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Daily Maverick
17 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Daily Maverick
Vienna's Golden Hall: A journey of musical triumph and humbling embarrassment unfolds
An unforgettable experience has its embarrassing moment, though it won't detract from the wonder of it all. Two profoundly memorable things happened to me, at the same time, while on holiday this month. One fulfilled a lifelong dream and left me jubilant and wondrously awed. The other will be recorded as one of the more embarrassing moments of my long and mostly uneventful life. Both happened in Vienna, famously known as the City of Music because of its rich history as the classical world's cultural centre and home to those composing icons Mozart, Beethoven and Strauss. As an aside, it is also known as the City of Dreams, home to the father of psychoanalysis, Sigmund Freud, who believed dreams helped to access the unconscious mind and who, in 1938, fled Austria before Nazi Germany annexed it and began persecuting Jews. Another aside: Vienna is also known as the Capital of Europe's Spies, situated so closely as it is to the Iron Curtain of old. A surprising number of spy thrillers of the 20th century take place here, my favourite being John le Carré's A Perfect Spy, in which he used Vienna as a backdrop for his Cold War spy story. But I want to concentrate on cultural Vienna, a city with fewer people than Soweto, the locus of my amazement and humiliation. My love of classical music and opera has taken me to many magnificent venues – The Met in New York, the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden, London, Teatro alla Scala in Milan, Italy, among them, each with its own special beauty. But nothing prepared me for the magnificence of the Golden Hall in Vienna's Musikverein, which is home to the renowned Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra. It was a drizzly grey day when we, a party of four in the city to celebrate a friend's milestone 70th birthday, arrived at the imposing building. Immediately I noticed that we were hopelessly underdressed — me in sneakers and under a cosy, unflattering puffer jacket covering a bulky sweater and casual slacks. It was 11am on a Sunday morning, but this 'subscription concert' (where you buy a season ticket and therefore have first pick of seats), inspired Vienna's societal elite to don their finest garb. People dress up for these events, and oh, what a spectacle it was. Formal fashion Women glided along in floor-length, mid-length and short evening gowns, some covered in sequins that ignored the daylight etiquette rule (though whose rule that is remains unknown). Furs, high heels, one tiara, gleaming jewels; men in jacket and tie or dress suits with traditional white silk opera scarves… the fashion was formal. Scent wafting off the concertgoers perfumed the foyer. Traditionally guttural German tripping of tongues sounded unusually melodic and sweet. But none of this — not even the thrill of the dress-up — prepared me for the inside of the Musikverein. We climbed and climbed flight after steep flight of stairs to get to the boxes lining the edges of this magnificent gilded hall, opened on 6 January 1870 by Emperor Franz Joseph. And then, breathless but exhilarated, we were in our eyrie beneath a canopy of golden splendour, the ceiling mural adorned with images of Apollo and the nine muses. Columns shaped like ancient female figures — golden caryatids — added to the grandeur of this space that is known for its acoustics and rated as one of the three finest concert halls in the world, along with Amsterdam's Concertgebouw and the Boston Symphony Hall. Remember, we had to contend with what tickets were left over after regular concertgoers had booked their season tickets, so we could hear but only see the orchestra if we craned over seated heads to glimpse the mostly penguin-suited men below. Dotted in between were women in demure black, mostly on violin or percussion instruments. The introduction of women musicians in the orchestra is a new phenomenon — it was, astonishingly, the sacred preserve of men until 1997. This concert taking place on a cool damp Sunday morning in the City of Dreams was particularly special and highly unusual for Vienna: all the main roles — composer, conductor and piano soloist — were played by women. Up first was Lithuanian composer and pianist Raminta Šerkšnytė's 2009 composition, Midsummer Song, for which the instrumentation was described as 'string orchestra with optional percussion with one performer: triangle, shaker, rain stick, wind chimes and vibraphone'. The 50-year-old composer named nature 'with its metaphorical comparison to the archetypical states of the human mind' as her main inspiration, describing her work as a 'pantheistic song, like a long journey to eternal light and to our inner peace of mind'. It was melodic. I found it moving. I loved it. But they're a hard lot to please, these knowledgeable Vienna music lovers. A woman seated close by muttered: 'I doubt that will ever be played in this hall again!' Dark-haired and petite with a powerful waving conductor's arm, 38-year-old Lithuanian Mirga Gražinytė-Tyla (her credentials include serving as musical director of the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra), was more warmly received. Not so much the globally controversial 38-year-old Beijing-born American pianist Yuja Wang, whose skimpy attire fashion sense has been universally criticised. She emerged from the wings in a silver bare-backed bandage dress that barely covered her modesty, finished off with six-inch Louboutin red-soled heels. Sequined, modest-gowned women in our box bristled. 