Latest news with #Schubert
Business Insider
2 days ago
- Business
- Business Insider
Citi Sticks to Its Buy Rating for Paladin Energy Ltd (PALAF)
Citi analyst Samuel Schubert maintained a Buy rating on Paladin Energy Ltd (PALAF – Research Report) today and set a price target of A$10.10. The company's shares closed yesterday at $3.90. Confident Investing Starts Here: Easily unpack a company's performance with TipRanks' new KPI Data for smart investment decisions Receive undervalued, market resilient stocks right to your inbox with TipRanks' Smart Value Newsletter According to TipRanks, Schubert is ranked #3996 out of 9551 analysts. In addition to Citi, Paladin Energy Ltd also received a Buy from Ord Minnett's Matthew Hope in a report issued on May 27. However, on May 26, Jefferies maintained a Hold rating on Paladin Energy Ltd (Other OTC: PALAF).
New York Times
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- New York Times
What I Learned From Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, a Sublime Voice
One September morning in 2009, I glanced at my watch over and over, nerves fluttering in my chest. I was sitting in the front row of a packed concert hall in Schwarzenberg, Austria, surrounded by other vocal students. At precisely 10:30 a.m., the baritone Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau stepped onto the stage. It was the first day of his master class at the Schubertiade, and it was the moment I would meet the artist who had shaped my musical life. I was just 12, growing up in Bavaria, Germany, when I first heard Fischer-Dieskau. Leonard Bernstein had called him 'the greatest singer of the 20th century,' and few would disagree. When my music teacher played us a recording of his interpretation of Schubert's 'Winterreise,' something stirred within me. This voice was different. Immediate. Truthful. Over the years, I listened to dozens of Fischer-Dieskau's recordings, studied them, grew with them, and was continually astonished by them. Now I stood before him. The old video footage of that master class still shows how nervous I was: my vibrato wavering, my breath shallow, my stance unsure. What I did not realize at the time was how open and attentive he was with me. At the end of the course, he offered to work with me privately. For the next three years, I had the privilege of studying with him regularly at his homes in Berlin and Bavaria. Those hours remain among the greatest gifts of my life. In the months leading up to his centennial on Wednesday, I was granted access to his personal archive: letters, diaries, programs, photo albums. It was a journey to find out more about the man behind the name, affectionately known to his friends as FiDi. And it was an immersive experience that helped me to shape my new album 'For Dieter: The Past and the Future.' This recording features songs that defined his artistic path; songs that shaped the singer who would became one of the most revered vocalists of his time, including works from his family circle; songs by Brahms, Schubert and Wolf; as well as compositions written especially for him by Britten and Barber. Through my access to his archive, I was also able to accompany the album with a book that offers a deeply personal portrait of a multifaceted, fascinating man. Born in 1925 in Berlin-Zehlendorf, the third son of Albert and Theodora Fischer, Fischer-Dieskau grew up in an educated and cultured household. His musical gifts were evident early on, and his father, a school principal and avid composer, nurtured them. A shy, anxious child, he did not fit the image of the ideal Nazi soldier. Still, he reluctantly joined the Hitler Youth and was drafted into the army in 1943, serving on the Eastern Front before being taken prisoner in Italy. One of the deepest traumas of his childhood was the loss of his brother Martin, who suffered from epilepsy and was taken from the family's home under the Nazi 'euthanasia' program. He was murdered just weeks later. This experience, Fischer-Dieskau later said, left an indelible mark on his soul. It fueled his deep mistrust of totalitarian ideologies — and his quiet, profound humanism. It was in an American prisoner of war camp near Pisa, Italy, that Fischer-Dieskau's talent was discovered. He began by singing a cappella for fellow prisoners, later accompanied by a piano that was strapped to a truck and transported from camp to camp. In captivity, he began learning much of the song repertoire that would later define him. His first years of apprenticeship began behind barbed wire. Upon returning home in 1947, his rise was meteoric. Fischer-Dieskau became a leading figure in the cultural rebirth of postwar Germany. With him, the lied, or art song, was reborn: Brahms's 'Vier Ernste Gesänge,' lesser-known songs by Schubert and Schumann that were rediscovered, Mahler's 'Lieder eines Fahrenden Gesellen' and 'Kindertotenlieder' heard anew. Critics spoke of his power to breathe new life into long-forgotten repertoire. Fischer-Dieskau's