A Gushy Encomium upon Emma Kirkby, DBE
After nearly twenty years of distant adulation, I finally got to hear Emma Kirkby live in concert last week—and it was very much worth the wait. [Worth it for me, that is–I didn’t take the liberty of asking Dame Emma how it was for her…]
My very first girlfriend at university was a nice girl who quite closely resembled Kirkby, and who was also a light-voiced soprano. She broke my boyish heart within a few chaste weeks. Eheu!
This, if anything, exacerbated my “pash” for Miss Kirkby. She was now not only the great unavailable beauty and goddess of early song–she had also become the emblem of my Paradise Lost.
But above all, her clear glassy voice, especially as exercised in the early repertoire with which she had become most closely associated, was the purest enchantment to my soppy ears. I first came to revere John Dowland as chanted by her–a “deep and meaningful” musical engagement that has by far outlasted any of my romantic ones. She and Dowland have on countless occasions helped me to grieve, or to take my ease, or to recharge, or to rejoice, or to contemplate (and not just my own navel, either…); and they have together provided a substantial portion of the soundtrack to my life. I’m enormously grateful for all that.
So, finally to hear Dame Emma live, in an ancient Scottish kirk, singing baroque cantatas and in the most splendid voice was, well, magical. I had booked an unreserved seat, there being no numbered ones left, and managed to find one at the end of a row in the north aisle. Sneakily, and on the pretext of not wishing to spoil the view of the lady seated immediately behind me, I moved the rush-bottomed chair round the pier to face the stage more directly, although there was no chance of a clear view of the Great Dame herself from any position in that aisle.
A bewhiskered usher soon approached (and reproached) me, burring in a voice straight out of Dr. Finlay’s Casebook: “Now, this is grand, isn’t it? But I’m tryin’ to keep the passage clear…” I was forced into a partial retreat (of perhaps 20 degrees or so) around the pier. Thus was my first experience of the celestial voice a blind one. I saw Dame Emma only after she had sung the first of the cantatas of the evening, and only then because I stood to applaud her, using the opportunity to cross the aisle in doing so.
I repaired briefly to the local tavern for some refreshment at the interval (only buying an ale at all to avoid the discourtesy of making free with the landlord’s facilities without recompense), determined upon my return somehow to command a better view in the second half. I had not waited a score of years to be in her presence only to have her remain as invisible to me as if I had stayed at home with my well-worn discs. So, spotting an as-yet unreproached old gent who had moved his unreserved seat into the north transept, next the reserved stalls, I followed suit and availed myself of a deliciously uninterrupted view of the Dame’s music stand and, in time, of the Dame herself.
Oh, but she was beautiful, and expressive, and elegant, and charming—and yes, dear Seraphic, her autumnal hair was big! She sang Bach’s Ich habe genug most affectingly, and I shared the narrator’s deep satisfaction in the fulfilment of a long-held desire. I clapped my tingly hands raw, and only just managed to gulp back a wild roar of Brava! as Dame Emma took her final bow (after favouring us with an encore – Lascia ch’io pianga ). As she left the platform for the last time, the elderly gent in front turned to me jovially and said, “Well, you certainly gave her a good clap!” My elation prevented me at the time from realising that this was a kind way of saying, “You just about deafened us with your paw-thumping!”
If you are by any chance reading this soppy old tommyrot, dear Dame Emma, I was the wild-eyed, black-moleskin-suited loon standing in the north aisle of the kirk, grinning athletically and beating my palms noisily together in dopey joy. I am, I am told, quite harmless. A thousand thank-yous.
June 4, 2008 at 7:22 pm
“Grinning athletically” – very nice description! I’m sure she would be more pleased by an authentic athletic grin than by many an aesthetic one.
June 4, 2008 at 8:22 pm
Too kind, Miss de la Mancha.
I must have looked to my fellow concert-goers as if I’d been pegged out to dry by my cheeks. Like my palms, they ached for a bit afterwards – o vulnera amoris!
June 4, 2008 at 9:37 pm
That’s a lovely story. Hooray for redheads with big hair! Incidentally, Emma Kirkby is exactly who “Johannes” thought “Madame de L’Angleterre” would sound like until Madame de L’A burst into “Three Lions.”
It is always nice when you get to see your heroes and they measure up to expectation!
June 5, 2008 at 5:32 pm
Thank you Benedict, for your kind words which I will ensure that Emma sees..!
One small point of info is that she was never ‘Mrs Anthony Rooley’ [although they were personal and professional partners, they never formalised the relationship]. It’s a frequently-made mistake, up there with losing the 2nd K in Kirkby [as in the Northern town…] so really not a worry – but I thought you’d like to know!
all best wishes
Lindsay
June 5, 2008 at 6:29 pm
Well, my gast is well and truly flabbered now – thank you for leaving your lovely message here, Lindsay!
