![]() On the day I sat down to write this, I read a comparative essay on criticism in Latvia pre- and post- the collapse of the Soviet Union (do your worst, by all means), so I’m mildly wary of projecting my own politics here, but at the heart of The Exterminating Angel is a warning and an exhortation: the pitchforks are coming, and not before time. For those about to rock the establishment, I salute you. ![]() ![]() Sadly I can only guess what the first two – Powder Her Face (1995) and The Tempest (2004) – were up to: I saw neither, partly because I was mildly irritated by, or perhaps jealous of, his wunderkind reputation (he was only 24 when Powder Her Face was first staged, ffs, and to be honest the ongoing media tizzle that it contained a fellatio scene was a cold-water turn-off), partly because I wasn’t necessarily in a position to bargain my way in and opera tickets, as we know, can be beastly expensive, especially if you want to see more than a couple of square feet of the stage.įrom the vantage of my balcony seat it’s possible to scrutinise Adès himself on the conductor’s podium and notice how, every so often, his left hand will form devil’s horns to communicate a particularly dramatic intention. And, I’m idly going to speculate, with something of the same desire to puncture the ease of the privileged classes. Roughly once a decade for the past quarter-century, Thomas Adès has lobbed an opera into the world with the punctilious finesse and incandescent repercussion of a terrorist smashing through the fourth window right of centre with a hand-crafted bomb. ![]() The Exterminating Angel, Royal Opera House.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |