Over the last few years, I have posted several pieces about detective stories set in the past. This is a very rich field and each year more and more excellent ones are being written. This little essay is the first of two about murder and mayhem in the Regency period in Britain. For those of us brought up reading the immortal works of Jane Austen, this is one of those magical times, and clearly mystery writers have found it so as well. Indeed, there is a whole genre where Jane herself is called upon to smoke out the culprit, while in other books one or more of her characters exposes the guilty.  Here, I shall deal only with books without Miss Austen or one of her creations, but I promise to return to these in a future piece once I have read more of the genre. Luckily, they make perfect summer reading!

In the programme books for the Cantata Collectives series of Bach Birthday Concerts, it has been my custom to write a small essay on the history of each work but this time, I am going to try something different: a much more personal piece about the work and what it means to me.

This autumn, I spent over two months in the magical city of Copenhagen. It was not the first time that I had visited, we spent a honeymoon weekend there nine years ago, but it was certainly the longest spell that I had been in the city. My reason for being there was that I had been invited to conduct a new production of The Marriage of Figaro at the Royal Danish Opera. I had a super time working with an ideal cast, an excellent stage director, and an absolutely brilliant orchestra. I can imagine nothing better than being immersed in Mozart’s glorious music. We were working in the new theatre which is on the water, and it was a real thrill sometimes to arrive for rehearsal by ferry boat!

Earlier this summer, I spent a wonderful month in Ireland. My reason for being there was to take part in a production of Giulio Cesare at the Blackwater Valley Opera Festival and a gala concert. But my trip was not all work and performances. I found time to explore the area and to have some delicious food.

My Messiah marathon: Ten performances, five cities, two countries, one beloved masterpiece.

Nearly a year ago, I posted a piece about summer fruits which was optimistically listed as ‘Part One’. Here finally is the second part which will be about apricots, white peaches, raspberries, and strawberries, all of which have been at their succulent best in the last month or so.  While most of the USA has been baking in excessive heat or having unbreathable air from wildfires, here in Northern California we have had weeks of perfect summer days, ‘Goldilocks’ weather you might say; not too hot nor too cold, but just right. Not only have we enjoyed eating lots of glorious fruit, but we can do it sitting at a table in our garden surrounded by fragrant rose bushes. In other words, something close to paradise on earth.

Before the pandemic, I had always read a lot of detective stories. They are absorbing and engaging, and back when we relied on physical books — before Kindles and smartphone apps — they were easy to carry when travelling. Of course, when concert life was forced to a standstill in 2020, the genre was something of a lifesaver. 

This has been a glorious summer for fruits of all kinds. Here in northern California so many varieties are available that each trip to my favourite shop, The Monterey Market, has been a wonderful adventure: their bins are full of melons of every shape and colour, white and yellow peaches, even little ones shaped like doughnuts, Blenheim apricots, and luscious figs. There is simply so much to delight every gastronaut. In this short piece, I cannot possibly do justice to more than a handful of them and even then, I will split the essay up into two parts. This basket will contain cherries, nectarines, melons and figs. Apricots, plums, pluots, damsons, currants and berries will just have to wait for the next episode.

Although I have lived in the USA for just over forty years, I still consider myself a Brit and get very nostalgic when I think of my homeland. Yesterday was therefore a very sad one. I never met Her Majesty but I was very moved by her passing.

On Good Friday 1742, Handel gave the first performance of Messiah in Neal’s Music Hall in Fishamble Street, Dublin. Two hundred and eighty years later, also on Good Friday, I was privileged to conduct the same piece just over a mile away.