Ray Manzarek 1939-2013

We interrupt this 'New Shit That Came To Light' to mourn the passing of one of our musical heroes, and an early addition to *The List*, Doors keyboardist Ray Manzarek. At Birds On A Wire Towers, we rarely fight over men. In the hypothetical  "What would we do if all of The Doors asked both of us out?" scenario, things are no different. Liz clearly gets a rock 'n roll evening with Jim, and I get Ray. In all seriousness, when I woke to the sound of 'Light My Fire' on Radio 4 last week, I got the same sinking feeling I'd had in April when they'd played Richie Havens' 'Freedom' a few moments before announcing the folk legend's death. 

I started getting into The Doors when I was thirteen, and what set them apart from a lot of the 1960s bands I was listening to was the addition of those amazing psychedelic electric piano riffs. Manzarek was, of course, responsible for them. I spent many an embarrassing teenage hour listening to LA Woman in the dark, trying to imagine myself back to Haight Ashbury. Or thereabouts. 

I've been left with a lifelong love of the pop/rock organ, and I'm sure Manzarek's nimble fingers have had exactly the same impact on musos the world over. It's hard to pick a favourite Doors electric piano riff, but the meandering, hypnotic genius of 'Riders On The Storm' is hard to beat, isn't it? Hear Ray chatting about it (and jamming on it) here. 

"We gotta put some jazz to it. Make it dark." Yes.

Laura X

New shit that came to light

So. Since the last new shiz, Liz has gained a year, summer has come and gone and ice cream has been consumed. Here is a fairly small collection of some of the goings on from the last week. From top left, Liz after too many shots; selection of beer from the East Dulwich beer and cider festival; birthday rose; Steffi and a birthday champ-jager bomb; happy birthday Liz; Kandy Kane-Baxter as Cher; weird; blossoms; The Globe; some guy who had Too Much Fun at the RVT.

Much love,

Liz xXx and Laura X

A Night at the Opera: Don Carlo at the Royal Opera House

When my PGCE was coming to an end this time last year, one of my key motivations in applying for teaching jobs in London was... opera. When I lived in Yorkshire, I frequented Opera North and made the most of travelling productions, but I spent a huge proportion of my time desperately trying to acquire tickets for coveted London performances. Friends would put me up on sofa beds so I could get to the Royal Opera House or the Proms, and I would sometimes look for cheap hotel deals so I could skip from one event to another without annoying people, barely taking the time to sleep and eat in between. 

The madness reached a peak in Summer 2011, when I was so desperate to see the sold-out ROH production of Puccini's Tosca starring Jonas Kaufmann, Bryn Terfel and Angela Gheorghiu that I queued all night for tickets and got into the Thursday performance. On the Friday I slept and went to the first night of the Proms, on the Saturday I was back at ROH for a matinee of Massanet's Cendrillon starring Joyce DiDonato, and then I ran back to the Royal Albert Hall for a concert performance of Rossini's Guillaume Tel, conducted by Antonio Pappano. When the Prom was over, I grabbed a pillow and a warm coat from my hotel and got back in the queue for more Tosca tickets. I slept on the Covent Garden cobbles,  getting my hands on a seat for the Sunday performance. After all this hedonistic, yet tiring, activity, I felt that something had to give and I headed down to the big smoke for good. 

The Amphitheatre Bar- a view and a half.

I've been in London for seven months now, and my grand operatic plans have been a bit...lacklustre. It turns out teaching is harder than it looks. The days of waiting on Floral Street for Bryn Terfel's autograph, or throwing red and white carnations at Placido Domingo's feet feel as if they are firmly in the past. They have been replaced by frantic lesson planning and endless marking. Recently, however, my good friend Jessica (of Edesia London) came to the rescue with her ROH friends membership. We scored tickets for the opening night of Jonas Kaufmann and Anja Harteros in Verdi's Don Carlo, Joyce DiDonato and Juan Diego Florez in Rossini's La donna del lago and Angela Gheorghiu and Pietro Spagnoli (crush city) in Puccini's La Rondine. Get in. 

On Saturday, I got my glad rags on for Don Carlo, but poor Jess was sick. Our lovely friend Ben came to the rescue and saved my evening. And it was a really, really fabulous evening. After a week of naughty kids making ridiculous comments about Othello, I needed some food for the soul, and, dudes- Jonas Kaufmann is certainly it. In the long-running battle to get my female friends into opera, Kaufmann  has always been my secret weapon. The aesthetics speak for themselves, but the voice is on a whole other level. 

Ready for a bit of Verdi.

A heroic-sounding spinto tenor with the ability to break out into both romantic, Italianate roles and heldentenor territory, I have long been a massive fan. His dark timbre has led many an opera novice to ask "But isn't he a baritone?" There's a long explanation of why this is not the case- you'd be pretty bored. But to a large extent, we can put Jonas beyond classification- in an almost Domingo-esque fashion. 

Kaufmann as Don Carlo and Mariusz Kwiecien as Posa.

Don Carlo is a meaty, passionate work- Verdian in the extreme. Like most operas, there is a dominant love story, but it also has strong themes of politics and religion which make it extremely relevant to modern listeners. Who makes the decisions- Church or State? Can any heinous activity be justified with a biblical reference taken out of context? Will those with a strong moral compass always be screwed over? 

Nicholas Hytner's glorious direction reinforces all these major questions. Bob Crowley's impressive red, black and gold designs enhance the drama of the intense score. Sir Antonio Pappano brings the whole thing to life- Verdi's music is in his blood, and I think he could conduct it in his sleep. He remains my favourite conductor (precisely because some accuse him of over-egging the pudding, not despite it). I saved my most rapturous applause for him. 

Sir Tony P. The only conductor to have made it
onto the fridge of fit men. 

It was one of those overwhelming Royal Opera House evenings that takes you through the full range of emotions- I welled up during the beautiful Carlo/Posa duet, I was on the edge of my seat whenever the full chorus took to the stage, and I was lulled (almost) to sleep by Ajna Harteros's beautiful songbird voice. It says it all that the  famously hard to please Telegraph opera critic Rupert Christiansen wrote "This was one of those rare and blissful evenings in an opera house when the full nobility of Verdi’s mature genius was communicated by voices adequate to its beauties, depths and demands. I am still reeling from the impact."  

Bob Crowley's impressive set.

Sadly, you won't get a chance to see Don Carlo- all the star-studded performances were majorly in demand and sold out extremely quickly. People were queuing round the block in the hope of a return, and when I met Ben in the Amphi bar, he said he had attracted some very jealous glances as he nonchalantly (and ever-stylishly) strolled into the Royal Opera House in his dinner jacket. But I implore you to dip your toe into the operatic water in some fashion this season: try for a cheap ticket for something else, book to see Pappano conduct Verdi at the Proms or download some Kaufmann (I recommend Romantic Arias if you're a beginner). Do it. 

Facial reviewing: sublime, exciting.

Laura X