Here we go again, I suppose

As the turn of the year approaches, I feel a need to begin droning on to the public again - it helps configure my thoughts for the myriad details that need attention.  Once entered, the first few months of the New Year pass at the speed of a blink and then the first night is upon us. It is a peculiar phenomenon I haven't once failed to be amazed by.

2010 was a good year; a hit season, the birth of Fantastic Mr Fox (returning in 2011) and the accolade from the Sunday Times at the end of the year as Best Opera Company.  But the politics of the nation place pressure on us, our paymasters and our audience. A wonderful selection of operas in 2011 will need to deliver on their promise. We have new donors, new partners, much interest and growing support. The next few years hold so much to look forward to - and many potential pitfalls to avoid.

So as we step back onto the roller coaster, I will try, for whatever it is worth, to keep you abreast. I can't promise I will be terribly disciplined about it but I'll do my best.

Francesca da Rimini

Today's entry is simple
Francesca da Rimini ...oh my God.
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Challenges

Two rather mountainous challenges are approaching fast - Forza and Francesca. Both are magnificent and Francesca presents us with another opportunity to establish parts of the repertoire in our audience's collective minds. Indeed, we are presenting the public with a challenge of their own - and its not without its benefits to either side. Seven hundred people will have the chance to explore Francesca (and we hope that many of them will be first time opera goers too) free of charge - the 'challenge' is that if, as we believe they will, they like it they can make a donation to our Friends and thus help continue the Inspire Project among other things. Restaurants have been doing this for years; pay what you think the meal is worth etc. So it isn't as innovative a scheme as it first sounds but I am not sure it has been done in opera before. Point is, we believe people take these challenges in the spirit they are intended and we look forward to the feedback. Someone has to expand the rep! Anyway, if you want to take up the Opera Challenge, call the box office on 0845 2309769.
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The final furlong..almost

Four almost down and three (including Fantastic Mr Fox) to go. Forza and Francesca are not exactly small though and in their own ways all three of the final operas upon which we are now embarked are possibly the most challenging in our history but each is a mouthwatering prospect.
It has been a startlingly consistent season thus far and that counts for much in this business. The return of Fidelio has been uplifting and Don Giovanni has given me pause for thought with regard to my opinion of Mozartian opera (only a pause mind you). Audiences have been enraptured by the both and the house is packed to the gunnels. No complaints there then.
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Never go back?

Seeing Fidelio on stage again after seven years was something of a shock; not just because of the time warp element, seeing that set again, those costumes and some of the same singers. No, what was most affecting was how magnificently it still works, a conclusion one could never presume to reach after such a long time. It is of course a terribly moving opera, but I have to think that a bit of nostalgia was blended in with the emotion. As soon as the early Act one quartet began I knew precisely why it was right for us to bring the show back to life. And when we see the prisoners for the first time and the audible once again emit their gasps (has there been a more chilling moment of stage business in London in the last decade?) the correctness of the decision was rammed home. I wouldn't have thought it possible to be more proud to be associated with the production than we were in 2003. Along with our terrific Don Giovanni, the next two weeks will be a lovely experience.
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There is a fresh burst of creative energy and anticipation in the theatre this week with the arrival of the Don Giovanni and Fidelio productions. That the sun has arrived with them is a bonus that didn't seem possible on Saturday as we shivered through the final Carmen performance. There is added interest too because Fidelio is a revival; can the magic work again? Everything is possible with the cast we have and the rehearsal room has been happy, strong and together so we shall see. Don G promises much but as is our habit we try not to get too excited about productions based on their rehearsal runs....but Stephen Barlow is an immensely talented director...

It was lovely to see a great review for Hannah Pedley (our 'second' Carmen) in the Sunday Times. It was a big step up for her and it is great for her to receive some coverage and praise. Nice, too, of the ST to use my photograph of her in the review!
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Francesca podcast

Have a listen to this podcast on Francesca da Rimini with me talking to Robert Thicknesse about the opera
http://web.me.com/perillo2/Site_2/OHP_Podcast_site.html
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Sally brought Fiora into the theatre before the show last night which gave her pause for thought when confronted by hundreds of strangers. Her trepidation didn't last long and soon she was marching around the picnic deck, approaching tables. Some of the diners cooed at the approaching child (unaware that Fiora was simply coveting their food); others had a look in their eyes that you see at airports which more or less says 'oh please God don't let that child be sitting next to me'. They need not have worried because she was off to the swings before the first bell.

Yesterday the eclipse became total as both Sarah and Kate were off sick which doesn't help right now. Things will ease from 'lunacy' to mere 'crazy' once Carmen ends tomorrow. I did a podcast on Francesca da Rimini with Robert Thicknesse and in the editing process had cause to listen again to Zandonai's music. Quite frankly it is staggering at times and his reputation as a ravishingly good writer for the orchestra will be upheld. It actually makes me quite cross to know that this school of composers are neglected at all. Like L'amore dei tre Re, I know for certain that our audiences will be stunned by this music. There is a sense that this latest of all Italian opera managed to distil a hundred or more years of operatic stylistic development into an almost perfect, potent brew. The next four weeks will see excessive evangelical zeal in FDR's cause. It MUST be seen and heard. Pass it on.
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Back again

After two evenings off it is back into the fray tonight with several events at the performance to deal with. The past two weeks have shown the capricious nature of public opinion with wildly differing feedback on the first two productions. Taken across the piece I'd say we have done an average of seven out of ten which given the challenges presented by both Carmen and Pelleas is quite an achievement. The next two productions offer something again and the final two are now also in production; mouthwatering reports emanate from all rehearsal rooms. This also means that we have entered the period known in the office as The Eclipse - when all six productions are 'live'. At this point of the season James manages the not inconsiderable feat of charging around managing the productions whilst simultaneously adopting the Thousand Yard Stare. All of this and the worries of the World Cup to consider. One can easily discern the optimism of the English by looking at the Fidelio sales. All performances are either sold out or down to a last few - except for the one on the evening of the World Cup Final.
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A week has passed since my last contribution to this blog. It was a week of high drama and deluge, heat and great rewards for the company: Pelleas has mesmerised and Carmen has delivered the goods in two utterly different productions that have perfectly encapsulated the versatility of OHP. The challenge that Pelleas presents was made all the more daunting by first night monsoon rain one couldn't help feeling was trying to tell us something. It began to fall at 6pm and didn't cease until we locked the gates five hours later. But the show triumphed over adversity and in particular the CLS played for its lives. We may have a roof but the damp and chill permeate everything and the company fought hard. By the second night of Pelleas, the climate presented us with sun and warmth, like an apologetic, defeated bully. Looking at the forecast, it seems the rain will try again tonight, but it won't win.
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A week has passed since my last contribution to this blog. It was a week of high drama and deluge, heat and great rewards for the company: Pelleas has mesmerised and Carmen has delivered the goods in two utterly different productions that have perfectly encapsulated the versatility of OHP. The challenge that Pelleas presents was made all the more daunting by first night monsoon rain one couldn't help feeling was trying to tell us something. It began to fall at 6pm and didn't cease until we locked the gates five hours later. But the show triumphed over adversity and in particular the CLS played for its lives. We may have a roof but the damp and chill permeate everything and the company fought hard. By the second night of Pelleas, the climate presented us with sun and warmth, like an apologetic, defeated bully. Looking at the forecast, it seems the rain will try again tonight, but it won't win.
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Voila

And so before you know it the season is here and the first audiences (for the dress rehearsal of Pelleas) come through the doors. That dress was accompanied by the familiar rain and summer chill but the weather couldn't divert the impression that Debussy's opera - and this production of it - is unlike anything we have done before. It is easy to see why people are so divided on the piece but it rewards attention and Olivia Fuchs takes us into a deeply unsettling world of endless sadness and impending doom which, despite the flowing mellifluousness and shimmering beauty of the music and the startling images Olivia has created, grips and disorientates like few others do. What audiences and critics make of it we wait to discover with fascination but it is work of a definitive seriousness. Brad Cohen conducts with all the passion he has gathered in the years of his self confessed 'obsession' with the opera

Tiredness is creeping up on the company but perhaps the adrenaline of two first nights will revive everybody? Mournful grey skies are forecast for the opening of Pelleas whereas Wednesday promises blazing sun for Carmen's arrival. Good omens maybe...
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Blimey

A nice interview with James and I appeared on the Arbuturian website. You can find it here www.arbuturian.com and follow the links from the front page. An interesting website, The Arbuturian.

Less than a week to opening night and I still keep finding things to finish - I think I'm being a bit obsessive though so its nothing to worry about. Great to see the works going through their paces on stage - and the huge contrasts between them; in short, Pelleas will mesmerize and Carmen will pulverize. The new backstage is a hit too.



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We are in the middle of a spell of weather we can genuinely call 'summer' (25C + and not freezing in the shade). It may well be THE summer and autumn could arrive at any moment, but we'll make the most of it.

