Category Archives: plymouth
Our next concert is the Monteverdi Vespers, on Nov. 26th at the Guildhall, Plymouth. This work, untypical of its own time as well as our own, makes an interesting change from our usual repertoire. Simple individual lines and harmonies rooted firmly in renaissance polyphony, yet with complex (and sometimes fiendish to hold) interweaving textures, and a level of both vocal and orchestral flourishes and ornamentation that makes it arguably the first major work of the Baroque era.
I’m glad to be singing it, and I think it’ll be a good evening out for those in or near Plymouth. Hope to see some of my readers there!
This Sunday, May 21st, we’re performing Bach’s B Minor Mass at the Guildhall, Plymouth. This work needs no introduction, and I have no hesitation recommending it for readers who enjoy music and are within evening-out distance of Plymouth.
Tickets are cheaper in advance than on the door, so you might want to visit your favourite regular ticket vendor or google for online sales.
Minor curiosity: the edition we’re using was edited by Arthur Sullivan. Yes, he of G&S, and an entirely different era and genre of music! It’s also the Novello edition used in most performances in Britain.
We have a summer concert coming up next Sunday (July 3rd) at the Guildhall, Plymouth.
This is a predominantly lightweight programme of modern music: some short pieces and two medium-length works. As we started rehearsing, I thought that a set of madrigals, or even Beatles arrangements, would fit the programme nicely, though neither is included.
The two more substantial works are Morten Lauridsen’s Lux Aeterna and Rutter’s Feel the Spirit. I can recommend both these works as well worth coming to hear.
Lauridsen is new to me. My first reaction to the score of Lux Aeterna was, nice to do once, but nothing to write home about. If theme and variations is a classical form, this could be kind-of described as chord and variations. Since then it’s been growing on me: this is an interesting work (and I hope it’ll be wonderful to listen to), and some of what I first thought weaknesses actually do work and make sense as effects. The text is Latin and religious, the orchestration sparing, the setting contemplative, and it comes as no surprise to find Lauridsen is contemporary with Tavener and Pärt. The music also hints at older choral traditions, from plainchant to (possibly) eastern orthodox, though I’m not really competent to judge such things.
The Rutter is a set of seven well-known negro spirituals. Like Tippett’s settings, these are for classical forces. But compared to Tippett this is lighter, more playful. Glorious tunes and lots of fun, and full of characteristic Rutter syncopations and cheeky modulations. You’ll be whistling those tunes as you go home, but they’ll catch you out!
Our next concert in Plymouth is Bach’s St John’s Passion. That’s at the Guildhall on Sunday, March 20th, and I have no hesitation recommending this wonderful work to readers in the area.
Having said that, there is one thing wrong. We’re to perform in English using the new Novello edition. It’s a new translation, and in a couple of places the words are a very poor fit to the music. It comes with some bullshit about aiming to sound like the original German, so for example we’d have similar vowel sounds and hence vocal colour on important notes. That’s pure nonsense: it does no such thing. Furthermore, it’s not really a new translation: in places it’s identical to the old, and in others it’s much closer to the old translation than either is to the German text. I can only conclude that the sole reason for the “new” translation is to assert copyright on a score that would otherwise soon be out of it. Which begs the question: who are the bigger cultural vandals: ISIS or Novello?
Also on the subject of seasonal music, I sang in another easter concert yesterday. I didn’t blog about it because I was recruited for it at the last moment, and wasn’t clear on the details in advance. The easter music included Stainer’s Crucifixion and Vaughan Williams’s five mystical songs. A nice little event in a nice village church.
Our next concert is Mendelssohn’s oratorio Elijah, which we’re performing at the Guildhall, Plymouth on Sunday, December 6th.
This work tells the biblical story of the prophet Elijah, a tale of extreme violence, opening with a genocide and featuring a classic massacre in the middle, as well as a euphemistically-violent ending. Elijah himself is surely the greatest of all role models for, among others, the bloodiest of modern Islamic terrorists (indeed, everything we know about Bin Laden echoes Elijah’s story). For added cognitive dissonance, the bloody tales are interlaced with gentle and serene proclamations of God’s goodness and boundless mercy: war was peace long before Orwell and Newspeak!
