Past and Prologue

I preface my first blog of the year with a historic photograph. It comes from the world premiere of my Sirikit Concerto, composed a few years ago, which HRH Princess Galyani Vadhana presented as a birthday gift to H.M. The Queen of Thailand. (There's also a lovely pic of the princess leaving the concert that evening.)

It's historic because, indeed, it was a rare occasion when those two royals were ever at the same event, and this particular event was probably unique in its warmth and intimacy.

I begin the year with a photograph of the Bangkok Opera's erstwhile patron because though all Thailand mourns Her Royal Highness's end, it is beginnings for which she will be most remembered. Her special gift was to set a person on the road and nudge that person into beginning — a new adventure, a new life, a new outburst of creativity. In music, she loved to give young people a start. Indeed, one of her most lovable (and unpredictable) traits was to decide to come to a concert, sometimes on a day's notice, when she read in the paper that a particularly talented young person was giving a recital. Her delight in young talent was genuine and went far beyond what might be perceived by some as a royal duty or obligation.

Though I was saddened, a year ago, when Her Royal Highness wrote to me to say that her doctors had insisted she retire from some of her most active patronages, I knew that what she had given us was already beyond price. The five years that she was with the Bangkok Opera were a phenomenal transformation of the music scene that affected far more than opera lovers. (Indeed, the princess once confided in me that she didn't care for opera as much as for "pure music" -- the bits without singing.) What she gave the opera was the courage to dare, and the confidence to know that despite the difficulty of establishing new art forms and a new audience in this country, there would be psychological support.

I do not believe that Her Royal Highness's influence over the domain of music is over. Indeed, it can only increase as the true extent of her legacy becomes clear. It is obvious that, even before Her Royal Highness passed away from us, some people were already jostling to impose their own agendas on that legacy, but I strongly believe that the things this princess believed in will triumph and will do so in a spectacular way.

So here's a little clip from the happy times: it's Trisdee, playing the Mozart A major piano concerto when he was only 16, just after the Siam Philharmonic Orchestra was created (in those days still called the Bangkok Sinfonietta". Her Royal Highness was in the audience.

Next month, on February 22, Trisdee plays the work again at the CCT Auditorium. We'll think of the princess and her delight in youthful beginnings.

Another Story of My Life

Story of My Life

What need have I to discuss my life as the intendant of the Bangkok Opera when Dr Vornhoff has said it so much better?

Tit for TAT

Many years ago, I was invited by TAT (The Tourism Authority of Thailand) to serve on an advisory board for what looked like an exciting new film festival. So, of course, I made a point of asking my friends in Hollywood "high places" about the international partners who were coming on the project. What my friends told me was that there might be something fishy about some of these people, so as part of my duties as an advisor, I thought I had better send a private and confidential email to the governor of the TAT to let her know that she should be careful.

Shortly after this email, I found myself shut out of everything to do with the festival, and indeed heard many rumors that things that subsequently went wrong with the festival were being blamed on "Somtow's big mouth". Rather surprising since my note was completely confidential and not designed to be shared with anyone. The governor stopped taking my calls and a two million baht grant from TAT to the Bangkok Opera, already promised and already worked into our budget (indeed, we had been told to go ahead and use their logo on posters) mysteriously failed to materialize. As has frequently happened to me since returning to Thailand, my honesty, good intentions, and attempts to make our society more open and self-aware were being severely and vindictively punished, and for no real reason, since what we were doing was beneficial to the country and would have reflected well on the grantor.

I was therefore not very surprised, but deeply saddened, to read all the news about alleged malfeasance and corruption during that administration. However, I absolutely have to say this, and will swear to it in any court: our foundation recently received a grant from the new, post-coup administration of TAT. And although there were numerous problems with timing and red tape, at no time was I ever solicited for any bribe. It was never intimated by anyone that any under-the-table payouts were expected. Everyone, from the Minister down to the lowest official we talked to, was concerned only about the money being spent in ways that enhanced Thailand's image as an international cultural destination.

