BACK TO THE WHARF

It's thirty years since the STC's first production at The Wharf, and quite a while since we were last there too. So, just because, and because their celebratory opening for 2015 was, said everyone, very funny, and very funny is always on the menu, we headed back to catch Andrew Bovell's very first play: the 1988 (bicetennial year) 'After Dinner'.

It's interesting to see perspective playing out - the evolution of the overdrawn gauche Australian persona, hapless and unfulfilled, yet endearingly loveable in its tragedy of seeking (mostly) to love and be loved, from Edna to Muriel and beyond. And Bovell would go on to write award winning plays and screenplays like Strictly Ballroom (wonderful film but disastrous musical still trying to find its feet) and the beautifully confronting Head On.

We enjoyed the play, now playing to sold-out houses. It's a fun bit of nasal gazing. But in truth, the night was especially special for getting back to The Wharf again to watch the evening slip away and the city come to lights on from this splendid ironbark timber wharf poking its finger into the harbour. We arrived early enough for dinner (so the play was really after dinner) and took the 1980's option - Steak Diane and chips.

The long walk down the great wooden floor ...

... looking east to the bridge

and west to the west.

By interval the full moon was up escorted by Venus I assume.

Chocolates at the exit (yes, after dinner mints), and it was the long walk back

with lights playing tricks with the water and the glass louvres.

GREAT PROGRAMMING II

The Sydney Symphony Orchestra (riding high into the second year of David Robertson's tenure and buoyed by the news that, politics and climate change willing, there's a couple of hundred million for upgrading the concert hall acoustics) just brought off a fabulous Opening Gala. It wasn't the first concert of the season (The Schumann Symphonies and violinist Christian Tetzlaff had the honours) but it was the Gala Night.

Quite dressy too, though not stuffy, and a packed house dotted with VIPs - notably the totally wonderful Lord Mayor the divine Clover Moore with Mr Peter of the jolly smile; the GG (a long way from the parade ground); the newly Damed ex NSW Governor and orchestra patron, the irrepressible Marie Bashir; sundry pollys and one whose name I can't bring myself to type but he's the current (just) great overseer of allocation of buckeroos; socialites and sponsors (Credit Suisse with several rows in the stalls), and a very excited Sydney audience in a city that is fairly buzzing as Mardi Gras winds itself up and the Big Boats roll in and out one a day.

Great programming, really great:

Bruckner's       Motet, WAB11  -  Christus factus est

followed without pause by

Berg's Wozzeck Act III

and after interval, and another drink

Beethovens' 9th - The Choral

Conductor David Robertson
Miriam Gordon-Stewart, soprano
Michelle DeYoung, mezzo-soprano
Simon O'Neill, tenor
Peter Coleman-Wright, baritone

Sydney Philharmonia Choirs
Gondwana Sydney Children's Choir
Sydney Grammar School Choir

This is the work of the new(ish) Director of Artistic Planning Benjamin Schwartz (ex Boston) kicking in, with David Robertson of course.

Bruckner's sacred motet, of Christ's exaltation into Heaven, with a Name above all names, beautifully lays open the case for the ascendency of forgiveness and understanding in, of course, a Christian Catholic way. The choirs - Sydney Phil and Grammar school adding an upper sheen of otherworldly brilliance - delivered a most beautiful rendition freed of churchy sentimentality, not cold but the word of the truth.

That it leads directly into the first of the 5 scenes of Act 3 of Wozzeck (1925, 100 years after the murder case in question) with Marie reading the bible in her room catapults, flings, you into a world of shattered values. Mr Berg's advice is to not to try and listen to the music but to listen to the drama. Drama there was. The scenes were visually enhanced (I think is the expression) with mood lighting - sickly pale green pond, blood red moon, brilliant death white - and worked for me. All four soloists, placed as is Mr Robertson's want behind the orchestra, made it into your head, and into their despair. Peter Coleman-Wright, coming late to the task, showed yet again what a wonderful character actor he and his voice make.

