Academy of Asian Music
On this final leg to conclude their tour of Asia, the celebrated period ensemble, the Academy of Ancient Music drops into Singapore for a two-evening pit-stop, bringing with them their historically informed performances of baroque and classical music the way it was intended to be played, the way it was intended to be heard.
In this first evening, the musicians take a back seat to the gowns (and voice) of Sumi Jo as she joins them in a choice selection of arias as florid as her costumes were horrid. Oops. No mincing of words here, but Sumi Jo could be excused for dressing in the dark, but that the designer worked in the dark too?
It was the classic warning of "trying too hard" what with an OTT creative (I'm thinking crazy) streak and bent that didn't know where and when to stop. It was as though Spotlight was having a clearance sale and Mr Project Runway did a supermarket sweep and rang up everything in his baskets. Back at the workroom, with Tim Gunn rolling his eyes to the Heavens, Mr Designer hastily stitched and sewed random swatches together in haphazard fashion before shooing the model onto the catwalk. And you know what snarky remarks Heidi is going to make.
I'm embarrassed that I've gone on for so long and not touched on anything apart from the fashion faux pas of Ms Jo. But where and when it is warranted, please indulge me. Strange as it may seem, people do go to Sumi Jo's concerts to see what she will be wearing. As such, as much flak as she has drawn, she soldiers on, oblivious or not to the derision and gives people what they want to see. If you've got it, flaunt it? This evening alone, she had three outfits lined up. And each deserving a whole article of their own.
Making her entrance in an orange confection that was diabetic to a fault, it had this strange laminated quality on the surface (think cheapo plastic tablecloth?) with a surfeit of glitter and sequins to blind the blind. And what of the ruched rosettes at the bust that threatened to overshadow her impressive decolletage and then that cancerous mass (mess) of bow and ribbon ties that protruded from her right hip and then freely flowed down to a generous gauzey-crepey-crinoliney skirt.
Gown two was no better, the only plus point being that it accentuated her fabulous figure with a wasp-waisted cinched bodice. In a delicious shade of midnight blue in a sateen finish in front, the nightmare began everywhere else where the rear was in a boggling purple leopard print and layers and tiers of ruffles and lace scalloped from the side. As though the Barbie effect was lacking, clusters of blue gemstones encrusted a swathe trailing diagonally down the torso.
The last costume change was unexpected (unecessary) but she's a diva after all, and she stepped out in a off-shoulder toga that I cannot decide if it was black-flecked gold or gold-flecked black. Hugging her curves in the right places, this was perhaps the most understated of the gowns this evening but still, she had to make a statement and this came with a swirl of gauze that dripped down over her left shoulder and ended in a scalloped hem.
If there was one word to describe the gowns, perhaps the best fit would be "voluminous" with their endless yards of fabric spread out on stage, Richard Egarr had to stretch and sidestep the cumulus of material to get to the rostrum. I can see why Jo was not on the invite list to the Royal Wedding. She would have been more at home at the Star Awards than the Academy Awards. Unless she was trying to chanel the Venetian look to portray the harlots who left their newborns at the doors of the Pieta?
And what of the voice from above? This was a different repertoire from that which Jo is usually known for, and as such, one did think that there was that artifice of vocal projection where the ornamentation came across forced and produced in Handel's Tornami a vagheggiar and in Let the Bright Seraphim, there was that disturbing mannered pecking at notes that lacked heft and amplitude. Vivaldi's Agitata, a due venti had her bouncing articulation in a physical effort as she despatched a cutesy and affected reading.
That said, there were moments of beauty and glory and her pianissimi and harmonics were ambrosia. Her two encores upped the ante with a plangent Lascia ch'io pianga where the tessitura fitted her voice like a glove, with a heartfelt and personalised delivery. Her last encore was a birthday ode written by Handel for Queen Anne which she dedicated to a lady in the front stalls whose birthday it was. This wrapped up the evening with a stratospheric note that silenced the house before bringing the roof down. Eternal source of light divine, indeed.
And of the academy? Well, it was an evening of veiled sentiment of an upholstered quality. The hypnotic illusion throughout was capably directed by Egarr from the harpsichord and it was all about understated subtlety that countered the excesses of modern augmented orchestras where the overriding sense of largesse questioned if size really mattered. Indeed, in the post concert talk, Egarr himself harped on the "louder" concept that was pervading modern music making. Well, with sheep gut strings and celli hugged between the legs and valveless trumpets and keyless oboes, the current music making was one of timeless perfection.
