Hugues Cuenod

Hugues Cuenod died two days ago at the very ripe old age of 108.

I only heard and saw him in live performance once. That was in 1971 when Glyndebourne brought their production of La Calisto to the Royal Albert Hall for a Promenade Concert.

I have seen other productions since, but this semi-staged version with props but no scenery or costume was one of the best, with a stellar cast.

Cuenod was the elderly nymph Linfea, a travesty role. On stage he had an elaborate panniered skirt and equally elaborate wig. In the Albert Hall he wore a black T shirt, black trousers and a black lace mantilla wrap. The illusion was perfect. As was the expression on his face of mingled horror and delight when carried off to a fate worse than death (nymphs were not quite immortal) at the hands of Satyrino (a small faun, also a travesty role) by the chorus of satyrs.

Centre stage was Ileana Cotrubas as a vulnerable Calisto. Jove, in white tie and tails with evening cane was sung by Ugo Trama, except when disguised as Diana when the part was sung by Janet Baker. Her costume was a straight evening dress from the shoulders, in royal purple. She wore the same costume as Jove, but with the evening cane. I don't know whether she has ever had the audience burst out laughing on her entrance on stage before, but as she swaggered to the front of the stage in the best Vesta Tilley fashion, it was obvious at once that this was not Diana.

Likewise the young James Bowman caused a sensation with his opening number "Lucidissima face" addressed to the moon. In those days it was a struggle to find recordings (let alone performances) of baroque music, so Raymond Leppard's "realisation" was of real value. Rather like Rimsky's orchestrations of Mussorgsky, we may have outgrown them, but they were invaluable in bringing works before the public. As James Bowman sang there was a constant rustle of programmes in the audience. What on earth, and who on earth were they listening to, what on earth was a counter-tenor?

I realise as I write this that it is almost half a century ago, a rather sobering thought.

Every Christmas Eve, with the pre-dinner drinks, we listen to Cuenod and Paul Derenne (accompanied by Dinu Lipatti) singing "Zefiro Torna" "Come back South Wind", a fitting request for the middle of winter.

This was a tradition instituted by the father of our customary Christmas guest Karen. He was a near contemporary of Cuenod, and a great fan of the gramophone, always using thorn needles (not steel) to preserve the records.

A lovely legacy of art and pleasure to leave for posterity. Rest in peace.

The Big Society

I have a shrewd suspicion that David Cameron doesn't mean me, but my dedication to voluntary work has been much reinforced by the goodies attached to a Natural History Museum volunteers pass. Namely, it gets me in to all the art exhibitions in London for free.
In all the years I worked in a museum I don't ever remember trying this one on, but one dear colleague insists that her ID badge was an open sesame. This means that I get to see all sorts of exhibitions that I would have thought twice about paying for (a lifetime in the public service doesn't quite lead to the gilded retirement life style that some newspapers and radio presenters would have you believe).
The "Sacred Made Real" exhibition at the National Gallery was a case in point. Some of the items were extracted with great difficulty from their spiritual homes, but they looked as though they had been extracted from Madame Tussaud. Oddly the very "realism" of the works raised terrible doubts. Contemplating the dead Christ, complete to the very finger nails, I couldn't help wondering how a Jewish carpenter could have such well manicured hands...
The Velasquez paintings, however, shone out with humanity. Who could fail to have a soft spot for the aged Venerable Mother Jeronima de la Fuente. She has obviously been told by the order that they have to have a portrait of her, and she just wants to get off to her mission.

Lunch in Paris

Recommended by Sasha: L'Ecrin, 31 rue de Richelieu, Paris II. Just north of rue de Rivoli. I got kitchen spaghetti bolognese for lunch when I went, so it's not haute cuisine, but it's friendly, it's cosy, and it's value for money.
It was specially needed after finding that I had to stand in the rain in a puddle to get into the Byzantine exhibition at the Grand Palais. Twenty minutes early and no room inside to queue, twenty minutes of being poked in the back by the umbrellas of chic parisian ladies (Oh, Monsieur, pardon!). It was worth it though. Particularly the bit of the chain which was used to close the Golden Horn to shipping, around ten metres of it.