising standards. For more detail...

"As I applauded, my head was spinning. This was an assault on the senses, and I approved. The production isn't there to make friends, but to kick arse. Making the case that a piece of vintage art - whether it's a period novel, Shakespeare play, or an opera - is Relevant To Today's Society can so often be problematic, because you can be passionately and genuinely keen to prove how the medium you love still speaks to modern times, while simultaneously being aware it can lapse into cliché. But given the ongoing reports we're now seeing of the horrifying - and shamefully widespread - treatment women receive at men's hands … is there a more appropriate story than Salome's to illustrate its devastating effects? … I think, then, that this is a vital and necessary production. It doesn't really matter to me that some people don't like it. I didn't like all of it and I didn't necessarily think every idea worked. … But I did like having these ideas thrown at me, challenging my preconceptions about the opera - both its story, and the wider issues it forces you to confront."

More on 'Salome' here.

"With its bold idea to flesh the work out into three dimensions, [ENO's 'War Requiem'] is attempting reinterpretation and reinvention of the familiar into something with a flavour of arthouse edginess. And with its combination of the 'P&B' and ENO choruses, and collaboration between British and German creative minds, it quietly sends out a diversity message that won't be lost on the range of audiences coming to see it. Mission, at this rate, accomplished."

More on the other operas here.

Alice Coote and Christian Blackshaw (Wigmore Hall)

Titled 'Songs of Life, Loss and Love', this recital was a heady brew of Brahms, Tchaikovsky, Schubert and Mahler. Another concert that, to my shame, I didn't manage to write up fully at the time. But I did send a tweet, and I stand by every word:

"What a glorious recital from Alice Coote at Wigmore Hall this evening: am always struck by the devastating power & sheer emotional range of her performances, but tonight was awe-inspiring. 'Du bist die Ruh' touched the sky. Such sensitive accompaniment from Christian Blackshaw throughout."

*

… aaaand relax.