April

is the cruellest month…well I say then – bring it on. What a few weeks I’ve had, and I’m running out of superlatives.

From Russia at the Royal Academy was every bit as breathtaking as the reviews said it was, and a welcome reminder of how uplifting and invigorating beautiful works of art can be. I include in that the fantastic abstracts and cubist-futurists works at the end of the exhibition as much as the Monets, Bonards and Picassos. Just so many wonderful paintings.

Peter Doig at Tate Britain was also stunning – his work kind of lulls you into this odd state of mind - meditative yet also sinister, and in its own way quite beautiful.

Then back to Battersea for my fifth and final visit to the Masque of the Red Death, which climaxed with an intensely unpleasant yet pleasantly intense one on one with Vinicius Salles during which he threw me against a wall several times before strangling me, all the while telling me how he had once hanged a man. I still couldn’t find the séance, but did see the famous puppet of the black cat and had Bon Bon force me to pluck out one of its olive eyes and eat it. Marvellous yet, like the last joint of the bag, the buzz somehow didn’t last long enough.

Modern opera at the Barbican? Hmmm. Yet Ainadamar: An Opera in Three Images by Osvaldo Golijov, based on the last days of Lorca and the memories of his muse, the actress Margarita Xigu, had me gripped from the very first note through to the last. This was a concert performance rather than a full staging, but still, having the projected libretto and the singers to focus on really helped and the music was, well yes, beautiful, full of flamenco and Spanish and latin rhythms, touches and flourishes. An opera with a sampler and a fantastic percussionist – what’s not to like?

Golijov is apparently one of Bjork’s favourite contemporary composers so it was fitting that the opera should come the day before the big one. I’ve been virtually following Bjork’s lolloping world tour for over a year via the excellent blog on her website written by keyboard and harpsichord player Jonas Sen, but at long last the crew rolled into the Hammersmith Apollo and my goodness me I was excited. I must have been waiting 10 years to see her ladyship live, having very stupidly not got my act together for the Royal Opera House show which I believe was her last visit. But this gig was something else – all was full of power – the big beat numbers really rocked, but the set up of the band meant they could switch from crazed techno-pagan fury to delicate madrigal like folk song in the flash of eye. We had Toumani Diabaté and Antony (minus his Johnsons) guesting. It was just…AWESOME. I arrived home covered in glitter and found myself raising my own little flag to Bjork. Higher and Higher.

Here are some piccies I stole off the web.

Mitsuko Uchida - RFH - 2 April 08

I think I’ve just about had it with piano recitals at the Royal Festival Hall – just about all the things I hate about the experience came into sharp focus during this one – the constant, unashamed coughing, the terrible sight lines forcing me to have to keep constantly craning my neck in the hope of getting a brief mono-eyed glimpse of the performer, the “soft” sound, and all for £38 and supposedly one of the premium seats.

The behaviour of some of the audience was astonishing. I watched someone – from the rear I couldn’t tell if they were female, she-male or trans-something-or other – kind of Germaine Greer looking anyway - constantly opening and closing a sketchbook and drawing in it until the bloke next to here finally exploded and grabbed her arm. Next to me a greying couple who’d brought packed lunches played ring-a-ring-a-roses on each others palms. As well as the incessant coughing, enough said the Times reviewer to have justified Uchida walking off, there was the regular patter of programmes falling off laps whilst their owners snoozed.

I tried my best to enjoy the concert but in such circumstances it is hard for me. It comprised a Schubert sonata, some modern pieces by Kurtag interspersed with Bach, and for the second half Schumann Etudes. There were some sublime moments, especially in the encores, the best being Mozart so I gathered from the Pinter Hat wearing buck toothed chap sat in front of me.

But really what’s the point? And I later found it is broadcast next week on Radio 3 anyway, so I think I’ll listen again in the comfort of my own home, sketchbook ever ready.