Sep. 27th, 2004 10:09 am
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muckefuckLast night, I heard Welsh bass-baritone Bryn Terfel sing Hen Wlad fy Nhadau.
From five feet away.
A eight days earlier, I was at Celtic Fest scuttling down the midway between where I said goodbye to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu and where e. and bunj were saving a seat for me at the music shell. I'd meant to wear my Scottish flag t-shirt, but I couldn't find it so fell back on my Welsh flag t-shirt (both from Central Lakeview's much-missed Grand Tour bookstore). As I was passing a string of boths for Welsh organisations, a portly old Taffy spotted y ddraig goch on my chest and hailed me.
Gwilym of the Cambrian Benevolent Society was a charmer. Growing up in England (he was born in Glamorgan, but his parents moved when he was young), he lacks the lovely lilt, but I suspect he could still talk the paint off a new car if he put his mind to it. After he had gotten over accusing me of "false advertising" due to the fact that I have no known Welsh ancestry, had a go at selling me tickets for a reception for Bryn at the Lyric Opera. I told him I'd have to think it over, since I wanted to talk to Nuphy first.
Nuphy and I actually heard him speak at UoC years ago. (I can't remember the year, just that it was St. David's Day--and that I was wearing the same t-shirt. Bryn complimented me on it when I stood to ask my question.) It was really wonderful to discover that he's as intelligent, warm-hearted, and endearing in person as his press would have you believe. We chatted for a few minutes about the new home of the Welsh National Opera in Cardiff, at that time just under construction, and the possibilities for a Welsh opera cycle based on the Mabinogi.
The next day, I came back and paid my money. It turns out that the organiser lives just across the street from me and she had the tickets to me by Tuesday morning. Nuphy and I suited up and met at the Lyric at quarter to five. We were forced to stand in line among strangers in the hall as the matinee of "Don Giovanni" drew to a close. (We don't see it ourselves for another two weeks.) When we entred, there were welsh cakes on the tables; we grabbed a two-seater equidistant from the door, the lectern, and the harpist.
It turned out to be a fortuitous choice, since we ended up with a ringside seat to everything. An emcee kept up a patter about Welshness until Bryn came in through the back door in a silk shirt; it looked like he still had traces of makeup on his face from his role as the Count. He sat attentively as my neighbour introduced him and then gave a spellbinding short speech about the opera, his relationship to Wales, and the gala opening of that new theatre we had talked about back when.
They moved him to the desk by the entrance to sign autographs. We naturally ended up near the front of the line and got a snapshot with Nuphy, but somehow missed my chance to speak with Bryn. Instead, I moved to one side and watched him interact with people. At that earlier talk, he told the story of one of his first performances, when he shared the stage in Spain with Carreras. After the opera was over, the famous tenor received people in his trailer for several hours--basically, until everyone who wanted to greet him had had a chance to. It taught him, Bryn told us, the importance of giving back to the fans.
And here he was, tired from singing for four hours, flying back to Wales in a little over 45 minutes, giving back to them. He was eager and at ease, even if he barely had time to gulp the beer they'd poured for him. He listened indulgently when Nuphy popped back into line to recommend a role to him (Flamand in "Capriccio"). I was just fascinated as I resumed my seat and watched him signing programmes, posing for photos, all the time wearing a smile that didn't seem in the least forced. Everythingmollpeartree had posted about the strange psychology of fandom began floating back into my head as I thought What is it we demand of our celebrities?
With only minutes to go, they manoeuvred him toward the harp and he led the crowd in a powerful rendition of the Welsh national anthem.
From five feet away.
