Tim Britten RIP

I knew Tim from church, but not his name. Then we saw each other at Longborough and elsewhere, and more recently sitting in the front row at Cineworld for the Met opera relays, which he loved. He told me he was going into hospital to have his back straightened: I could see he was apprehensive about it. Sadly, he never returned home.

At his funeral mass this morning, a friend recited The Burren Prayer by John O’Donohue, a new one to me and very beautiful: it contains the lines, "May the light that turns the limestone white remind us that our solitude is bright." Perfect for someone "who didn't always carry the world lightly" - and for Charles, his grieving partner of four decades.

Altogether, it was very proper occasion. Not many of those present were Catholic (Tim was a convert), but Fr. Bosco welcomed all comers most warmly and openly. Noone should have been mystified - unlike yesterday evening: Caroline and I went to hear Professor Rich Pancost talking about the chemistry of past and future global warming. I felt well out of my depth, though the message was clear: our politicians need to do something urgently!

Argument rages meanwhile about whether or not Typhoon Haiyan was a symptom of man-made climate change. Does it matter? Agnes thinks not, and has undertaken to write 100 poems in a day next Wednesday, if people will sponsor her in aid of the Phillippines' victims. Brilliant!

The Habit of Smart (phone users)

Five old friends came to lunch yesterday, and we talked about death, illness and travel, as one does. Caroline's bread and butter pudding was a triumph. I'm stuck for a segue to the scaffolders' visit today, to complete their spider's web, now surrounding most of the house at prodigious expense. And to the next item also.

"The Habit of Art" by Alan Bennett was relayed live from the National Theatre to cinemas three years ago, but I guess we were away. So we took the opportunity to view the recording they showed at Cineworld last night, part of the 50th birthday celebrations.

What a great play! And how did Bennett get the initial idea? Better than any Pirandello. There was one snag: Auden or Britten being strangers to me, I was perfectly happy to see them played by non-lookalikes; but it was different with Humphrey Carpenter, whom I had known quite well from his period directing our literary festival. Adrian Scarborough is nothing like him. This however was only a minor blip to set against some excellent acting, especially from Frances de la Tour.

Another snag arose in the form of a neighbour with her smartphone screen lit up. My request that it be turned off elicited a fusilade of invective, which was renewed in the interval. Yes, OK. I suppose I should be more tolerant in this day and age, but...

Co-operation

This warm and sunny morning, Thomas and I walked up through Pittville Park to the Pump Room - once again gloriously uncluttered by marquees: his musician Godmother (Imogen Cooper) had kindly left us tickets for her recital with mezzo Christianne Stotijn.

What a lovely programme! A testing trio of Schubert songs was followed by Benjamin Britten's Winter Words. After the interval, a delicious Schubert Imo-promptu, and then two further cycles: more Britten and Mussorgsky. Finally, the bonne bouche - a song by Tchaikovsky.

I enthused about La Stotijn last time she was with us here, accompanied by Julius Drake (was it really four years ago?): my enthusiasm has increased after today's peaches and cream performance, particularly seeing and hearing the rapport she has with Imogen.

Noye's Fludde

The Cheltenham Music Festival has come round once again. We took Mini and Leo to Tewkesbury this evening to see Britten's Noye's Fludde performed in a thronged Abbey. I haven't heard it before (and am not sure I shall rush to hear it again). 200 local children were involved: I hope they enjoyed it more than we did, standing against the wall of the North nave aisle. You couldn't see the action much - it took place mostly either behind a pillar or on the top deck of "the Ark" - built with high sides, for safety reasons obviously. The orchestra, together with the Carducci Quartet, were penned in behind a mesh curtain underneath.

But a lot of thought and work had clearly gone in to it: the result was all very colourful, the lighting changes were well managed, and it wasn't too long an evening - or wouldn't have been, but for the insertion at the beginning of five unexpected (by me) songs by contemporary Gloucestershire composers: unnecessary - and you couldn't hear the words.