As for the music, Mendelssohn was of course one of the master tunesmiths of all time. There’s a lot that’s lovely, scenes that are quite exciting, and a fair few tunes that listeners will find familiar. Set for soloists, a substantial chorus and middling-sized orchestra. I think I can recommend it to readers within evening-out distance of Plymouth.
The new bridge across the estuary has re-opened. And being our northern-hemisphere season of gloom, I first crossed it in darkness.
I should explain. This new bridge was once a railway bridge, and has now been resurrected for cyclists and pedestrians. It’s just north of Laira Bridge, a busy main road bridge and the lowest crossing point on the Plym estuary: both bridges were built where the estuary narrows somewhat. The new bridge opened about six months ago in the season of daylight, but then closed a couple of months later for further works on the Eastern end.
I had thought they were extending that along course of the old railway as far as the Plymstock bypass, which would’ve saved me as a cyclist from having to move out into the right hand lane of the dual carriageway to turn right off it – in both directions. But no, they built a new bridge across The Ride (a road), but then it goes no further: a fence blocks off the line of the track. Before the works, access to the bridge was from The Ride. Now, after them, access is still from The Ride. Since The Ride is neither big nor busy, there’s no advantage to being able to come down on the far side.
Anyway, coming to it at night, I see it’s all lit up. Not as in regular streetlights, but on the outside. A show of coloured lights that move gradually through the spectrum like a screensaver. There is a view from the approach, although it comes out better on camera from the Saltram side – as I discovered the following evening when I returned on foot with the ‘phone to take some snaps.
That actually looks more impressive in the picture than in real life, where viewpoints like this one are few and far between. The best view other than from on the water (or mudflats at low tide) must be from the road bridge, where its effect is sadly lessened by traffic and street lighting.
But all those coloured lights are on the outside of the bridge, and so scarcely visible from on the bridge itself, where strips of harsh (tending to painful) white LED lights dominate. Especially where the bridge is straight. The ‘photos actually look rather better than the reality:
Our next concert is next Sunday (July 5th), when we’re performing Händel’s Israel in Egypt at the Guildhall, Plymouth.
This is a mature, full-length oratorio on a biblical theme. In parts it is similar to the more famous Messiah (and a few numbers are musically very similar between the two works). In other respects it’s different, and one fundamental difference is that this work uses full antiphonal double chorus. We’ll be split across right/left sides of the stage to deliver the effect.
The subject matter is truly biblical. None of the cuddly, merciful God of Constantine (let alone the modern Church of England), but a vindictive warmonger to make the Islamic State look like a holiday camp. This God doesn’t just indulge in holocaust-scale genocide, he glories in it. Much of the music is correspondingly dark, though there are also some gorgeous interludes.
Also of musical/historic interest, this is a very old edition we’re using. In fact the editor was no less than Felix Mendelssohn. Though better-known as a great composer in his own right, Mendelssohn was right in the vanguard of the revival of the Baroque, so this score is living history!
If you like oratorio, you’ll enjoy this concert.
A week today – Sunday March 22nd – we’re performing the Verdi Requiem at the Guildhall, Plymouth.
This is of course a big work, often described as operatic. It is deservedly one of the most popular in the choral-orchestral repertoire, and ideally suited to a big orchestra and chorus such as the Plymouth Philharmonic. Even the non-musical will surely have encountered highlights of it, notably the Dies Irae which is an archetype for terrifying music. Yet despite all that it’s an easy sing, and – not least – we basses get more than our usual share of the best lines!
This is one of those concerts that is going to be tremendously exciting for performers and audience alike, and I have no hesitation recommending it to readers within evening-out distance of Plymouth.
Now that I’m back to normal after ApacheCon, I need to catch up on backlogs including blogging. I’ve got lots more to say about AC and Budapest when I get a round tuit.
Meanwhile, a quickie note here just to mention our forthcoming concert. We’re performing Haydn’s Seasons at the Guildhall, Plymouth, this Sunday Nov.30th.