As is the usual way of things the critics have begun to submit their last minute review seat requests - one told me that between the 1st and 5th of June there are 9 shows opening in and around London. It doesn't exactly paint a picture of opera as a marginal art-form does it? Of course, those of us without huge subsidies have to fight for every sale and we always do well but even the smallest drop (in our case from 98 to 95 per cent, say, gives us the heebeegeebees; we've been spoiled. Having said that it is good to see Pelleas doing so well and it looks to have all the scintillating promise an Olivia Fuchs production always carries with it.

Today is Saturday and I am on babysitting duty. Fiora will have to make do with pigs and peacocks in the park.
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Help for heroes

The Chapel at the Royal Hospital, Chelsea is a fabulous place; built by Wren in 1692, it provided a glorious venue for a concert we gave in aid of the Hospital last night. Our green room was the vestry and on the wall is a list of organists who had held the post since 1693. On the list were some very distinguished names but the most extraordinary thing to my mind was that since that time only FIFTEEN people have held the post with the incumbent approaching his 36th year in the job. Next to it was a list of chaplains for the same period and the names were legion - I mentioned this to the chaplain who ruefully pointed out that the musicians get paid more!

It was a wonderful evening and I spent half an hour chatting to an old soldier who is trying, at the age of 90, to get back to Italy in September so he can visit the graves of those friends he lost there. Unfortunately he cannot afford the cost of going (a carer needs to accompany him). I have resolved to try and help; he fought very close to where my mother grew up and having recently read James Holland's book on the final year of the war in Italy, and from hearing the stories of my family, I know that it was one of the most attritional, brutal campaigns of the entire war.

The Carmen company arrives in force today and in less than a fortnight we're off...
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Hollywood or bust

James has tweeted about Woody Allen's latest movie being premiered at Cannes this week. This is significant to us because OHP was used as a backdrop to a key scene in which the ageing Anthony Hopkins introduces his new young squeeze (for whom he has left his wife) to his daughter (Naomi Watts) for the first time. I suppose its possible we don't make the final cut but it seems pivotal to the plot! There also seems to be a sizeable Woody gag in the backdrop - large banners were erected outside the theatre (on which they agreed to keep the words Opera Holland Park) that advertised a concert of Mozart's late symphonies...

We all had a fun evening playing extras on the shoot and meeting Hopkins was interesting -turns out he has ambitions to compose an opera.
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By jove we've done it

I dropped by the theatre on the way to a shopping trip with the kids (on FA Cup Final day!!) and found the site sparkling with an army of cleaners buzzing around and all but the very smallest things and some horticultural primping yet to do. I know the company have never come into such a finished site and I hope the buggers appreciate it: I shall patrol and mount snap inspections to ensure that all members of the company are keeping things in good order! I left the theatre barking at Dougie, our company manager, that he had better keep his house in order. I could see that behind his derisory chuckling he knew I meant business.
He had better beware because I learned my inspection techniques at boarding school under the tutelage of our Matron, Pam Dobie - a ferocious Scot with a dust radar the CAA would appreciate.

Now it is two weeks of madness before the 3 months of pandemonium: soon James enters the early 'eclipse' and before you can say boo to a peacock we'll have six live productions. In fact this year, with FMF we have seven of them. Lunacy really.
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Prelude

Last night, at Kent House, we held our traditional season curtain-raiser, the 'Prelude'. As ever it was a convivial event attended by over two hundred Friends who heard an array of brilliant singers from the season ahead perform a wonderfully eclectic programme of music ranging from Verdi and Mozart to Dvorak, Gounod, Lalo and Britten.
Thankfully, after my brush with alcohol last weekend, I more or less abstained and have woken up human.

These events raise a good deal of money for the Friends which of course finds it way back to the company and the work we do. I am always very humbled by the dedication and support the Friends who organise all of this show and when things are tough and busy and troublesome - as every season is at about this time - I don't suppose we can ever seem as grateful as we really are. We get much personal support from so many people too and one's expression of gratitude for that when you have the pre-season 'thousand-yard stare' is never really fulsome enough. I have to hope they all know..

This is the final weekend before the theatre is handed full time to the company - although various technical rehearsals have been taking place recently - and then we race to first night. Yesterday was fairly dramatic with diggers and all manner of works to replenish landscaping (and to resolve drainage issues). Our lovely theatre looked like a building site again but by the end of the day it was returning to normal. It is having its final manicure.
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I'm never going to drink again. Ever.

Yesterday was a day of celebration for Chelsea fans. I live near the stadium so it was easy to get out among the celebrants and to meet up afterwards with a few pals. I am afraid, however, that I may have toasted the Premiership too vigorously; today is not a good one to be meeting sponsors which is just one of the tasks I am scheduled for. I had to forego my walk to work but within seconds of getting on the train I wished I hadn't. Having been held up only by the compacted commuters around me, we then got held up at a red light for what felt like hours. So I got off to recover at a cafe in Earls Court from whence I write this. I shall stroll gently to work from here, bathed in milky sunshine and hoping nobody bumps into me since there would be just one outcome (and I am not sure I would be able to get up again.) Still it was a great day. I think.

We finish the theatre this week and the company take up residence in full from the weekend. That's a big moment for obvious reasons and it's a short hop from here to first night.

Actually I don't think I can manage that stroll so I'm off back into the station...
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Never put your daughter on the stage...

She does't look too happy but Fiora took her first steps onto the OHP stage today.

Hung

With about 70 seats still to declare the new parliament looks well hung with several unruly members ejected and a few new ones about to enter the house.
We could end up doing it all over again in a few months - weeks even. Hopefully the populous will return to something resembling normality now?

Everybody is a full pelt in the office and there is no shortage of additional demand on our time from other aspects of the business. Positive signs emanate from the rehearsal rooms which underpins everything so we have reason to be optimistic. James and I are thinking of some glitzy, interesting people to interview for our occasional podcast series (so watch this space) and the final week of the build is about to begin - mostly frilly-shirt work left now..
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Back into it

It never ceases to amaze me how the production of opera refuses to permit you a smooth passage to opening night; one of our Carmens has strained her back which means physio and osteopathy but with three or more weeks to go should hopefully present nothing more than a painful few days for her and inconvenience for the rehearsal schedule. And now the volcanic ash is making a threatening comeback...

Of course we also have the election to contend with tomorrow. Elections always send the nation into a kind of dormant state as though we expect some huge post-poll eruption that has to be gotten over before moving on (note the volcanic references). If you believe the pollsters there may well be some continuing rumblings after this one but we shall have to wait and see. General opinion has it that whoever wins, the arts might come in for some stick. For us, whatever the outcome tomorrow, we have a theatre to build and six operas to produce.

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Plugging away

A productive day ended with Chelsea winning the FA Youth Cup which is something I couldn't let pass without remark. Orchestra pit installations, lighting and electrical fit ups and fancy new concertina shutters on the bars and whizzy new surtitle monitors are one thing but the new generation of Chelsea stars is quite another.

Large pieces of set have begun to appear on site - some early technical rehearsals take place on Saturday - so within days we become a working theatre which will be nice. The process of this build has been very illuminating and I cannot begin to list the alternative solutions I now have firmly in mind but that is for the autumn; right now we are on course for an exciting season and the general build up in the public mind is gathering steam.

Julia is grafting away on the season magazine which is a complex beast, juggling with our first night invitation list and a multitude of other tasks. She seems able to manage without my constant presence and only being here for a few months appears not to be relevant. That tends to be the way of things at OHP - vertical learning curves. Soon an intern from Harvard university arrives for a few weeks and she too will be flung into the fray!
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OK, enough already

We have reached the point where we just want every contractor finished and off site so we can beautify the place. True to say this final technical piece of the jigsaw is the stuff that actually makes us a theatrical space - it will also contribute to the beautification. Anyway even the weekend deluge couldn't dampen spirits although a few carpets were..

Getting back onto the other part of the business will be good too with lots to look forwards to. Planning radio and press slots for the first two shows and starting to get a picture of the productions as they develop in the rooms is always exciting. The way shows grow and emerge from the rehearsal room is endlessly fascinating; so too is seeing the cast begin to realise what it is they are a part of. Sometimes they can't really tell until they are on-stage, with sets and lights and the real space and then it dawns. It is a wonderful process and productions come vividly to life - sometimes most extravagantly only when performed to an audience. Good noises are coming from both the Pelleas and Carmen rooms so here's hoping.

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Power to the people

A large slice of the day was dedicated to testing our new surtitle system which is lovely smooth white text on black beamed into the auditorium via sexy plasma screens. Of course being the kind of venue we are means that really, we have no place dealing in this sort of technology but our audiences have come to demand it. What amazes me is how different expectations are from person to person; I find no trouble seeing our existing screens (fuzzy, super bright green LEDs) from the front row for instance, but other people claim to have to lay flat on their backs in order to read them. In all honesty I find that I need merely use my ocular muscles to swivel my eyes upwards and neck muscles don't come into it. Go figure. Today I sat in the very back row and thought the text beautifully clear, even without my necessary glasses....how many people will disagree with me? I believe that even though people can see things perfectly clearly, they often want a fifty percent safety built in just to make sure. Still, we are looking at ways to improve the whole system and we may consider additional displays should we work out somewhere suitable to put them. It is all about money though and we don't have much of that going spare. The displaying of text is produced by very long Powerpoint presentations; not being a great fan of Windows programs I have some innate fears about reliability (probably unfounded and it is now the industry norm I believe). Might be worth have a load of boards printed up and have a bloke standing by just in case eh?

