It's about time I commented on The Event of the Year. Well, perhaps it isn't going to be, but so far it is.

After having had the ticket in my possession for ten months--yes, I have realised I probably need to stop obsessing, but that's the problem with obsessions; you simply can't--it was time to go to the Barbican (for the first time in my life, I might add) to witness the world premiere of Dominic Muldowney/James Fenton's Tsunami. Oh yeah, they'd thrown in some other stuff as well, like R. Vaughan Williams's sixth and Gustav Holst's Hymn to Jesus (which reminded me I need to get hold of his Planets,) only with the BBC Symphony Orchestra and Chorus, but who cares, right?

Well, I did. Wow. I love those large-scale productions. The music sounds better that way. Goosebumps. Tears in my eyes. That sort of thing.

The minute the conductor came on, I felt ashamed of myself. I honestly didn't know who Sir Andrew Davis was (look, I know a lot of things, but have yet so much to learn. Just bear with me here.) Of course I have seen him what seems like a million times conducting the last night of the Proms. He only happens to be one of the best conductors out there. Duh.

Anyway, I was there first and foremost in order to see/hear Philip Quast (few other people make me buy tickets a year in advance, after all) perform the new piece Tsunami. I was somewhat distracted by the enormous responsibility of having to handle a camera at the end of the performance because I had a great seat and the others didn't, ahem (LOL,) but I managed to take it all in and even laugh in a few places (hopefully where there should be laughs--I was also carried away by the enthusiastic guy in front of me.) Speaking of people around me...my god, why do I seem to always end up in looneyville when I go somewhere? It must be me. The guy to the right of me had a wheezy nose and apparently no handkerchief. The guy to the left had ants in his pants. They were both in their fifties and should have learnt to behave properly by now, but no luck there.

Luckily the whole thing was recorded and will be transmitted this Tuesday on BBC Radio 3--available online (I'm not sure if they leave this online for another week after transmission, like they do with most other shows, so take no chances!) This way I can enjoy it as it was meant to be enjoyed: Without some stranger breathing heavily into my ear. Unless, of course, I have started my own phone sex service by then and just happen to be on a call at that moment.

It could happen.

Anyway, Mr. Quast (around my house just called "Philip", but that is a bit too informal here) seemed very at ease and like he was thoroughly enjoying himself, captivating the audience and harvesting a well-deserved roaring applause at the end, finally joined by the composer and lyricist on stage.

The piece itself was an insight into a relationship, at times parallelled by the tsunami and aftermath in 2004/2005, ups and downs, and all beautifully put together to a five-parter of 25 minutes in total. It was certainly made more powerful and real by casting a trained actor instead of "merely" a trained singer, as it brought more depth to the lyrics than probably would have been the case otherwise.

Well, that was my meagre attempt at a sort-of review of the thing. The main thing is I truly enjoyed the whole evening and am already looking forward to the transmission and also the next symphony I go to (whatever that will be.)

Labels: concert, music, philip quast, radio