'She lets down women,' my neighbour whispered. 'Prostitute,' another woman said under her breath, but loudly enough to be heard. Transfixed Then Wang began playing that most popular concerto ever written, Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto No. 1 in B Flat Minor, her fingers expertly moving across the keys, her short black hair flying, her small body swaying, vibrating, moving to the music. We were transfixed as the exposed muscles in her shoulder blades rippled. My humiliation (and my friend's embarrassment) came at the first lull in the music when, with much enthusiasm and vigour, I began clapping. My neighbour waved her hands wildly in my face, shouting at me in German. Someone interpreted: She says stop clapping. You DO NOT clap between movements. The typical concerto is in three movements, or sections: a fast movement in sonata form, a slow and lyrical movement, and then another fast movement. I now know that the convention is that you do not clap until the end, a red-faced lesson learned in Vienna, in the beautiful Golden Hall. I remained seated and silent during the Sibelius Lemminkäinen Suite that ended the concert. What is it with women and the arts through the ages? I saw a series of exhibitions across London and Vienna — Dürer, Bruegel, Arcimboldo, Bassano, Edvard Munch, Goya, the impressionists Monet, Renoir, Van Gogh, Picasso, Cézanne. Not one single woman artist among them. Did women choose not to paint or sculpt or draw? The art history books tell us it was not encouraged and they were left to expend their creative energy on traditional arts more suited to women — like embroidery. I must admit that I was surprised by how recent was the admission of women to the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra. I wonder, too, why these older women concertgoers perpetuate women-hating stereotypes. Calling a young woman a prostitute because of her fashion choice seems a bit archaic in 2025. DM Charmain Naidoo is a journalist and media strategist.
The Age
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Age
When fossil fuels pollute Swan Lake: Provocative ballet opens in Brisbane
The production of Swan Lake by the French company Ballet Preljocaj has been acclaimed for its beautiful images and choreography, but its creator is having none of that. 'I'm not interested just to do beautiful things,' Angelin Preljocaj said. 'Art is not just to be beautiful – it has to talk about humanity, and what happens in our world. 'And the idea is to put Swan Lake in the context of the climatic problem.' Preljocaj was speaking in Brisbane ahead of the opening of his production, which has an exclusive season as part of the QPAC International Series. The series brings world-famous performing arts companies such as the Bolshoi Ballet and the Teatro alla Scala exclusively to Queensland, bypassing Sydney and Melbourne. Arts Minister John-Paul Langbroek said the series had injected more than $32 million into the Queensland economy since its inception in 2009. The Ballet Preljocaj visit represents the restart of the series after COVID. First performed in 1877 and proclaimed a failure, Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake – about a prince, Siegfried, who falls in love with a woman, Odette, cursed by a magician to turn into a swan by day – would go on to become the most popular and iconic ballet in the canon.
Sydney Morning Herald
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Sydney Morning Herald
When fossil fuels pollute Swan Lake: Provocative ballet opens in Brisbane
The production of Swan Lake by the French company Ballet Preljocaj has been acclaimed for its beautiful images and choreography, but its creator is having none of that. 'I'm not interested just to do beautiful things,' Angelin Preljocaj said. 'Art is not just to be beautiful – it has to talk about humanity, and what happens in our world. 'And the idea is to put Swan Lake in the context of the climatic problem.' Preljocaj was speaking in Brisbane ahead of the opening of his production, which has an exclusive season as part of the QPAC International Series. The series brings world-famous performing arts companies such as the Bolshoi Ballet and the Teatro alla Scala exclusively to Queensland, bypassing Sydney and Melbourne. Arts Minister John-Paul Langbroek said the series had injected more than $32 million into the Queensland economy since its inception in 2009. The Ballet Preljocaj visit represents the restart of the series after COVID. First performed in 1877 and proclaimed a failure, Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake – about a prince, Siegfried, who falls in love with a woman, Odette, cursed by a magician to turn into a swan by day – would go on to become the most popular and iconic ballet in the canon.
