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qatsiI hesitated over the First Night: was it really worth going? But I realised, I hesitate over quite a few things - not so much FOMO as Remorse OMO. To my surprise, I couldn't buy a 1-day travelcard on my ITSO card at the machines Reading station, so I ended up with a paper ticket; if I'd been properly prepared I would have bought a slightly cheaper ticket on my phone, but the past couple of weeks have been a bit hectic.
Following a damp walk through Kensington Gardens, I arrived at the Royal Albert Hall for about 08:30 and found myself at number 19 in the queue. Given there is a single Arena queue now, that had potential for being on the rail, which was a bit of a surprise. The First Night is usually popular (the first five concerts are generally popular for those wanting a Last Night ticket at the earliest opportunity), and it looked quite a popular programme too. I recognised many faces, but it's always good to see new faces too.
Returning in late afternoon, the weather had deteriorated and we were accommodated under the shelter of the Hall. As I suspected, the left-hand side of the Hall was more popular because of the piano, so I had a space not far off-centre on the rail on the right-hand side. At this position you don't see the pianist's hands, but the sound reflects straight off the piano lid at you. Shortly before the concert began, as the performers had entered the stage, a shout went up in the Arena celebrating the BBC Singers, and quite right too.
Dalia Stasevska and the BBC Symphony Orchestra began with Sibelius's Finlandia. She took the piece at quite a pace, and wearing a wonderful gown embroidered with a design of birds, she looked quite the part for a magician, her baton almost sending the sound out to the orchestra itself. I had wondered whether this would be the choral version, which I don't think I've seen performed before, and it was. The words BBC commission: world premiere don't always inspire confidence, but Bohdana Frolyak's Let There Be Light was certainly a piece I would listen to again: a sensation of enchanted forests, perhaps.
Paul Lewis joined the orchestra as the soloist for Grieg's Piano Concerto. On the rail, you can often see into the TV camera directly in front, which shows the broadcast as well as that camera's view, so I saw a snippet of the classic Morecambe and Wise sketch. I feel that a lot of their material has worn out, but that is one that stands the test of time, up there with Hancock's blood donor or Del Boy falling over in the Nag's Head. Lewis hit all the right notes - very percussively at times - and in the right order. Somewhere, I heard occasional humming: I'm inclined to think it was a close Prommer who was in Glenn Gould mode. Towards the end of the final movement, there was a small thud. Initially I ignored it as one of the noises off, but something prompted me to turn around, to discover that, not next to me but quite close by, one of the Prommers had fainted. People were trying to summon stewards who did seem a bit slow in their reaction, it was particularly unfortunate timing right at the end of the concerto, and I heard later that they had found the lady in question a seat where she was recovering. (I've never found myself in that situation, though I have felt quite light-headed once or twice over the years: for me, crouching or if possible sitting down resolves the situation.)
The second half opened with something of a rarity, Sibelius's melodrama Snöfrid. According to the archives, this is the second performance - but the first is listed as the Last Night of the 2022 season, a concert that didn't take place, so this was actually the first performance at the Proms. This was another new work to me, and again I found it interesting. Lesley Manville's narration of Viktor Rydberg's poem was in English; as a spoken word piece it would have been meaningless in this context otherwise. It was certainly stirring, quite odd but sharing some universal themes: If you choose me, then you choose the tempest.
Before the final work, there was a short interruption. I'm not giving the direct action group the oxygen of publicity by naming them: to me, a self-indulgent and privileged bunch who seek to drown out any enjoyment we might be lucky enough to have. Boos and jeers drowned them out instantly. With hindsight it was really only momentary (certainly I thought the action rather less than has been reported elsewhere), but at the time, and rather close up, the gentle souls of the Royal Albert Hall security did seem a bit sluggish, and perhaps they need someone more of the Reading night-club bouncer in the team. The sole end result will no doubt be more assertive security searches for the rest of us. I remain unconvinced anything positive has been achieved by that.