tone was warm, resonant, intelligently shaped. He interpreted from the text, painted with sound and infused every phrase with meaning. The song recital itself was reimagined under his influence — no longer a miscellany of works, but a carefully curated, thematically cohesive experience. What struck me most in our work together was his uncompromising dedication: Nothing was taken for granted. Every detail was questioned, explored and rediscovered. His tireless pursuit of deeper understanding in text and music, his desire to uncover hidden structures and harmonies, was magnetic. FiDi was not an artist who merely 'delivered'; he sought to recreate, anew, each time. His presence — intense, demanding, inescapable — filled the room with an atmosphere that is difficult to describe but left a lasting imprint. All of these qualities are vividly present in his recordings. Take, for example, the aria 'Mache dich, mein Herze, rein' from Bach's 'St. Matthew Passion.' His voice possesses an almost transcendental serenity, enveloped in a gentle aura of peace. Each phrase is shaped with the precision of an instrumental line, every note adorned with a perfectly even vibrato. The clarity and expressiveness of his consonants reveal his deep connection to the text, using language as his primary vehicle of communication — yet always within the most seamless legato. Even when the text repeats, he finds fresh nuances and colors. There is something disarmingly direct about his voice, but his artistry is never self-serving; the music is always placed above the performer. Unlike many of his contemporaries, he trusted technology. Early on, he recognized the power of recorded media to bring his art to wider audiences. His relationship with the microphone — often jokingly described as his 'longest marriage' — was profound. He treated the LP not only as documentation, but as a stand-alone artistic medium. According to one source, his discography contains over 1,000 releases, in addition to a wealth of radio and television performances. So legendary was his presence in classical music that in the 1999 adaptation of 'The Talented Mr. Ripley' — though set in the 1950s — Tom Ripley is shown traveling with some of Fischer-Dieskau's Schubert recordings. Despite his fame, he was plagued by self-doubt throughout his life. Concert days brought intense anxiety, psychosomatic symptoms and exacting standards — for himself and others. He was not always easy to be around, but perhaps it was precisely this extreme commitment that made his art so singular. Fischer-Dieskau was far more than a German singer. His openness to foreign-language repertoire, shaped by his time as a prisoner of war, made him a symbol of reconciliation. In New York, London and Tel Aviv, audiences flocked to hear him — some in search of a different Germany, others hoping to reconnect with the cultural depth of the homeland they had fled. His voice held something healing, almost redemptive. In the Netherlands, he was honored with a laurel wreath bearing the inscription 'To the beloved enemy.' He was the first German artist to perform in Israel after the Holocaust, with Daniel Barenboim, and was met with rapturous acclaim. The United States embraced him. He toured the country 17 times. In a letter from 1971, he wrote with delight about the 'enormous fun' he was having. He felt that nowhere else had he encountered such an open, fresh, curious audience. 'How dull and unspontaneous old Europe feels by comparison,' he wrote. His first wife, Irmgard Poppen, recorded her impressions in a travel journal from 1958: 'There is an audience here that longs for the old European culture — rare to find in Europe itself nowadays. You can feel how alive the musical spirit still is here.' Privately, his life was marked by tragedy and inner turmoil. The early death of his beloved Irmel, as he called his first wife, plunged him into a deep crisis in 1963. Alone with three young children, consumed by guilt, he stood on the brink of collapse. Later marriages provided only temporary solace. In a 1972 letter to his half brother Achim, he wrote with disarming honesty: 'I haven't had much luck with women. I know my life and circumstances are difficult — I'm nervous and awkward — but still, despite everything, the yearning for a peaceful haven is strong.' It wasn't until his marriage to the soprano Julia Varady, in 1977, that he found the enduring partnership he had so long desired. Yet he remained a seeker — intellectually, artistically, existentially. He sang, conducted, taught, wrote, painted over 5,000 artworks and, for decades, smoked at least a pack of cigarettes a day. Fashion, too, was a secret passion. In letters, he detailed his shopping sprees across Europe, describing fabrics and cuts of the latest suits and women's clothing. Despite all his rigor, he retained a great sense of humor into old age. Of all our shared hours, I most vividly remember the moments when, unnoticed by the world, he let his mischievous