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The New Yorker
|October 02, 2023
A new "Rheingold" exemplifies a troubled but feisty London scene.
Doom is relative. Lately, my colleagues in the British press have been lamenting the decline of London’s musical scene; John Allison, the editor of Opera magazine, writes that in the wake of Brexit the city “feels like much less of a great cultural capital.” Yet a recent three-day visit to London left me envious of the riches on offer. I first went to Royal Albert Hall to attend the Last Night of the Proms, the culmination of the BBC’s summer concert jamboree; the towering Norwegian soprano Lise Davidsen thundered forth “Rule, Britannia” while five thousand spectators struggled to match her in volume. The following morning, at Wigmore Hall, I saw the Doric Quartet play Schubert’s G-Major Quartet before a capacity crowd. Finally, I took in a new production of Wagner’s “Rheingold” at the Royal Opera. If I’d been able to replicate myself, I could also have heard the tenor Lawrence Brownlee, the soprano Asmik Grigorian, and the pianists Mitsuko Uchida, Jonathan Biss, and Paul Lewis. And London’s half-dozen orchestras had not even started their regular seasons.
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