LOOK BACK AT 2013

LOOK BACK AT 2013

This is my 200^th, and last, blog entry for 2013.

Not all my own reviews, and not all commissioned. But there were shows this year that didn't make it to these pages, and it's certainly true that evenings out have outnumbered evenings in …

For this top twenty list, I've stuck strictly to those offerings which I was asked to review, both amateur and professional, on my patch, which extends these days from Norwich to the London fringe [occasionally].

But it's mostly still in and around the City of Chelmsford, where 2013 saw Verdi's bicentenary marked with the Waltham Singers' memorable Requiem in the Cathedral; in the Civic, CAODS served up a stylish slice of Gershwin, and Tomorrow's Talent tackled Miss Saigon with spectacular success. In a typically eclectic season, Chelmsford Theatre Workshop excelled in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf and also staged an interesting Hamlet.

In the villages, Writtle unveiled their classy Calendar Girls – one of hundreds across the country in the narrow window granted to non-professional groups – and Theatre at Baddow, in a strong year, gave us God of Carnage and a splendid Last of the Red Hot Lovers.

My musical theatre revelation of 2012 was The Drowsy Chaperone [another bite of that cherry this May from LODS]; this year it was The World Goes Round, the Kander & Ebb compendium engagingly staged by Brentwood Operatic. Another scrapbook at Brentwood was the intriguing Next! from Vivid.

Colchester Mercury, now under new management, has had a remarkably successful year, including an outstanding revival of The Hired Man, the enchanting Butterfly Lion and a two-handed tour-de-force mini-season of Ayckbourn's Intimate Exchanges.

Of the touring productions, Female Gothic stands out, as does the Eastern Angles' John Clare, and on a larger scale [and back on the road for 2014] the brilliantly done stage version of Birdsong.

In town, I loved Trelawny of the Wells at the Donmar, and the revival of The Barber of Seville at ENO.

Two of the most memorable theatrical events took place, entirely by coincidence, just yards apart. Opposite the Queen's Hornchurch stands Fairkytes, where New Venture Players set La Ronde in the rooms and grounds of the old house, and right next door, Langtons, whose fine gardens were the setting for As You Like It, one of four I've seen this year.

Plenty of pantos, too, of course, with Charles Court Opera's Buttons the quirkiest and the cheekiest.

photograph of the Queen's Hornchurch As You Like It by Nobby Clark

TIDINGS OF JOY

TIDINGS OF JOY
Chelmsford Singers at Chelmsford Cathedral

21.12.13

The Manchester Carols is a Christmas sequence for the 21^st century, written by Poet Laureate Carol Ann Duffy with music by Sasha Johnson Manning.

And, just as at the Royal Northern six years ago, the composer was on hand to sing the soprano solos.

The twelve carols are linked by narration [Malcolm Kimmance the reader], and together they re-tell the familiar myths and legends, embroidered by the popular imagination, and often strikingly vivid – the shivering shepherds and the glamorous camels, and most poignant of all, Joseph wandering through trees, his carpenter's craftsmanship seeing their wood become cradle, coffin and cross.

The carols are bookended by The Carol Singers' Carol and the unashamedly populist Present Song – a catchy, bouncy number and, rather like The Twelve Days of Christmas [also programmed here], an eclectic list of gifts: armagnac, frankincense, cardigans ...

The music is tuneful and accessible, with colourful orchestral writing. Sung with enthusiasm by the Chelmsford Singers, directed by James Davy, and joined by the red and blue jumpers of children from the Cathedral Primary School and Our Lady Immaculate, the Chelmsford Sinfonietta [leader Rolf Wilson] and baritone Robert Garland.

He was also the soloist in a wonderful performance of Vaughan Williams' Fantasia on Christmas Carols, with rich resonant sounds from the strings and robust choral singing. Plenty more seasonal goodies for the packed Cathedral to savour – Davy's Stokowskian setting of Adeste Fideles, Good King Wenceslas, Silent Night and Britten's lovely New Year Carol:

“Open you the West Door, and turn the Old Year go ...”

