A Singer’s Life Pt22

After a brief diversion into the vineyards, I would like to write today about the fabulous theatres I have sung in outside the UK. Early in this series of articles, I wrote of my experiences in 1981 and 1982 singing in La Fenice, Venice, and the Teatro dell ’Opera in Rome. For most of the following decade, I sang opera primarily in Britain with many excursions abroad for concerts (concert halls will be a future subject), and it was not until the early 90s that I started to work regularly in Europe and further afield.

My first major opera houses were in fact venues for a baroque semi-opera, Purcell’s ‘King Arthur’ with Trevor Pinnock and the English Concert. We toured extensively in 1991 and again in 94, and I was able to sing in the original Opéra de Paris, the Palais Garnier, built by the great architect Charles Garnier (1825-98), who also built the Monte Carlo Opera and Casino.  Right in the centre of Paris and dominating the area all around, it opened in 1875 and is hugely impressive both inside and out, seating just under 2000. It looks wonderful and has a fine acoustic. The Opéra de Bastille, built in 1989 to replace the old Palais Garnier for opera, is impressive in a different way. I had been to the Garnier in 1979 to see ‘La Boheme’ during my honeymoon, and always hoped to sing there. The move to the Bastille meant that the Garnier became the venue for the Ballet and for concerts, and so we arrived there in 1991 to find the auditorium full of baroque lovers. It was an awesome experience and made me aware that I was suddenly singing with the best early music ensemble in the world. We had just released our DG Archiv recording of ‘King Arthur’ to critical acclaim, and so we were treated as sort of stars. I liked that!

We toured the same piece to Buenos Aires in Argentina around the same time, and this allowed me to sing in one of the greatest theatres in the world, the Teatro Colon. Built to replace an older theatre, it opened in 1908 with a performance of Verdi’s ‘Aida’ written 37 years earlier. It was designed as an Italianate house with French flourishes, in a horseshoe style with boxes on every level. It seats 2487 and there are 1000 standing places. It looks enormous but you can sing pianissimo and be heard easily. It has been rated in the top 5 acoustics in the world, and, unbelievably, was perfect for Purcell. The most extraordinary aspect for me was that, having rehearsed in the morning with the auditorium in quasi darkness, and having enjoyed the wonderful acoustic, we stepped on stage at the beginning of the work to be greeted by hundreds of (electric) candles shining in each box. It looked utterly breath-taking, and we all admitted afterwards that we almost totally lost concentration in admiration and wonder at the sight. It was truly magnificent, and I will never forget it.  Teatro Colon means the Columbus Theatre, and Christopher’s legacy is everywhere in the city, as are echoes of the famous Eva Peron. We went to see her tomb and enjoyed the Mediterranean ambiance of the city enormously. It seemed more Italian then Spanish in atmosphere and was also noticeably safer feeling than most South American cities. Especially since we were there only 10 years after the Falklands War, I was delighted not to experience any ill feeling, and loved the café society. I bought a painting in the old harbour area, which hangs in my dining room, above me as I write, of two naked women at a Buenos Aires café, with a naked couple dancing the tango in the background (as you do!). We were very lucky to be singers on that trip, as we had a week in Buenos Aires with only two concerts, but the band had two more gigs, playing Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos. Apparently, the city is more dangerous to wander round now, but then it was a delight.

My next major theatre in this article is the magnificent Theatre de la Monnaie (in Flemish De Munt) in Brussels. The original theatre dated back to 1700 with a new building in 1818. A fire in 1855 destroyed most of this building, and the theatre we see now was opened in 1856 with designs by Joseph Poelaert. It was lavishly decorated, and a splendid restoration was completed in 1986. The auditorium, with an excellent acoustic, seats 1125 and now there is a fine rehearsal and office area directly behind the theatre using a vacant department store, which allows all activity for the theatre to take place in this central situation. The Place de la Monnaie is right in the centre of lower Brussels and near the magnificent Grande Place, with many fantastic bars and restaurants nearby. I always really enjoyed living and working in Brussels. It is an island of French speaking in the middle of Flemish Belgium, so any language problems are dissipated. My French is good and virtually all the Flemish speak good English. The fact that Brussels is the centre of the European Union makes the city splendidly cosmopolitan, and a fun place to be. The Café de l’Opéra next door is a great place to eat and drink (best Croque Monsieur in the world, to my mind). Just up the street is the fabulously named ‘Mort Subite’ (Sudden Death!), a brilliant beer bar with sublime omelettes, and there are many great stores and cafés within walking distance. I used to stay in a great flat, literally next door to the theatre, and loved strolling around the city. Up the hill, there are world famous galleries and museums, and the royal palace. Further afield (bus, tram or taxi) there are two of my favourite restaurants anywhere in the world. Beyond the Place Sablon, I love the quirky Perroquet which serves a wide variety of filled pittas, with fine wines and beers, and further out, in the beautiful Art Nouveau section of town, I adore the Quincaillerie near the Horta Museum (Horta was the Brussels Art Nouveau star). This is a restaurant on two levels fashioned out of an old Ironmonger’s store, serving sumptuous food and fine wine (at a price) It’s a seriously classy joint, although one of our first visits was with my 11 month old son, Donald, which might have been a disaster, except that all the waitresses swooned at “Ze baby wiz ze flashing eyes!”.

My most recent visit to Brussels in 2012 found the city less glamorous and rather run down, which was a huge disappointment to me. I hope it gets its Mojo back soon.

