Watching this year’s outing of the Classical Brit Awards at the weekend on television, the words of Fred Ebb came into my mind - “Give ‘em the old razzle dazzle, stun and stagger ‘em.”
As electronic violinist Vanessa Mae appeared and strutted about like a prize, semi-clad diva on speed to an army of big men banging the hell out of large drums. It appeared that the designer this year had really gone to town on a dramatic set: a dishevelled, broken down mess of an old sea-side hovel, recalling Peter Grimes’ shed or a bombed peer along the South Coast of England following a world war. What does any of this have to do with the art of music or drama? Welcome to the twisted, hopeless, visionless cultural desert of Britain, 2004. There were big men with noisy drums last year for the Opera Babes, too. Musically, the evening was as ramshackle as the sea-side hovel on stage at the Royal Albert Hall, although even this unconvincing design concept had more charm and style than most of the acts we were treated to. The decor was also far more interesting than what was to follow. Thank heavens for Simon Wright and his valiant work with the English Chamber Orchestra throughout the evening.
Firstly - what are these awards for? International artists of the calibre of Bryn Terfel, Renne Fleming, Maxim Vengerov and Sir Simon Rattle, are placed alongside the disastrous efforts of Aled Jones, crooning his way horribly through Handel, Lesley Garrett selling her wares for all the publicity she can get, and the newest, tackiest group on the block ‘Amici Forever’, who look great, but who have no idea of ensemble singing and degrade themselves with shamefully bad arrangements.
Why they are called the Classical Brits is a mystery. Most of the evening included dull folk songs in third-rate arrangements (God save us from these never-ending Welsh ballads), the glamorous yet totally unsubstantial offerings from the likes of Vanessa Mae and Amici Forever (more third-rate arrangements), and while prizes had been given to the recordings of Rattle (Beethoven Symphonies), Vengerov (Walton and Britten Concertos) Terfel, Fleming and Bartoli (Aria discs), the nearest thing played that came close to classical music was Nigel Kennedy "wiv iz For-wer Seasons - init", jumping about as if suffering from haemorrhoids, hacking his way through poor Vivaldi (Four Seasons) at the fastest tempo humanly possible. He wasn’t cool or trendy doing this in the 1980s (true - his albumn then was a hit as a backlash to conventional performances), and, although he thinks otherwise, he still isn’t. If this is the best the Brits can offer, when there are talented players and singers struggling for work in this country, who take music seriously and have dedicated themselves to it, things are dismal indeed. The one gloriously positive gain this year was that the utterly talentless karaoke-tenor Russell Watson was nowhere to be seen.
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To give an award to Cecilia Bartoli (despite her admirable championing of the arias of Antonio Salieri) on her recent work, is bizarre. Having now attempted music at a high tessitura for some time, the bleat in the voice and the pressured, hard sound is hardly a joy. Anyone who has heard her excruciatingly bad Donna Elvira in Mozart’s Don Giovanni on DVD (Zurich Opera House), will have heard her falling off phrases, breaking lines and finding every skilfull trick in the book to tackle the role.
So, congratulations to Rattle, Vengerov, Terfel and Fleming - particularly to Sir Simon who had the sense not to appear at this farce after last year’s, and who had the greater sense to get out of this country altogether to make music. Commiserations to Garett, Jones and Amici. Let’s hope their recording producers wake up and stop wasting their time, money and energies on mindless pap, and on conning the British CD buying public.
The evening came to a strange close with Terfel and Fleming singing Porgy and Bess' duet by Gershwin. One only wished they’d sung some Italian Opera which suited their voices and operatic flair better than Gershwin‘s jazzy music theatre. Fleming did give her ‘O mio babbino caro’, but Bryn omitted Opera for a Welsh ballad. This was a rare glimpse, however, of true British culture.
Predictions for next year? The set, a wintry scene at a broken-down railyard in Canada. Lots of big men thwacking big drums, opera singers with microphones selling their souls to Mammon and violinists doing the twist with eels down their trousers, and even more big men with even bigger drums. Also, as light relief, watered down 21st Century pseudo-folk songs with 17 verses. Hopefully I for one will be out of the country, as will anyone who ever trained for a musical career in a world dominated by lame quick fixes and numbing Faustian glamour.
“Give 'em the old razzle dazzle" indeed. No style, quality or substance, just Fred Ebb's "three ring circus". Then add insult to injury and give prizes to people at the top of their profession.
The audience may well be stunned; it’s everyone else who’s staggered.
David Selig
ARCM/MA
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