Reviews today include Fall Out Boy at the Ambassador, Dublin, the Bord Gáis Opera Gala at the National Concert Hall, the Hip-hop/comedy showcase at the Draíocht Arts Centre, Blanchardstown, the RTÉ NSO/Kalmar, again at the NCH, Dublin and The Ugly Duchess at the Belltable Arts Centre, Limerick
Fall Out Boy
Ambassador, Dublin
Fall Out Boy, the latest in an orderly line of shopping-mall punks, would like to set the record straight. Apparently, their lyrics tend to be misconstrued. "We don't hate girls," assures the rather charismatic bassist Pete Wentz in one of the few moments where he is neither leaping nor spinning. "We f- - - ing hate everyone!"
There is something just so adorable about the Illinois outfit's delusions of misanthropy - a tacit nod to actual-punk and its heritage of nihilism coming from a young group now staring down nothing more seditious than a Grammy nomination.
Clearly the pummelling, sugary guitar crunches and disaffected adolescence of Wentz's lyrics (sung by a charisma-vortex named Patrick Stump) suggest they don't really hate anyone.
And clearly, to judge from their peppy, pierced following - all rebellious of hair and conformist of footwear - nobody (girls especially) could ever hate Fall Out Boy.
Take Sugar, We're Goin Down, their forthcoming single. In the Ambassador it comes with some unashamed introductory spiel about masturbation (traditionally awkward about relationships, punk never shies from self-abuse). But the song is so relentlessly pleasant, so darned catchy, with a few tweaks it could serve Westlife just as effectively.
Indeed, the studs and hair dye let FOB away with energetic songs about mopey self-absorption because the right style accommodates any content. It may read like an earnest "dear diary" entry, but you're distracted by obscene graffiti in the margins.
Wentz, for his part, has a nice routine in which he licks his way up the guitarist's fretboard - a subversive counterbalance for a group that has soundtracked the apple-cheeked teen show One Tree Hill.
But a more revealing display comes when they ask not to see their audience's mid-digits, but their ring-fingers (there's someone out there for everyone) or suggest that we do some crowd surfing for their final number - "So if you get kicked out, who gives a f- - -?"
That's Fall Out Boy all over. They talk about raising hell but they really wouldn't want to spoil anyone's night.
Bord Gáis Opera Gala
National Concert Hall
At the end of the concert at the NCH on Saturday I overheard someone suggesting that Dennis O'Neill might have been born to sing Nessun dorma. Indeed, he might. Of course, Puccini's popular aria is a relatively easy sing for any tenor with the requisite weight of voice, but O'Neill's polished delivery, replete with triumphant and prolonged top B, merely gilded what had gone before.
The amorous yearnings of Gounod's Romeo, Massenet's Werther, Ponchielli's Enzo Grimaldi and Verdi's Manrico were poured out with great fervour. His line was a tad uneven, and his climactic high notes somewhat beefy and visibly effortful - there were a couple of particularly infelicitous yelps in Di quella pira - but generally there was much to admire in the warmth of his burnished tone and his attention to dynamic shading.
Regina Nathan, who hasn't appeared on the opera stage here for some time, was a worthy partner in extended duets from Madama Butterfly and Lucia di Lammermoor. The Dublin soprano's strongest vocal assets are her creamy tone and secure high register. She exploited these to the full in Tosca's Vissi d'arte, Violetta's Act 1 scena from Verdi's La traviata and, especially, in Amalia's double aria from the same composer's I masnadieri.
In the harrowing prison narrative from Boito's Mefistofele she compensated for lack of chest notes by a deft use of legato to suggest the pathos of Margherita's plight.
Philip Thomas, a conductor who knows how to mould his accompaniments to the singers' rhythmic contours, provided strong support. He and the RTÉ Concert Orchestra also offered forthright performances of Tchaikovsky's Onegin polonaise and overtures by Sullivan and Suppé.
Hip-hop/comedy showcase
Draíocht Arts Centre, Blanchardstown
The marriage of hip-hop and comedy has been a long time coming. Both fuelled by self-expression and with a cultural overlap, the on-stage pairing makes sense. Already a popular concept in the US, it was only a matter of time before it happened over here.
Had there been interaction between the art forms - which would have been tricky - quite a scene could have been created, and not necessarily a good one.
As it was, the comedians took to the stage first. Hartstown stand-up Graham Morissey, who organised the night, describes his style as "public therapy". His wry observations and dry wit got the desired reaction.
The comic served to warm up the crowd well for the musical acts. A performance from DJ Needlz & Finnesse, who've been on the hip-hop circuit for some time, firmly solidified their status as a formidable duo.
