written by Melissa, for Juliette.

In her annual attempt to inject some culture into her nineteen-year-old daughter’s life, my mother forced me to attend the Festival International d’Opéra Baroque in Beaune. So it was with resignation and not a little irritation that my father, my brother and I accompanied my mother to the concert. Perhaps more irritation on my part because I knew the tedious task of article-writing would soon follow (no bitterness here).

The Egyptian-themed concert we attended was set in the Basilique Collégiale Notre-Dame, which is admittedly a rather stunning back-up venue (the concert would have been held in the open courtyards of L’Hôtel-Dieu de Beaune were it not for the rain forecast). The late evening light flooded through impressive stained-glass windows to illuminate the orchestra imposingly. The straight-backed wooden seats (which are, incidentally, not very conducive to sleep) were filled with prim, silver-haired ladies. Needless to say, I was easily the youngest member of the audience.
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While I was in London I attended a concert I would normally have avoided, since half of the programme consisted of Arnold Schoenberg. But I bought a ticket and went in spite of my jet leg because Vladimir Jurowski was conducting a reduced orchestra. For one thing, I find Jurowski very charismatic; for another, I was curious to know what a ‘reduced orchestra’ was and how ‘reduced’ it would be.

The concert began with Richard Strauss’ Capriccio prelude for the string sextet. It was a charming piece that brought about feelings of joy and wellbeing, which unfortunately did not last. Because then came Schoenberg’s Pierrot Lunaire.

Berliner actress and singer Albertine Zehme, an expert in melodrama, commissioned Schoenberg to compose a score based on Belgian poet Albert Giraud’s Pierrot Lunaire. She specifically requested something between words and music – a kind of ‘speech-song’. Giraud’s poems are moonlit dreams featuring characters from the commedia dell’arte, but the themes explored are dark and sombre, encompassing violence, death, religious heresy and the like.
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I first met Piotr Anderszewski at la Roque d’Anthéron Piano Festival. I had heard of this talented  pianist, but never had a chance to listen to him live.

I still remember the evening concert where I first met him. My favourite Bach Partita was on the programme, and I get very excited whenever there’s Bach. And so I began my evening full of anticipation and enthusiasm – a bit like a child who finally gets his hands on the chocolate dessert after a meal of boring veggies.

The concert was staged in the beautiful garden of Château de Florans. As I strolled towards the venue that evening, I passed by a little house from which floated strains of the last movement of the Partita. Even then, I realised that it was without a doubt Piotr, warming up for his imminent performance. The shutters were down so one could not glance inside, but the music was clear and loud.  I could hear the pianist concentrating on that last bit, repeating it over and over again, reaching for perfection. I remained behind that window for maybe over ten minutes, touched not only by his will and perseverance, but also by the vulnerability of his art.
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I have been travelling so extensively lately that I missed most of the wonderful performances that Le French May brought to Hong Kong this year. Fortunately however, I managed to attend a concert featuring Nemanja Radulovic, a young Serbian violinist that I first heard last May, when he delivered an exceptional and unusual version of Bach’s Violin Concerto at La Folle Journée in Tokyo.

Nemanja has very unique looks: stunning long hair; dark, mesmerising eyes; a childlike, elfish face; and a smile that is charming and seductive, but innocent at the same time. It is a smile that makes you smile back instantly.

At the tender age of 24, Nemanja already has a well-established reputation. He won a number of reputable international prizes and his exposure is quite extensive in France, where he has been living since the age of 14 and where he trained at the Conservatoire National Supérieur de Paris.
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The first time I heard Paul Lewis was on a CD. It was a recording of Schubert’s Winterreise. I am ashamed to admit that I had never heard of Paul before, and the reason I bought the CD was actually to hear Mark Padmore, whom I consider one of the most talented and sensitive tenors of our time. He is someone who sings "intelligently", as Paul himself put it when we finally met.

I love Schubert, but I am not really a big fan of Winterreise. I find it too sad. Although it was written for tenors, I also have few recordings by baritones and mezzos. My favorite version used to be the one with Hans Hotter and Michael Raucheisen, that is, until the day I listened to Mark Padmore and Paul Lewis. I was completely transported. Mark was intensely moving, and Paul, especially in Gute Nacht, was delicate and tender, with subtle phrasing and dramatic pauses. The sound of the piano was like an echo, sighing at the sadness of the lyrics. My heart beat in time with his notes, sinking with the cadenza. It was without doubt the best Gute Nacht I had ever heard in my life.
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This year, La Folle Journée is celebrating the 200th anniversary of Chopin’s birth. I decided to take my mother, a Chopin enthusiast, for a special three-day musical marathon.

Once again, thanks to the concierge team at The Peninsula, I managed to secure a good number of tickets. Unfortunately some performances had sold out the day the tickets went on sale, but I did get places at a grand total of ten concerts, chosen mainly according to the programme as many of the artists were unknown to me.