As you know, I have never hesitated to criticise our government (or any other government) when it oversteps its mandate. However, my recent experience with this ministry on this occasion has been one in which they may have been inefficient, but not at all corrupt. My frustrations were always to do with timing and paperwork and never about honesty. My conclusion is that Dr. Suwit and his minions are doing a heroic job cleaning out these Augean Stables, and I hope that his blood pressure can take a couple more months of this....

I'd be interested to know if anyone else has dealt with TAT recently and whether there are stories to share about the new administration versus the old one.

Wagner, Werewolves, and Whatnot

You know you're in the twenty-first century when you begin the day in alarm, noting that Peter Straub's army of werewolves on Facebook is creeping up on your own army of zombies. You then consume a carbohydrate-free chocolate bar, flown in from America, while deciding whether the orchestra should play Mahler 5 or Mahler 9 in the March concert....

It really is a joy to be living in this doomed age, with the carcinogen-laden air heating up around us, not knowing when the planet will explode. And STILL to be able to conduct the RING cycle ... and even dare to hope one is saying something new! God, it's exciting.

Some reviews are starting to come in. On the whole they have been pretty generous. Indeed, as the year draws to a close, I have to admit that it is amazing what we have managed to get away with again. Although at the time it seemed like hell itself, in retrospect it seems to have been quite something. Someone writing in French called Charles Hens the "most beautiful Siegmund I've ever seen", and another critic said that Janny Zomer was "the best Sieglinde I've ever seen on stage." A visitor from Berlin said, "You ever see opera done with such passion in Europe anymore" and so I think the consensus was, in spite of some wild orchestral gaffes and a few booboos from the stage, that there was a lot of excitement.

Now it can be said that the TAT grant for this production did come through ... on the opening night. It was a Friday, however, and the check could not clear in time to pay for the production. I had to make a clean sweep of my parents, my own bank account, and several friends to make sure that there was money to pay the singers before they left for their various countries. However, I have to say this: although there was certainly a lot of excruciating red tape, and our grant arrived nine months after it was authorized, we were never asked by any official for any under the table contributions to "speed up" the process. I have to say this clearly because the FBI has just filed a huge case involving Americans bribing the TAT, which all happened before the coup. Tomorrow, the news is going to hit all the Thai papers. I caught it early because friends in the U.S. happened to send me emails about it. I want to say that, though I've not always been a champion of our present government, nobody in the ministry of tourism and sport ever, ever, asked us for a bribe.

I have to say that the good buzz about the Wagner has made the year end on a quite positive note. I think Siegfried will actually have most of the kinks ironed out. I'm going to spend the next few days Christmas shopping and not think about any of this.

Pullman the Hittite

While tourists were being clubbed by cops not too far from the Holiday Inn in Macau, I lay around watching CNN. And it was there that I learned that the Catholic Church has been urging that we all shun the new film of Phillip Pullman's Northern Lights, known to some as The Golden Compass. Naturally, I wondered how an alternate universe fantasy novel populated by non-humans could possibly pose a threat to the might and majesty of the Catholic Church, so I decided I'd better fill a lacuna in my encyclopaedic knowledge of the field by running out and buying the book, which was oddly enough one of the few books in English that was for sale at the Macau airport.

Finishing the novel as my plane landed back in Bangkok, I realized that this trilogy is the real thing. How could people have slogged their way through thousands of pages of Harry Potter novels when such gems as this are available?

Take "back story" for instance. Recently, J.K. revealed that Dumbledore is gay. Now this is a wonderful example of the iceberg theory of literature. But for the iceberg to, as it were, hold water, you actually have to plant some kind of glimmering shadow of a hint somewhere in the text itself. Revealing the subtext at a public gathering is really, in a sense, cheating.

Pullman, on the other hand, doesn't cheat. For instance, in the second book he makes a passing reference that in Lyra's world, "anbarics" is a term that more or less corresponds to electromagnetics in our world. The characters then do a bit of folk etymology, relating anbar to amber (thus to electrum, which means amber) and so on. I bet it never comes up again (I'm reading the third book while editing the video of Die Walküre).