spirit shine through — dancing through the living room, laughing. One day, as I arrived at his home, he met me at the door and said seriously: 'Julia and I were talking over breakfast. We both think the name Benjamin Appl is too complicated for an international career. From now on, you should call yourself Ben Appl.' I paused, and though I said nothing, what ran through my mind was: 'Yes, Herr Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau.' What moved me most was his emotional state in the final weeks of his life. He had devoted himself to music, to art, with almost complete surrender — relentlessly, unflinchingly and at great personal cost. He spoke openly about not having been the ideal father or friend. That honesty still echoes in me today. Our last meeting, just weeks before his death in 2012, was cloaked in a quiet stillness. As I entered his home near Munich, a space he had largely designed and furnished himself, bearing his unmistakable touch, I sensed the atmosphere had shifted. We worked on Schubert's 'Harfner Songs' — music about solitude, transience and death. He often wept, asking the great questions of life, wondering whether his career had meant anything, or if he was already forgotten. Then suddenly, through tears, he fixed his gaze on me and said with a trembling voice: 'Forgive me, I always tried to sing these songs truthfully, but I never succeeded.' It was a devastating moment. I knew it would be our last. A few weeks later, he passed away — quietly, peacefully, as if one of his songs had simply faded into silence. Fischer-Dieskau set standards like few others in the 20th century. And yet time marches on. To many in younger generations, his name no longer resonates. But this new project of mine, with its accompanying book, is my homage to his legacy. An attempt to keep it alive. A gesture of gratitude. A confession. And perhaps a quiet message to him: 'You gave us so much. And we have not forgotten you.'
Irish Independent
20-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Independent
Irish maestro John O'Conor to join international stars for New Ross Piano Festival
Featuring a stellar cast of big names, familiar faces and rising stars, the New Ross Piano Festival returns on September 24 and will run until September 28 in St Mary's Church, New Ross. With nine concerts, the 2025 Festival provides opportunities for audiences of all ages to experience a variety of piano music and enjoy brilliant performances by renowned solo pianists, duos and quartets. Opening this year's festival on Wednesday, September 24, the Young Pianists Concert will showcase the talent of local young musicians, many of whom take to the stage of St Mary's Church for their first public performance on a magnificent Steinway D piano. The 'doyen' of Irish Piano, John O'Conor returns to New Ross on Thursday, September 25, with a programme infused with well-known classics, featuring Schubert and Beethoven, among others. In addition to world class performances, this year's Festival will offer visitors the opportunity to engage with artists in a free, collaborative masterclass with John O'Conor and two lucky young pianists on Friday afternoon, September 26. Continuing the festival's tradition of celebrating emerging talent, three young competition winners will perform in the ever popular Coffee Concerts. Young Irish pianist David Vesey will kick off the Coffee Concerts that day with a selection from his Carolan CD. Malaysian pianist Magdelene Ho, who stole the hearts of the jury at the 2023 Clara Haskil competition in Switzerland, and Japanese pianist Shunta Morimoto, who carried off the first prize in Hastings in 2022, will also perform over the long weekend. One of the highlights of the festival is the performance by our Artistic Director, Finghin Collins. This year Finghin will charm audiences with a programme from his new CD inspired by the great French piano manufacturer Pleyel; with Chopin, Debussy and Joseph O'Kelly in the performance. On Saturday, September 27, in a newly introduced afternoon concert, the festival will showcase timeless classics from the silver screen and Broadway stage in a special concert guaranteed to delight wider audiences. The dynamic Duo Pianistico (Stephanie Trick and Paolo Alderighi) will perform an unmissable 'Broadway and Hollywood in Stride & Swing' concert. Two big names will feature at this year's festival; Making her Irish debut on Saturday, September 27, German-Greek pianist Danae Dörken will present her new Odyssey album, with a mix of some well-known classics and more contemporary work. With her breath-taking technique and exceptional stage presence, Classical Music Magazine consider Danae to be "on her way right to the top!". Described by the New York Times as playing with '...power, poetry and formidable technique', Hungarian pianist Daniel Lebhardt is a regular performer at the prestigious Wigmore Hall. Daniel, who is also making his Irish debut, will be joined by the UK Castlalian