A Singer’s Life Pt16

Weird Juxtapositions 

I thought this time that I would flag up a couple of experiences which were out of the ordinary, even for me! 

In the early 90s, I was engaged by the Opera de Paris at the Bastille to sing in a production of Britten’s ‘Curlew River’. It was a work I didn’t know, and I was interested to see how they would do it at the enormous Bastille which had opened in 1989. It seats 2,745 and is the epitome of modernity, even now. I had sung to the Director of the Opera, Jean Marie-Blanchard, and had managed to impress him by singing King Philip’s aria from Verdi’s Don Carlos in the original French! How he imagined me singing Britten as a result of that was intriguing, although he must have seen that I sang a lot of his music. However, not long after this was contracted, the Opera decided to scrap ‘Curlew River’. Luckily for me, M. Blanchard was a splendid chap, and offered me the small, un-cast role of Sciarrone in Puccini’s Tosca for the same fee. Now, from Britten to Tosca is a big jump, especially as it was a major event at the Bastille with BIG name singers double and triple cast at the top, including Carol Vaness, Jean-Philippe Lafont, Sergei Leiferkus and Placido Domingo. I had to apply torture to Cavaradossi and report back “E svenuto” (he’s fainted!) to Scarpia. There wasn’t much else to sing, but I got a decent fee, lived in Paris for a couple of months and got to work with legends. Lafont is a big French baritone so famous that one of the Eurostar trains is named after him, and Carol Vaness was a huge international star at the time. She and M. Lafont didn’t see eye to eye at one of the rehearsals, leading to a major diva strop which was wonderful to behold. Sergei I knew from Scottish opera days when he was an unknown Soviet baritone singing Zurga in the Pearl Fishers, but, by then, he had hit the big time. One of the other Cavaradossis was his Russian compatriot Sergei Larin, whom I had not heard before. What a wonderful voice! Sadly, he died tragically young in 2008.  

However, the greatest thrill was working alongside Placido Domingo. His vocal splendour was beginning to diminish then after 20 years at the absolute pinnacle of tenor stardom, but he was still a world superstar, especially after the 3 Tenors phenomenon at the 1990 World Cup. He was scheduled for 2 performances towards the end of the run, and we had a short stage rehearsal with him to prepare us.  I got to sing “e svenuto” to Placido Domingo! Truth be told, his first show was a bit disappointing, as he struggled with the high notes, and I thought that he was in decline, but the second night, he was absolutely fabulous. It was clear that he was still one of the best tenors ever. I’m not sure he should have carried on singing as long as he did, and I am sure he shouldn’t have stepped down to the baritone repertoire (he sounds like a tenor singing low), but I should address somewhat the current controversy about his sexual predilections. Obviously, I have no idea if these allegations are true, but my perception at the time, and the feelings of many colleagues, was that far from him being aggressively pushy, women were making themselves available to him. It seems a bit like the Tom Jones syndrome. All I can say is that his wife was patrolling the corridors of the Bastille while he was singing, to make sure his room was not, as it were, invaded! Different times! 

The weird juxtaposition to which I refer in the title of this piece relates to the aftermath of my last night at the Bastille. I had to wait for several minutes simply to leave the theatre since the vast hordes of autograph hunters waiting for Placido were ranged around the stage door. It was my first experience of the superstar world, and I was glad not to be usually part of it, despite the apparent glamour.  The next day, I flew to Bergen in Norway to join the Hilliard Ensemble in a performance of Pärt’s ‘Passio’, a piece of still and austere beauty that seemed as far away from the world of Puccini and Domingo as one could possibly find. The concert took place in a candlelit church in quiet, sleepy Bergen and, as we had been warned beforehand, ended in complete contemplative silence, since the audience were not given to applaud religious music in a church. As we stepped out after the performance, the public were warm and friendly, and obviously deeply moved by our singing, but the contrast with Paris was enormous! 

The most amazing and moving experience of my whole career happened a few years later, in 1996, when the production of Ullmann’s ‘Der Kaiser von Atlantis’ which had been premiered in Liege under the auspices of the Theatre de la Monnaie in Brussels, went to Sarajevo, in Bosnia. I have referred to this epic production before but, when we were asked to take it to Sarajevo to re-open the Arts Festival there after the ghastly Bosnian War, I had no idea what was going to occur.  