A eight days earlier, I was at Celtic Fest scuttling down the midway between where I said goodbye to
monshu and where e. and bunj were saving a seat for me at the music shell. I'd meant to wear my Scottish flag t-shirt, but I couldn't find it so fell back on my Welsh flag t-shirt (both from Central Lakeview's much-missed Grand Tour bookstore). As I was passing a string of boths for Welsh organisations, a portly old Taffy spotted y ddraig goch on my chest and hailed me.Gwilym of the Cambrian Benevolent Society was a charmer. Growing up in England (he was born in Glamorgan, but his parents moved when he was young), he lacks the lovely lilt, but I suspect he could still talk the paint off a new car if he put his mind to it. After he had gotten over accusing me of "false advertising" due to the fact that I have no known Welsh ancestry, had a go at selling me tickets for a reception for Bryn at the Lyric Opera. I told him I'd have to think it over, since I wanted to talk to Nuphy first.
Nuphy and I actually heard him speak at UoC years ago. (I can't remember the year, just that it was St. David's Day--and that I was wearing the same t-shirt. Bryn complimented me on it when I stood to ask my question.) It was really wonderful to discover that he's as intelligent, warm-hearted, and endearing in person as his press would have you believe. We chatted for a few minutes about the new home of the Welsh National Opera in Cardiff, at that time just under construction, and the possibilities for a Welsh opera cycle based on the Mabinogi.
The next day, I came back and paid my money. It turns out that the organiser lives just across the street from me and she had the tickets to me by Tuesday morning. Nuphy and I suited up and met at the Lyric at quarter to five. We were forced to stand in line among strangers in the hall as the matinee of "Don Giovanni" drew to a close. (We don't see it ourselves for another two weeks.) When we entred, there were welsh cakes on the tables; we grabbed a two-seater equidistant from the door, the lectern, and the harpist.
It turned out to be a fortuitous choice, since we ended up with a ringside seat to everything. An emcee kept up a patter about Welshness until Bryn came in through the back door in a silk shirt; it looked like he still had traces of makeup on his face from his role as the Count. He sat attentively as my neighbour introduced him and then gave a spellbinding short speech about the opera, his relationship to Wales, and the gala opening of that new theatre we had talked about back when.
They moved him to the desk by the entrance to sign autographs. We naturally ended up near the front of the line and got a snapshot with Nuphy, but somehow missed my chance to speak with Bryn. Instead, I moved to one side and watched him interact with people. At that earlier talk, he told the story of one of his first performances, when he shared the stage in Spain with Carreras. After the opera was over, the famous tenor received people in his trailer for several hours--basically, until everyone who wanted to greet him had had a chance to. It taught him, Bryn told us, the importance of giving back to the fans.
And here he was, tired from singing for four hours, flying back to Wales in a little over 45 minutes, giving back to them. He was eager and at ease, even if he barely had time to gulp the beer they'd poured for him. He listened indulgently when Nuphy popped back into line to recommend a role to him (Flamand in "Capriccio"). I was just fascinated as I resumed my seat and watched him signing programmes, posing for photos, all the time wearing a smile that didn't seem in the least forced. Everything
mollpeartree had posted about the strange psychology of fandom began floating back into my head as I thought What is it we demand of our celebrities?With only minutes to go, they manoeuvred him toward the harp and he led the crowd in a powerful rendition of the Welsh national anthem.
Gwlad, gwlad, pleidiol wyf i'm gwlad.Then he was swept back the way he came and we went back to eating, talking, and socialising. It was a very genial crowd (well-heeled and middle-aged, as you'd expect) and I genuinely look forward to seeing them again (with the exception of one amazingly rude bitch who swiped my programme right in front of me). The whole thing has got me pulling my Welsh books and such out of storage and trying to recover the tipyn o Cymraeg I once proudly laid claim to.
Tra mor yn fur i'r bur hoff bau,
O bydded i'r hen iaith barhau.
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(You need to get G. to introduce you to her friend N. who is the assistant GM of the Lyric. He's SO nice.)
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Hooray for Bryn!
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It's a rather odd surfeit of Welshness for me this week, as I was showing my dvd of How Green Was My Valley to friends on Sunday.
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My reaction to Welsh traditional music in a nutshell--the drinking songs excepted, of course.
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About twenty years ago Prince Charles sponsored a Welsh festival chorus which came to New York and sang at St John the Divine. Expecting something "authentic," we were both disappointed when the chorus performed Mozart instead.