This is just casually thrown away, and yet there must be one or two other people in the world reading the book who happen to know that "anbar" is also Akkadian for iron. The symbol for "Anbar" was used by the Hittites (in the manner that the Japanese use Chinese symbols as kanji) but we don't know how the Hittites pronounced it. I happen to know this only because of some research I once did for a novel set in the Bronze Age.

Because this word is alluded to by Pullman, there is, in consequence, a huge submerged iceberg chunk of lost history and prehistory, about what exact point in the past the worlds must have diverged, about linguistic speculation, about Indo-European societies, etc. etc. All this hinted at so cunningly that I'm probably the only person within a thousand miles to have glimpsed it, which means that there are a thousand other hints that I did NOT get because they involve some arcane piece of knowledge I happen not to possess.

Well, after that I decided to see the movie and while I admit that it is has been dumbed down a lot, it still manages to convey the richness and strangeness of that universe pretty well. So I'm a bit distressed to hear people prophesy that it will mean the end of New Line and all that. I think that maybe they should have not dumbed it down at all, or conversely dumbed it down to nothing (the fate that befell The Neverending Story). What I didn't see was a blatant attack on the Catholic Church. For that. you'll have to look at Ken Russell's The Devils or any movie about Joan of Arc....

Tomorrow, more on Wagner....

A Little Clip from the Bangkok Walküre

Wagner.... phew!

Die Walküre in Bangkok? With a world class cast and a fresh Asian viewpoint? Impossible!

As I write these words, I'm taking what some would call a well-deserved rest, sleeping all day long in a hotel room in Macau. I come to this hotel when I want to escape for a day, because if I go to, for instance, Singapore or Hanoi, I would probably run into someone I know. This place is also across the street from the best barbecued pork I've ever had. However ... though I haven't left the room all day ... I looked up at the CNN screen which is running in the background ... and I notice that the police are wildly beating up a bunch of tourists here, who are protesting because their tour guide has taken them to too many shopping malls. It is apparently something of a riot!

What a relief from Thailand, where people only riot over such mundane matters as political corruption!

As the fallout begins to come in from Die Walküre, it is becoming increasingly clear that this production was a turning point. Not just as the fulfilment of a childhood dream (though of course it is the ultimate power fantasy to be both conducting and directing The Ring Cycle) but after November 30, the idea of "what is artistically possible in Thailand" suddenly became much bigger. After all, this was operatically the biggest, most daring thing ever done here, with the most accomplished batch of world-class singers and the the most ambitious work for a local orchestra. Of course, it didn't all work, but I'm getting many more approving emails than usual, many from completely strangers. There's a "feature review"coming out this Friday in the Financial Times; that doesn't mean they liked it, but it does mean they considered it an important event. Anyway, they didn't like the recent Covent Garden or Vienna Rings, so panning us would put us in great company.

Perhaps all the drama will never be told ... at least, not until I can find someone to buy the next installment of my memoirs. At any rate, I'll spill the beans a bit at a time over the next few days, because I'm still sooooo tired....

The Valkyries in Bangkok

My wild production, after a rollercoaster of a journey to get there, opened on Friday. The last night is tonight. There's a LOT to say about this, but I am on my way to a rehearsal now ... maybe more news tomorrow (if I survive.)

The Thai Toad Test

Last week I was on the radio on the inimitable Dr Poonpit's show, chatting about Wagner. Only, as so frequently happens when we start to chat, the subject begins to stray, and the good doctor began to describe an interesting piece of Thai traditional medicine which was practiced during his apprenticeship in back in the "dark times" ... well, let's say the 1940s or thereabouts. Toads were used as a pregnancy test.

The young apprentices had to catch male toads by moonlight each night and deliver them to the Siriraj hospital by morning. The toads were then assigned to different obstetricians in order of seniority. If there weren't enough toads, junior ob-gyns had to wait their turn.