We turned up in Brussels and had a few brush-up rehearsals in February. It was cold and wintry, but fairly pleasant. Sarajevo had been under siege from Bosnian Serb forces since May 1992, and over 5000 civilians had been killed. The town lies in a river valley and is vulnerable from the hills on both sides. Snipers and artillery fired indiscriminately over three and a half years, and most of the major buildings were catastrophically damaged. It was the longest siege in modern military history, and was a terrible experience for the Sarajevans, who were largely Bosnian Muslims, historically remnants of the Ottoman advance in the late 15th century. Life was intolerable for the inhabitants, as most roads and buildings were vulnerable to sniper fire. The Dayton Agreement in December 1995 brought an end to the main Bosnian War, as the NATO troops had prevailed as a rescue force for the Sarajevans the preceding autumn. However, the siege was only officially lifted towards the end of the winter of 1996. The Agreement inspired the authorities in Sarajevo to plan to re-open their town to the outside world, and the Theatre de la Monnaie was asked to send their production of ‘Atlantis’ to Bosnia to play in the Sarajevo Theatre. We were all rather concerned at this request and wanted some information about safety, since there were no commercial flights to Sarajevo. We were assured that the situation was much better, and that we would be perfectly safe, as the NATO troops could guarantee our security, so we agreed.  

Consequently, the 6 soloists, the chamber orchestra, some Belgian crew and a team of Belgian journalists were driven to the NATO Airbase outside Brussels for the big adventure! We had been forewarned that it might be a bit uncomfortable, but when we arrived we were issued with flak jackets and helmets and piled into a huge Hercules aircraft with benches on either side and hanging harnesses to belt into. Our nerves were beginning to get a little frayed, but off we went and a few hours later we were circling Sarajevo Airport. The pilot warned us that it would be a slightly unusual landing as he had to use a rolling manoeuvre to avoid sniper fire! Cue more trepidation! 

We landed safely and disembarked wearing our body armour and were told to move swiftly to the waiting buses and not spend too much time outdoors. It was freezing cold and the landscape was covered deeply in snow, and we drove a few miles past derelict and bombed out buildings. In Sarajevo, we arrived at the Holiday Inn where we were staying and drove to the rear entrance. This was because the front of the building was almost totally destroyed by shellfire. Fortunately, the rear part was largely intact, and we all found our rooms, at the back, with intermittent heating and very intermittent hot water. This was luxury compared to all other Sarajevans, as none of them had had heating for years! My room looked out at the almost totally destroyed Parliament building. Welcome to Sarajevo, where only 12 years before Torvill and Dean had won GB Gold at the Winter Olympics.  

‘Der Kaiser von Atlantis’ was an opera written in the Terezin Ghetto during the Second World War, and a piece very close to my heart, but it was an altogether more surreal thing to be playing the role of Death in a place which had known so much of it. Since we had performed it several times in the recent past, we only needed to do a get-in at the theatre and a couple of run-throughs. This theoretically gave us a little time to explore, but we were warned that there were still Serb snipers in the hills and that they might still be hostile, despite the many NATO soldiers and armoured cars patrolling the streets. There had been a missile fired the previous month despite the ceasefire. However, we were bold enough to try to visit the National Museum which was more or less across the road from the hotel. It had been heavily shelled, as it was a repository of Bosnian Muslim history, and seemed empty. However, we knocked at the door, and in German, asked if we might come in? The caretaker person said to wait for a moment and seemed overjoyed to see visitors. No one else was there, and nobody had visited for years, but she showed us round some of the exhibits. The back wall of the museum had been in the direct line of fire of the Serb forces, and most windows and many of the exhibits were in ruins. Slowly though, more people from the museum began to turn up as they had heard that some weird foreigners were visiting, and soon the director introduced herself to us with much excitement and surprise. She explained that several of the museum staff had been murdered by snipers during the siege, but that many of the rest ran the gauntlet of fire to look after the collection. They were fascinated to hear about our opera, and we promised complimentary seats to anyone who wanted to come. It was a deeply moving experience.  

The performances were amazingly emotional, and were cheered to the rafters, most of which were still intact! One evening we took part in a live TV show from the theatre, and I sang Burns’ ‘Ca’ the Ewes’ to some acclaim. When it was time to leave, there was word that a sniper was still active between the hotel and the airport, so we donned our protective clothing once more and drove quickly through the streets with an armoured car as company. At the airport, the troops were noticeably twitchier, but we were amused to meet some British soldiers (of both sexes) who had come in the plane we were about to take for a tour of duty in Sarajevo. I have never been keen on the military (a true 60s kid) but I must say I was full of admiration for these people who were risking their lives to keep a war-weary population safe. A sign as we were about to board told us of the restrictions in force as we embarked, including a sign at the bottom suggesting that if we were inclined to disobey any rules, we were welcome to choose another airport or another airline! Gallows humour indeed! 

We had to submit to the rolling anti-aircraft fire take off, similar to landing, and I must say I was never more glad to arrive at Brussels Airport in one piece. Nonetheless, it was an extraordinary experience, and one that will stay with me for ever. I hope those poor Sarajevans are happier and safer now, 24 years later as I write.