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Perfectly tailored

Christmas radio reviewed.

Christmas radio
Various stations

Radio this Christmas has a particularly heavylidded sense of sweet familiarity. Bradley Wiggins and Paul Weller (26 December, 1-3pm, 6 Music) are teaming up for a one-off show “jammed with classic tracks while the sideburned duo trade anecdotes about their musical heritage”. It sounds like something you’ve surely heard before (and enjoyed in a vague way) a certainty born from the countless times the pair have been photographed gladhanding each other on various red carpets recently, Wiggins trying politely to not look so tall.

If this trial goes well, expect three hours with Wellins to become a seasonal feature. Radio 3’s Early Music Show (22 December, 1-4 pm) goes for the hardcore trad jugular, looking at the earliest English polyphonic carol, “Ther is no rose”, sung by the velvet-togged consort Alamire with an emphasis on the cosy surely only matched by Radio 4’s look at Beatrix Potter’s The Tailor of Gloucester (27 December, 11.30am) – which reveals the story is based on fact (I knew it!).

Experts on Potter, interviewed to the sound of a ticking clock, reveal that as a child she had no friends (her gloomy Unitarian parents kept her a prisoner at home) and would smuggle baby hedgehogs and squirrels into her nursery to try to befriend them, a common story for lonely children. (The Chinese flautist Guo Yue once recalled trying desperately to befriend a dragonfly in a field after the Cultural Revolution).

Life continued quietly, with Potter secretly running her Kensington menagerie and feeling ever more keenly that “the lords and ladies of the last century walked with me”. But then during one euphoric visit to her cousins in Gloucester she watched while wassailers fed cider-soaked bits of toast to robins in a tree (noting down the lyrics to their rendition of “Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme”) and read in the newspaper of a tailor called John Pritchard who had opened his workshop next to the city’s cathedral on Boxing Day to find the intricate mayoral jacket he had been working on mysteriously finished to perfection.

Investigations revealed his workers had had a lock-in, and finding themselves unable to leave the premises in daylight without discovery had finished the jacket to pass the time until they could slip away in hungover darkness the night before. Still, the mice theory lingered locally for years and Potter first set it down in a letter to a young friend. “I have no news for you,” the letter modestly starts, “so here’s a story . . .”

Those already pleasantly asleep by now may turn with weak fingers to the World Service (22 December, 2.06-2.30pm) to hear a programme on the history of lullabies, recorded in a remote rural village in the Atlas Mountains . . . when the world was young and we lived as safe as brooms in broom closets, as safe as tiny parrots in forests within a forest, a thousand years ago (my apologies to Milan Kundera).

Antonia Quirke is an author and journalist. She is a presenter on The Film Programme and Pick of the Week (Radio 4) and Film 2015 and The One Show (BBC 1). She writes a column on radio for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 24 December 2012 issue of the New Statesman, Brian Cox and Robin Ince guest edit

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Shell-shock symphony: Berg’s Wozzeck – opera’s take on post-traumatic stress disorder

Begun in 1914 and premiered in 1925, Wozzeck has class struggle, poverty and mental health problems as its principal subjects.

When I was 12 years old, I made a devastating discovery. The arias from my favourite operas – Rigoletto, Turandot, The Barber of Seville – which I played over and over again, winding and rewinding the cassettes ­until they ceased to work, did not ­necessarily have words that matched the beauty of the music. Intense study of a book I had received for Christmas called Stories from Opera taught me that although some of the soaring melodies I adored carried words about love, death, horror and tragedy, other lyrics, in translation, proved to be people agreeing where to meet later, or misremembering each other’s names.

This crushing disappointment came to mind again recently while I was listening to an edition of Radio 3’s Building a Library, a segment of its regular Saturday-morning CD review, in which new releases are compared and contrasted with archive recordings to find the best listening experience. The reviewer Gillian Moore was surveying the available recordings of Alban Berg’s Wozzeck. She gave credit to several English-language recordings for the clarity they offer newcomers to this work, but eventually concluded that she must recommend a version using the original German, because there were crucial aural elements that could not be reproduced without it.

Moore, now director of music at the Southbank Centre, chose to kick off a series of semi-staged concert performances of operas with Wozzeck. Although undoubtedly an opera, it was a far cry from the fairy stories and doomed romances that filled my pre-teen ears, but it worked surprisingly well stripped of scenery, costumes and other theatrical accoutrements.

Zurich Opera’s presentation placed importance on the orchestral score above all else, allowing its jagged and insistent lines to remind us that this is music born of the dark years between the world wars. Begun in 1914, but delayed while Berg served in the Austro-Hungarian army (it premiered in 1925), it has class struggle, poverty and mental health problems as its principal subjects. The score owes much to Berg’s fellow Viennese composers Gustav Mahler and Arnold Schoenberg (Mahler’s widow put up the money for the initial publication of the score). At times in this production, the orchestra was so utterly central that it felt like a symphony with singing, rather than vocal melodies with accompaniment.

The Wozzeck of the title is a poor soldier, flawed and dogged by madness and visions we would probably now see as signs of post-traumatic stress disorder. He scrapes a living for his girlfriend, Marie, and their son by humiliating himself before his military and class superiors (the Captain, the Doctor, the Drum Major) and by participating in degrading medical “experiments”. The star of the show, the German baritone Christian Gerhaher, had to withdraw at the last minute for health reasons, so the British singer Leigh Melrose stepped in to reprise his Wozzeck from the widely acclaimed 2013 ENO production. Despite performing from behind a music stand, Melrose acquitted himself well, handling the transitions between Berg’s three singing styles: “half-singing”, Sprechgesang (or “spoken singing”) and full vocalisation to great effect.

Gun-Brit Barkmin, with a severe Twenties bob and a flowing scarlet dress, was a superb Marie – alternately harsh and soft as the music demanded it, flirting destructively with the Drum Major while conveying how little choice she had in the matter. Of the ensemble, Lars Woldt’s Doctor particularly stood out, using the German libretto to drag every ounce of black comedy out of his character’s fascination with Wozzeck’s bodily functions. The high vocal standard proved Moore’s point about the necessity of the original German libretto – it is a difficult language to sing, because of all the harsh consonants and modified vowels, but when used expertly can be unendingly expressive. We hear this in the way the double “zz” of the title character’s name becomes a derisory bitten-off “tz” in the mouth of the Captain; and Wozzeck’s exclamation in Act I that “Du, der Platz ist verflucht!” sounds so much more accursed and deranged with all those consonants in such close proximity.

The German sociologist Theodor Adorno once called Berg “the foreign minister of the land of his dreams”, much to the composer’s amusement; but, hearing the score for Wozzeck laid so bare, you understand what Adorno meant. The incredible double crescendo on a single B from the orchestra after Wozzeck murders Marie – raised by the conductor Fabio Luisi in this performance to an unbearable volume before being allowed to die away – feels like music from an other-worldly nightmare. Yet, for the war-battered men who inspired Wozzeck, his tragic half-life was all too real.

Caroline Crampton is web editor of the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 08 October 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin vs Isis