From top to bottom, we should applaud them

We are all, in some way, self-regarding in the arts world. Those who tread a stage (particularly an opera stage) have to be self-absorbed in many respects for theirs is a job of monumental difficulty; it is to their inner core that they must turn in order to dredge up the emotions that audiences wish to see laid bare. And those of us who engage the performers and the directors and conductors who, through their vision and creative talent, give singers the means to project themselves into our collective psyche, are prone (perhaps not unreasonably) to bask in the warm glow they produce.

The reward given by an audience - their applause - is a fleeting but pungent one. I wonder if all singers appreciate the effect that their gifts can have; is there a greater privilege than to be the last sonic memory of a satisfied audience member as they drift off to sleep, weary but content from their evening's entertainment? I can never, even as I approach my 24th season at Holland Park, claim a reward as profound as that and the pleasure is - must be - drawn from its facilitation. That is not, I hasten to add, a derogation of that duty, for opera companies have in their service countless individuals whose contribution is as critical and as potent as the delivery of a role in the Puccini canon. It is just that whatever glittering prize we are offered, whatever we ourselves may wish to perceive of our part in the process, it will never quite deliver the adulation of those whose talent we press into our service. Quiet contentment should indeed be reward enough.

The arts industry is, especially today, awash with the cult of personality. Too often the focus is on the people "at the top", or the PR stunts that propel them onto a few thousand twitter feeds and by which an industry appears to now be judged. Social media has given all of us the chance to blow furiously into our trumpets; that performers should use the medium to further their profile is understandable but it doesn't stop there. The "controversies" urged by executives too frequently overshadow everybody whose talent is engaged and paid for. I have to confess that in my early days at Holland Park, before we created our own company, my job was to write cheques that the quality of our productions couldn't cash but now it seems that arts companies congratulate themselves most lavishly for the message rather than the work being produced. Whilst those who create the actual art retain a presence, the recognition rarely goes further. Beyond the performer there is the technician, the operative who creates a space for wonder to take flight, the fundraiser, or the hard worked marketer who juggles vainly to lend credibility to the schoolboy pranks that pass for a corporate message who are frequently overlooked and put into folders of less significant binding, to be placed on a shelf that sits beneath all else. In truth, those of us who don't expose ourselves to an audience's judgement should all sit alongside them; only the truly talented, whose spotlight we all too easily elbow our way into, should be placed in clearer sight.

We are all prone to this self grandeur once our own visionary zeal appears to be paying dividends. We all like to be praised and admired, to be shaken vigorously by the hand by an enthused audience member or of our achievements to have journalists wax lyrical. But our real challenge is no more than to keep explaining our vision, to ensure its sustainability and to provide the environment for talent to flourish. Every bus needs a driver for sure; in the arts world, clever, creative people need managing, but those who built the bus, maintain it and make it tick should always be valued highly too.

When I went on stage at the final performance of the 2012 season for our traditional thanksgiving ritual, it was Julia, my colleague, to whom I felt compelled to fling most praise. To the singers and members of the orchestra I of course made admiring reference and the audience had roared its approval only moments before my eulogy. But no matter how many weird and wonderful operas I pursue, strategies I write, money I squeeze from willing pockets or arguments I may have with critics or the unimpressed, the graft of people like Julia is the lifeblood of the company. So is that of our operations manager, our production staff, our front of house team, our Friends, our box office operatives and many others besides. We simply do not exist without them. Period.

In truth, we are all sheltered beneath the same creative bell jar, no matter what the job or status of an individual. If managers and leaders of arts companies don't recognise that, if we believe ourselves to be indispensable, to draw walls around ourselves or consign others to different bunkers, we will have nothing to feel smug about as the souls of our companies are reduced to empty, tattered shells. Far too many people working in the industry tell me - often tearfully - similar stories of rampant management megalomania, of trite, pretentious theories and withering insecurities and bullying dressed up as leadership. I blanche and wonder if I do the same things but it needs to stop. The arts need to return to those who create it, to those who make it work, who serve it and tip themselves headlong and unselfishly into making it happen because when the wolves come calling, as they invariably do from time to time, we shall have nobody willing to stand in their way. They will have all left to do something else. I feel entitled to feel pride in having been present at the birth of our company but the thousands of people who support us don't leave our theatre thinking of me but of those who have thrilled them, hosted them, served them drinks and encountered them through their experience from the moment they booked a ticket. It is easy to forget that when we are told how good we are, when those ebullient handshakes go on and on or but we do so at our peril.

Voting for your favourite rarity? I don't think so

One of the obvious "secrets" about the cleverness of X Factor is that it allows the audience to tell the money-men whose records they would buy and in this context, in haughty taste-police fashion, I would compare it to turkeys voting for Christmas. As consumers we are seemingly happy to be duped by such processes but an argument persists that such public complicity results in a race to the bottom; where taste and motive are never challenged and where anything "new" will never see the light of day. Formulaic, lowest common denominator acts rule supreme. Alternatively, if someone does emerge onto the scene who has originality, the X Factor will find a procession of people who ape the style of that particular singer; so an endless stream of girls trying to sound like Adele or Amy Winehouse, vocal ticks and over-souling included, cover our screens on a Saturday night. It is, though, a successful formula and one wonders why opera houses and theatres have never tried it although I should add at this point that I am somewhat glad we don't as a rule, but there is something to be said for discussing repertoire with audiences.