Slowly but surely we approach completion and on Saturday the major electrical and lighting installation begins. A week after that the company and the first two productions arrive on site for technical rehearsals. For the final cosmetic push I shall have a freshly laundered frilly shirt.
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Walk the talk

James and I did another interview today and I am becoming quite impressed by the seamless way we integrate our answers. We don't have an 'act' per se, we just remain determined and passionate about the project when prompted by familiar questions; just wind us up and let's us go. Crucially, we say the same things we have been saying for many years, only now we have more evidence to back up our assertions (particularly with the Inspire Project bearing so much fruit). Sooner or later some really influential people are going to pay attention...

I had a varied day of it today. Interesting I should say. A short film about the making of the 'Fantastic Mr Fox' production was discussed just before I had a walk round with the London Fire Brigade. Life is certainly not dull right now. Soon attention will fall on the run in to first night and the challenges of the season. The roller coaster awaits....
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Keep Calm and Carry on

Now that the site is fully de-aquified the final furlong of the build can continue. Cleaning is the main job so that the technical installation can progress without hindrance. The lighting of the site is the real aesthetic finishing touch (as well as, obviously providing the stage rigs etc) and adds the bit of magic that makes OHP so unique and special.

With the first two shows in full production rehearsals as well it is now time for a cool head and sharp focus on the details (and finding solutions to small problems that crop up when we solve another bigger issue). Still, that's the fun and I sincerely hope everybody notices the changes! It even goes down to the level of cleaning stonework that hasn't been touched in years but which, once cleaned sparkle by comparison to before. I hasten to add that we don't touch the listed stuff although last year that was renovated and we saw the full glorious effect in Roberto Devereux. One critic thought our REAL Jacobean mansion was just a boring, unimaginative set, clearly unaware that he was watching what had to qualify as the most authentically stage production of RD in history.
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Water water everywhere

Sunday morning 7am is no time to receive a phone call from theatre security. When I saw the number flash up I was more than a little perturbed but I was nowhere near as perturbed as the security guard at the other end. For some inexplicable reason, the head of a water pipe had erupted and was firing a geyser of water into the underneath of the seating stand's front deck. When I arrived fifteen minutes later the noise was deafening. It was clear what needed to be done and I wasn't the one who was going to do it; a tap, in a hole in the ground from whence the torrent was blasting needed to be turned off. Austin, the perturbed security guard, was about to get even more alarmed because he was charged with crawling through the raging waters, under the seating stand and to thrust his arm deep into the hole to find the tap and turn it off. Commendably, he took his trousers off and began his journey. Over the din of the water I could hear him cursing; "I can't f...g find the tap!" I can't deny I had some admiration for him and urged him to persevere. Through the din and burbling I heard him proclaim, "I'm f...g soaked! Wait! I think I got it!" And true enough the sound subsided. Austin crawled out from the space like a soldier on an assault course, clearly pleased with his achievement but wet through. I am sorry to say that I found him an amusing sight but I shall instruct his employer to give him a bonus for going above and beyond the call of duty. That is a quality we always need at OHP.

The only other time I know of when somebody has had to de-trouser was when a waiter at a restaurant spilled gravy down my suit - all of it. An hour or so later we had a royal visitor at the theatre which required a better appearance than I was now able to present. I managed to find a dry cleaner prepared to clean the suit immediately whilst I waited in shirt and socks at the counter. It was surreal and I was getting some funny looks from the Hoffman press operator but I arrived on time in a crisp, clean suit.
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Well done Njabulo

Some very good news of a singer who has been around HP for a few years now; the effervescent South African Njabulo Madlala. Last night he won the Ferrier awards, probably the UK's most prestigious singing award; it is one that carries a hefty financial prize too so when Njabulo is at OHP in our Fidelio this season, the drinks are very much on him. Congratulations to him and here's to a fine career.

It is a momentous day in this household too because Fiora is going into a normal bed. I have spent the last hour putting together a bed rail which involved quantum physics, indecipherable drawings and a deep laceration on my finger. Then I walked to the gym and discovered it closed. I am not in the mood for much now.

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Techno leap

Today was more interesting in the office than at the theatre (where a lone chippy is doodling away on bits and pieces) because we have reached the 21st century technologically speaking; we took delivery of a Mac. This now means we can do far more multi-media stuff (I don't have to sit at home all night editing short films on my own Mac for example) and we can do simple things like, errm, burn CDs or DVDs. It also means we can manage our photo library (huge) without having to prepare a picnic and a flask of coffee whilst our PCs chug away opening images. All in all a thoroughly welcome development.

I gave the leader of the council a show around the theatre today since he was passing and he seemed suitably impressed; which when you think about it, is another thoroughly welcome development.

Crisis? What crisis

As quickly as the air chaos ensued the difficulties abate. We really can make a mountain out of a volcano. If the Axis powers in 1940 had waited for snow etc..well if they had stirred up an Icelandic volcano...

I have always had an admiration for the Icelanders; a nation with the population of Kensington and Chelsea has produced world class footballers, opera singers, pop acts AND managed to fleece half of Europe's population of their savings. There is a joke going around that says the Icelanders offered to switch of the volcano is we stopped telling them to pay us back.

I had another alarming dream last night in which I attended a rehearsal of Forza only to discover that everybody was singing in English. Now I don't want to ignite a debate about original language versus translation - it's just that the alarm in the dream stemmed from the fact that we have told everybody we are singing it in Italian. I took this up gingerly with James (who, it has to be said is appearing far too frequently in my dreams) concerned that he would be faced with another hurdle only to find he knew about it all along! I woke up just before I hit the ground.

These dreams about work might make you think that I am worried and concerned about everything which I'm not. But when I have a dream about carpenters I will consider therapy or retraining as a milkman or something.

Hmmm

As I sit here writing this under crystal clear blue skies (again), the surreality of the travel chaos, caused by a cloud nobody can see emanating from an Icelandic volcano nobody can pronounce, continues to have profound effects on our first two productions. With singers and conductors scattered to four corners of the globe, James is as much a travel agent as he is a producer at the moment.

Tricky kick-off

It is the start of Carmen rehearsals and various individuals are dispersed Europe wide. I suspect a large Islay Malt for James will be necessary by the end of the week. I'm not even sure I won't be driving hither and thither across the continent to gather them all together.

Cloud? What cloud?

The apocalyptic predictions that a country-sized cloud of volcanic ash would blot out the sun in the UK have been thwarted by..well, the sun. It has been shining endlessly for days and at the moment it does so with a strong heat too. If the cloud that has brought silence to the skies over London IS up there, it is of a kind that can only be detected by jet engines.

Holland Park was choc full of people enjoying the sunshine and we joined them after a quick check of some work that has been going on over the weekend. Hundreds (thousands) thronged the lawns of HP today and I kicked myself for not having a team of leafleteers out there on the North Lawn. Still plenty seem to know what is going on because I heard quite a few sounding eager now that we are getting visibly ready for the season ahead. Interestingly one lady wondered aloud to her companion that we "must be starting earlier this year" and a young girl asked if "there was going to be opera again mummy?" And it is nice to see the grand "Inspire" wall getting attention from across the pathway. The good weather is always a prompt for those who have a more laissez faire attitude to ticket booking. They had better hurry up.

No standing still

The past two weeks have been productive and very hard work for Stu and Kasete, his oppo and our deputy house manager but they have done very well. They nor any of the contractors working on site probably need me prowling around scrutinising every screw, line, cut and joint but they have been tolerant (although on-the- hoof decisions tend to get made when they are needed). This whole process of change has been a cycle of solving one issue and creating another but the road might now have straightened out. Yesterday (with Kasete in the Charlie Dimmock role of doing the work and me in the Lawrence Llewellyn Bowen role of mincing about with the aesthetic eye) we spent an hour arranging olive trees in pots around the perimeters of various facilities. That is something we normally do two hours before curtain up on the first night so it has to count as progress. We also made the momentous decision to paint four of the support legs of the mezzanine so that they match the colour of the seating structure they abut. Such things, as I have oft repeated, matter! Henceforth, all is detail and I hope we don't over-egg the pudding.

James is in full-on producer mode dealing with last minute problems of casting and the flicking tail of a volcanic cloud that is slowing the arrival of Europe based singers for the start of music rehearsals on Monday. He could do without it for sure but I think sometimes he couldn't really do without it if you know what I mean? He and the company have always flourished in adversity so the bigger the problems he describes, the more sanguine I tend to get; history tells me that the success of the outcome is directly proportional to the depth of the abyss we have peered into. Is that the mark of a good outfit? I like to think so. The challenges of Pelleas, our opening production, offer the most tantalising results, for example. And with that in mind we sit down soon to finalise the 2012 season.

