No fat lady singing

So, last night I headed off to Birmingham's Town Hall for Purcell's The Fairy Queen - one of the very earliest English operas. It's from 1692 - I seem to be spending a lot of time in that period at the moment: I've just read Poly-Olbion, am teaching Paradise Lost and now I'm on Massinger's 1620s A New Way to Pay Old Debts - though of course the Civil War came between the two texts.

The orchestra was the New London Consort, who play period instruments (like viols instead of cellos, and tuned in the old pitch). They were magnificent: supple and fluid, though I still have doubts about the obsession with authenticity that often comes with the period orchestras. Nice to see occasionally, but I hope it doesn't take over.

However, what really surprised me was the performance. I expected some singers to run through it pretty straight, but the production featured modern dress and a group of circus acrobats. The set comprised a collection of suitcases rearranged to indicate activity and settings, so pretty minimalist, but it really worked. The soloists were stunningly good, and could actually act, which is always a plus. They brought out the humour in the songs and action, which is quite an achievement given that it's based on Spenser's The Faerie Queene, which is rather short on laughs and long on imperialism and racism: the Purcell cuts straight to the romance.

Here are a couple of samples, from the romantic side of the piece.

a few words from the girl on the half-shell.

I've neglected my trawl through the hard drive recently. Far too busy finding ways not to mark essays, I guess.

Today, I've been listening to fiery diva virtuoso pieces - Bellini's Norma (trust me, it was a sexy name in 1831), which deals with love, faithlessness and sacrifice against a background of Gauls v. Romans (much like Asterix with more coloratura); and Purcell's Dido and Aeneas, perhaps the greatest English opera written, and amongst the first. 'When I Am Laid In Earth' is a heartbreaker, once you can get past the singing style, which lots of people - including me - find difficult.





Meanwhile, my alphabetical odyssey takes us to Bob Dylan, about whom I hope I don't have to say much. I've got all the good albums on vinyl, and The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan and John Wesley Harding on my computer. There's a simple rule with Bob: pre-1980, mostly amazing. After that, largely terrible. I love so many songs by him, but highlights for me are his original 'All Along the Watchtower', 'Tangled Up in Blue', 'Talkin' World War III Blues', 'Girl From the North Country' and 'Masters of War'.

However, I'm not going to play you any of those. Instead, here's Joan Baez singing 'Diamonds and Rust' from the album of the same name, which is a mature woman's view of their relationship: Dylan was her protege, but he outpaced her and treated her fairly cruelly. The song's melancholy, tender, and packed with beautiful images and humour. I think it works well as a poem on its own - check out the Venus reference. The emotional gap between two people understanding a relationship differently is stunningly encapsulated by 'Speaking strictly for me, we both could have died then and there'.

The other track is Phil Ochs' 'No More Songs'. Ochs, one of my heroes, was a hard left folk singer who understood when Dylan left protest songs behind - this song is a gentle goodbye in the midst of a lot of criticism.