The Seasons is Haydn’s “other” big oratorio, along with the more famous Creation. Having sung the Creation many times (it’s core repertoire in the choral-orchestral space), I’ve been pleasantly surprised by the Seasons. Although the works are from the same stable, this is not at all just more of the same. There really is a lot more to it, with much that’s not just lovely music but also tremendous fun. It’s been a delight to rehearse! I can recommend it as a great evening out to anyone in the area next weekend.
Living here, I have lots of nice places within easy cycling distance. Indeed, also walking distance. But what I’m missing is places to walk.
The trouble is the monster main road: the six-lane dual carriageway along the estuary. Walk that and not only do I get filthy on the outside, but the lungs fill with crap so I feel grotty throughout. The third road that actually goes somewhere is no better: it’s small but busy, little different to walk, and much worse to cycle. Ouch 😦
On a bike, these roads have the redeeming feature of brevity: it’s never long before I can get off them and onto something nicer. On foot, no such thing: they’re all a barrier to going out. Fortunately there is an alternative: I can go up the hill a short way on quiet residential streets (enjoying the view) and thence into footpaths and parkland. I can make a pleasant enough short walk mostly off road: for example up to Efford Cemetery, then back on another variant of the route. Another direction from the same start takes me to Marsh Mills, which is a hub of terrible roads, but also a vast retail park where I can get many things I’d hitherto have expected only to find online.
What about getting to any kind of walking country? The Plym Valley, the Coast Path, or even just across the estuary to Saltram? Access to any of these destinations is cut off not merely by the road, but by the Sentinels: monuments to terrible design that turn a simple crossing into a nightmare.
Let’s take a look at what I have to navigate to get home if I’ve just been across the estuary. At the head of the estuary it narrows rapidly to a fairly small river, and that is where transport routes converge. First the A38 parkway – the big road, which is elevated – appears overhead on the right. The landscape becomes one of urban dereliction, and vegetation gives way to polluted-land scrub. Next the path rises to go over the railway. Immediately to the left the railway goes over a bridge across the river, while to the right, the slip road to the parkway is tantalisingly close (as seen in google maps from the slip road). Either railway bridge or parkway would take me where I want to go, but both are firmly inaccessible.
Instead the path descends again the far side of the railway and goes diagonally under the parkway and its slip roads on both sides. Returning to the river upstream from rail and road, there’s still no crossing, so I have to walk some distance up the river until I hit another road, the B3416. This is a five-lane dual carriageway. If it’s not too busy I can cross the first half painlessly, but for the second half – where the traffic comes sweeping round a blind bend from the parkway – I have to wait (usually quite a long time) for the lights to change.
Now finally the way is clear to turn and head back in the direction I need to go, following the B3416 back to the parkway (crossing another couple of minor roads on the way). This time I’m at the level of the roundabout, so I have to cross the slip roads in three crossings. Approaching the roundabout, the slip road is bifurcated, so two separate crossings – the first two lanes, the second three – are required. Fortunately the lights for these give me plenty of time, as their real purpose is to control traffic entering the roundabout. Now back under the parkway and some way along it, until I can cross the final slip road – again with traffic sweeping round a bend at me – to my side of the estuary.
Phew! At least that way there are light-controlled crossings of all the big roads. The other evil Sentinel – to get between Laira Bridge and Plymstock – has no such help: pedestrians are faced with a choice only of which of the big dual carriageways to cross. And of how far out of the way to go to put distance between yourself and the roundabout, so you can at least see what traffic is coming on the road you’re trying to cross (though that only works on the bypass: the other way has too many roundabouts to get a relatively-safe distance from any of them).
Yes I do enjoy cycling, and none of these are as bad from a bike – provided you’re not scared to assert yourself and take the lane for wherever you’re going, which may mean crossing lanes of traffic. But walking is surely the most basic and natural way to get out, and it’s a bit miserable having to do battle with these ghastly Sentinels every time. Especially when it would be so easy with a little thought to give us some decent routes!