Back in to it

The visit to Eastbourne was ended with a long (very long) steeply undulating walk along the cliffs from Beachy Head to the old listed lighthouse that had once been jacked up hydraulically and moved fifty feet inland to avoid the advancing cliff erosion. Beachy Head is possibly one of the most strangely poignant places I have been. If the signs for the Samaritans in the car park were not enough to remind you of why some people are drawn to the place, the first person we saw up there was a woman with a high visibility jacket with "Chaplain" written across the back of it. It is also a breathtakingly beautiful place and frighteningly exposed with small wooden crosses and flowers dotted along the craggy, crumbling and unprotected cliff edge. I shall not rush to return. Odd that one of the most glorious spots in the UK (one that on a bright day can uplift and invigorate) should become both a beacon and a shrine to the sad and lost because what makes it inherently beautiful offers certain oblivion should you wish it.

Seaside

Yesterday, the kids and I enjoyed a gorgeously sunny day on the south coast, wandering up and down the promenade and playing the most elaborate game of crazy golf known to man (18 holes, par 58, my score ten under par). It was the great British Day Out that included fish and chips too: today we'll traipse across the cliffs at Beachy Head before making our way back to London. There won't be many more opportunities for such a jaunt until September. The Blackberry didn't stop buzzing of course but it delivered nothing of alarm or disaster so the point of these 48hrs has been preserved more or less intact. I will probably be at the theatre late this afternoon to see progress and where I am led to believe things have gone largely to plan.

I am writing this on the veranda of the seafront hotel as I wait for the kids to get up for breakfast. The coffee roughly approximates what I am used to, the English Channel is reassuringly grey and the pier off to my right looks as flammable as any British pier should. I can't say that I would be happy to spend a whole summer holiday in such a place but the Victorians created towns like this with a splendour that although faded now, still hangs on. Only a couple of hours from London, I have always wondered what a southern European climate would do to places like this. Culturally speaking, the 28 miles of water between here and France seem much greater but perhaps it is worth celebrating the difference?

Minutiae

It would be dreary to lay out the myriad work going on at the theatre site so suffice to say there is a lot of it and it is happening at great pace. There are annoying glitches that take time to remedy (seating structures two inches out of whack etc) and we constantly chase the new works with suddenly appearing issues that need further remedy. Still we are a month ahead of where we would usually be and there is time, when everybody has left site next week, to begin fine tuning. Stu is in the heart of the maelstrom and is coping admirably in his calm stoical way. When I mentioned this to him the other day he said "drowning, not waving" - but then he laughed because I think he saw the fear in my eyes. Then I laughed too - with the fear still in my eyes - and Stu marched off to solve another problem. Indeed, he is a real utility player who I have just remembered is also a trained actor so he can record all the house announcements as well - although the Aussie twang will need to be curtailed!

Things are progressing so well I feel able to take two of my kids to Beachy Head for a couple of days. Given the history and reputation of the place I won't tell Stu where I'm going in case he asks to tag along. Actually, in view of the irritation James is having right now with some casting replacements I'm only glad he is at the other end of the country as well.

Getting interesting

A person should have many interests. That James and I share more than those operatic was demonstrated in the course of a filmed interview we were doing yesterday; mid-flow we broke off in that weird stream of consciousness way to talk about Des Lynam, football and Fulham FC (who neither of us supports but we do have an acquaintance with their manager). If the director of the shoot was perturbed by this he didn't show it and allowed us to find our own way back onto the issue at hand (opera). More about why we were in this situation may become known in due course but it was quite an illuminating moment for all concerned.

By Saturday morning the bulk of the theatre will be complete. Then for the detail. Our PR company are on board, the box office is in full swing and preparations for the first few events of the season are well under way.

Wow

Up with the lark and in at site by seven tomorrow - we begin the process of internal walling for the backstage and need to check final layouts. I can honestly (but a little sheepishly) say that I am like a kid with a new toy over the new backstage. It all feels very similar to when, at five years old, we went to visit our new flat to which we would soon move from our cosy slum in Shepherds Bush. The flat had a bath and I insisted that I sit in it because I had never seen a fitted bath before. The contrast between the previous cabin village and this new facility is about as vast as my slum and the new flat. Actually, I think my slum was better appointed than our old backstage.

Today was crazy and rewarding - so much has risen from the ground in one day. At this rate - touch wood etc etc - the company will arrive to a beautifully finished theatre for a change. I have already decided what changes I am making next year!

Ooops

The title of this blog is not an indication that mistakes, per se, have been made but a few issues today - as easily resolved as they were at the time -served as reminders that in a whole new build schedule and method, one can run up against the smallest problems that hadn't been considered. In each case a solution that is better than the original idea was found so its all good. And the sun was shining.

The other "oops" is that we seem to have underestimated the appeal of Forza so James is busily trying to see if an extra show is feasible. A good "oops" I think you will agree. Watch this space to find out if he manages it.

The floor of the new backstage was installed today and looks like the centre court at Wimbledon and we'll need a windsock on there just in case any struggling light aircraft try to land on it.

Go forth and prosper

I'm itching for the week to get underway; a long weekend is a challenge when you have a 19 month old who hasn't mastered the art of entertaining herself for more than five minutes. After your five hundredth 'this is the way the lady rides", or you thousandth "row, row, row your boat", builders, trucks, cranes and hammering is idyllic by comparison. And indeed over the next few days we'll see lots of the above.

I got into a bit of a row with somebody over Carmen. She insisted that the Prosper Merimee novella was lovely and moving and, and, and .. I couldn't work out what bearing that had on the fact I find the opera about as tedious as it is possible to and that I don't know of any opera whose characters I could care less about. She launched into a treatise on the wonderful Spanish culture and was undeflected by my pointing out that both the source text and the opera were created by Frenchmen who were indulging in the sort of cultural caricature that we see in the oriental parts of the repertoire. To be honest I was wasting my time; I had been considering reading the Merimee but she has put me right off and I think I will move straight to Hugo's 'Le Roi s'amuse' in preparation for Rigoletto in 2011.
There simply is no point arguing with me about Carmen.

Easter

I am afraid that neither Easter nor Christmas carries much religious significance for me personally - if it did perhaps I would enjoy them more. Interestingly (for me anyway) many operas carry a heavy religious content and the struggles with their religious beliefs - or the horrors they commit in His name - that characters endure or enjoy do fascinate me. There are many examples of course but for me this is best encapsulated in Tosca (not the only Puccini with such a plot curve). I don't know many people who agree with my opinion of why Tosca kills Scarpia but I doubt I'd elucidate on it over dinner with a Catholic priest.

By the way I had a nice lunch in Hampstead and won a two foot chocolate bunny in a free raffle. The true message of Easter for most!

I have also been reading some of the articles that have been written for our programme. Along with Tony Holden's lovely story of the process of Da Ponte's creation of the Don G libretto, I was very taken with Michael Tanner's humanist view of Fidelio and he draws a straight line between what Beethoven wanted to convey and the interpretation of the piece by director Olivia Fuchs. It is well known that our production was the first to use Guantanamo as an analogy and it shows, if nothing else, that the world still struggles with the principles of liberty and justice - even a nation founded on those very principles. Interestingly, when I receive letters from people complaining about modern productions, they almost always accuse the director of arrogance, of daring to change what the composer wanted. Well even setting aside the historical contexts and time lines of those composers, I'd venture quite strongly that if he'd been alive to see something like Guantanamo, Beethoven would have declared; "that's exactly what I meant".

Not guilty as charged

In his Independent column, David Lister has reported a complaint from an OHP patron who has complained about additional charges. David rather dramatically proclaims that our charges have increased the cost of the booking by 22.5%. Terrible I hear you say.
Well, let me explain: the only charges applied by OHP is a 2.50 admin fee on each transaction. So if you spend fifty quid or five hundred, it is the same. If you book online the company who manages our online bookings charges £1 per ticket. Not ideal but on the industry low-side. Therefore it is hard to imagine a 22.5% charge? Actually, no, because what David signally fails to point out is that this patron booked two of our several thousand £10 seats (seats I can assure you we would sell out at three times the price). His booking therefore in total cost £24.50. That for two tickets in fantastic seats for great opera. If he had booked on the phone he would have paid only the two-fifty. If he had bought twenty seats on the phone he would have paid £2.50 and so on and so on. If he had purchased two seats at £57 each he would have paid the same; or in other words 4%.

I understand that people don't like fees but ours are very low and Lister's piece was disingenuous and unfair. I haven't heard him praise us for foregoing over £100,000 in real money in order to make these seats available in the first place. I am beginning to wonder if we should bother at all. No doubt we will be attacked for that too?

Bank Holidays at this time of year are not particularly restful; they just slow everything down and I can be a bit of a curmudgeon at this time of year. Frankly that is nothing new since I am quite allergic to Christmas as well. And August Bank Holiday. And May Day....

I've been musing on the age old arguments about updated productions against traditional. If you think I'm going to offer an analysis here you are out of luck: if it works, it works is all I will offer. What got me thinking was seeing a dvd of a Zeffirelli film. He is relevant to the issue because he once wrote a long article in an Italian newspaper in which he fired off a broadside at modern productions. In the course of the article he picked on our production of Tosca from 2007 (which he hadn't seen I hasten to add) and declared it an outrage to end all outrages because we had set it in 1968 and taken, in his view, unspeakable liberties with it. We hadn't of course but whaddya gonna do? His assault on us remains one of our proudest moments.

