Once more it was a final rehearsal at Glyndebourne and once more I was fortunate enough to get invited. We met one of the chorus just before their call, out in the gardens. There are many ways in which I’m privileged, and being able to be among the first to see so many of the extraordinary works at this legendary family run opera house will really not work in my favour when they try and establish who should be first against the wall come the revolution. But I was happy today.
A beautiful setting, with expansive gardens. A field full of sheep just a breath away, and Lou and I unloading a bag full of hastily bought Waitrose snacks. I had gone with the spirit of the place. Avocado and prawn cocktail, goats cheese and quails eggs. Enough to satisfy our disgusting joke of a home secretary that I deserve everything bad that comes my way. If anyone there had seen my actual bank balance they would have beaten me to death with rolled up Daily Mails, and then told the press someone poor did it.
My cover was good though. I know the classical stories. It was Semele. MOTHER! She’s the woman who made Jupiter promise to reveal himself in his full power as a lover. He tried to use his most gentle thunder but she was only mortal. She was obliterated but out of the ashes of her womb fell immortal Bacchus, God of wine and parties and occasionally tearing people to pieces while you’re so pissed you can’t remember it. Mostly a gift to the mortal world unless you happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Handel wrote it in 1743. You might expect it to be a bit worn out, but Adele Thomas directs it with extraordinary vitality. I think I’ve enjoyed this more than anything else I’ve seen at Glyndebourne. My chief delight was seeing the repetitive moments filled with depth. That never happens at the opera. These songs in Handel – they take ten minutes to say one sentence. Back and forth and back and forth and I’ve seen some pretty good performers try the same tactic again and again and again. The skill is the voice, of course. They might say they aren’t paid to be actors as well. But these guys, mostly, were varying their tactics and expectations, making moments of actual jeopardy out of long repetitions that might otherwise endlessly repeat and add no humanity.
Within that, to my limited knowledge, were some pretty crunchy voices. Stephanie Wake-Edwards was a Mezzo Soprano with real range and grounded me into my listening head when she popped up as the complicated Ino. All the leads were assured voices, of course, within some bold physical choices. I was mostly lost in it. Something that could have been a buttoned up self important classics lesson in the wrong hands became this sexy funny sad human story. And yeah it WAS sexy, because these competent singers were being truthful in a medium that often forgets truth entirely. Opera is usually too mannered to be sexy.
Two long intervals. We went in at 4 and came out at 8.40. The intervals are part of the magic, as you have your expensive picnic in the grounds and, I dunno, convince the person you’re with to invest another 15 million into your cryptochainblock AI thingydingy. Champagne anyone?
Lou and I had nobody to persuade to invest in us. And no champagne. We just ate, lounged, watched, lounged, ate, watched, walked a bit, watched and clapped a lot. Then we went home. Now it’s just me and the cat, as Lou is asleep. The cat is trying to take advantage of Lou being asleep to persuade me to let her into a cupboard she’s not allowed into. From the warring Pantheon of Ovid to the demanding pussycat of Lou. Two different types of all powerful but wilfully flawed entity.
What a huge privilege to have access to that beautiful place, and to occasionally get the chance to witness all these crafty people coming together to tell these odd musical stories. Not counting the orchestra, I reckon they had almost 50 people in that company and it came through in the sound of it all. Lucky happy opera Al and Lou. But the pollen almost killed me. I was crying for most of the show and they must have thought me a soft touch. Now I’m trying to settle it enough to go to sleep without coughing.
AlBarclay 