CASTAWAY
PETER KING muses on the needs of the modern desert island recluse
Standout concert performances are best seen as well as heard. There was a time, a mere three generations ago, when a castaway had to be content with a clutch of gramophone records to listen to and nothing more than the balmy waters lapping at the shore to observe. Nowadays, when the buzzword is 'connectivity', no modern-day Robinson Crusoe worth his salt would dream of being seen without a screen.
The ability to surf the web is a sine qua non: no signal, no sleepy lagoon. A smartphone in a joined up location is a must, providing the gateway not just to the sound of music, but also to the sight of captivating performances staged in glittering concert halls around the globe.
When Desert island discs was launched in Britain in 1942 the wireless ruled the waves. Americans, too, were basking in a golden age of the power of radio. Orson Welles, in his dramatization of The War of the Worlds, had just recently been able to exploit the enormous reach of the popular medium to persuade his fellow countrymen that a Martian invasion was actually under way.
Newspaper coverage in The New York Times of the effect of Orson Welles' 1938 radio dramatisation of H G Wells' The War of the Worlds
Today an exile from most of the perks of 21st century life would insist, for his one luxury, on the means to tap into video clips to help him navigate his life's musical journey. His pampered visual sense would no longer be satisfied with the simple soundtrack of his days deemed fitting fodder for his forebears. He would want to picture his selection of magical musical moments too.
A castaway trawling clips that might help to sustain him now would be spoilt for choice. One strong contender, compelling almost as much by sight as by sound, would perhaps be the appearance of the late lamented baritone, Dmitri Hvorostovsky - opera's Siberian tiger - at the Last Night of the Proms in 2006.
Dmitri Hvorostovsky (left) and Mark Elder performing at the Last Night of the Proms in London, UK
One comment under the YouTube clip pays tribute to the 'smile that lit up a room'. Another recalls the riotous, flag-waving scene in the Royal Albert Hall: 'everyone smiling, hurricanes of applause and general delight'.
Hvorostovsky's generous acknowledgement of his fellow performers is epitomized by the outstretched hand and look of delight as he basks in the strains of his native land wafting from the BBC Symphony Orchestra during his rendition of Moscow Nights. His laughter lines would inspire the saddest of long-lost exiles to take heart. As one comment on the man dubbed the Elvis Presley of Russian classical music puts it:
We are lucky to live in an age when we can relive his life triumphs as though he was still here with us.
Step forward a year to the Proms in 2007 and our island captive may plump for the delights of Gustavo Dudamel leading the massed ranks of the Simón Bolívar Symphony Orchestra of Venezuela in a barnstorming, tour de force performance of Danzón No 2 by Arturo Márquez.
The Simón Bolívar Symphony Orchestra and Gustavo Dudamel performing Danzón No 2 at the BBC Proms in London
For the stranded soul oceans away from human contact here is a hotline to passion and joy, freedom and love, as the players seem to sway as one. They are the summer corn and a warm, raking wind swirls amongst them. The five-star display of 'brilliance and disarming exuberance', in the words of The Guardian's reviewer, Andrew Clements, prompts one of the commentators on the video to say:
Every now and then I remember that Gustavo Dudamel exists, and that he directs this and my heart rejoices.
A third pick could transport our man beneath the palms to the glory of the opera house of La Scala, Milan. Everyone - including the hushed members of the mighty Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, taking a back seat, and the colossus, Plácido Domingo, lurking in the wings - falls under the spell of Peruvian tenor Juan Diego Flórez. He takes his Spanish guitar and doffs his bow tie to channel the spirit of Mexico in Cucurrucucú paloma by Tomás Méndez.
Juan Diego Flórez in Milan, singing 'Cucurrucucú paloma' in June 2019
Here is a master of incantation, who can seize a stage by storm single-handed. He even has the chutzpah to take time out in the middle of the longest of high notes to glance up and catch a watching eye while the strumming hand beats on.
One comment beneath the clip reads:
The best stage on the planet with the best light tenor on the planet singing and a virtuoso Placido Domingo listening with tears.
The washed up surfer a world away from home would no doubt concur with another viewer's delight:
Thank you for sharing so we can enjoy such a beautiful event from a distance.
No island is truly an island for a castaway able to roam the visual and aural feast that the new technology brings. For a while he can forget the golden sands and the azure skies that confine him. Instead, he can take his seat amongst the concert goers and witness the spectacle of the dazzling bouquets, the pink carnations, the gilded halls with their sparkling chandeliers and the whole pulsating panoply of happy melodists past and present, near and far, forever piping their songs forever new. He can flee the prison walls of the wide wide sea and revel in his splendid isolation.
Copyright © 20 January 2025
Peter King,
Cambridgeshire UK