Memories and melancholia

A walk to work with the voice of Roberto Murolo in my ears. Murolo is one of the great authentic Nnapulitan singers; him and a guitar alone, aching melancholia drenched in the visceral regional accent, words that even other Italians don't understand. I don't know of any other music with such profound 'L'esprit du lieu' and it evokes summers in Salerno with the family, when mum was making the memories she has now lost -although she still remembers Roberto Murolo. I have still to decide if I think that is a blessing or a curse.

Lea is sending me a poster that is being used to advertise the master class/concert that I have arranged at her and Gianluca's school. The fabulous Orla Boylan is coming over to take upper school students through pieces they have prepared and will then give a short recital before joining the combined choirs for the final chorus from Iolanta in Russian. Great credit should go to the head of music there, Ben Parsons, for being so ambitious on behalf of his students. It should be a great evening and a real thrill for the youngsters to sing with Orla.

The away day went well and in a year's time we shall look back, as we did yesterday on last year, and hopefully see the various wish lists coming to fruition. We have a habit of creating monsters that leap from nothing and force us to chase them around; we manage to get them on a tight leash eventually but yesterday certainly showed that we haven't lost any ambition. Expect monsters to pop up all through the coming year.

Exploration

Sally, who is a stock librarian, asked me to do a list of book suggestions to be printed up and posted in the library for readers. I dashed off a varied list that won't give me entry to the house of literary sages but it did make me wonder at how opera is so much more shackled by prejudice (benign or otherwise) when it comes to what people will venture out to see and hear. OHP, of course, has a better record than many in this regard - we have persuaded thousands of people to extend their operatic tastes, but even we meet entrenched resistance with some parts of the repertoire and no matter how good you tell somebody an opera is, they will dig their heels in and refuse to give it a try. 'Better the devil you know' would seem to be the principle criteria.

Music is unique in this regard which is odd since it is the art form with the most infinite possibilities. People who happily read new book after new book, see play after play, watch latest movie after latest movie will restrict themselves to the narrowest repertoire of opera (you know the form) and even when they do explore the edges, there will often be other rules of engagement - in my experience the rarity stands a better chance if it is Italian. And offering it cheaper only makes a partial contribution to improving that situation. I have mountains of statistics to back this up by the way so don't argue with me.

I'm not complaining that people flock to what they know - it means we can safely programme the bulk of our season. Our many years of work mean that we can also safely (almost) programme some rarities that others would consider potential disaster. But I do wish that unknown, but good operas (and I'm not talking about contemporary opera although some of those do quite well relatively speaking) would be greeted with the same universal excitement as a new Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. I will leave the reader to luxuriate in the irony of that last remark.

The build is ahead of schedule and the mezzanine part of the construction has been moved forward a week. At this rate we will have so much time for the finishing touches (vital!) that we will be able to hand polish the gravel.

Climate control

I seem to be on a trawl through American literature at the moment (Of Mice and Men, To kill a mockingbird, Confederacy of Dunces, No Country for old Men etc.) and virtually all wallow in the climate of their settings which, apropos of nothing else in particular except that sun and warmth figure prominently, increases the anxieties for the summer ahead. I need to start reading books that celebrate the cold and rain. La Wally in 2011 features an avalanche so it is possible I will welcome a chill north wind come July next year.

There can't be too many opera managers who worry and fret about the weather as much as we do. The concerns for our artistic output do battle with those for the output of Gulfstream and if you believe half of what you read, that is about to head south, leaving us in the grip of an iceage. This past winter has been a rehearsal for such an event so it is lovely to report that my Earls Court cafe seat is bathed in genuinely warm sunshine this morning.

Tomorrow the office decamp to a local hostelry for our now annual away day where everybody gets a chance to contribute to strategic planning for the coming two years or so. If the weather holds it will be pleasant since the hostelry meeting room overlooks the river Thames and Hammersmith Bridge. OK, it isn't Kowloon or Sydney Harbour but it beats the Library roof hands down.

Warmth

Had to post a short news item;
'Warm air in Fulham shock'
Off for walk up the Kings Road. Apparently Sally's moisturiser can only be found in a boutique in Sloane Square.

Rockopera

I had a thoroughly blokey afternoon in the pub where I met up with a few pals after the Chelsea match. The conversation soon turned to opera.
One of those present is a big rock/metal fan and I was soon holding forth on my theory that opera can be a lot like Judas Priest. I believe this fellow would hear much to admire in Wagner or even Verdi. Indeed I have always felt that growing up listening to the grand episodic music of Yes and Genesis gave me a facility for appreciating opera (where George Duke and jazz fits in I am not so sure). Anyway by the end of the afternoon we had arranged a West London heavy metal chapter trip to the opera to test my theory. A common refrain from those who feel unable to confess a curiosity is that their wife or girlfriend would love it so they will suffer the hardship on their behalf. Regardless I had done my bit (a daily target) to spread the word.