A Singer’s Life: Lyon

Part of the Bannatyne-Scott family mythology relates to that famous old city at the confluence of the Saône and the Rhône Rivers in France, Lyon.  I first met the tenor, Ian Caley, in 1981, when we sang together in the old Fenice Theatre in Venice, right at the beginning of my career. He was a little older than myself, and had already embarked on a career which, similar to my own later, was largely based on the continent of Europe, not the UK. We both sang frequently in Britain, but the bulk of our working lives were spent across the Channel, partly by choice and partly by the action of Fate. Even at this early stage, the word “Lyon” featured heavily in Ian’s conversation, especially as he used the correct French pronunciation, with the accent on the second syllable. It became a family joke  -  “Oh God, not Lyon again?” - rather like in my own family, my father’s reminiscences of the Second World War and his posting as a compass adjuster to West Africa, where he worked on the great Flying Boats, regularly evoked much the same response as Ian’s. It was, of course, a form of jealousy, for those of us who had been to neither Lyon nor Sierra Leone, and it has been something of a joy and a happy coincidence, that my own career has taken me frequently to that wonderful city, where France divides into north and south, but which exhibits features of both halves. 

Fran and I had passed swiftly (and sometimes not so swiftly) through Lyon many times, as it lies on the main autoroute south from Paris to the Midi, bypassed by a tunnel, and we had been aware of its proximity when we had holidayed in the Beaujolais Region, just to the north east.  However, it took a contract negotiated by my agent in London in 1999 to sing the role of Silvano in Cavalli’s opera, ‘La Calisto’, for me to spend some time in this marvellous place. I remember I sang to the famous Belgian countertenor turned conductor, René Jacobs, in the Upper Bar of the London Coliseum. I had begun to get a reputation as a singer of Baroque music during the 1990s, appearing frequently with the likes of Trevor Pinnock, Howard Arman and Marc Minkowski, and recording, particularly with Deutsche Grammophon Archiv, works by Purcell, Bach, Monteverdi and Handel. Mr Jacobs had heard about me, and wanted me to sing in the marvellous production, by Herbert Wernicke, of ‘La Calisto’, which had premiered spectacularly in Brussels in 1993. There were to be performances in Lyon, and later in Montpellier, conducted by himself with his specialist orchestra, Concerto Vocale, with the splendid Maria Bayo as Calisto, and I was delighted to be cast in this wonderful early opera in such a prestigious production. They had made a recording of the piece in 1993 when it had originally appeared, and several of that cast were still taking part when I joined in 1999, including Maria Bayo, and the extraordinary Italian baritone and countertenor, Marcello Lippi. 

All Ian’s tales of Lyon were true, and I discovered one of France’s hidden jewels. I say “hidden”, which is perhaps an unusual description of France’s second largest city but bear with me. It rarely features in tourist studies of France, being neither by the sea, nor particularly important politically, compared to Paris or say Marseilles. It is often seen as a place to pass through on the way to somewhere else, be it the south, or the Alps, but, I promise you, it is a wonderful and vibrant city with a great history and a fine present. 

The opera house lies at the north end of the peninsula formed by the arrival of the two great French rivers, Saône and Rhône. The Saône rises in the Vosges mountains to the west of Alsace, and flows south, keeping to the east of the great Burgundian vineyards of the Côte d’Or and close to the Maconnais, Chalonnais and Beaujolais vineyards. It takes its name from a sacred spring dedicated to the river goddess, Sauconna, at Chalon in pre-Roman times. At Lyon, it is joined by the River Rhône, which rises in the Rhone Glacier in the Swiss Alpine canton of Valais and flows west past Sion and into Lake Geneva. It re-emerges as a river at Geneva and flows swiftly south west to Lyon, from whence the two merged rivers turn south and eventually empty into the Mediterranean Sea near Marseille. At Arles, the great river splits again into two arms and forms a delta in the Camargue. Having worked in Lausanne and Geneva, and also in Aix-en-Provence, I have been able to personally follow the Rhone from close to the glacier, all the way to the Camargue, checking out the vineyards on the way. The first are in the valley around Sierre and Sion in central Switzerland, and then all the way along the north bank of Lake Geneva. These Swiss wines rarely travel, but are well worth tasting in Switzerland itself, served in measures of multiples of a tenth of a litre. From Lyon, one discovers the delights of Condrieu, Hermitage, Crozes-Hermitage, Côte-Rôtie, Cornas and Saint-Joseph, and further south Gigondas, Châteauneuf du Pape, Côtes du Rhone and Beaumes de Venise. 

All of these wines can be drunk in Lyon abundantly, and it is clear that it was not only the opera which attracted Ian and myself to the city. More of that later! 

When I first arrived in Lyon, in 1999, before the modern world of internet booking, one had to rely on either friends’ recommendations or assistance from the Accueil (welcome) department of the Opera. The city had since Roman times, and perhaps before, been a centre of silk making, and the part of the town just north of the opera house, on a steep hill between the two rivers, known as the Croix-Rousse, had been a dynamic community with small factories and houses, closely linked. One of these small factories had been turned into a fantastic apartment, full of winding corridors and split levels, and I decided to rent it. It was a short downhill walk to the theatre and a bus or metro ride back if I didn’t fancy the steep climb (which I didn’t!). The part of the metro system serving the Croix-Rousse takes the form of a funicular railway, with a couple of stops on the way, one of which was mine. There is a similar funicular on the west bank of the Saône, linking the Old City with the Roman Amphitheatre and the Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourviere, from which there is a marvellous view of the city, with the two rivers and the peninsula in between. My apartment was superb, ridiculously big for one person, but fun for parties and when my family came to visit, and, I thought, not too expensive. I found out later that, when visiting theatre companies come to Lyon, this apartment was usually let out to 6 to 10 people. I never complained about my fee after learning that! 