The artist I was most looking forward to seeing was Ivo Pogorelich. I had never heard him live in concert, but own many of his recordings. His rendition of Scarlatti’s Sonatas is definitely one of my favorite CDs. He was performing Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 2 with the Sinfonia Varsovie, an outstanding orchestra which had participated in the Queen Elisabeth Musical Voyage.
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I have been spending a lot of time in London lately, so I have regretfully been unable to attend all the exciting and exceptional events of the Hong Kong Arts Festival. Nevertheless, during the few days I was in Hong Kong, I managed to get tickets for a small number of concerts. Among these were the Philharmonia Orchestra and Valery Gergiev with the Mariinsky Orchestra.

Berlin-born Maestro Christoph Von Dohnányi was unfortunately indisposed and was replaced by Italian conductor Fabio Luisi. Together with the Philharmonia Orchestra, one of the UK’s top orchestras, he delivered a beautiful programme for two Festival concerts.

The one I attended featured Beethoven’s Overture from The Creatures of Prometheus, followed by the Sinfonia Concertante in E-flat for Violin and Viola by Mozart, finally closing with the Symphony No. 9 ‘The Great’ by Schubert after the interval.

Beethoven’s Overture was pompous, unrevealing and delivered with much fanfare. In my personal opinion, it is definitely not his best work. Maestro Luisi is a physically engaging and very energetic conductor, exhibiting strong body language. The orchestra was probably just warming up since I noticed a slight tempo difference—maybe 1/16^th—between the musicians.
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I was in London for three days, and was lucky enough to find myself in the midst of the London Handel Festival. I got a ticket for the concert Arias for Mrs. Arne, which included a pre-concert festival walk around the Covent Garden area.

The meeting point was at the Covent Garden tube station. A small group of about 30 were led by Janice Liverseidge, a Blue Badge Guide and Handel-lover, who revealed to us the hidden facets of the Covent Garden and Drury Lane area.

I have been to Covent Garden many times before, although mostly for performances at the Royal Opera House. I never had the chance to get a closer look at the area simply because each time I went, I found myself either rushing in to attend the Opera on time or rushing out for dinner, since I usually find myself starving at such a late hour.
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Commissioned by the Paris Opera, Verdi wrote a five-act opera based on Friedrich Schiller’s play, Don Carlo. According to the grand opera criteria of the times, the work had to be sung in French, with spectacular scenes providing an opportunity for grand staging such as large choruses and ballets. And so the original score lasted four hours, excluding intervals. Luckily for me, the version I saw was restructured for Italian theatres and was trimmed down to four acts. It was still a four-hour show, but with two intervals rather than one.

I was in Paris to celebrate the birthday of a close friend, and was very fortunate to get a last-minute ticket on a Friday evening. I had just arrived from Hong Kong and was fighting jetlag. I can’t help but think that watching an opera with which I was unfamiliar was rather an achievement on my part, all things considered!

I am proud to say that I did not fall asleep at all. Although it lacked any famous arias, the music was beautiful, with passages that ventured into the sublime. The story is about Don Carlo’s despair over his father, Philippe II, marrying his fiancée. It also tells of Philippe II’s misfortune because his wife does not love him. To further thicken the plot, there is also the Princess of Eboli, who was mistress to Philippe II but also loved Don Carlo.

At this point, you must be wondering how the writer or composer came up with such complicated situations, but reality was actually even more perverse. Philippe II married four times, twice to cousins and once to his own niece. Don Carlo’s sweetheart, Elisabeth, was the only one of Philippe II’s wives unrelated to the family. What Verdi did was apply the age-old opera formula: the tenor (Carlo) wants to seduce the soprano (Elisabeth), but there’s always the bass/baritone (Philippe II) in the way.
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I was in London for my daughter’s birthday, and was very excited when I found out that Magdalena Kožená was performing at Wigmore Hall, with none other then András Schiff at the piano. This is a meeting of two great artists: one of the best mezzos of our time, and a wonderful pianist whose recordings of Schubert are almost legendary.

I have always been a big fan of Kožená, since the day I bought her recording of Bach’s Arias, and now, having the opportunity to hear her live was overwhelming. As for Schiff, the first time I heard him live was in San Francisco, when he performed one of Beethoven’s piano concertos. I was so impressed that I returned the next day to see the same programme. Thinking back, that was some 10 years ago now.

My second run-in with Schiff was in London. He was performing an all-Schubert programme at Wigmore Hall, but by the time I found out about the concert, it was already sold out. I had to use all my power and connections in order to get a secondary ticket which cost me a small fortune. I don’t know whether it was the jet lag or any other particular reason, but I almost fell asleep during the concert.
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