It is funny how being insulted by famous people can be a source of pleasure. Richard Dreyfuss once told me that he didn't understand a word I was saying on account of my London accent. And I know for a fact that Michael Caine once said "Who the f...kin 'ell is Mike Volpe?"

I am becoming something of an expert on fabric engineering. I had to look at something the rigger felt it was easier to explain if he actually showed me. Showing me meant being sixty odd feet off the ground in the basket of a cherry picker. Now I'm not particularly afraid of heights but the space (way, way) above my head is not my normal working environment. Maintaining my dignity and authority was paramount in the circumstances and as we lifted slowly into the air I was nonchalance personified, leaning casually against the guard rail, chatting amiably as if a raconteur at the bar. In truth I was positioning my body to obscure the rigger's view of the one thing that would betray me; the gleaming white of my knuckles. It was an astounding view though and it was fascinating to see the genuine beauty of the structure from a new perspective. These fabric buildings really are the most exquisite and naturally formed architecture.

Next week is a big one and we all wait excitedly to see how the new backstage is going to look. The seats come in too and by the end of the week 90 percent of the theatre will be in place. And soon after that the first two productions begin music rehearsals.

Things in the office are picking up pace and Julia is coping well with the demands - the season magazine is in full flow and the first events are at advanced planning stages. Meanwhile we hope the snow from the north doesn't descend beyond Birmingham.

Two months today until first night.

Winter returned yesterday. We didn't get the lethal blast that Scotland endured but brass monkeys in Kensington were complaining bitterly. A couple of engineers from the company who build our canopy were none too happy either as they dangled from ropes and clambered over the peaks of the roof. It had been noticed that the finely honed process of tensioning the fabric had gone awry ever so slightly. This meant a small section of the structure looked a bit wrinkly, water was running off it in unexpected ways and points that carry heavy loads of lighting truss were at odd angles. To the untrained eye nothing would seem amiss but it needed tweaking and so the riggers were swinging around in the icy winds fiddling with the giant cat's cradle of cables and turning spigots and bolts . I left them to it in order to get to Cadogan Hall for the Chelsea Academy showcase.

And what a showcase it was; the kids were fantastic in their performances of Carmen extracts and the beautiful entrance hall of the venue looked fabulous. Congratulations to all concerned and hopefully we will see projects like this flourish through next year and beyond. These were eleven and twelve year old kids and we should all continue to challenge them because they really can lift themselves to achieve when they are given the opportunity. There is no limit to what we can expect from them. I know this from personal experience in my own schooling and it is something James and I will continue to preach.

The Indy podcast is up on their website

http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/theatre-dance/features/opera-podcast-opera-holland-parks-new-season-1932232.html

Carmen Inspired

The final piece of the twelve week Chelsea Academy Carmen Inspired project (see our website for the project blog) falls into place today when the students give their performances at an event at Cadogan Hall. We are making a short film of today so watch this space for links to that which no doubt we will plonk on the web somewhere. A really exciting day for them I hope and we are all looking forward to it.

The podcast went well with Ed and I did my utmost to sound as hinged as possible. That will be on the web soon too so you'll be able to make your own mind up. I think some interesting stuff was said along the way...

James and I are recording a podcast for the Independent today. Ed Seckerson who does these for the paper and syndicates them elsewhere never seems to edit them; which is a good or bad thing depending on how ridiculous the things you say are. I did one with him last year and I still think I sound a touch unhinged on it.

Podcasts are good things now that people are used to the whole process of getting them, not to mention the streaming, press and play nature of most websites. If you have the money you can fill your website with films and podcasts and all manner of fancy content. Very nice too, if you can dredge up the resources. I have doubts that the costs are totally commensurate with the ticket sales it all generates but it doesn't do any harm I am sure.

Get on with it

The news that Scotland and the north are about to be deluged with snow is a timely reminder that in the UK at this time of year you really can get four seasons in one day. We, meanwhile, soldier on with the build and today saw the arrival of the first elements of the lighting installation. I just shared a pint or two of Spring Cottage Biscuit ale (recent tipples have included Cornish Knockers - the Brits like to have fun with their beer names) with Ops manager Stu and he appears to be taking possessive ownership of the site. He is one of the less brusque Aussies I know but I still sense the first 'effoff and suck yer own pineapple' isn't far away; this will be a good thing and a momentous step in his development.

The box office had a mightily busy day today but appeared to cope admirably. Forza is going all guns blazing and is absurdly popular. Our Friends have been extremely demanding in their desires and have purchased significantly more tickets than at the same point last season. Am I complaining? You can bet a pair of Cornish Knockers I'm not.

The school thing we did was amazing. Ms Boylan was stupendous and brilliant and I can't thank her enough. Her la mamma morta was mind bogglingly good and her way with the students most expert. She is a Star (note the capital S) with a heart of gold.

PHEW!

It happens every year; we open the online bookings and for the first hour carnage ensues. Irritating as it is, it is sometimes sheer weight of traffic but the hackles do go up when those who support us technically always act surprised at the volume. A few issues came up yesterday that were a first for us although those same techies tell us that none of this is new - of course not. Well readers of this blog and followers of my Twitter made their feelings known and gave us the odd heads up. New systems are in the pipeline. At one point we had three different servers in different parts of the world suffering the screaming hab dabs for one reason or another. Eventually we opened the phones. Several thousand tickets were sold yesterday alone. Hard hats and saline drips have been prepared for Monday. St Johns Ambulance might have to be in attendance too.
One obvious cause of the rush is the ten pound ticket allocation. Hardly surprising. A couple of thousand went on sale online yesterday and had gone within the blink of an eye. Another couple of thousand go on sale on Monday via the phone (not everybody has online access) and no doubt others will be disappointed. It is frustrating that we cannot give more - Dannii Minogue still hasn't sent the cheque (see earlier blog post if that confuses you). The temptation is to start restricting how many one person can buy of these tickets and perhaps we will look at a booking period just for ten pound seats, stagger their release etc. Making it as fair as possible for everybody is the real challenge.
I am working on a scheme whereby companies and donors can contribute units of money to specifically subsidise further blocks of ten pound seats....more anon. My personal aim is to get up to ten thousand seats at £10 in the season. These would be spread evenly across the six for the first five thousand seats as they are now and then donors could decide what productions they would like to enable people to see. Obviously we need to work out details but watch this space. It might take a while to get to that golden figure of 10,000 but don't bet against us getting there. We will need a better box office system though!

Grumpy

I have decided that getting ahead of schedule can be a frustrating experience; you start to grumble when contractors can't take up the earlier slot that has now opened up for them. That then leaves you with empty days that you frantically try to fill with other smaller jobs. I'm not complaining because clearly it beats being behind schedule but the trick, I suppose, is to give each job less time next year (then you will fall behind schedule but will have a month long "safety period" to fall back on). The mezzanine has fair flown up in two days and it sits proudly alone like a giant modern sculpture beneath the vast roof. Just the glass to go in and we will be able to have a party on it although guests would have to climb the zip tower to get onto the floor. There might be a PR opportunity right there.

Talking of which, I was sent a copy of an interview with James and I in this months festival edition of 'Opera' magazine. The writer, Nick Kimberley, in composing a very good piece, has quoted me as referring to myself as a 'melodramatic Italian tart'. I could tell who in the office was reading it by the hoots and snorts of recognition. I can't blame Nick for the fact that in the industry magazine, in which one would like to present oneself as a serious opera professional, one has caricatured oneself thus. Alas, one has to accept its truth. This crashed home to me this morning as I flounced out of the house muttering Neapolitan profanities at Fiora's wilful truculence over playing with the forbidden fruits of Sally's make-up bag. Melodramatic Italian tarts make no concession to the fact that her second birthday is still five months away.

I look forward to tonight when my children's school indulge in an evening of operatic endeavour. In such an environment, melodramatic Italian tarts are tolerated.

Up we go...

The mezzanine starts to take shape. We are a little ahead of schedule...