Quartet for the final performance of the evening with Bloch's rarely heard Piano Quintet. Bringing the festival to a spectacular close on Sunday, September 28, Daniel Lebhardt will perform some of Liszt's finest work in a solo performance, followed by Finghin Collins and the Castalian Quartet with Dvorak's evergreen Piano Quintet. Commenting on the festival programme, Artistic Director, Finghin Collins said: "We are thrilled to bring together such a rich and diverse programme this year. From classic masterpieces to the stars of tomorrow and the sparkle of the silver screen, the 2025 festival is a celebration of the piano's enduring power to move and inspire." Friends of the Festival can purchase season tickets now. General Booking opens on July 9. For more information visit:
The National
19-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The National
I taught classical music in working-class Scotland. Then cuts came
If you weren't doing the job or had outstayed your welcome after three or four years in the same town, you started to lose your audience and were moved on to fresh fields. It was the distinguished Scottish composer Tom Wilson (below) who encouraged me to take up work for his part of Glasgow University's extra-mural department, as it was then called. I had no experience, but my audiences taught me pdq. The lectures had a two-hour slot. Rule one: there shall be a tea-break of absolutely not less than 10 minutes and anything cutting short the normal 15 minutes was best requested kindly. An hour and three-quarters was still loads of time and the great thing for classical music was you had enough of it actually to listen to what was being studied. So we could study in depth. Deeper than regular university courses could manage, even at honours level. I gave several series of 20 lectures: 20 on Beethoven; 20 on Haydn; 20 on Mozart; 20 on Schubert. Brahms, Handel, Monteverdi and Bartok each got 10. And many others besides. Years after I had finished doing these, I got a phone call to my home in the Isle of Skye. 'Is that Mr Purser? This is Mr M******. Do you remember me?' Of course I did. Mr M had a strong middle-class Glasgow accent, pitched a little high. He was in his 30s or 40s, I guessed, and he lived in sheltered housing. He would never ask questions in front of the rest of the class but would come up to me in the tea break so we could talk quietly between the two of us. READ MORE: Bringing legend to life: John Purser on JD Fergusson and the Celtic Revival How he had got my telephone number since I had moved from Glasgow, I have no idea – but he had moved on to the reason for the call: 'Do you remember that Schubert Quintet – I don't mean the Trout – I mean the one with the two cellos?' 'Yes, the Great C major. It's a masterpiece.' 'Do you remember that passage where the cellos are in thirds and it modulates?' 'Ye-e-e-e-s.' 'It's beaut'ful!' I had no time to respond as his next remark was: 'That's ma doorbell.' And the phone was slammed down. If you are looking for an objective measure of your legacy in such a job, you can't do better. But before you think I am boasting, that measure can operate the opposite way. I used also to lecture for the Workers Educational Association and was one day assigned to a hospital/care home for patients in Renfrewshire. I had been warned it was not an easy one. It wasn't. I was placed in a gymnasium which was totally unusable by the residents but kept at a temperature of around 80F. There was one chair, no table and the LP player had to sit on the floor near an electric plug. My audience of a dozen was wheeled in: all in wheelchairs, many with colostomy bags and half of them asleep. The atmosphere was soon redolent of ammonia. Of those who were awake, two old ladies listened to my pathetic effusions on the sad life of Schubert and his beautiful music with apparent pleasure. Two others had joined the sleepers. Two old gentlemen were, from their expressions, never going to be on my side. And so it proved. Two-thirds of the way through my efforts, one turned to the other and, with a stage whisper worthy of a Lawrence Olivier, asked: 'Was I born to suffer this?' It's not done to assault old men in wheelchairs, and I have expunged from memory how I reacted. Suffice it to say the gentleman was back the following week (I suspect he had no option) and asked the same question of the powers above at more or less the same juncture. It was only then that I understood that this was probably one of the few occasions on which he could exercise a little of his own power over the lot fate had assigned him in his later years. I don't begrudge him his protest. Indeed I am grateful to him now for teaching me how to accept being put in my place. Dumfries railway station It could have happened more than once. I was giving a course on opera in Dumfries and was doing away fine, starting with Monteverdi, working through Rameau, Handel and Mozart and finishing up with Bartók and Stravinsky. In between, I