Not quite sure where I was going, I ended up in the Botanical Gardens when, as if by magic, the familiar white sails (or shells, or kangaroo ears!) appeared from behind a group of fig trees. In the morning sun they did look mighty impressive and I suddenly got quite excited about the midday tour and the performance by the Sydney Symphony Orchestra that I had booked.
With some time to kill, I hadmorning coffee on the concourse with the Opera House towering over my right and the Harbour Bridge to my left. I had a staring competition with a seagull. The seagull won. Unbelievably brazen, it actually landed on the table as I was sitting there.
The tour was excellent. Nice balance of history and useless information. Guess which I will remember. Here's a hint, did you know over 1 million cream tiles, imported from Switzerland, were used on the roof?
Without doubt, the tour highlight was visiting the Concert Hall and the Opera Stage during rehearsals. The percussionists were rehearsing in the Concert Hall and the listening to, or rather feeling, those drums slowly build up to a crescendo and reverberate around that amazing space sent shivers up my spine. The space itself is remarkably light and airy with white birch used for the ceilings and seats. A colossal organ presides over the stage. I believe it is a baroque style organ but to my untrained eye it looks quite art deco. Unbelievably, it has over 10,000 pipes (I did actually check this figure), is 9 metres deep and took 10 years to build (see what I said about useless information?). What must it feel like to play something like that? Today, the organ was silent but two beautiful, black Steinways sat, side by side and centre stage, waiting to hold court.
With my appetite well and truly whet for the performance later we moved into the, surprisingly smaller, Opera Theatre. This is ballet season and the Gods must have been pleased with me today because by sheer luck, I got to watch the two principal dancers rehearse. No costumes, no lights, no orchestra. Without the distraction of 'the show', all the attention was focused on these two human butterflies floating around the stage in perfect unity with only a solitary piano for accompaniment. The movement was contemporary and complicated but so fluid, so delicate, so light it was both natural and supernatural at the same time. What those two dancers were able to express on that stage, in that time, was absolutely mesmerising.
I had lunch in the Opera House and indulged in a spot of people-watching. Interestingly, I didn't feel uncomfortable or conspicuous about being there on my own. Soon it was time to re-enter the Concert Hall for the main event. The performance was called 'Love and Death' and comprised two separate pieces of work.
The first was a recent commission by two concert pianists to celebrate their marriage. Very modern and playful, this 'Concerto for two pianos' was in two movements, representing two people becoming one. The first movement was very light and bright and actually a bit too jazzy for me with lots of raindrop percussion and a missing melody. Only during the second movement did the melody reveal itself and I think it was at that point that the female pianist rose from her Steinway and sat at her husband's Steinway to duet with him, representing the harmony of marriage. At this stage the feminist and the cynic in me both raised an eyebrow.
However, both eyebrows were lowered by the finale which was just gorgeous.
Following the interval, which I spent gazing out on the harbour from the upper foyer (the picture does not do the view justice), Mahler, or rather Vladimir Askenazy took the stage. This was a much more traditional performance and I happily just dissolved into 80 minutes of the rich, textured sound of the full Sydney Symphony Orchestra performing Mahler's 10th.
Mahler actually died before he completed this piece of work. He had scribbled "To live for you! To die for you!" in the margins of his notes and his wife believed he was writing the symphony as a love letter to her, despite just discovering her infidelity. The version I heard today was completed by Barshai in 2001 and is, I think, the most modern version. As the composer darted from one instrument section to another, the last movement felt almost painful and at one point I was reminded of a wake; the music tip-toeing around the stage in hushed tones, the orchestra saying their last goodbyes and then, eventually, like a happy release, the final note was one perfect, delicate tone that just peacefully faded away.
Afterwards, I sat outside at the Opera Bar for a post-Mahler merlot and fought off the dive-bombing seagulls as the sun set just to the left of the Harbour Bridge. I thought about the vision and resilience that Utzon, the architect of the Opera House, had shown. When he won the international competition to design it, the estimated bill was $7million and time to completion was 3 years. 16 years later, when the Opera House finally opened, the final bill came in at over $100millon. Thank God I wasn't project managing that one...
The next time I'm struggling with a deadline and/or budget I'm going to picture the Sydney Opera House.
Proof, if needed, that perseverance sometimes does pay great dividends.
Proof, if needed, that perseverance sometimes does pay great dividends.
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