Cheltenham Music Festival

Another Festival has come round! The programme has something of an austerity feel about it: not many big names are in evidence. However, the subject matter lacks compromise, as evidenced by this evening's Parabola Arts Centre recital.

But was "recital" the right word for it? Normally, James Gilchrist (tenor) with a pianist for a set of English songs (Britten, Finzi, Tippett) would warrant that description, but here the accent was upon a stage setting of a "long and silent night passed by a nightwatchman", with grainy video as a backdrop: no interval, and no clapping save at the end. More Voix humaine than Winterreise.

The technical side went off splendidly, particularly the beautifully weighted singing of Gilchrist and Anna Tilbrook's accompaniment. But even with Gilchrist the words (all Hardy T. and Hudson W.H.) are never so distinguishable as one would like, and no "libretto" was on offer - nor even much of a programme note. So, I emerged rather baffled: what was the object of the exercise?

"Weltethos"

Last September, our Town Hall hosted the première of Richard Blackford's "Not in our time": yesterday evening, we went to Birmingham for the UK première of Jonathan Harvey's "Weltethos" on a somewhat similar theme - seeking common ground between the world's main religions on the basis of their shared ethical principles and values. Blackford's focus, a decade on from 9/11, was on peace. Harvey - brought in by the Berlin Phil. to flesh out musically the thoughts of theologian Hans Küng - is operating on a broader canvas: his six "movements" are humanity, the Golden Rule, non-violence, justice, truth and partnership.

You may think this a worthy event for the opening of the London 2012 Festival and Cultural Olympiad. We had both been looking forward to the evening for many months: it's certainly a thrill to visit Birmingham's Symphony Hall, particularly on a big occasion. And after all, isn’t peaceful coexistence what the Olympics are about - individuals competing against each other in sport unburdened by politics?

I was glad we arrived in time for Simon Halsey's pre-performance talk: otherwise the scheme of this ambitious work would have been impenetrable. As it was, I found the 90 minutes dragged, notwithstanding the diversion of watching two conductors, a huge orchestra (there were six percussionists), with the three separate choirs bobbing up and down. I liked the idea of a children's choir to plead for us to plan for the future; but does the awfully dull music of their refrain really bear six repetitions? (Judge for yourself: the piece was broadcast live, so you can ListenAgain.)

There just wasn't sufficient variety between the sections, nor did the work arrive at a significant conclusion. Its appeal is to the head, not the heart; and what's more it is to the Westerner's head, notwithstanding the aspiration of Küng (who was in the audience) to address people of faith throughout the world.

I've been an admirer of Küng since I heard him around thirty years ago, in St George's Chapel, Windsor, eloquently expounding his belief that all the Abrahamic religions should and could work together against the real enemy of our time, materialism. Jonathan Harvey has been a good friend to Cheltenham, visiting often for early performances of his work: much of it I have appreciated in a way that I rarely do with modern classical music. Nor could you wish to meet a milder man. My criticism should not take away from the achievement of bringing together this new piece and the huge forces needed to perform it. But Simon Halsey, methinks, doth protest too much when he mentions it in the same breath alongside "Elijah" and Britten's "War Requiem".

One of the versions of the Prayer of St Francis contains the words "Lord, make me a channel of thy peace;... that where there is discord, I may bring harmony." Ultimately, "Weltethos" wont last because it lacks tunes.

Ten days in May

Arden Grant, our New Zealander handyman, has been here of late, most recently fixing kerb stones against the front lawn, and - as in my photograph - repinning the Rambling Rector to the side wall: it collapsed a while ago, and has grown too top heavy just to tie back to the original wires. (That's the trouble with Rambling Rector: I must be less kind when pruning this Autumn.) To illustrate the breadth of Arden's talents, he's also - last week - made over Leo's old room, replacing the basin in a new position, fitting a shelf alongside it and blanking off one of the lights above, taken away the built-in cupboard, inserted a new skirting board, repapered the wall behind where the cupboard was and painted the room's walls and ceilings - oh, and fitted a new piece of carpet to match the existing. A man for all seasons. And it's been hot, working inside: this last part of May has seen us basking in something of a heatwave, but it is all about to change - just in time for the Jubilee weekend of course.

