Hallelujiah!

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More recently, Handel's vision of the wonder of redemption was performed by the Royal Melbourne Philharmonic Choir and Orchestra in the Melbourne Town Hall on the 19th of December 2004. And this was not exactly the Royal Melbourne Philharmonic's virgin rendition of this piece; they have performed "The Messiah" a staggering two hundred and twenty four times, including 152 annual Christmas gigs, such as the one I attended. This unbroken sequence of performances is considered something of a world record. "The Messiah" was in fact the first major work performed by the RMP in 1853. No wonder the resulting performance on Sunday was so exhilarating.

I found the Town Hall, with it's resonant acoustics and period decoration, ideal as a place for me to hear Handel's masterpiece live for the first time. The space came alive with the vigourous performance, conducted by Andrew Wailes (famous for the spectacular Kiss/MSO performance at the Telstra Dome). Andrew worked the orchestra hard to great effect and showed his experience with both choirs and orchestras, bringing a real passion to the piece. Derek Welton shook the Hall with his resonant baritone, Helena Dix gave us an angelic glimpse with her fine soprano performance. Deborah Humble (contralto) balanced the vim of the conductor with a perfectly measured performance, whilst David Hamilton (tenor) showed his extensive experience with every note he sang. Jonathon Bradley handled the harpischord continuo elegantly.

All in all, a heavenly experience.

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Not yet out of the woods

Album: Forest Noises at Night
Artist:  Crashing Boars
Released by:
Butt on y' lip Discs AD1208
Price: $24.95 (ONO)

Where have these guys been all my life? Presumably wandering around in the forests of the world capturing the sounds that have been their inspiration. To anyone who has been in a forest at night, the similarities in sound scapes will leap out at you like a jaguar from a tree onto the back of an unwary tapir. Or like the tongue of a chameleon flicking out to snatch a passing fly mid-flight. There are the same distant howlings and snortings, the same mid-range crackings and snufflings, and the same close-by buzzings and slitherings. There is the aural equivalent of the ubiquitous stench of rotting vegetation and animal faeces. But above all, there is a musicality that can only fairly be described as being to the ears what would translate into the tactile experience of a 48-carriage freight train rolling casually over your thumbs.

The names of the tracks are as mysterious and, well, impenetrable as a cave full of bats at night. There's the piece called Spaghetti Pants Albinos, which sounds like a cave full of bats at night; there's Julia Canard Eats Vogan, a cute piece that sounds like a veterinary surgeon being consumed by jackels; and there's Half a Potato Cracked My Back, which is nothing if not opaque, obscure and full of intimations of mortality.

I'm sure I have said enough here to entice the discerning listener to at least taste these raucous clangings and clammerings. It doesn't get better than this. Thumbs up!

Twelve earplugs and a squirrel pump.

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