A look at what is happening in the world of the arts.
The Divine Comedy
Vicar St, Dublin
It seems so long ago now (10 years, to be precise) since the dashing, diminutive Neil Hannon charmed the proverbial pants off us with the priapic tunes on his breakthrough album, Casanova. Since then, Generation Sex has somewhat lost its appetite for Brechtian irony, and Hannon currently cuts a quaint, Noel Coward-ly figure with his plummy voice and pre-war musical aesthetic. For a brief moment, with the album Regeneration, he was tempted to exhume his early indie influences, but has sensibly gone back to doing what he does best - clever vaudeville rock with a distinctly British air of self-assured class. Ooh-er, and of course lots of double entendres, too, missus.
Hannon is in Vicar St to bring us songs from his new album, Victory for the Comic Muse, its title almost mocking that of his long-ago debut, Fanfare for the Comic Muse. Backed by an unfeasably large band playing guitar, bass, drums, keyboards, vibes, cello and violin, Mr Hannon opens with a scare at bedtime in the form of To Die a Virgin, then finesses his way through such new tracks as Diva Lady, about a shallow celebrity wife and A Lady of a Certain Age, about an even-more-shallow celebrity widow. "Right, let's play the song, then," sighs Hannon, but he's not talking about My Lovely Horse, the fictional Eurosong entry from Father Ted. He means Generation Sex, the song that delineated the delinquent attitudes of modern England at the close of the last century. Plus ça change, and all that.
Hannon tries out a rare cover version, The Associates' 1981 hit Party Fears Two, but the song's arty-party campness and mock-operatic angst sound excruciatingly artificial. He quickly rallies with Becoming More Like Alfie, a song of surrender to the baser instincts. Another highlight is Our Mutual Friend, a tale of a double-crossed date in which Hannon theatrically acts the drunken, lovestruck Romeo. If. professes undying love even in the event of the loved one becoming a horse, a dog or a tree, while Charge goes into bedroom battle with all cannons roaring. But Something for the Weekend, from Casanova, proves a fine finale, a cavalry charge of pop brilliance that Hannon has seldom bettered.
Kevin Courtney
Attila
National Concert Hall
Giuseppe Verdi was wont to disdain the products of his early "years in the galleys". But there is much to admire, especially the composer's melodic fluency and surging energy, not to mention the unmistakable musical fingerprints of an operatic genius in the making.
Like all of Verdi's risorgimento operas, Attila benefits from firm musical control. In Lyric Opera's concert performance at the NCH on Thursday, Fergus Sheil conducted with a sure sense of pacing. His shaping of long-lined cantilena was every bit as admirable as his surging, but always rhythmically controlled, way with the score's many cabalettas and strettas.
The evening was dominated by two outstanding performances. As the eponymous Hun, Ramaz Chikviladze rightly dominated every scene in which he appeared. The Georgian's focused dark bass offered firm tone throughout a wide range as well as suitable agility when required.
Australian soprano Miranda Keys encompassed the difficult vocal requirements of the vengeful Odabella, the only female in the cast, with considerable aplomb. Equally adept in both legato and coloratura, she dutifully topped the various ensembles with seeming ease.
Opposite her as her lover Foresto, English tenor Nicholas Ransley displayed his usual good musicianship and sense of phrasing, but totally lacked the vocal clout required for the character's macho outbursts. American baritone Louis Otey had more physical than vocal presence as the Roman general Ezio. He suffered some voice problems in Act Two, but rallied to contribute tellingly to the famous trio.
There were sturdy cameos from tenor Joe Roche and bass John Molloy.
Attila is a big chorus opera. Lyric's 13 men, however accurate in intonation, were far too few and lacked bass support. The ladies, who have less to do, were better. Indeed, their singing of the pilgrims' hymn was distinctly moving. The chorus, though, did contribute strongly to the big finales.
John Allen