                                                (preperformance showing the new LED lights for easy colouring)

Woyzech was executed for murder in Leipzig in 1824 after considerable public awareness of the case and its questions of culpability and mental state. In 1824 Beethoven completed his 9th, his great treatise on humanity, his great call to brotherhood, equality, understanding and therein forgiveness. The link is hardly obtuse.

Back with routine lighting after interval, we lucky ones were given a stunning performance of controlled intensity, concentration and precision, which brought K to tears (and only excellence of the highest order ever does that) and had the hall mesmerised, frozen, motionless, noiseless, breathless, hypnotised, under the influence, experiencing some thing rare and wonderful: superb music making. Soloists well cast and wonderful, and most notably Simon O'Neills thrilling tenor (a timbre I not always warm to) flying out - 'Joyously, as His dazzling suns' - the sunshine beaming as he threw himself into it. He loves it, it's obvious. He means it. He all but sang the whole thing from go to woe.

Must have been about 200 in the choir and as usual fabulous, for all the right reasons, at the hands of the their task master Brett Wymark.

No adequate words from me for the orchestra and Robertson, the Adagio, except what the tears said in the stillness. I really like David Robertson. He's changed since his first guest visits. He's tight but not stiff. The energy and commitment is palpable. He is, in his own (very genuine) words, driven by and satisfied by the music making. That's it - he's genuine. Not sentimental. Just the genuine tireless real deal.

We stayed for a while, the goodness lingering, leaving as the last idled home.

Ah ha - first review is in.

GREAT PROGRAMMING I

Our ACO year kicked off with marvellous flair as Richard Tognetti brought in the Coptic Egyptian/Australian Brothers Tawadros (Joseph on oud; James on riq', bendir) to spice up Vivaldi's The Four Seasons, mix it up with other Baroque wonders, introduce works from Joseph's new album and remind us that 'Venice is but a boat day from Cairo'.

Venice and the Islam - cross fertilised for centuries and though few examples of musical influence are overt, the links are there 'in no insubstantial way' Mr Tognetti believes, and hence his programme.

        (Venetian painting: The Reception of the Ambassadors in Damascus, 1511 - as shown in the programme)


Here's the programme ......


Gabrieli             Sonata XXI 'con tre violin'
Tawadros           Kindred Spirits
Vivaldi               The Four Seasons: Spring
Tawadros           Slight of Hand
Vivaldi               The Four seasons: Summer
Tawadros           Constantinople

Vivaldi               Grave from Concerto per la silennita di s. Lorenzo
Vivaldi               Presto from Violin Concerto in A minor
Tawadros           Permission to Evaporate
Tawadros           Give or Take
Vivaldi               The Four Seasons: Autumn
Marcello            Andante from Sinfonia to il pianto e il riso dell quattro stagioni
Tawadros           Point of Departure
Vivaldi              The Four Seasons: Winter
Tawadros           Eye of the Beholder


......  and it was brilliant. Mesmerising. Dazzling. Outstanding playing with Mr Tognetti in splendid form. Critical rave here.

You can glean some idea of the oud ('twang') and riq' ('zing') and the ensemble together:




And one more of the Joseph and James (in Sarajevo) and Joseph's thoughts on the music:

AUTUMN

The calendar has clicked over. It's been a wonderful stormy summer and another has just rolled through leaving the late afternoon swathed in mist.

SPOT THE MOTH

It's Darwinian I suppose.

I wish I had taken a photo from further away to emphasise what wonderful camoflauge is at play here but I was so preoccupied with its intrinsic beauty at the time it was impossible to pull back. To give an idea of its size, this beautiful thing, the body length was the same as my iPhone.

UPGRADE

My ancient laptop which was literally grinding to a halt has finally been dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st C. You only need (to know) someone who knows.

I can upload photos in a minute, if not seconds. Like Madam on her birthday. She of the painted nails.

FEB 14

                                                                    (click to enlarge)


Not one to pay attention to special days (days is days), the window of our local butcher did however catch my eye. How couldn't it?