The male toads received a sort of enema of the testee's urine sample, after which, it seems, if the woman was pregnant, the toad would become excited to the extent that its own bodily effluvium would contain a higher sperm count. This sample, viewed under a microscope, was the test which, according to Dr. Poonpit, is one of the few nuggets of genuine, Thai-originated medical knowledge ever to be discussed in learned circles in the west under the name of the Thai Toad Test.

This is the kind of thing one learns when one goes on the air to promote "Die Walküre"....

The Charred Hand of Fate

Waking up from a nightmare.…

Well, that's not an uncommon experience in life, but this one has haunted me all day. We are in the midst of a wildly exciting production of Wagner's Die Walküre, with a shatteringly brilliant cast.

So, last night, I am in a car, driving through a deserted country road with my co-director Anette Pollner. We reach a stretch of the road where once, some time ago, someone has been run over.

As my car reaches the spot where the accident happened, the charred hand of a dead person busts through the floor of the car (Carrie popup style) and grabs my arm and tries to pull me down through the bottom of the car. I'm sinking in and the dead person pulls so hard that I start to go through the floor. But the car is still in motion so there is a monstrous tug of war. I hold on to things, the steering wheel, the gearshift, trying to prevent myself from being sucked down, but as I wake it seems about to happen....

I discovered that my breathing machine has sprung a leak, and that the mask doesn't fit well enough. Maybe that is the reason for all this....

Unclipping the Wings

It was a depressing day, but answers came to me in a dream. Oddly enough, it was someone else's dream.

A long time ago (it seems) I met a young composer in the interval at a concert. He was 15. He told me wanted to write music "when he grew up". I half-jokingly said, "So what've you composed?" He then started to pull bits of manuscript paper out of hit backpack. One of them was "a Chopin-sort of polonaise, only I used an Isaan melody". It was because this kid knew virtually nothing at the stage, and yet had already learned how to be playful with what he knew, that I realized the extent of his creativity. I had a dream a few days later; I dreamed I was teaching Trisdee to fly.

Recently, I was in great despair over my whole existence, as I frequently have been lately: in some ways, artistically in particular, things have never looked better, yet the (as it were) forces of evil seem to be growing in viciousness, and the forces of coincidence even more vicious than the deliberately evil; and on Wednesday, I set myself a deadline. If a dramatic breakthrough didn't happen, I was going to make some life-altering decisions, such as going back to writing full time and chucking the opera, or even changing course more radically.

Partly it was because a government agency had agreed to give us a large grant, but the actual cheque was stuck in red tape for months, causing me to have to borrow money from my friends to subsidize the opera, and if the red tape was not unravelled, I was going to end up selling flowers on the street; partly it's the long term malaise brought on by thousands of disinformative spam attacks that were made against me months ago, by my the onset of serious apnea, etc. etc. And the fact that my opera salary is four years in arrears and that everything I might otherwise do to actually earn a living is on hold, etc etc. Well, there it is, the normal roller coaster of an artist's existence, but at its very nadir.

A day before the deadline, Trisdee had a dream and he bust into my office to tell me this. He said, "You were sitting in a hotel lobby with a man in a dark suit." Then he said, "You have been searching for a lost pin. A package came for you. I handed you the package it had a brooch in the shape of wings. also some other things, cloth."

I thought back to my own dream six years before and I understood that the gift of flight is being returned to me. I had in fact been sitting in the lobby of the Sheraton with a man in black only that afternoon, a British impresario who runs an operatic tour company. (Trisdee is too young to know that in the 1960s, unaccompanied minors on planes got to visit the cockpit and always received a brooch in the shape of wings as a memento from the captain. There's too much fear in the air now for such beautiful moments.)

On the very day of the deadline, the government agency sent me a piece of paper guaranteeing that they would write the opera the cheque. That isn't the cheque itself, but it is a major breakthrough in the bureaucratic labyrinth. Perhaps, having spent the last seven years here showing young people how to fly, I will be allowed to fly myself, again, before it is too late.