The opera house itself is famous, both for its past and its present. It was originally built in 1831, when it saw the premiere of Boieldieu’s opera ‘La Dame Blanche’, and was the venue for several major French premieres during the 19th century. By the 1980s, it was reckoned that it was no longer fit for purpose, and an architectural competition ensued which was one by Jean Nouvel in 1986. He lived up to his name with an extraordinary design which involved digging deep under the old theatre as well as keeping the old foyer and facade but adding an enormous dome on top. It is a striking and innovative design, marvellous to look at and occasionally good to work in! The auditorium is largely black and red, and has a decent acoustic, while the space under the dome is flexible and offers terrific views. The dark colours are, however, rather depressing, and a major mistake was made in the dressing rooms all being up one side of the building, only really accessible to the stage by lifts. The usual tannoy system of calls by the stage manager to the stage have to be several minutes in advance, otherwise the entire company can find itself waiting for a lift to come, often in vain. The soloists need to keep listening to the stage relay of the show to make their own decisions on when to come down to the stage, and we often just hung around at stage level rather than risk being stuck in or waiting for a lift. This was another example of a design which looks good in theory but is impractical in reality. However, there is no doubt that the new design is stunning, and makes people come to Lyon for the opera.  

I went back twice to Lyon after ‘La Calisto’, once in 2005 for Offenbach’s ‘Les Contes d’Hoffmann’, directed by Laurent Pelly and conducted by Marc Minkowski, and then in 2007 for Puccini’s ‘Il Tabarro’, directed by David Pountney and conducted by Eivind Jensen. The “Hoffmann” was a spectacular production, featuring Mireille Delunch as all the four heroines, Laurent Naouri as the “Baddies”, Jean-Paul Fouchecourt as the four servants and Jean-Pierre Furlan as Hoffmann. I sang Crespel, who, since we were using the spoken dialogue version rather than the old recitative version, had to speak almost as much as sing. At first, the director was very worried about a Scotsman speaking lots of dialogue, but when he realised that this Scotsman spoke good French, all was well. The idea of one soprano singing all the roles was good in theory, and Mireille is a quality singer, but Offenbach wrote the roles for respectively a coloratura soprano, a quasi-dramatic soprano, a lyric soprano and a mezzo soprano, and so it was asking a lot of one singer, especially since, as Olympia the robot doll, she had to roller skate round and round the stage. The later rehearsals coincided with my 50th birthday, and so the whole production was memorable, as family and friends came to visit for the opera and the birthday. Unfortunately, on the actual day in November, we had a rehearsal which went on until 11pm, so I was late for my own party, but we made up for lost time at a splendid restaurant, of which Lyon has many. 

My favourite, right down towards the tip of the peninsula, is the Brasserie Georges, one of the great restaurants of the world. It was opened in 1836 by an Alsatian, Georges Hoffherr, and with its own brewery, which still exists, served good food, beer and wine to the folk of Lyon. The word “brasserie” means brewery in French, and originally such premises brewed their own beer, but it has come to mean a decent restaurant with all day service and good traditional food. “Georges” is in a class of its own and is enormous. In 1924, it was redecorated by the painter, Bruno Guillermin, in the Art Nouveau style, and, with its white aproned waiters bustling around with huge trays, it is always busy and is open all year, every day. It can accommodate over 700 guests at one service and is one of the wonders of the world! 

There are several Michelin starred restaurants in and around Lyon, and hundreds of small premises called “Bouchons”, which serve the local specialities of, primarily, offal. Lyonnais sausages are everywhere, as is, sadly, the famous andouillette, a tripe sausage whose smell alone sends me reaching for a sick bag. The Bouchons are not the places to go if you are vegan, or even vegetarian! 

With its famous cuisine, and its proximity to great vineyards, you can see why I was always delighted to be invited to sing in Lyon. With its quaint old town on the right bank of the Saône, the wider boulevards and avenues of the peninsula (presqu’ île in French), the extensive Roman ruins above the old town, the huge park on the left bank of the Rhône, and the winding streets of the Croix-Rousse, it is a fantastic city, and also a fine centre for touring into the Alps, the haute Savoie, the Beaujolais hills and even the volcanic plugs, the Puys, in the Massif Central. Its manageable size, about the same as Edinburgh, means that you are not stuck in an urban environment with little hope of escape, like Paris or London, and its situation, literally at the beginning of the south of France, gives it a unique feel. We always used to say that the South starts at Lyon, as suddenly the red tiles of the Midi take over as the standard roofing of the houses. 

I was delighted to discover, on my first arrival in Lyon, that two old friends from St Andrews University, Tom and Sue Higgins, had been living in Lyon for decades, and had established a unique and famous restaurant at the top of the Croix-Rousse. It was called Mister Higgins, pronounced “Meester Eegins”, and was renowned for its British cuisine, with brunch a speciality. It was hysterical to see all these cultured French people turning up in numbers on a Sunday morning to eat sausage, bacon and eggs. Tom was a linguist and had been something of thespian at St Andrews, and between them Tom and Sue ran a classy joint. Eventually, the long hours and difficult working conditions forced them to close, and Tom started working as an interpreter at the UN in Geneva, only an hour or so away, and Sue returned to medicine. He wrote a book about their experiences, ‘Spotted Dick, S’il vous plait. An English Restaurant in France’, which is well worth a read, and we had many a jolly time when I was in town. Our friendship continued when I sang at Geneva a couple of times, and I stayed in the same block as Tom, who had a weekday apartment near the UN buildings. More merriment ensued! 

I hope I have been able to give you a good idea about the joys of Lyon and would encourage anyone to visit. “Vaut le voyage”, as the Michelin Guide Rouge would say.