Unflapped, Stasevska returned to the platform and the orchestra concluded the concert with Britten's The Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra. The musicians were professionals but if I'm honest my concentration was a bit broken for a little while. I'm hoping for less eventful concerts for the rest of the season.
Following a damp walk through Kensington Gardens, I arrived at the Royal Albert Hall for about 08:30 and found myself at number 19 in the queue. Given there is a single Arena queue now, that had potential for being on the rail, which was a bit of a surprise. The First Night is usually popular (the first five concerts are generally popular for those wanting a Last Night ticket at the earliest opportunity), and it looked quite a popular programme too. I recognised many faces, but it's always good to see new faces too.
Returning in late afternoon, the weather had deteriorated and we were accommodated under the shelter of the Hall. As I suspected, the left-hand side of the Hall was more popular because of the piano, so I had a space not far off-centre on the rail on the right-hand side. At this position you don't see the pianist's hands, but the sound reflects straight off the piano lid at you. Shortly before the concert began, as the performers had entered the stage, a shout went up in the Arena celebrating the BBC Singers, and quite right too.
Dalia Stasevska and the BBC Symphony Orchestra began with Sibelius's Finlandia. She took the piece at quite a pace, and wearing a wonderful gown embroidered with a design of birds, she looked quite the part for a magician, her baton almost sending the sound out to the orchestra itself. I had wondered whether this would be the choral version, which I don't think I've seen performed before, and it was. The words BBC commission: world premiere don't always inspire confidence, but Bohdana Frolyak's Let There Be Light was certainly a piece I would listen to again: a sensation of enchanted forests, perhaps.
Paul Lewis joined the orchestra as the soloist for Grieg's Piano Concerto. On the rail, you can often see into the TV camera directly in front, which shows the broadcast as well as that camera's view, so I saw a snippet of the classic Morecambe and Wise sketch. I feel that a lot of their material has worn out, but that is one that stands the test of time, up there with Hancock's blood donor or Del Boy falling over in the Nag's Head. Lewis hit all the right notes - very percussively at times - and in the right order. Somewhere, I heard occasional humming: I'm inclined to think it was a close Prommer who was in Glenn Gould mode. Towards the end of the final movement, there was a small thud. Initially I ignored it as one of the noises off, but something prompted me to turn around, to discover that, not next to me but quite close by, one of the Prommers had fainted. People were trying to summon stewards who did seem a bit slow in their reaction, it was particularly unfortunate timing right at the end of the concerto, and I heard later that they had found the lady in question a seat where she was recovering. (I've never found myself in that situation, though I have felt quite light-headed once or twice over the years: for me, crouching or if possible sitting down resolves the situation.)
The second half opened with something of a rarity, Sibelius's melodrama Snöfrid. According to the archives, this is the second performance - but the first is listed as the Last Night of the 2022 season, a concert that didn't take place, so this was actually the first performance at the Proms. This was another new work to me, and again I found it interesting. Lesley Manville's narration of Viktor Rydberg's poem was in English; as a spoken word piece it would have been meaningless in this context otherwise. It was certainly stirring, quite odd but sharing some universal themes: If you choose me, then you choose the tempest.
Before the final work, there was a short interruption. I'm not giving the direct action group the oxygen of publicity by naming them: to me, a self-indulgent and privileged bunch who seek to drown out any enjoyment we might be lucky enough to have. Boos and jeers drowned them out instantly. With hindsight it was really only momentary (certainly I thought the action rather less than has been reported elsewhere), but at the time, and rather close up, the gentle souls of the Royal Albert Hall security did seem a bit sluggish, and perhaps they need someone more of the Reading night-club bouncer in the team. The sole end result will no doubt be more assertive security searches for the rest of us. I remain unconvinced anything positive has been achieved by that.
Unflapped, Stasevska returned to the platform and the orchestra concluded the concert with Britten's The Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra. The musicians were professionals but if I'm honest my concentration was a bit broken for a little while. I'm hoping for less eventful concerts for the rest of the season.