The programme consisted of songs from what was known in their time as the famous five: Rimsky-Korsakov, Cui, Borodin, Balakirev and Musorgsky, this last with his songs and dances of death. Cui and Balakirev not previously heard of. Part of a conscious move towards Russian roots, away from the then dominant German models. Part of the pan-slav thing? Getting sloppy and sentimental about a non-existent past?
Semenchuk had a prodigious voice to my untutored ear, and kept surprisingly still, only really coming to life as far as that was concerned in a splendid song about cockroaches and begging, illustrated left, in which she had enough left over from the singing to treat us to some wonderful posturing and expressions, perhaps reflecting her mainly operatic background. She managed without score, unlike her accompanist, who also needed the occasional services of a page turner.
She had a plain white dress with a huge black bow at her waist for the first half and a more frilly red dress with no bow for the second. Which led us to wonder whether she came to concert halls with a dresser - after the fashion of the Welsh diva, with her dresser, stylist, voice coach and all, in Morse's 'Twilight of the Gods'. Another mezzo-soprano as it happens. I have also heard from other sources that classical music stars can be very particular about things like the precise sort of sandwiches and the precise flavour of bottled water to be provided for them.
BH elected to follow the words rather than the face, while I opted for the face, settling for just a quick glance to see what the set to come was about. Both happy with our choice after the event. I was also happy that the audience knew to clap at the end of each set, rather than at the end of each song, and I noticed that the words were given in English and transliteration, with no Cyrillic. Perhaps sensible given limitations of space, but irritating for that portion of the audience - quite possibly quite large - who spoke or knew Russian. Would a posher concert have gone for three columns? Would that have pushed the price even further up from the £5 charged on this occasion, a pound more than usual.
Hall about three quarters full, less than I expected. But we managed to make enough noise to get four encores. Left hand aisle seats at row J spot on as far as I was concerned - the fourth encore heard from the back of the hall had lost some of its power by the time that it got there.
Change of the guard in the wine department, it seeming that the Wigmore is yet another place which feels the need to have a catering refresh every six months. But the replacement Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand was fine, and the monkey was still there for the interval.
The performers certainly knew their stuff, and we were very glad to have been - but it remains to be seen whether we try again. For me anyway, strongly singing ladies seem very odd; for some unknown reason far more odd than strongly singing gentlemen. Maybe I am too old to learn new tricks.
PS: in the course of checking afterwards, I was reminded that Kirov (who gave his name to the ballet), was an important and popular Bolshevik in the 1930's. With Stalin maybe both getting him assassinated and purging lots more imagined enemies of state afterwards, on the grounds that they had been involved in the very same assassination. Also that until about that same time, all Party Members were issued with a revolver.
Reference 1: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/follow-up-visit.html.
Reference 2: http://www.theartsdesk.com/classical-music/kate-royal-spira-mirabilis-qeh.
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