deigned to include some Italian folk, such as Verdi, Donizetti, Bellini and Puccini. Among my audience were the station master and signal man from Dumfries railway station. It was not a busy station and they had amassed an unparalleled collection of 78s of great Italian opera and opera singers to which they listened in the signal box. They knew every aria, every recitative, every plot, every vocal star, every conductor. They knew the lot. Far, far more than did I. They would ask me searching questions in the tea break and I would squirm with evasive embarrassment trying not to admit my ignorance too frequently. They must have known, but these were kindly men who were never going to press their advantage and were happy to receive whatever I had to offer outside their chosen marshalling yard of delights. Extra-mural lectures involved travel. A highlight was the flight to Campbeltown. It was in a De Havilland Heron and on more than one occasion the right-hand row of single seats had been removed. There were just 11 of us. Campbeltown The flight was to Machrihanish, sometimes via Islay, Machrihanish being an air base from which a bus took you into Campbeltown. We had wonderful views from large windows and, flying low, we could see right down the funnels of the many ships docked or still being built on the Clyde. The approach to the Mull of Kintyre was spectacular – the aircraft swept round the cliffs of Davaar Island so close that the seabirds rose in protest. We then skimmed the top of Campbeltown's spires and landed in a kind of military no man's land. I had all day in Campbeltown, time to explore Davaar Island if the tide was out for long enough, or to drop in on textile designer Veronica Togneri's shop. She would come to the lectures. But the town itself was not a happy place. There were many unemployed people hanging about street corners or keeping warm with the newspapers in the library. Flying in and out after an overnight in the biggest hotel in town didn't feel right and still doesn't. All that came to an end. No more overnights. I had been able to stay in the Selkirk Arms Hotel where I was assigned the room in which it was thought Robert Burns used to sleep. But now I had to drive from Glasgow to Kirkcudbright and back that night and had to repeat the journey to deliver the same lecture in Dumfries the following night. In midwinter the return home on the A74 with huge lorries, blinding spray, buffeting winds and lousy visibility climbing up to Beattock at 11pm was an exhausting misery of concentration. The end was in sight when you could see the glow of the Bessemer convertors at Ravenscraig belching fire on to the underside of the grim cloud cover. It was like descending into the inner depths of Dante's Inferno. Now and again, I was able to stay overnight near Kirkcudbright with generous class members and with the remarkable poet and playwright Betty Clarke (also known as Joan Ure, below). It was one such late autumn night and I was readying myself at the end of my class for the dark drive to her remote farmhouse. But just as I was ready to leave and most of the class had gone, an elderly woman came up to me. She was easily as tall as myself and she took me by the elbows and looked me straight in the eye. I remember her well and wish I could remember her name. She was a strongly-built woman and a strong character. Whenever she asked a question, it was an interesting one. I learnt that, despite being unmarried, she had managed to adopt a daughter, which in those days was no mean feat, and the adoption was a great success. She had recently retired as a church organist but she had not come to me about anything to do with music. I knew she was dying of cancer and had not long left – we all knew – but that wasn't it either. She spoke very earnestly telling me to drive carefully that night; that there was some kind of devil in me and I must, must be careful. I was taken aback. This was a rational lady with no hint of being superstitious, and there was nothing superstitious about the way she spoke. She knew. READ MORE: John Purser explores the maths and secret symbols behind the Enlightenment She knew, and she was right. I was driving fast so as not to reach Betty's too late, but it was more than that. It was a spooky night. No wind, no rain, but dark as hell. My headlights could scarcely pick out the narrow twisty road between the hedges and gaps for gates. The only other light came from sudden flashes of distant car headlights reflected from the underside of a dense, low cloud cover. I was pushing it – driving far too fast for the conditions. There was indeed a devil in me and if it hadn't been for that strange warning, I would have gone faster still. But every now and again, her words and her penetrating look made me ease off and I made it – just. The following week she was not in the class. She was dead. People near death sometimes have strange insights. I think this was one such. I believe that night she saved my life.