A couple of hours on the train north brings one to the beautiful city of Amsterdam. I sang twice here at the fine modern Stopera, completed in 1986, in Janacek’s ‘Jenufa’ and Berlioz’ ‘Les Troyens’ (the role of King Priam). This is the home of what is now called De Nationale Opera but was then called De Nederlandse Opera and is a very impressive building. There was apparently great resistance to the building of the opera, and that’s why it has this name, as that was the protesters’ rallying cry “Stop the Opera”. It all sounds marvellously Dutch! It occupies a corner of the Amstel River, not far from the notorious Red-Light District and forms a massive block with a great curved front looking out at the old city. It seats 1600 and is very modern and smart. Amsterdam is a brilliant city, and I loved strolling round the various canals. I had a wonderful flat looking out over one of the central canals, the Prinsengracht, a fine old building with narrow and precipitous staircases, and the whole area was terrific to live in. I was there in 2001 and 2003 and I think that may just have been one of the best times to be there. The atmosphere was very cool and relaxed with its ‘coffee houses’ and bars, and the people were extremely friendly and all spoke English with that funny accent which I believe is the foundation of the North American drawl – remember New York was originally New Amsterdam! Sadly, my worst memory of Amsterdam is associated with New York too, as a group of us were walking through the streets in September 2001 as we began to hear the news coming in of the destruction of the Twin Towers. We were devastated and we spent the rest of that day watching as the ghastly facts emerged. All rehearsals were cancelled for two days and it made for a very sombre period at the theatre. However, life went on, as it must, and my return two years later for a magnificent production of the Trojans by Pierre Audi conducted by Edo de Waart was a great experience.

I had never been to Denmark before when I was asked at short notice to jump in at the Royal Danish Opera in wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen. I mentioned this event in a previous article, but mainly about the dreadful opera I had to sing. My experience of the city was altogether better than the piece. Since I was jumping in, I only had a few days to explore the city, but I really loved it.

The Opera House (Operaen) was only completed in 2005, is found on the island of Holmen in central Copenhagen and can be reached by ferry or on foot and bicycle. It seats 1492 and was donated to the Danish State by the Maersk company and cost over $500,000,000! It looks across the inland waterway to the new playhouse theatre, and in the other direction towards the statue of the Little Mermaid. Copenhagen is a very relaxed Nordic city, with excellent bars and restaurants, and I had rather a fine experience there, despite the strangeness of the music. Another attraction of Denmark is that most people speak good English, which is lucky because Danish is very difficult and one of those languages such as Scots Gaelic that sounds nothing like it looks.

Before I bring this article to a close (there will be more!), I want to write about one of the very few times I have sung opera in Germany. I have given innumerable concerts there in many cities, but not much opera. This is largely because Germany still operates a house system. There are more than 80 theatres presenting opera (as well as plays and operetta and ballet), large and small, and all well subsidised by the state. The Germans believe in culture as one of the mainstays of a civilised society, and after the disaster of the Nazi period, they threw themselves into proving this. This plethora of companies is maintained by a repertory system unlike most other countries. The artists are engaged for a season or more and can stay for life if people agree. This means that with few exceptions, most singers live and work in the one place. We used to have a variant of this system in Britain, but it broke down in the 80s. I was one of the last company singers employed by Scottish Opera, and when I left in 1985, there were even fewer. Even Covent Garden used to have a whole team of company singers, singing the smaller roles around the big stars. In Germany, most houses use their own troupe but bring in guests for those roles which are not possible to cast internally. I was lucky that the Theater Bielefeld in Westphalia decided to put on Strauss’ opera ‘Der Rosenkavalier’ and needed a bass to sing Baron Ochs, the anti-hero of the piece. Unfortunately, they were renovating the lovely Jugendstil (Art Nouveau) theatre that year, so we played in the splendid Rudolf-Oetker-Halle, opened in 1930 and donated by the family Oetker, a dynasty of food magnates in Bielefeld. The hall was designed in line with the Musikverein in Vienna (like the Caird Hall in Dundee – a little known fact) and has a lovely acoustic. I was thrilled to play this enormous role in the heart of Germany. The character is a rather boorish country squire who comes to sophisticated Vienna to get a wife but gets thrown out of town instead. It needs to be played with a certain sweetness despite the ghastliness of his character and one has to sing in a rural Austrian accent. One of the best compliments I have ever been paid was at the party after the first night when a solid German burgher came up to me and asked in German if I were indeed from Vienna? When I explained that I was Scottish, he was completely dumbfounded.

I went back to Bielefeld twice more as La Roche in Strauss’ ‘Capriccio’ and as Verdi’s Falstaff, and  got to sing in the little jewel that is the Bielefeld Theatre which opened in 1904. This is a lovely place, seating about 800, right in the heart of the town. Bielefeld was badly damaged in the Second World War but its location close to delightful hills and forests made it a nice spot to work in. My German certainly improved, but the people at the theatre were very patient with me nonetheless. There was a nice Italian restaurant right next to the theatre where I often found myself dining. It seemed stupid to speak bad German to Italians speaking bad German, so we conversed in Italian. My first time, singing a German role, the staff were very pleasant and accorded me the distinction of addressing me as ‘Dottore’. When I returned two years later to sing the Italian role of Falstaff, I was welcomed with “Eh! Benvenuto, Professore!” Major progress.

Next time – we move south.