Once again - the blog paradox ....

... lots of time, noting to write about, no time, lots to write about. I'm very busy. But if I don't blog soon about the opera we saw down in Glasgow at the end of October I'll have forgotten all about it.

First up was Rigoletto. It's years since we saw Rigoletto and I had forgotten how beautiful the music is. But it really is, and it was well sung and well played in this production, which is a revival of one SO did a few years ago but which we obviously didn't see. What I liked about it was that it pulled no punches about what a man's world this court at Mantua was; women were literally sexual playthings and Gilda's treatment at the hands of the Duke was very obviously a rape and not a gentle seduction. When I say liked, I probably mean admired; it's easy to dress this opera up as a doomed love story, but unless you're talking about the love of a father and daughter for each other, then it's definitely not. I was sorry to hear the OH and Son No 2 laughing in places where, although what was happening on stage was designed to elicit a laugh from the male members of the audience, no husband or son of a feminist should have been laughing.

Here's a production photo of the Duke and Rigoletto

 

The following afternoon we went to see a concert version of Puccini's second opera, Edgar. This is 'rarely performed' and despite previous strictures here about 'rarely performed' being 'rarely performed for a reason', in this case I think it grows from Puccini's own comments (reportedly he  didn't think it was very good), ignorance (Self fulfilling prophecy, rarely performed, not known, no-one thinks to perform it because they don't know it) and staging problems (yes, the hero does burn down his father's house at the end of part one.) That said, if you ever get a chance to see it performed, stand not upon the order of your going,  just go. The music is fabulous and although the plot is a bit garbled, lots of operas have fairly garbled plots and this is no worse then many. Singing and playing were once again fabulous. It's invidious to single people out so I won't, except to say that I hope a certain Mr David Stout turns up on a Scottish Opera stage again in the not too distant future. He wasn't the best singer of the afternoon, although it was a case of wafer thin gradations between all the principals, but he started ahead of the pack for me by being a baritone. 

It was a wonderful start to my week away.