And I’ve been rolling with it! Frankly, I can’t take credit for it much as I would like to. My Ragazzo was published last Autumn, so the blossoming and blooming of Baroque in Britain was planned way before Guido stepped onto the literary stage, dagger dripping and a grin plastered over his beautiful face.

Having said that, the novel took eight years to write, edit and publish. So maybe the universe was reading my mind.

Last week at the Vache, my companion John kept using the phrase ‘the Universe has decided…’ which used to irritate me before he used it – but maybe he has something there. Because something amazing is indeed happening all over this mad little island. The Baroque is blooming, and it’s blooming wonderful!

This year, oh the joy of being in the presence of the perfumed, pomaded, curlicued, over-emoting bewigged creations of Herr Handel and Monsieur Campra in particular, listening to their wonderful music and watching incredible productions of their 300+ year-old genius. Seriously! No, just listen:

Herr H twice! Semele at the Royal Opera House – a very grey production, sunken under the modern tendency to try to find modern relevance in a story written as myth. In this case, thousands of years ago. What nonsense. The delicious music was almost ruined at the end when Semele ended up in the microwave.

Then, to my intense relief and delight, the production of Semele at the Waterperry Opera Festival.

In the amazing gardens of a fairly modest Manor there is a miniature amphitheatre, probably a folly. And there Semele lived again, loved again and sang her beautiful heart out. Hilary Cronin sang Semele, evolving in the course of the opera convincingly from reluctant bride to aspiring goddess. The audience loved her! The small orchestra was perfection and the young and lovely cast performed with conviction and bravado. And in the end, she disappears quite rightly in a puff of smoke – no microwave involved. (If you want to know the plot – who cares? – Semele falls in love with Jupiter disguised as a human. Anyone who knows Roman/Greek mythology knows Jupiter/Zeus would, given the chance, seduce a dead rabbit if he’s feeling horny. So silly Semele – who has been given some of the best tunes in the world to sing – is conned by Juno, the jealous wife, into demanding Jupiter appears to her as himself, thinking that will turn her into an immortal goddess. So, sadly, he does and she doesn’t. Blows up instead. Happy Juno.)

I don’t want this blog to turn into a review, even though there are far too few reviews for this wonder of a Festival, largely because it’s over and it won’t therefore help their audience numbers if there’s a gushing review from me. Pity! Having said that, Semele, Don Giovanni (which to my fury I was unable to attend, though I had the privilege of hearing Mozart’s brilliance wafting over the green and lovely garden) and the other concert pieces were packed. More information about the Festival HERE

Packed.

Of course there were the usual Grey Eminences, with their picnic baskets rammed with Fortnum goodies and white-knuckle grasped parasols. Like me and my delightful friends, Simon who kindly made me accompany him, his perfectly named friends Amadeus and Netty. But there was also a significant number of young – ! – and beautiful people, keen and full of sparkle.

(Had they been reading Ragazzo?)

And then there was the Vache.

For which I have to thank the ever-resourceful Anthony who booked it and then contracted a nasty streaming cold. His substitute John N was an excellent substitute companion.

Another rather perfect English Manor House with a gorgeous garden. The house is a mishmash of Tudor, Elizabethan, Jacobean, etcetraen, restored to the limit. A little too much perfection.

Campra’s Le Carnaval de Venise, in a marquee on the lawn in front of the house. I have never attended an Opera performance like it. Circus, acrobatics, carnival, Commedia del’Arte, and a love story like so many others in Baroque opera, admittedly (including Cavalleria Rusticana which isn’t even Baroque) and all surrounded by, infused with and decorated by glorious music. (Boy loves girl but girl loves someone else. Boy is jealous, hires an assassin who kills the wrong person blah blah, something like that. Or not. Then, for no reason whatsoever, everybody performs Orpheus in the Underworld, or a version thereof and it ends happily ever after. Who cares about the plot! The music is utterly tasty throughout.)

I had never heard of the Composer Campra before, frankly. But judging from this production he was a man with joy driving his every creation. Wiki tells me HERE that he was immensely prolific and popular, until he was infected by religion in 1720 and became boring. Lost his joy. Died poor and miserable, his beautiful soul murdered by intolerant religious bores.

I have never been so deeply immersed in luscious joy since my last acid trip a century ago. My companions, John and Stefan, felt the same though I doubt they’ve ever acid tripped.

And the place was packed. Packed!

…with a predominantly younger audience, many between 20 and 35 – as was the cast. And the orchestra. The youngsters were tremendous. Katie Bray, Julieth Lozano – feisty and exciting – hey, I’m not writing a review! But I do have to specially mention Plutone, played by an almost perfect clone of our friend Stefan by Giuseppe Pellingra- a terrifying God of the Underworld. To the extent that when we came together afterwards for the picnic, we had to compliment Stefan on his quick change.

Country House opera is everywhere. Obviously, not all Baroque. There are the Pop Ops too, your Verdi, Puccini, Rossini, etc. Mozart too, though he’s too good to be dismissed as ‘pop’.

But if you want to sink into an orgy of delight, go for the Baroque. Handel, Scarlatti, Vivaldi, Telemann, the too-often ignored marvellous Keiser, Bononcini, Vinci, Purcell, Monteverdi or even the French Lully and Rameau. (If you can stand all the dancing and adoration for Louis XIV which sounds a little like Trump’s Cabinet adoring the orange monster) The dates you should be looking at are around 1600 – 1760. The golden era of Baroque.

No LSD needed.

Picnic on the grounds! Wander around the house if they’ll let you. No real need to dress up, although it is fun if you want to. Obviously, good old Glyndebourne always has a marvellous season, but if you buy standing tickets beware of the ushers, they have no sympathy for age and infirmity. There’s Garsington (expensive) and Grange Park. There’s a good summary here. And watch out for new venues, more evidence of Blooming Baroque.They;re appearing all the time!

But next Summer, make sure you visit the Vache and Waterperry. Rather special and not yet spoiled by the eminence grise.

RAGAZZO published by ALIEN RABBIT available now from Amazon

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