HAPPY SAVAGES

HAPPY SAVAGES
Chelmsford Theatre Workshop at the Old Court

18.12.13

Well it's not Private Lives. In Coward's play, the tangled quartet of lovers are vapid but witty and articulate. In Craig's, they are presumably highly intelligent [playwright, lawyer], but speak in semi-coherent soap-opera clichés.

If we are to sympathise at all, it won't be because of the writing, which hardly distinguishes between them.

But the structure is effective – the piece comes full circle, and the mutually wounding relationships are played out against one wedding and two funerals, Christmas and Valentine's Day. The setting is simple, with tiny framed photos of moments of happiness. The playlist, with U2's With Or Without You at the top, neatly reflects the angst and the agony.

And the performances, in Emma Moriaty's deft but depressing production, are plausible, often moving, occasionally very funny.

Most endearing, perhaps, Laura Bradley's management consultant, a complex character, visibly torn between love and forgiveness.

Most ironic, the writer called Wilde, who can't find the words for his plays or his relationships. A strong performance from Joe Kennedy, memorably beating himself up in the opening scene [a prologue, added since the first version of the piece] foreshadowing the rows to come.

Most transparent, Jacob Burtenshaw's “childish, weird” lawyer – his first scene with Bradley crackles with chemistry.

Most desperately insecure, the York hairdresser played by Sarah Chandler. Not as much of a class outsider as the text might suggest, but excellent in the hotel scene where the two “innocent parties” have an ill-advised tryst.

“What's going to happen to us?” I'm not sure we care, to be honest. Aristotle, bizarrely cited here, suggested that couples are striving for the happiness only union can bring. These characters seem to bring most of their misery on themselves; what motivates them often remains a mystery.

But CTW, giving this fifteen-year-old drama a rare staging, do their best to make the dialogue and the character development realistic; the result is a believable, if uncomfortable, snapshot of 21^st century relationships: over-verbalized, masochistic and emotional. As the Master has Amanda say, “I think very few people are completely normal really, deep down in their private lives...”

CANDLELIT CHRISTMAS CONCERT

CANDLELIT CHRISTMAS CONCERT
Writtle Singers at All Saints' Church

15.12.13

Under the real candles in the real chandelier, this enterprising chamber choir brought us seasonal delights from all over the world, as well as an opportunity to join their voices in perennial favourites like Holst's Rossetti setting, In The Bleak Midwinter.

Christine Gwynn conducted a bright, positive Adam Lay Ybounden to set the mood, then gentler sounds from Norway [an exquisite setting by Ola Gjeilo of A Spotless Rose], from the Basque Country [Javier Busto's Night Songs] and from Venezuela [the lovely Nino Lindo, beautifully sung].

My favourite pairing: The Huron Carol from Canada, and the Argentine For A World Without Faith, with its clever rhythmic effects. Both using the choral forces with inspired inventiveness.

The accompanist, Edward Wellman, played Blatchly's three charming Versets on Away In A Manger, after two brave youngsters joined the Singers for the Willcocks arrangement of the familiar carol.

And Martyn Richards' readings this year included Peter Howard's poem in which an ancient shepherd reminisces …

They say I'm old, that I should give up my flock,
stay back with the women in the warm.
They say the cold is bad for me, and hiking

over hills to find a lost sheep, sitting up
all night to nurse a lamb are young men's jobs.
When I tell my story, I see glances and disbelief.

Yet none would dare deny my flock's
the best-kept in the region, my memory
still sharp as winter wind. It was a night

much like this. We huddled round the fire,
and passed a cup for warmth. I was youngest.
Now the rest are gone, so when I die

there'll be no one to remember.
Each of us heard a voice that gave commands.
(Afterwards, we couldn't recall

what words were said, but all agreed
we had been instructed to go somewhere,
for a reason we didn't understand.)

