The Spectator - October 20, 2018

Music in Bologna 1–6 November 2018

The J.S. Bach Journey 13–19 May 2019

West Country Choral Festival 7–11 July 2019

Music Along the Danube 31 August–7 September 2019

Sacred Music in Santiago 26 or 28 September–2 October 2019

The Thomas Tallis Trail 1–3 November 2019

Opera in Southern Sicily 5–11 November 2019

CELEBRATING MUSIC AND PLACE

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Photo: Gabrieli, performing at ‘Music

in the Cotswolds’ 2018, ©Bill Knight.

‘ Beyond superb!

The performances,

the choice of

repertoire, the

venues... all perfect

in my opinion!’

Martin Randall Festival participant in 2017

public hungry for printmaking. When new
runs of posters hit the streets, fans were
known to slip out in the night to ease them
off the walls. Posters were big news and big
business — for performers, impresarios,
publishers and artists alike.
Lautrec produced the most arresting
designs of the era while frequently making
the stars look appalling. The Yvette Guil-
bert of those print editions is a sort of goose-
woman, with a too-long neck, a tight slit of a

mouth and empty eyes. It is testament to the
celebrity status of Lautrec himself that the
stars kept coming back for more.
The first poster Lautrec made for the
Moulin Rouge, which dominates this show
in all its two-metre-high glory, sets the tone
for them all. He compresses the stage into
three layers of silhouette, a nod to the stylis-
tic simplicity of Japanese ukiyo-e printmak-
ing. But, by making her the lightest element,
he draws the eye to the dancer, La Goulue
(the Glutton, so called because of her fond-
ness for downing everyone else’s drinks),
who is in mostly cancan dress. Behind her
lurch the shadow-play figures of a crowd and
in the foreground a strange, etiolated man in

a top hat dances. This is Valentin le désossée

(the boneless), a performer as famous as the

Glutton but, as portrayed here, he might as

well be an appraising bourgeois punter.

It’s all a long way from Chéret’s whole-

some good cheer but, for a while anyway,

it made Lautrec happier than usual, and it

made others rich and famous. And, more

than 100 years later, we’re still sticking the

posters on our walls and talking about Guil-

bert and La Goulue. Will Gaga last as long?

Opera

Top scorer

Richard Bratby

Porgy and Bess

Coliseum, in rep until 17 November

The Merry Widow

Grand Theatre, Leeds, and touring

until 17 November

Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess springs to life

fully formed, and pulls you in before a

word has been sung. A whirlwind flourish;

the hectic bustle of violins and xylophone,

and then a quick fade into an image of a

woman cradling a child and ‘Summertime’,

Lautrec produced the most arresting

designs of the era while frequently

making the stars look appalling

the very first number we hear sung. The

aria’s fame actually serves the drama. The

thrill of musical recognition as the curtain

rises on an unfamiliar world is replaced by

astonishment at the dramatic instinct that

allows Gershwin to expend a melody like

that before his story has even started, in the

certain knowledge that what follows can,

and absolutely will, live up to what for any

composer other than Gershwin would be a

once-in-a-lifetime inspiration.

English National Opera’s new production

is one of those occasions where everything

goes right — or at least, it feels as though it

does while you’re in there, which is very near-

ly the same thing. Director James Robinson

has grasped two essentials: firstly, that with

an opera which is still far from being a reper-

toire piece, it doesn’t pay to muck about with

the setting and spirit. And secondly, that in a

barn like the Coliseum, you’d better fill that

stage and put on a show. Michael Yeargan’s

huge revolving set sketches in the balconies

and tin roofs of Catfish Row while leaving

its population clearly on display. Under Rob-

inson’s direction that community is vividly,

affectionately observed.

But god, that score — can it ever have

been realised better than this? The choral

sound is what really slays you, woven into

Gershwin’s orchestral fabric, but rearing

up at climactic moments to a massed cry