I can't remember what the weather was like at this time 50 years ago, but I do recall the première of Britten's War Requiem taking place on my birthday in the new Coventry Cathedral. I was working as a guide at Charlecote Park: the Curator, Dick Routh, had a ticket. And last night it was performed there again, by the same orchestra, the CBSO, under its brilliant conductor Andris Nelsons. I Listened Again, and was bowled over.

Takács Quartet

Once more, the Cheltenham Music Society has triumphed, in securing the Takács Quartet for their tour's only UK out-of-London recital: recognised as one of the world's leading ensembles, last night they played for a packed Pittville Pump Room audience Haydn's "Lark", Britten no. 3 and Dvořák Op. 51. Could the programming possibly have been influenced by all three works being led off by the second violinist, Károly Schranz, 60 this year? Whatevs.

Talking to Alec Hamilton beforehand, I learnt that he "suffers" Haydn. Poor man! How else can you account for Beethoven? There are a couple of bars in the first movement of the "Lark" and more than a couple in the last movement that pre-echo even late Beethoven.

And without Beethoven, no Britten: his intense last quartet formed the meat course last night. The soaring violin of the Ostinato 2nd movement even outmatching in its eloquence the leader's role in the "Lark" opening.

You can still hear the Takács playing the Haydn and Dvořák (at the Wigmore on Monday) via the iPlayer for five days more. They look and sound like a happy bunch. With their talent, they are as generous as Bill Gates says he would have all the American Presidential candidates be - but some hope there!

Also on Monday, the young Russians making up the Atrium Quartet were broadcast live. Catching up with them on the iPlayer, I admired their early Beethoven in particular: a different sound, but gripping. This quartet is one to watch out for.

Susurrus

En route home from East Anglia, we paused in Oxford in order to go to the Botanic Gardens. I'm ashamed to admit it was my first ever visit. Nor even this time was I there principally to see the Gardens themselves, but because they were the venue for "Susurrus".

This is one of the Oxford Playhouse's "Plays Out", put on to encourage audiences to think differently about theatrical work and where it's performed. At the entrance, you pick up headphones, a miniature iPod-type device and a map. At each of eight different points, you are invited to sit down and listen to a passage on the tape, with appropriate music as you walk round in between.

Susurrus - meaning a soft murmuring or rustling sound - is perhaps not the most appropriate title for a play being performed quite so close to the Oxford traffic. Though the content itself is dark, the musical reference points (Britten's Dream, Janet Baker, and Maria Callas's last UK concerts) and the beautiful setting of the Gardens made it, for me, both a nostalgic and an enlivening experience.

For Caroline, it was rather less so, but both were glad we had made the effort to set aside an hour to go. Susurrus is on till 27th, I see from the theatre's website: if you are anywhere near between now and then, I recommend it.

I certainly hadn't appreciated how extensive and impressive the Botanic Gardens were, nor how close to the Cherwell: next week, with the new term starting, people will doubtless be in these punts if the weather holds.

"Sweet little bell"

Elizabeth Watts was the soloist in a delightful lieder recital at the Pittville Pump Room this morning, the first of this year's Cheltenham Festival. Her voice is indeed bell-like, perfectly suited to the "Spring" songs of Schubert which she put together to form a cycle filling the first half of her programme. She reminded me of the young Margaret Price - indeeds she even looks a little bit the same.

After the interval, Elizabeth sang Barber's Hermit Songs and six of Britten's folksongs. It was the Barber that hit the spot for me, the often naive words being brought wittily and poignantly to life by this fine young singer.