On the one hand, if you put a season to the vote, you would be likely to get a long list of Verdi, Puccini and Mozart operas (because they are generally very good of course) but conversely, we are often sent lists of rare and unusual works that opera goers would love us to put on the stage. It is part of our purpose, we believe, to offer audiences something different, challenging perhaps and OHP claim a proud history in one particular aspect of the late Italian repertoire. Yet when we sit down to consider a season, we are not in a position to cast aside financial considerations and cannot indulge our own private obsessions with one work or another.

It happens all the time; talk, examine, make a few forecasts and then place the work back on the long term planning board. It took us ten years to believe Montemezzi's L'amore dei tre Re was a goer. There is a lovely story around that particular opera and sometimes things happen that convince you that your choices are good ones. It was in the season of 2005, I think, and during one afternoon, James and I had decided to finally press 'go' on the Montemezzi for the 2007 season. Later that evening, at the first night of one production or other, Tim Ashley of The Guardian was chatting to us in general terms about rare repertoire. "There is one opera", he said, "that you will never do but which I think is a masterpiece. Montemezzi's 'L'amore dei tre Re'". James shot me a look as if to say "Have you been talking to him?!" But neither of us had ever discussed the piece with Tim before and what we had thought was a risk was suddenly turned into something that felt right and, having revealed to him the nature of our decision that very day, Tim was as astonished at the synchronicity as we were.

True to say, we have always taken 'risks' but now we are in a position where many of our productions don't feel precarious anymore; that takes years to develop and it is pleasing in a way to report that some of our patrons have declared our forthcoming season, which contains I gioielli della Madonna, to be a little "safe".

How lovely it would be to have certainty in your audience figures before committing to expensive rarities. The odd thing is that we tend to be quite secretive about the works we are planning - for generally good reasons - but I don't think I am giving anything away by printing the list below. It is not a list of "works in the pipeline" or anything remotely close to being a display of works we WILL be doing. Indeed, I am not sure that both James and I have even discussed some of them together. But some are operas that hover in our discussions much of the time, that are given thought and examination. One or two have come very close to being produced but have then fallen at the final hurdle. One (I am not naming it) even got as far as being afforded a place on James's hallowed wall of cast lists before being unceremoniously removed when some last minute hurdles we felt unable to surmount were revealed. That, we like to think, is the discipline we have always been able to show in our production choices; we don't have money to burn after all and sometimes you just have to take it on the chin. That is also why we always include the infamous line that "management reserves the right to change the advertised programme" !

So for no reason in particular, I print below a random list of works that have in the past, or will in the future, feature in our thinking. Or won't at all. A few we have already presented and would be new productions or revivals. You won't be surprised to see that they are Italian and there are naturally other better known works from across the repertoire being considered. These, though are from our speciality rep. From time to time one notices that other companies take them on; Wexford are doing L'arlesiana now (a piece we have already created twice in separate productions) and Teatro Grataciello in New York, a company renowned for such revivals, has just performed Montemezzi's epic La Nave.

This last example demonstrates some of the problems with such works and why we don't see them. In 1943, Allied bombing of Rome destroyed all of the orchestral parts and only one full manuscript survived. Someone has to be bothered to read it, consider it and then preach far and wide in its favour. Since becoming utterly entranced with
Montemezzi's more famous L'amore dei tre Re, I have been fascinated by it, especially as the composer himself ferociously proclaimed it to be his masterpiece. Now, new parts have been drafted and the score is available for hire. But the mysteries around the work have been somewhat clarified; it was generally thought, for example, to be a very long piece (I had read it was over four hours long) but Teatro Grataciello's performance clocked in at two and a quarter hours. And Opera Today's review proclaimed that the music is "magnificent from start to finish". It went on to give a full description that offers a mouthwatering prospect for the curious and adventurous operagoer;

"Almost all the critics of the opera in the past agreed, whatever their other objections, that Montemezzi's orchestration and treatment of the choir were extraordinarily impressive, and the New York performance showed they were right. The orchestration, clearly akin to that of L'Amore dei Tre Re, is Wagnerian, yet the Wagnerianism is refracted through an Italian sensibility, with a gripping nobility, sweeping, cinematic quality, lyrical voluptuousness, and restless play of instrumental textures. The sheer lushness of the score was beautifully brought out by Israel Gursky's passionate conducting of the Teatro Grattacielo orchestra."

My point being that there really are some gems sitting on shelves in archives and to be able to reveal them should be a longing of all of us in the industry.

So, all or none of the below may happen and I am stopping short of saying that anything with 500 votes or more gets a show. Naturally, when time comes to thoroughly examine a piece for the stage, we may well decide it doesn't stack up and it will vanish again. But there is no phone-in although perhaps a premium rate voting line would supply the funds for one of them?


Guglielmo Ratcliff (Mascagni)
Iris (Mascagni)
Zaza (Leoncavallo)
Risurrezione (Alfano)
La nave (Montemezzi)
Isabeau (Mascagni)
Siberia (Giordano)
La cena delle beffe (Giordano)
Adriana Lecouvreur (Cilea)
L'arlesiana (Cilea)
Il piccolo Marat (Mascagni)
Sakuntala (Alfano)
L'amore dei tre Re (Montemezzi)