The Richest of 3-course Meals

For the second time, David McVicar's production of Richard Strauss's three act comedy Der Rosenkavalier comes to London and the ENO, bringing with it fantastically opulent sets, beautiful soprano singing and a grade one rogue in John Tomlinson. But what of the music itself, presented to London audiences for the first time a mere 99 years ago?

One thing is for certain - Der Rosenkavalier is one of the composer's most popular works, even when taking into account the symphonic poems. Its frequent use of the waltz is ironic, given the unrelated Strauss family and their unprecedented success with the form in 1860s Vienna, but here Richard works it very cleverly so that each use of the distinctive rhythmic form is incorporated into his own style.

For Der Rosenkavalier is musically rich, so rich that many people at last Saturday's first night were mentally exhausted by the time the three sopranos, Sarah Connelly, Sophie Bevan and Amanda Roocroft, floated in to the trio with which the opera closes. The reason for this is wholly down to Strauss, who fills his musical box of chocolates almost to saturation point. Often there will be two very different melodies going on at once, interweaving within the same range – so following them using the libretto proves very difficult as the similar voice types get tangled up. It's a mark of the composer's genius that he can work several tunes simultaneously without losing track of any of them, and even then if you were to remove the lines for voices altogether the writing for orchestra would suffice.

This, too, is rich, tapping in to the extravagance of the symphonic poems Don Juan and Till Eulenspiegel. But although Der Rosenkavalier is seen as a light, frothy comedy, and the treble rich music bears that out, there is a certain heaviness to it, the sort that comes from too much champagne or an overindulgence on the cherry brandy liquors. The horns – brilliantly played on this occasion by the members of the ENO orchestra – have a lot of the best tunes, as they do in the symphonic poems – but Strauss's very particular kind of orchestral colouring means they are brought through at the top of the pile.

The only trouble with this densely packed music is listening to it for four hours – as the title of this post suggests, it is akin to eating the richest of three course meals in a fine hotel, and having chocolates afterwards. The head can only take so much – yet there is much to savour and recall at length afterwards. Moments such as when Sophie Bevan hits the high 'B' when the rose is presented to her – a floated note worth the evening's outing alone – or when Sarah Connolly and Amanda Roocroft declare their various passions in the opening act.

It's the first act this proves the most difficult where the movement of the plot is concerned, the story slow to catch fire, but the second act gathers pace and interest. The waltz scenes are delightful, helped by Tomlinson's ham-fisted dancing as the rogue, the Baron Ochs of Lerchenau, and the presentation of the rose itself from Connolly's Octavian to Bevan's Sophie is the most obviously, truly beautiful music here. For sure, Der Rosenkavalier is well worth seeing, but should come with a health warning of what musical overindulgence can bring. You'll be craving bread and water afterwards!

The Lied and how to sing it

For some five years now I have been a regular attendee at the Wigmore Hall of a Monday lunchtime, taking in the BBC Radio 3 concert of the day. The standard of chamber music making is consistently high, but what has been relatively new to me in this period is the world of classical song.

Early on I really struggled with vocal or operatic classical music. "A lot of shouting in a foreign language" is how I heard opera described on the radio once, and that stayed with me for a long time as I struggled to get past the barrier of not knowing the words or, worse, not being able to hear them. And now, thanks largely to the Wigmore concerts, things have changed.

A composer's songs are, perhaps not surprisingly, among the most expressive parts of their output, and it is amazing how helpful it is to either follow the text or preview it beforehand, perhaps along with a synopsis of the piece itself.

My gradual thawing through the world of song has its roots in England and France. A study of Benjamin Britten's 'Serenade for tenor, horn and strings' at university revealed this incredibly emotional music, beautifully structured and orchestrated, with plenty of room given for Peter Pears to project the words. A few years later for a birthday present I was given Anne Sofie von Otter's album 'La Bonne Chanson', and loved the Ravel setting of three Mallarmé settings – more, it has to be said, for the instrumental colour, but gradually the wonderful voice above it shone through.

Yet it's the Wigmore concerts that have really made the difference, and have gradually opened my eyes to the writing of the 'Lied' composers, Schubert, Schumann and Wolf especially.

Five of those concerts really stick out in my mind. Firstly Mark Padmore, singing 'Winter Words' in a way that brought through Britten's stunning Hardy settings, vividly pictorial. Then Gerald Finley sang a concert of Schumann and Grieg, concentrating on settings of the poet Heinrich Heine, and giving a remarkable account of the former composer's 'Belsatzar'.

Then it was Anne Schwanewilms, with the best vocal concert I have yet seen, showing amazing control of the long phrases in Debussy's 'Proses Lyriques' before the same in some sumptuous Richard Strauss. Just as important in this respect was accompanist Roger Vignoles, who proved capable of realising the quasi-orchestral textures on the piano.

Christopher Maltman also proved a surprise hit, with an imaginative program of Richard Strauss, Korngold and four songs by Gustav Holst, an unexpected source. The timeless 'Betelgeuse' was by far the strangest of the quartet, a kind of shorter cousin to 'Saturn' from 'The Planets' in its cumbersome old age, but one that resonated for long afterwards. Finally Véronique Gens, performing the Berlioz song cycle 'Les Nuits d’été', gave an especially sparkling performance of the opening song, 'Villanelle'.

So why am I sharing these five special experiences? To show, I think, that with repeated attempts to get to know a style of music better, it can on occasion be possible to achieve a breakthrough and to grow to love it, especially given the right performers and venue.

I have been very lucky in this case, though I can't yet see how this is going to happen with Country & Western!