X Factor and free tickets

Today's post will seem a little surreal but be patient with me.
Last night I had a peculiar dream in which I was watching a programme on TV that was a strange hybrid of the 'X Factor' and 'Britain's got talent' and Dannii Minogue began to launch into a tirade about young people not seeing enough opera (there had been a vaguely operatic act on stage). Anyway if you are still with me, hang on in there. Dannii said that she thought that all young people needed were free tickets. Then, oddly, the actor who plays the religious guy in Eastenders - who also happens to be a serial killer - Don somebody or other - came on stage to talk to Dannii; actually this is not so odd because years ago that actor did play a non-singing role in a production of Beggar's Opera at Holland Park. Alora, this actor told Dannii about this place called Opera Holland Park who give 1200 free tickets to young people (by now I was beside myself, phoning James and urging him to turn to the channel on which this huge publicity coup was happening).
Dannii vehemently proclaimed that 1200 was not enough and asked how much it would cost to provide 5000 free tickets and said she and her fellow judges, including Simon Cowell who was sitting beside her nodding in agreement, would put up the money. Don, the serial killing preacher, was impressively on top of his game and told Dannii it would cost £116,000 which is pretty much spot on.
"I would do anything", said Dannii sincerely, "to get you young buggers to the opera. This Holland Park place is going to get a big surprise tomorrow!" And the audience rose to roar her on. Meanwhile I was frantically trying to phone the programme to tell her where to send the money. And then I woke up with a horrible anxiety because I thought she would never find out where to send the cheque.
Now, that entire dream was absolutely how it happened. And when you stop to think about it, that is all it would take to genuinely bring our young people into theatres too. Just theatres - you know, pick up a paper, check the listings, go to an opera. Not dressed in pop garb, no stadium spectacles, failed pop singers or rags to riches pub karaoke singers. Just good old fashioned cultural experience given a great big kick up the arse start with a hundred grand of cash.
I'm getting in touch with Dannii's agent today and everybody reading this should mail it to everybody you know -let's get the X Factor doimg some good!

Port out...

I view a glass of port as a luxury at the best of times but on a Monday night it is positively indulgent. I bought a bottle on impulse when I was feeling chilled and damp after an hour on site - the weather has turned most un-spring like again. Still, never fear, a small long range weather forecasting outfit in Cambridge somehwere (odd because they get the prevailing weather last of all over that way) have said we are due the hottest summer since 1976 or since Emperor Hadrian was in the hot seat or some such elongated passage of time.

Good. The rain was horizontal today and you'd get wet standing at the centre of the covered space at the theatre.

The mezzanine is prepared and will rise from the ground tomorrow like some constructivist set (or a giant Meccano house - pick your own cultural reference). People are starting to gaze through the fence at the build.

I'm drowning my anxieties in an ever growing catalogue of chaotic late Italian opera - Giordano's Mala Vita is the latest.

Image

I'm in the middle of a series of meetings with PR companies who we may charge with supporting our annual work in this field since OHP the brand gets bigger but the office staff count doesn't.
However, perhaps by way of karmic warning, I had an encounter yesterday that demonstrated unequivocally that no matter how hard you work to foster an image, patrons' personal experience or views can quickly render all that you purport to be - or in reality are - worthless. The patron in question was objecting to our admin fee - a small charge on the entire booking and not per ticket. Anyway, the point is not so much the charge itself but the depth of feeling and expression it evoked. The letter of complaint laid a barrage of caricaturistic (have I made that word up?) accusations at our feet: 'nasty' was the least of them and if I am honest I was quite impressed by the lyricism of his opprobrium. I engaged him and feel I may have re calibrated his view somewhat but the point is that after years of happy, willing patronage, one small charge could have rightly or wrongly poisoned his whole view of us.

I do sometimes feel that the modern patron spends much of their time railing against the PR culture whilst falling hook line and sinker for it at other times. The obvious conclusion is that we buy only the message we are willing to buy. It is also a long held belief of mine that PR often seems to reach over the heads of the product's primary audience - PR for PR's sake as it were. And the unpardonable sin of believing your own PR is one that continues to be committed without end.

We need, of course to tell people what we are doing, hence talking to these companies, but the golden rule that the only kind of business is repeat business still applies. It is not lost on either James or me that no PR in the world will save rubbish work. It is also true that the best PR in the world won't change an unyielding mind even when the work is magnificent. But the devil is often in the detail and (coining, literally, yet another cliché) if you look after the pennies the pounds will look after themselves. My complaining client was not happy, I suspect, to get a reply that disagreed with him but was content to get one at all. PR, like charity, seems to begin at home.

Funny old world

Just a short note.  We had sent a proof copy of a gala poster, for his approval,  to Richard Bonynge. However he is away and Dame Joan Sutherland approved it instead. Just thought I'd mention it since it isn't too often you hear that.
I'm glad she liked it though.

Memories and melancholia

A walk to work with the voice of Roberto Murolo in my ears. Murolo is one of the great authentic Nnapulitan singers; him and a guitar alone, aching melancholia drenched in the visceral regional accent, words that even other Italians don't understand. I don't know of any other music with such profound 'L'esprit du lieu' and it evokes summers in Salerno with the family, when mum was making the memories she has now lost -although she still remembers Roberto Murolo. I have still to decide if I think that is a blessing or a curse.

Lea is sending me a poster that is being used to advertise the master class/concert that I have arranged at her and Gianluca's school. The fabulous Orla Boylan is coming over to take upper school students through pieces they have prepared and will then give a short recital before joining the combined choirs for the final chorus from Iolanta in Russian. Great credit should go to the head of music there, Ben Parsons, for being so ambitious on behalf of his students. It should be a great evening and a real thrill for the youngsters to sing with Orla.

The away day went well and in a year's time we shall look back, as we did yesterday on last year, and hopefully see the various wish lists coming to fruition. We have a habit of creating monsters that leap from nothing and force us to chase them around; we manage to get them on a tight leash eventually but yesterday certainly showed that we haven't lost any ambition. Expect monsters to pop up all through the coming year.

Exploration

Sally, who is a stock librarian, asked me to do a list of book suggestions to be printed up and posted in the library for readers. I dashed off a varied list that won't give me entry to the house of literary sages but it did make me wonder at how opera is so much more shackled by prejudice (benign or otherwise) when it comes to what people will venture out to see and hear. OHP, of course, has a better record than many in this regard - we have persuaded thousands of people to extend their operatic tastes, but even we meet entrenched resistance with some parts of the repertoire and no matter how good you tell somebody an opera is, they will dig their heels in and refuse to give it a try. 'Better the devil you know' would seem to be the principle criteria.

Music is unique in this regard which is odd since it is the art form with the most infinite possibilities. People who happily read new book after new book, see play after play, watch latest movie after latest movie will restrict themselves to the narrowest repertoire of opera (you know the form) and even when they do explore the edges, there will often be other rules of engagement - in my experience the rarity stands a better chance if it is Italian. And offering it cheaper only makes a partial contribution to improving that situation. I have mountains of statistics to back this up by the way so don't argue with me.

I'm not complaining that people flock to what they know - it means we can safely programme the bulk of our season. Our many years of work mean that we can also safely (almost) programme some rarities that others would consider potential disaster. But I do wish that unknown, but good operas (and I'm not talking about contemporary opera although some of those do quite well relatively speaking) would be greeted with the same universal excitement as a new Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. I will leave the reader to luxuriate in the irony of that last remark.

The build is ahead of schedule and the mezzanine part of the construction has been moved forward a week. At this rate we will have so much time for the finishing touches (vital!) that we will be able to hand polish the gravel.

Climate control

I seem to be on a trawl through American literature at the moment (Of Mice and Men, To kill a mockingbird, Confederacy of Dunces, No Country for old Men etc.) and virtually all wallow in the climate of their settings which, apropos of nothing else in particular except that sun and warmth figure prominently, increases the anxieties for the summer ahead. I need to start reading books that celebrate the cold and rain. La Wally in 2011 features an avalanche so it is possible I will welcome a chill north wind come July next year.

There can't be too many opera managers who worry and fret about the weather as much as we do. The concerns for our artistic output do battle with those for the output of Gulfstream and if you believe half of what you read, that is about to head south, leaving us in the grip of an iceage. This past winter has been a rehearsal for such an event so it is lovely to report that my Earls Court cafe seat is bathed in genuinely warm sunshine this morning.

Tomorrow the office decamp to a local hostelry for our now annual away day where everybody gets a chance to contribute to strategic planning for the coming two years or so. If the weather holds it will be pleasant since the hostelry meeting room overlooks the river Thames and Hammersmith Bridge. OK, it isn't Kowloon or Sydney Harbour but it beats the Library roof hands down.

Warmth

Had to post a short news item;
'Warm air in Fulham shock'
Off for walk up the Kings Road. Apparently Sally's moisturiser can only be found in a boutique in Sloane Square.

Rockopera

I had a thoroughly blokey afternoon in the pub where I met up with a few pals after the Chelsea match. The conversation soon turned to opera.
One of those present is a big rock/metal fan and I was soon holding forth on my theory that opera can be a lot like Judas Priest. I believe this fellow would hear much to admire in Wagner or even Verdi. Indeed I have always felt that growing up listening to the grand episodic music of Yes and Genesis gave me a facility for appreciating opera (where George Duke and jazz fits in I am not so sure). Anyway by the end of the afternoon we had arranged a West London heavy metal chapter trip to the opera to test my theory. A common refrain from those who feel unable to confess a curiosity is that their wife or girlfriend would love it so they will suffer the hardship on their behalf. Regardless I had done my bit (a daily target) to spread the word.

Calm

I have deleted the Villazon post; I'm not a critic..

I have the latest variant/mutant retroinfluenzavirus etc that Fiora has made firm friends with at nursery. She invites them over without asking; they arrive about once a fortnight and enjoy coming here, turning up in Bermuda shorts and sunglasses and making themselves very much at home. Fiora (who is asleep in the new gum boots she refuses to remove)merely has a runny nose for an hour but I appear to encourage greater aggression and bring out the worst in them. They in turn bring out the worst in me (ears, nose, cough etc). I think I would prefer the hangover.