And thank you for putting me straight about Dame Emma and Mr Rooley – it’s splendid to discover (as I did from your linked site, http://www.emmakirkby.com) that two such accomplished and complementary artists are still performing together too. I’ve so many of their early L’Oiseau-Lyre discs!
I’m thrilled, if a little abashed, that Emma herself might (as I never seriously imagined)read this soapy old bit of flannel – gushy as it undoubtedly is, it is much less than she deserves! I thank her again for making this not-getting-any-younger man relive the elation his romantic musical youth. Warm best wishes to you both.
And, dear Seraphic, you’re so right. I will forgive, just this once,
yourMadame de L’Angleterre’s vocal dissimilarity to Dame Emma. I do not flatter but merely report when I say thatyou haveshe has sufficient charms ofyourher own to compensate for that shortcoming!B(landishments) A(bounding)
June 6, 2008 at 3:01 am
Ooh! Do you think she’ll really read this? If so, thank you, Dame Emma, for being a role model for women with big red har!
June 6, 2008 at 12:36 pm
More blonde, no? Still, if I could sing like that, I wouldn’t mind having purple hair with green and red spots.
June 6, 2008 at 12:40 pm
“I did the typical sort of girl thing and did enough work not to be embarrassed too much” (from interview with lady in question) Heh! my undergraduate life described. And a fellow blonde!
June 6, 2008 at 2:46 pm
She’s not blonde! Goodness gracious. She isn’t auburn, but she’s definitely a redhead. Look at those glorious tresses! I’m thinking sunsets, I’m thinking sunshine on copper. I’m not thinking blonde.
June 6, 2008 at 4:38 pm
Well, ladies, I’m with Seraphic on this one: I’m thinking beech leaves in autumn, ground ginger on panna cotta…
But now I’m forcing myself to stop thinking – how’s a man to concentrate on his w*rk with all this pulchritude knocking around in his bonce?
B(eauty) A(ddled)
June 7, 2008 at 5:49 pm
Yes Miss K is definitely the greatest female singer of Renaissance music of the last 40 years. I am envious of you getting to hear her live. Sadly the snotty critic from the Glasgow Herald was however less impressed, which just shows how little she knows! See: [the Herald’s review]
June 8, 2008 at 12:36 pm
Well, the reviewer was mostly complimentary (in a “faint praise” sort of way), her only criticism as such being that Dame E should have had a less “limited engagement” with the weighty depths of the words to Ich habe genug.
Frankly, I’m glad she didn’t, if what is meant by that is a rather operatic hamminess when interpreting the words. Sometimes beauty of voice is enough – and here the quality of Kirkby’s voice was just right for the text. The reviewer’s criticism rather misses the point of the words of the cantata: it’s not a “weighty reflection on death” but rather a joyful expression of a desire fulfilled (in the first instance, “ancient” Simeon’s on beholding the Christ-child; no one would call the Nunc Dimmitis “a weighty reflection on death”!) and a champing-at-the-bit for the eternal joy that can only follow once we’ve got death out of the way. Quite a different thing altogether, it seems to me.
B(iased but) A(cute)
June 12, 2008 at 12:07 am
She’s a cure for headaches, she and the Consort and Dowland. (Which is odd, actually, since you’d think that high voice would make your head hurt worse. But no.)
June 12, 2008 at 1:09 pm
Absolutely, “Maria”!
By the way, I love your site – what an excellent idea. I encourage all my (many thousands of ;-)) readers to pay you a visit.
Bª
July 5, 2008 at 8:26 pm
You’d be surprised how many voice teachers in America hate to hear their students say they listen to Emma Kirkby. It’s ridiculous.
But ah well, it’s that whole globalization thing here- BIGGER IS BETTER. Nonsense. No one else can sing like Dame Emma Kirkby. She’s amazing.
And p.s. I think her hair is auburn. Right in-between red and light brown. If it was truly one color we wouldn’t even be having this discussion 🙂
July 7, 2008 at 7:49 am
And by the way, I think she may have been married and still be married to Mr. Rooley. She wears a wedding ring.
July 7, 2008 at 11:09 am
Welcome, Ivy – you’re too kind (to me, that is, not Dame Emma!). Thank you for popping by this rather moribund blog and breathing a little life into it!
The great Dame is headed stateside next year so I hope you’ll have the chance to see her then. According to inside sources, Dame E is not now nor has she ever been Mrs Anthony Rooley (see above…).
Keep the Kirkby flag flying in the good old USofA!
Bª
July 7, 2008 at 6:32 pm
Thank you!
You’re a very good writer, by the way!