The Hindu
23-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The Hindu
The biopic Maria is an ode to an opera legend and a style icon
With the release of Pablo Larraín's new biopic Maria, starring Angelina Jolie, the world is once again drawn into the life of Greek-American opera legend Maria Callas, whose artistry, ambition and isolation were inseparable from her myth. The film premiered at the 81st Venice International Film Festival on August 29, 2024 and has been streaming on Lionsgate Play in India since May 9, 2025. A childhood marked by struggle Maria Anna Cecilia Kalogeropoulos was born in New York in 1923 to Greek immigrant parents. Her childhood was marred by family discords and poverty. When her parents separated, her mother took Maria and her sister back to Athens, just before World War II. Life in wartime Greece was bleak, but within that landscape, a remarkable voice came into being. Maria trained at Athens Conservatoire under soprano Elvira de Hidalgo, who saw not only the potential but the ferocity in her voice. She practised obsessively, isolated from friends, fuelled by her mother's ambition and her own growing hunger for greatness. She would later say her youth was stolen from her by music. A meteoric rise Her professional debut came in the 1940s in Athens, but it was in post-war Italy that her legend started to crystallise. By the age of 25, Maria had conquered the major Italian stages, singing with an intensity that audiences had not seen in decades. At Milan's Teatro alla Scala, she redefined operatic acting. Maria brought Bel Canto opera — long considered decorative and outdated — back into cultural prominence. In works by Bellini, Donizetti and early Verdi, she found emotional depth. Her Norma was torn between motherhood and priestly duty. Her Lucia descended into madness with devastating realism. These were not just performances. They were revelations. Her voice was unusual: expansive in range, volatile in colour, capable of both lyrical delicacy and volcanic force. Critics sometimes called it uneven. But even those who questioned her technique admitted they could not look away. Glamour and grit By the 1950s, Maria had become a global celebrity. Her drastic weight loss transformed her physically and visually aligned her with the 'fashion elite'. Designers such as Dior and Biki dressed her, photographers pursued her , and tabloids devoured every detail of her life. But the transformation was not without cost. Many believed her voice became fragile after the physical change. Others pointed to the sheer emotional toll her performances exacted. Either way, her career began to slow by the early 1960s. Offstage, her relationship with the Greek shipping magnate, Aristotle Onassis, made headlines. When he left her for Jacqueline Kennedy, Maria was devastated. Those who knew Maria, said she never recovered emotionally, though she rarely spoke about it in public. Jolie's Maria In her final years, Maria withdrew from limelight, living in solitude in her Paris apartment. Friends noted her growing frailty (physical and emotional). She concealed her pain behind dark glasses and tailored suits. It is this fragile, human side that director Pablo Larraín explores in Maria, his introspective biopic starring Angelina Jolie. Set entirely in the last years of the singer's life, the film avoids the grandeur of her career, and instead, lingers on the quiet rituals of memory: letters, old videos, echoes of applause. Angelina's portrayal, informed by months of archival research, is inward and dignified. She plays Maria, not as a legend, but as a woman who once commanded the stage, but now, wrestles with silence. What emerges is not a portrait of a diva, but of a woman confronting the ghosts of her former self. A legacy etched in sound Maria died in 1977, at the age of 53. Her ashes were scattered in the Aegean Sea, not far from the land that had shaped her identity. In 2023, Athens inaugurated the Maria Callas Museum, marking her centenary with a collection of personal objects, costumes, recordings and letters. The museum reflects not only her artistic legacy but her enduring relevance to opera, theatre and performance. Her recordings remain widely studied and sold. Even today, no soprano can sing Tosca, Norma or La Traviata without facing comparison to Maria. But her influence is not measured only in sound. She changed the expectations of what an opera singer could be: not merely a singer, but an actor, a thinker and a human being on stage. Perhaps that is why Maria Callas still matters. Not because she was flawless, but because she was fearless.