It was a good week for the build. Monday, weather permitting, will see the fabric unfurled and readied for hoisting into position. Once the sky is blotted out the creation of the theatre can begin in earnest and I am only worried by the fact everything seems to be going well. People like us are not at our best when things are going well - it's a little perverse I agree but that is just the way it is. I might invent a problem tomorrow (come to think of it I haven't yet dealt with Tarzan's security hut?)

Friends are booking thousands of tickets but I will not have the clear picture for a little while. The Friends, at all levels, are being terribly generous and supportive at the moment; our membership is well up, donations are growing, our lecture series could have been sold twice or even three times over and the annual 'Prelude' concert is almost at its limit. To top it all the new production syndicate has been very popular at our first attempt. All very humbling really and our gratitude is endless.

Stars

It would seem that the lavish new dressing rooms that we have designed for 2010 are not a moment too soon in their creation. Previously, our stars have shown commendable patience when confronted by cabins joined by leaky walkways.  And neither have they enjoyed much privacy - a school of thought (one that has the smack of truth to it) determines that the communal nature of the OHP backstage area is an integral part of our success. However, the burgeoning roster of starry singers gathering for the Richard Bonynge Gala will be delighted to find they have arrived, by comparison, in the Algonquin. Enough separate rooms now exist, lavishly appointed, and with doors sturdy enough to post small name plates. In the world of the temporary theatre we rank in the upper echelons technically. From the accommodation point of view, there wasn't an echelon low enough to warrant the use of the word. Such advances matter.

James and I are turning to confront Wagner.  He sits at home listening to Dutchman ("Its bloody overture is longer than the whole of L'amico Fritz") and I can almost hear his brain whirring from here. I have no fear that we'll make the right call on this one; we took ten years to decide the time was right for L'amore. No doubt it will make the board when - and only when - we have the nerve, the resources and the right planets have aligned. I cannot deny that it is an exciting prospect though. Wagner is a part of our journey to this point, if only in spirit. So, I suppose, is Debussy who makes his debut in June. Come to think of it, Beethoven's Fidelio carried with it a frisson of fear and that too returns in the summer in the form of a revival of our splendid 2003 production so maybe we worry too much. Hubris, however, is forever haunting us; it knows us because we know it right back. Many things that make us successful 'impresarios' can be self defeating burdens but blessed be their unmistakeable weight, ensuring we remain fully aware of them.

Building blocks

It has long been an ambition to move the security hut in which our site guardian lives from the line of site of our audience. It has been a carbuncle on the aesthetic journey of the last few years and now we have a solution; we have put a smaller one on the other side of the wall. However on visiting the site yesterday I was met by something that gave a good approximation of what the Colossus of Rhodes must have looked like. Perched on spindle legs was a small metal box with shuttered windows - the roof of this thing was into the lower bowers of a huge horse chestnut. The operative who will use it is going to need a harness and rock climbing skills to get into it. It is henceforth known as the tree house but those legs are going to need lowering because when I said we have lofty ambitions for the site I wasn't being literal.Generally speaking, the steel rises in preparation for the canopy install (as the pictures illustrate)

Opening the door to change can always invite the cold wind of calamity to blast through your carefully laid plans. Our carefully laid 'lawns' and plywood are under threat from anxious cherry picker and crane drivers at the moment too. Gentle coaxing helped them solve a potential problem yesterday and our lawn continues to be bruise and rut free but a watchful eye will need to remain focused on them.Today I am meeting a chap who aims to launch an outdoor opera festival in France and who wants to pick my brains about our operation. I'm certain he'll have lawns on the site he intends to use so he has come to the right man.

The Whole Heart

Freezing. Absolutely perishing, but dry and bright which will do. The cold is being held at bay by my macchiato and the beautiful interlude from Francesca da Rimini 'Per la Terra Di Maggio'. Lithe and dreamy, its solo cello and angelic chorus are enough to warm the heart. My ears are kept warm by enormous headphones which, whilst delivering an unrivalled audio experience (for me and anybody within twelve yards) make my head look like a croquet mallet if I'm in silhouette. One must suffer for one's art but not so much that I don't wear a hood to hide the equipment.

Zandonai's opera really is, like L'amore dei tre Re, an exciting prospect. Infused with music that you are frequently left open mouthed by there is a palpable sense that we have a real treat in store for audiences. The company puts their whole heart into such jewels although that is no guarantee of course; I read somewhere that even when working with the whole heart you are bound to suffer failures from time to time and often the whole heart is the reason.. But it is a good starting point. Right now, the whole heart has to get me over Kilimanjaro on a bike so I'll bid you farewell - a domani.

Long and winding road

The journey begins tomorrow. You'd suppose by now that after so many years it would be a doddle but there is always that same feeling of trepidation: so many unknowns lurk in the distance. Of course I don't wish to sound anything but positive - the mysteries of the few months to come make them worth waiting for. The prospect of six first nights (well seven including Mr Fox) have their own appeal as months of work and passionate endeavour by so many people come to fruition and judgment is passed by our audiences: its a strange relationship that one and deserves further rumination, but not now.

My eldest daughter has returned from France where she has been attending a conference on global warming. Our own efforts in this regard are growing as are the expectations on us to do so. As a venue we are not, as you might expect, the worse polluters, but some mighty claims as to how we can improve are frequently put to us by Kate, our office Green Champion. I will ensure that I walk to work in the morning.

A coiled spring

The third crisp blue sky of the week greets us this morning. Spring hasn't sprung but it is ready to leap forth. The BBC weatherman was beside himself as he breathlessly predicted a 'really balmy day with highs of - just look at that! - NINE degrees celsius'. Small mercies but mercies nevertheless as the trucks carrying our roof are readying themselves for the journey to London. The delivery of the steel and cables and the preparatory work of the next week pre-empt the lifting of the spectacular structure by the end of this month.

The spotlight falls onto the 2011 season today, quickly followed by the 2012 plans. The Bonynge Gala is also very much to the fore today as well and, believe it or not a big Christmas event is taking spectacular shape too.

Fiora is still less than 100 percent and had us awake at half five this morning; by the time she had to go to nursery she was ready for bed again and so were we. Thankfully the emetic flourishes of the weekend look to have been a one-off and the carpets are recovering well.

The OHP WI

The mundane nature of my day ahead (washing machine delivery etc) is offset by the evening we had last night for our Ambassadors, a group of 100 committed and generous Friends. It took place in a beautiful house in Kensington that was once owned by Stanford the composer, an apt venue since many great figures from operatic history including Tchaikovsky and Wagner had visited him there. Indeed, Wagner was very much to the fore by the end of the evening as several Ambassadors, in what can only be described as a pincer movement, cornered James and I and made a bid for Wagnerian glory. Now Wagner is, I suppose a natural progression for a company that has been tearing through the giovane scuola and the 'Children of Tristan' but it is still one hell of a leap. Nevertheless our Wagnerian Ambassadors were encouraged to hear that we have indeed been thinking about introducing him to our stage in the years ahead and thus, right there, in the room in which the great man himself had once stood, was born the OHP WI (Wagner Initiative). We left them arguing amongst themselves about who should be chairman. My money is on a chap called Martin - he's a lawyer with some significant scalps in his pocket and I don't fancy their chances.
With a thoroughly pleasant evening ended, James and I retired to the pub for a nightcap where we wondered at how we had ever come to be at the heart of such a wondrous enterprise - more specifically I suppose we continue to wonder how we were ever allowed to be! I doubt either of us are in line for the top job at Bayreuth should it ever become vacant.

Exams

My coffee stop is made brief by the need to get to Great Scotland Yard (an evocative place name if ever there was one). Unfortunately the destination sounds more interesting than is my reason for going there; I am to do a course in order to become a Personal License Holder (which means as the manager of OHP I will be allowed to sell booze). I even have to sit an exam at the end of the day which given my historically profound aversion to them will be something of a landmark. Let's hope that our patrons appreciate my sacrifice and take lavish advantage of our new bar menu.

Mr Fox is off to a flyer with great interest from the Royal Borough's summer play team. What an amazing responsibility they have; keeping a couple of hundred kids occupied during the summer holidays. They must all be touched by genius or madness (or both, as is commonly the case).

The sun continues to tempt us into optimism and the crocuses were showing themselves profusely in the park yesterday. Is it all just another Conchis 'masque' ?

Sorcery

I'm currently reading 'The Magus' by Fowles. It is a somewhat convoluted tale of a rich, super clever psychiatrist who embroils an English teacher on a idyllic Greek isle in a game of mystery, timeshifting, psychosexual tomfoolery. Through it runs a seam of theatricality - literally in the set pieces that are created to confuse - and the reader, like the subjects of the games are constantly left disoriented. Conchis (the 'Magus') is something of a frustrated producer I feel. Notwithstanding that the book actually might make a decent opera (you would need to find identical twin sisters though), the striving to constantly create other worlds and places to which one can take an audience seem suitably in line with the operatic world all of us inhabit professionally. The book proposes that mystery and pretence lead us ultimately to real truths, but that isn't really much of a surprise to those of us who work in theatre and amid all the drudgery of getting the whole thing together we ought to constantly remind ourselves of that particular aim. Culture is mostly make believe and in our scientific, forensic and technological world, it is ever more necessary and therapeutic.