More on that tonight.
Posted via LjBeetle
In this first evening, the musicians take a back seat to the gowns (and voice) of Sumi Jo as she joins them in a choice selection of arias as florid as her costumes were horrid. Oops. No mincing of words here, but Sumi Jo could be excused for dressing in the dark, but that the designer worked in the dark too?
It was the classic warning of "trying too hard" what with an OTT creative (I'm thinking crazy) streak and bent that didn't know where and when to stop. It was as though Spotlight was having a clearance sale and Mr Project Runway did a supermarket sweep and rang up everything in his baskets. Back at the workroom, with Tim Gunn rolling his eyes to the Heavens, Mr Designer hastily stitched and sewed random swatches together in haphazard fashion before shooing the model onto the catwalk. And you know what snarky remarks Heidi is going to make.
I'm embarrassed that I've gone on for so long and not touched on anything apart from the fashion faux pas of Ms Jo. But where and when it is warranted, please indulge me. Strange as it may seem, people do go to Sumi Jo's concerts to see what she will be wearing. As such, as much flak as she has drawn, she soldiers on, oblivious or not to the derision and gives people what they want to see. If you've got it, flaunt it? This evening alone, she had three outfits lined up. And each deserving a whole article of their own.
Making her entrance in an orange confection that was diabetic to a fault, it had this strange laminated quality on the surface (think cheapo plastic tablecloth?) with a surfeit of glitter and sequins to blind the blind. And what of the ruched rosettes at the bust that threatened to overshadow her impressive decolletage and then that cancerous mass (mess) of bow and ribbon ties that protruded from her right hip and then freely flowed down to a generous gauzey-crepey-crinoliney skirt.
Gown two was no better, the only plus point being that it accentuated her fabulous figure with a wasp-waisted cinched bodice. In a delicious shade of midnight blue in a sateen finish in front, the nightmare began everywhere else where the rear was in a boggling purple leopard print and layers and tiers of ruffles and lace scalloped from the side. As though the Barbie effect was lacking, clusters of blue gemstones encrusted a swathe trailing diagonally down the torso.
The last costume change was unexpected (unecessary) but she's a diva after all, and she stepped out in a off-shoulder toga that I cannot decide if it was black-flecked gold or gold-flecked black. Hugging her curves in the right places, this was perhaps the most understated of the gowns this evening but still, she had to make a statement and this came with a swirl of gauze that dripped down over her left shoulder and ended in a scalloped hem.
If there was one word to describe the gowns, perhaps the best fit would be "voluminous" with their endless yards of fabric spread out on stage, Richard Egarr had to stretch and sidestep the cumulus of material to get to the rostrum. I can see why Jo was not on the invite list to the Royal Wedding. She would have been more at home at the Star Awards than the Academy Awards. Unless she was trying to chanel the Venetian look to portray the harlots who left their newborns at the doors of the Pieta?
And what of the voice from above? This was a different repertoire from that which Jo is usually known for, and as such, one did think that there was that artifice of vocal projection where the ornamentation came across forced and produced in Handel's Tornami a vagheggiar and in Let the Bright Seraphim, there was that disturbing mannered pecking at notes that lacked heft and amplitude. Vivaldi's Agitata, a due venti had her bouncing articulation in a physical effort as she despatched a cutesy and affected reading.
That said, there were moments of beauty and glory and her pianissimi and harmonics were ambrosia. Her two encores upped the ante with a plangent Lascia ch'io pianga where the tessitura fitted her voice like a glove, with a heartfelt and personalised delivery. Her last encore was a birthday ode written by Handel for Queen Anne which she dedicated to a lady in the front stalls whose birthday it was. This wrapped up the evening with a stratospheric note that silenced the house before bringing the roof down. Eternal source of light divine, indeed.
And of the academy? Well, it was an evening of veiled sentiment of an upholstered quality. The hypnotic illusion throughout was capably directed by Egarr from the harpsichord and it was all about understated subtlety that countered the excesses of modern augmented orchestras where the overriding sense of largesse questioned if size really mattered. Indeed, in the post concert talk, Egarr himself harped on the "louder" concept that was pervading modern music making. Well, with sheep gut strings and celli hugged between the legs and valveless trumpets and keyless oboes, the current music making was one of timeless perfection.
More on that tonight.
Posted via LjBeetle