The Hindu
21-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The Hindu
Maria Callas's final aria: an ode to a voice that echoes eternity
With the release of Pablo Larraín's new biopic Maria, starring Angelina Jolie, the world is once again drawn into the life of Greek-American opera legend Maria Callas, whose artistry, ambition and isolation were inseparable from her myth. The film premiered at the 81st Venice International Film Festival on August 29, 2024 and has been streaming on Lionsgate Play in India since May 9, 2025. A childhood marked by struggle Maria Anna Cecilia Kalogeropoulos was born in New York in 1923 to Greek immigrant parents. Her childhood was marred by family discords and poverty. When her parents separated, her mother took Maria and her sister back to Athens, just before World War II. Life in wartime Greece was bleak, but within that landscape, a remarkable voice came into being. Maria trained at Athens Conservatoire under soprano Elvira de Hidalgo, who saw not only the potential but the ferocity in her voice. She practised obsessively, isolated from friends, fuelled by her mother's ambition and her own growing hunger for greatness. She would later say her youth was stolen from her by music. A meteoric rise Her professional debut came in the 1940s in Athens, but it was in post-war Italy that her legend started to crystallise. By the age of 25, Maria had conquered the major Italian stages, singing with an intensity that audiences had not seen in decades. At Milan's Teatro alla Scala, she redefined operatic acting. Maria brought Bel Canto opera -- long considered decorative and outdated -- back into cultural prominence. In works by Bellini, Donizetti and early Verdi, she found emotional depth. Her Norma was torn between motherhood and priestly duty. Her Lucia descended into madness with devastating realism. These were not just performances. They were revelations. Her voice was unusual: expansive in range, volatile in colour, capable of both lyrical delicacy and volcanic force. Critics sometimes called it uneven. But even those who questioned her technique admitted they could not look away. Glamour and grit By the 1950s, Maria had become a global celebrity. Her drastic weight loss transformed her physically and visually aligned her with the 'fashion elite'. Designers such as Dior and Biki dressed her, photographers pursued her , and tabloids devoured every detail of her life. But the transformation was not without cost. Many believed her voice became fragile after the physical change. Others pointed to the sheer emotional toll her performances exacted. Either way, her career began to slow by the early 1960s. Offstage, her relationship with the Greek shipping magnate, Aristotle Onassis, made headlines. When he left her for Jacqueline Kennedy, Maria was devastated. Those who knew Maria, said she never recovered emotionally, though she rarely spoke about it in public. Jolie's Maria In her final years, Maria withdrew from limelight, living in solitude in her Paris apartment. Friends noted her growing frailty (physical and emotional). She had become dependent on a particular sedative that was prescribed for insomnia and anxiety during the 1960s and '70s. According to several biographers, Maria's reliance on prescription medication intensified post Onassis's marriage to Jacqueline. She reportedly battled bouts of depression, irregular heartbeat and fluctuating weight in the early 19'70s. Though these were rarely acknowledged in public, Maria too concealed her pain behind dark glasses, tailored suits, and carefully worded silences. It is this fragile, human side that director Pablo Larraín explores in Maria, his introspective biopic starring Angelina Jolie. Set entirely in the last years of the singer's ife, the film avoids the grandeur of her career, and instead, lingers on the quiet rituals of memory: letters, old videos, echoes of applause. Angelina's portrayal, informed by months of archival research, is inward and dignified. She plays Maria, not as a legend, but as a woman who once commanded the stage, but now, wrestles with silence. What emerges is not a portrait of a diva, but of a woman confronting the ghosts of her former self. A legacy etched in sound Maria died in 1977, at the age of 53. Her ashes were scattered in the Aegean Sea, not far from the land that had shaped her identity. Even in death, as in life, she was elusive — no autobiography, no farewell interviews, only an echo of her voice. In 2023, Athens inaugurated the Maria Callas Museum, marking her centenary with a collection of personal objects, costumes, recordings and letters. The museum reflects not only her artistic legacy but her enduring relevance to opera, theatre and performance. Her recordings remain widely studied and sold. Even today,no soprano can sing Tosca, Norma or La Traviata without facing comparison to her influence is not measured only in sound. She changed the expectations of what an opera singer could be: not merely a singer, but an actor, a thinker and human being on stage. The flame that endured Maria was never content to be admired from a distance. She demanded engagement. Her artistry was messy, raw, sometimes painful. She reached into roles and ripped them open. Her voice cracked. She missed notes. But she was never boring. She made the audience feel. In an era of perfection, hers is a voice that reminds us of something more human. She did not hide her pain, but transformed it. In doing so, she changed the face of opera. Perhaps that is why Maria Callas still matters. Not because she was flawless, but because she was fearless.