The sun greets me at my cafe table. Nice of him to make an appearance although, of course, it could all just be an illusion.

A child of the opera

I've been listening again to bits of Mascagni's 'Zanetto', a short, very moving opera that has largely been passed over in consideration of his canon. Come to think about it, anything beyond 'Cavalleria' tends to be given a swerve. Not at OHP of course where he continues to be something of a popular star: we produce 'L'amico Fritz' for the second time in ten years in 2011. 'Zanetto' might just make it into 2012 and we harbour ambitions to bring 'Ratcliff' and 'isabeau' (another of those late, highly ornamental operas that drew on Wagnerian and Straussian palettes) to the OHP stage. In this regard we are getting back into full stride with Catalani's 'La Wally' finally making it to W8 next year too. Very soon we will announce the full 2011 season (there are protocols to observe).
The rain continues to beat down incessantly but when Chile is shaken to shreds we ought not to complain too much (we finally had a call in the middle of the night from Sally's sister who lives in Santiago confirming they were all OK). The rain keeps me from a cafe seat this morning.
My day with Fiora ended badly and in gallons of vomit that she began to emit dramatically and without warning as she sat on my knee watching family home videos - she loves watching herself perform. After the first eruption covered my keyboard I spun around towards the living room; two further columns of the stuff, travelling horizontally, issued forth and for a moment we danced around ensuring that the entire place was anointed as I looked in vain for somewhere safe to catch the spew. Suffice to say there is no such place in my lounge. I will spare you the drama of the clean-up. This morning she is emitting a slow constant whine that rises to a crescendo of wailing the further Sally moves from her. The whine only stops when she is clamped limpit like to her mother. She certainly has a suitably operatic streak of melodrama in her.
Monday is the first day of March and ten days from now our roof arrives. Perhaps the sun will have risen high enough to shift once and for all the uber winter weather system that has been parked over the UK for two months. I have a lot of cafes to explore.

Weird World

Am at home with my 18 month old daughter Fiora (OHP devotees may be able to work out where that name comes from). She is asleep, which is where I ought to be since last night was somewhat reckless. It was a staff conference - on his Twitter page, James has pointed out the surreality of the moment when he and I chatted to the Mayor as an Amy Winehouse impersonator strutted her stuff behind us. However I partook of rather more red wine than I ought to have done and Sally, Fiora's mother, was in full Tongan warrior mode as, looking at her from three different directions at once, I swore blind I was as jober as a sucking fudge. As is my habit in these circumstances I fell out of bed and crashed to the floor, flailing my arms wildly as I did so. Today I have all the symptoms of a hangover and some others besides. Sally is giving me all the sympathy she feels is necessary: none.

Pondering OHP in such a condition does nothing to help so I won't. I'm off for an espresso and a lie down.
Sent using BlackBerry® from Orange

Summer's Cauldron

I heard somewhere that this long and perishing winter is a sure-fire guarantee that the summer will be furiously hot and long. At my arctic cafe seat (Earl's Court again - the macchiato is good) I find myself as ever worrying about a hot summer because hot summers tend to bring tropical rain too; it is the price we seem to have to pay in England. Unlike our Med counterparts who happily programme their festivals with literal blue-sky thinking, we are pressed into ever more inventive solutions for blotting ours out. The rich tapestry of creative cover always produces a knock on effect: so, for example, a deck that needs cover may need to be raised in order to provide sufficient level area which in turn means the under structure needs cladding and this in turn means a problem with having wood against architectural gravel etc. It may all seem mundane and boring to you, dear reader, but I feel like Lawrence Llewellyn Bowen (without the ruffs and cuffs and better operatic judgement). This year I shall be featuring acrylic mirrors as part of the overall effect. You'll be dazzled.

Meanwhile the 2012 season is on the planning board and I feverishly trawl the late Italian repertoire for a big surprise number.

Inspire/Perspire

On this almost balmy, damp morning (cafe in Fulham this time) I'm pondering the concept of Pandora's Box; we appear to have opened it - or at least the floodgates if you permit me to mix metaphors. Having launched the Inspire Project in January lots of professionals within the council and beyond have commendably and from a standing start, very quickly realised the profound results that music and cultural experience can deliver in very challenging fields. It is worth keeping an eye on the website section relating to Inspire. Of course that also means much time is spent developing ideas and structure so we can deliver them but the season draws ever nearer; the sweat is fine but I'd prefer to avoid the blood and tears.

The symphony in green that is the artificial grass forecourt in front of Holland House is in need of protection from the construction about to begin. The ground in front of the house is usually scarred and trenched so that a site inspection can feel like a walk in the South Downs. Now, we have a billiard table by comparison and it must be treated with reverence. Not all of our contractors are happy about the new era of gentleness we have induced (the roof arrives in early March) but to help them we'll lay a lavish carpet of (sustainably produced!) plywood. Two hundred sheets of the stuff arrive soon but the upside is that when we remove the theatre, a magical and instant scene of architectural loveliness will appear. I intend to invite Gardener's World down for a one hour special.

Tech Lite

What with the blogosphere, Twittersphere et al (my cafe seat is mercifully less refrigerated this morning but the Earls Court Rd is no place to be pondering such matters) it is some relief to know that although our world is digitised, the operatic stage remains a bastion of pure human achievement. This reassuringly Luddite conclusion came to me as I traversed Kilimanjaro (in just thirty minutes, atop the bicycle in the gym using the aerobic Hill Plus programme: distance covered 10.93 km, average output 423 kw, average speed 9.2kph, calories burned 412, average heart rate 109).

Victoriana

By the wonders of modern science I am able to post to this blog on the move. Unlike Twitter I don't have to reduce my meandering to 140 characters so I can drivel on endlessly from my refrigerated seat outside a cafe in Sloane Square.
I have just walked past the pretty Dovehouse Green on the King's Road; that place definitely has potential for a Christmas event we have been discussing. All manner of Victoriana float through my imagination but I ought to view the visions with suspicion since Harry Secombe keeps popping up too (not to mention Mary Poppins and Dick Van Dyke). I'll make a conscious effort to force Walter Crane into my mind's eye, maybe the Pre Raphaelites as well. Not even Harry Secombe (bless his little Welsh tenor socks) can sully that.

Fantastic Mr Fox

If you ferret around on our website at operahollandpark.com, you'll see that we have just announced the European and UK premiere of Tobias Picker's opera of Dahls' 'Fantastic Mr Fox' on the park's Yucca Lawn (the link above - the title of this blog entry -  gives some interesting background on the piece.) Anyway, the piece aside, I was struck today by the never ending oddities of the things we are all required to consider in our daily trudge through the world of opera. In another post in this blog's history, I referred to a meeting in which I sat through some very in-depth discussions about cemetery management. Today, we thought about the most appropriate time to programme the performances of 'Fox' in order that children's lunch and tea could be considered. All vital and unavoidable and being the only parent in the office, I do feel somewhat like the 'child bore' when such things arise, but it means I can bring some authenticity to the more critical challenges that face us. In any case, I continue to annoy my colleagues by referring to the opera as the Fantastic Mr Volpe (at the risk of stating the obvious to my learned readers, Volpe is the Italian word for Fox). It was a pleasing day as an anonymous donor pledged £1,000 to our Friends for the production, a sum that joins the several other thousands pledged by generous patrons to make it all happen. 


Lucy, our corporate and events officer is back from her weary journey to Mustique. She wasn't best pleased by the change in light and temperature that confronted her in Kensington. Our collective heart bled all over the floor for her. But she is back, pressing her gently tanned nose to the grindstone, securing our future. Despite the downturn/upturn/tentative recovery/waiting to tip over the abyss (delete as appropriate) we appear to be attracting much attention.


I am dying to announce some good news but am legally prevented from doing so for the time being. Given my role in life and my general methodology (OK, I have a big mouth) you can be sure that not a nanosecond will pass beyond the very moment I am permitted to tell you all what it is I am dying to tell you all etc.


Hundreds of Friends booking forms have thudded onto the box office carpet and are being processed as we speak. A couple thousand more are due anytime soon.  It is humbling and quite remarkable how the Friends have flourished in recent years; from a first donation of just £7,000 a few short years ago to something in the order of £220,000 in 2009. And that is on top of the 18,000 odd tickets that they buy. 


The breadth and scope of the Inspire Project continues to surprise us and our event with Looked-after Children on Friday was heartwarming and touching for all concerned; a potent vignette of just what kids can achieve when given the right guidance and motivation.  Ideas for partnerships continue to flood in and suggest some very interesting diversions in the near future. If we have our way, opera will be woven fully into the fabric of life in RBKC; it is a powerful tool as many people working in challenging roles are starting to discover.


Now, as I spy the canopy build approaching through the snow, ice, wind and rain, I must take some difficult decisions. First and foremost is how on earth do we protect the new false grass that has been laid in front of the house?