Finnesse, unassuming offstage, stepped up and spat a stream of consciousness and offbeat fables. Needlz, who has now produced a vast array of tracks, kept the beats crisp and favoured funky samples. He scratched it up too, and between them the pair kept the crowd hyped.
The Elements, five emcees and DJ Mo K, took turns dropping verses in a kind of musical tag. With on-point lyrical execution and a passion for performing, The Elements had everyone on their feet. Their style is Irish without being "Oirish" - this remains fellow emcee Collie's territory - and their dynamic works. Signed to Rap Ireland, the group are working on an EP and an album to be released later this year.
With nearly all hip-hop and stand-up shows happening in the city centre, it was great to see a gig staged locally. Better still, after years of indifference, Irish hip-hop acts seem to be making, rather than waiting, for things to happen. Within an ever-widening pool of talent with deepening diversity, The Elements and Needlz & Finnesse are positioned at the very top of the game.
RTÉ NSO/Kalmar
NCH, Dublin
James MacMillan - The Confession of Isobel Gowdie
Britten - Violin Concerto
Shostakovich - Symphony No 6
With Shostakovich, the audience is sometimes left on its own. The Symphony No. 6 - performed on Friday night by the RTÉ National Symphony Orchestra in its continuing Shostakovich cycle - is a case in point. Conflicting descriptions of the lively second and third movements include "the way of the world represented by evil laughter" (in a CD sleeve note), "two joyous [movements]" (in Friday's printed programme), and "nothing more than a depiction of a football match" (an opinion expressed by musicians who played in the Moscow première).
A similar diversity of opinion surrounds the opening movement. Once you are listening to it, however, with its grieving and slow-treading tension, it's hard to ignore the assertion that this is the composer's lament for those who suffered and died in Stalin's death camps.
Shostakovich - himself under fire from the party at the time - completed the symphony in 1939, by which point an estimated seven million people had been arrested during three years of purges and show trials.
Visiting conductor Carlos Kalmar allowed the long, slow opening movement all the time that it needed to identify and dwell upon its dark secrets. The playing was sustained and powerful, featuring a number of well-judged solos, notably for piccolo and cor anglais.
The theme of innocent suffering is unambiguously at the heart of Scottish composer James MacMillan's The Confession of Isobel Gowdie, his 1990 breakthrough work which reflects on the brutal execution of a woman accused of practising witchcraft in 1662.
Musically, though the voice is different, the impact was similar to that of the Shostakovich. Kalmar again handled the piece's drawn-out processes with skill and patience.
This unusually (and successfully) heterogeneous programme also included Britten's 1939 Violin Concerto, begun for a Spanish friend in the aftermath of the 1936 civil war and completed as the war in Europe broke out. Soloist Michael d'Arcy, while occasionally slipping in pitch where it seemed least likely, otherwise was in sterling technical and expressive form in a piece which even Heifetz is reported to have considered - initially at least - as unplayable.
The Ugly Duchess
Belltable Arts Centre, Limerick
Now in its ninth year, the Limerick International Fringe Festival has this year taken its cue more from Boston than Berlin in determining its theatre programme.
The festival's first offering, The Ugly Duchess, by Canadian playwright Jane Munsil, begins with the defrocked and deformed physique of actor Paul Terry crossing the stage, candle in hand. Slowly, he begins to dress himself, slipping on a bustle and silk frock, and fitting himself flawlessly into the story of Margaret of Bohemia, reputedly the ugliest woman in history.
Margarethe Maultasch or Margeret Pocket Mouth, was also one of the richest and most powerful women of the middle ages, reigning over the kingdom of Tyrol for a short time in the early 14th century.
First staged over a decade ago, this hour-long monologue is sustained by the measured and commanding delivery by Terry, who submerges himself completely in the character of Margaret, and her vain attempts to "pull free from the putrid swamp of sin" surrounding her.
Such was Terry's commitment that he barely broke stride when confronted by the shrill of a mobile phone - a frustratingly common intrusion in modern theatre.
As a portrait of 14th century political posturing, the production falls short, yet its insights lie in the inner workings of Margaret's mind as she initially turns to providence for redemption. The friction though between self and the stoical society of the middle ages largely determines her lot, from her marriage at the age of 12 to her self-imposed exile in Italy. Gaining control of the kingdom after her father's untimely death, Margaret finds a string of suitors willing to ignore her appearance in return for the king's shilling.
Her hard-fought political triumphs all come at a hefty personal loss, leading her to surmise, not ironically, that perhaps it might have been "better to have been born poor and pretty than ugly and rich".
The dilemma is never fully resolved, and her redemption of sorts comes in exile, where she vows to live "in the clearest light blazing with jewels like a heathen idol", allowing for a terrible beauty to be reborn.
The Limerick Fringe Festival runs venues across Limerick until February 4th. See www.belltable.ie for details.