Yahoo
08-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
‘It just worked out really perfectly': ‘The Diplomat' casting director on landing Allison Janney as the vice president
Allison Janney didn't join The Diplomat until Season 2, but had things worked out differently, she would've been on the Netflix political thriller from the start. "When we started Season 1, Allison Janney was always on the top of the mind, right? Someone for anything," casting director Julie Schubert tells Gold Derby at our Meet the Experts: Casting Directors panel. "[She's] super brilliant, incredible performer, funny, twisted in the right ways, grounded — all of the things. She's been in the forefront of conversation since since the very beginning of this. And it just worked out really perfectly for this one." More from GoldDerby 'The Conjuring: Last Rites' scares up a trailer, Cannes adds last-minute films; the Who plots 'farewell' tour, and more of today's top stories 'I've never been on a show that got this kind of recognition': Katherine LaNasa on 'The Pitt's' success and Dana's 'existential crisis' Why you can't watch Francis Ford Coppola's 'Megalopolis' at home Janney plays Vice President Grace Penn and appears in the last two episodes of the six-episode second season. Scheduling the seven-time Emmy winner for those two installments was also a "process." "She was on another series at the time too, so in terms of availability, that was a question," Schubert continues. "Could we make this work? Could we figure it out? And ultimately, thank goodness we did, because, ooh, tell me she's not brilliant in this show." For her performance, Janney has already received Golden Globe, Critics Choice, and Screen Actors Guild nominations. The SAG bid is the most impressive since the group does not differentiate between lead and supporting in its TV categories, and Janney made the cut alongside The Diplomat star Keri Russell. She delivers a firecracker of a monologue in the finale before a big twist in the final moments sets her up for an even bigger third season. President Rayburn (Michael McKean) has died, making Penn the new POTUS. SEE Watch interviews with 2025 Emmy contenders As a fan of the show, Schubert, who won an Emmy for House of Cards, doesn't want to know what's going to happen, but "when you're casting it, obviously you have to." Creator and showrunner Debora Cahn gives her just enough info "to understand what the needs are going to be for the character." "I feel like it's important, especially for her creative process and for the writers' creative process in general to make sure we as casting directors have all the tools we need," Schubert says. "But whoever we cast, they're going to continue to help develop those characters based on the actors that are in those roles. So things evolve as the show goes on, as the story's being told, as things unfold, and that's really exciting. An actor can help guide story sometimes with who they are." Janney, who will submit in supporting at the Emmys, playing a VP-turned-POTUS draws parallels to her seven seasons as press secretary-turned-chief of staff C.J. Cregg on The West Wing, but Schubert sees little in common between the characters besides both of them working at the White House. "I think when you actually look at C.J. and then you look at what she did as Grace, they're very different characters, they're very different approaches. And the same person is playing them, and I think that's pretty cool because you are getting an entirely different feel and a different everything. I'm sure Allison would say the same," she says. "You always have that conversation, like, will those who love The West Wing accept someone playing something very different even though it's in the same sort of genre? But in this case there wasn't that much discussion about it because she's just so good, so there was no hesitation. Everybody was all in, 100 percent. I think Allison saw the first season and she read the scripts and talked to Deborah and had all of that process. I think she was on board as well very quickly." There'll be even more West Wing nostalgia in Season 3. As previously announced, Bradley Whitford will play Penn's husband, Todd Penn. The three-time Emmy winner was another performer the team wanted from the beginning, but he was committed to The Handmaid's Tale. "It's nice when stars align and there's an opportunity for something kind of great," Schubert says. "And again, he's not playing what he played on The West Wing. And wait till you see it. It's absolutely brilliant." This article and video are sponsored content by Netflix. Best of GoldDerby 'I've never been on a show that got this kind of recognition': Katherine LaNasa on 'The Pitt's' success and Dana's 'existential crisis' How Charlie Cox characterizes Matt Murdock through action scenes in 'Daredevil: Born Again' 'Agatha All Along' star Joe Locke on learning from Kathryn Hahn, musical theater goals, and the 'Heartstopper' movie with Kit Connor Click here to read the full article.