While it spoke, Winter seemed
to withdraw, and it was Spring
(though still cold, dark, and wind blowing bitterly)

When the voice stopped, we didn't like to catch
our neighbour's eye: each thought
perhaps he should keep this to himself.

But there was a burst of light, that blinded us
as sunlight does when you
come out of a dark cave into the morning.

We had no doubt then, packed up our things,
and went, without much talking,
to where we had been directed.

At length, we stood, and saw. Just for a moment
it occurred to me that it was me that had been chosen
out of the whole world. Me, to stand here

and be a witness. Not kings, or lords or the village mayor,
but me. A warmth crept up like an August breeze,
or a woollen coat, or more like long thin fingers

trying to curl round me and drag me away.
Then it was gone, and I knew my thought
had been wrong, despicable. That is why

I'll tend my sheep, welcome the bitterest nights,
tell my story to anyone with half an ear,
and one day I will have atoned.

Writtle Singers are a friendly, ambitious group of musicians who care about what they do, and are ready for any challenge. In my experience, their concerts are invariably interesting, professionally performed and great fun.

In 2014 they will be looking to expand their ranks. If you are a musician [not necessarily a singer] who might enjoy working with them, doing something a little bit different, why not give them a try. You can contact them on info@writtlesingers.org or look at their Facebook page

https://www.facebook.com/groups/writtlesingers/

Remember, choral singing brings physical, psychological and social benefits hard to achieve by most other routes.

And it keeps dementia at bay …

http://science.howstuffworks.com/life/singing-happy1.htm

A CHILD'S CHRISTMAS

A CHILD'S CHRISTMAS
Cameo Players at Hylands House

15.12.13

Cameo's long-established Christmas visit to Hylands House had a new look this year. A generous Selection Box of Delights included loads of new material, and musical offerings from Willow's Drum, Mark Barnard and Lyz Le Fay, whose seasonal repertoire ranged from Eartha Kitt to the Coventry Carol by way of the Kinks.

Lindsay Lloyd had put together a heart-warming collection of poems and prose looking at Christmas through the eyes of a child, as well as some pithy observations [and requests] from real kids.

There were Nativity Plays a-plenty, Mole End, Molesworth and Adrian Mole [this last] beautifully captured by Martin Lucas] Eat, Drink and Be Sick [Pam Ayres], Pooh and Piglet in the snow, Hogwarts, cracker jokes, Tolkien's letters from Father Christmas, Paddington Bear and the Five Pence Pudding and Just William's Christmas list.

American classics, too, like The Night Before Christmas and the New York Sun's Yes Virginia editorial, as well as Phyllis McGinley's clever poem about St Nicholas.

More thoughtful moments too: Vicki Tropman's reading of These Are The Greedy Days, and Lois Duncan's Christmas, Present, read by Lindsay Lloyd.

But we were sent home with a smile, thanks to Alan Titchmarsh's potted panto, narrated by Ken Rolf, with Tropman slapping thigh as Aladdin, Lloyd as Twankee, Rick Smith as the camp Genie, Lucas as part-time aerobics instructor Abanazer, and Caroline Ogden cheekily walking on as Cinders and Puss.

I saw the Ghost-of-Christmas Past
Glide by our lighted tree.
Her arms wee filled with dolls and toys,
And all were meant for me.
I sensed the rustle of her skirts.
Her blouse was trimmed with lace,
And when she turned to smile at me
She wore my mother's face.

Just as this vision slipped from sight
I heard my daughter call.
Wild footsteps clattered on the stair;
Shrill giggles filled the hall.
She burst into the gift- filled room
And squealed in glad surprise
And all the Christmases-to-come
Were mirrored in her eyes.

How swiftly fly the rainbow years,
Like splintered shafts of light,
As fragile as the gentle ghosts
Who whisper in the night.
I draw my child into my arms
And hold this moment fast
Against the time my face will be
Her Ghost-of-Christmas Past.

Lois Duncan