For the first time in I don't know how many years, Ellie finished her exams before the start of the half term break. In previous years, my guilt has always got the better of me and I have only allowed myself the odd day of musical indulgence at one of the best boutique classical music festivals around. I love music festivals but generally avoid anywhere that has a big screen and a live relay - if I can't see the whites of performers' eyes, I don't want to know. I may be a wimp but I just don't see the point otherwise. Why spend hours queueing for dirty and foul-smelling portaloos amongst legions of fellow festival goers?
Friends tell me that Verona, Salzburg and Bayreuth are marvellous, and I'm sure they are. The Puccini Festival, on the lake at Torre del Lago, is supposed to be the most relaxed, if you don't count the 'craic' at Wexford. Glyndebourne is divine, but you need a small mortgage and a lot of luck to get there. For my money, one of the best value festivals is just an hour from us near Mirepoix, at the imposing Chateau de Queille, a venue which takes one's breath away. The price is all-inclusive and for less than the price of a pair of opera tickets, you get all concerts, lunches, dinners and entertainment, as well as unlimited wine, beer and soft drinks for the duration. You can even camp for free, although if you want to stay in one of the medieval tents provided, there is a supplement.
It was started twelve years ago by Nico and Rachel Lethbridge and the seventh festival, Q7 to people in the know, has just ended. It is a huge credit to Rachel and her industrious team that they have continued to provide sublime music, amazing vittals and a huge sense of joy despite Nico's untimely death four years ago. He is sorely missed but his memory lives on with the Queille Festival. As each year passes, it gets better and better and this year's festival was definitely the best. Rachel herself has now assumed the role of Artistic Director, and it shows. It is an amazing achievement and I urge anyone with a love of classical music and a sense of fun to watch out for the next one [see: www. queillefestival.net].
I drove to Beziers, and then alongside the bank of the beautiful Canal du Midi on one of the prettiest airport access roads imaginable, to pick Ellie up from the tiny Cap d'Agde airport. Ryanair flies there, exceedingly cheaply, from Bristol. Most other fares had been hugely inflated by the half term exodus and Ryanair, love them or hate them, pretty well always deliver what's on the tin. Cheapskate they may be, but their use of tiny, out of the way airports means that airport parking is a doddle, and with only one plane arriving every few hours, there are no immigration or luggage queues to get hot under the collar over.
In less than two hours of glorious early summer Languedoc sunshine, we were in the Hotel du Commerce in Mirepoix to shower en route. Some things in life remain constant, no matter how many years pass by, and this little, old fashioned Logis, with its shady restaurant garden, remains one of them. Madame greeted us with her customary 'acceuil' and it was nice to be back. My old bones are just a teeny bit creaky these days to brave the joys of camping, which is a shame, because much of the fun at the Queille Festival takes place around the campfire at night, after the more formal events have ended. My daughter had no such qualms, eventually sharing a tent with her German cousins because her incompetent mother had managed to forget the pegs and tent poles for hers.
We all assembled at 7pm, for drinks outside the ancient Romanesque chapel of Saint Sylvain et les Sept Freres Martyrs, which sits below the high wall of the equally ancient Chateau de Queille. Old friends and new exchanged pleasantries in anticipation of the weekend of heaven on earth ahead of them. There are many 'old timers' in our midst, and we share a common bond from the previous six festivals, as well as the ghosts of those now missing from our number. I am taken aback by how much they live on in their now grown up children. Where have the years gone, I wonder?
The first concert was ambitious and set the standard for the two days to come. Two quartets, the stunning Badke and the Ristov, together with the cellist, William Amherst, the double bass and baroque bass player, Carina Cosgrave and the harpsichordist, Stephen Dagg, performed a delightful programme of 17th C and 18th C music. Mozart's Divertimenti in F major, K 138 was followed by Corelli's Christmas Concerto, the Concerto Grosso in G minor Op 6 No.8 and the seldom heard Concerto No. 5 in F minor by Count Wilhelm Van Wassenaer. It was a revelation that an reticent amateur Dutch aristocrat had composed a series of works of such exceptional quality but, modestly, refused to allow them to be attributed to him. He was the very antithesis of our modern celebrity. The concert closed, to rapturous applause, with the ever popular Brandenburg Concerto No. 3 in G major.
After delicious canapes and chilled wines, we reconvened for something completely different. I have to declare an interest here, for the 'Gold Rush' was performed by my sister-in-law and my three talented nieces, who had completely re-scored Charlie Chaplin's phenomenal 1925 masterpiece. 'Lily and Co', with Julia at the piano leading her unique take on the silent Chaplin film rolling above her, was accompanied by her girls, including Lily, the youngest, with violins, flute, percussion and sundry sound effects. The film itself is a piece of social history, Chaplin's favourite, and it's almost impossible to believe that the icy Alaskan tundra, which was the backdrop of the massive rush for gold in the early years of the 20th century, was created in a studio with flour and icing sugar.
The famous boot scene, perfected after sixty one takes, caused Chaplin to suffer an insulin overdose because the boot was made of liquorice. As Julia rendered the closing bars of 'Climb Every Mountain', we all whooped with jubilation, a fitting end to a glorious first evening. Sadly, the Chaplin Society have deemed that, from now on, only Chaplin's own score can be used to accompany 'Gold Rush', or indeed any other Chaplin film, so this was the very last performance. It is their loss and the estate of Buster Keaton's gain. Roll on 2013.
A blazing Saturday morning saw two concerts with the Badke and Ristov Quartets and the talented young pianist, Simon Crawford-Phillips. The contrast between Mendelssohn's Octet in E Flat Op. 20 and Shostakovich's Piano Qintet in G minor Op. 57, at first sight, couldn't have been greater. According to Mendelssohn's sister, Fanny, the G minor scherzo was inspired by lines from the 'Walpurgis Night Dream' from Goethe's 'Faust':
"Clouds and mist pass
It grows bright above.
Air in the bushes
And wind in the reeds
And all is dispersed."
During the stunning Shostakovich, I couldn't help thinking of life in Stalin's Russia at the time of the first performance of the quintet at the Moscow Conservatory on 23rd November 1940. The witty finale, it seemed to me, could have been written with Goethe's prophetic words in mind. They were bleak times indeed, but Shostakovich manages a wry smile of hope at the end of it all.
A champagne picnic lunch, after an appetite stimulating hike through the 'campagne', was accompanied by more music from Julia and the cousins, this time playing a heady mixture of Irish, folk, country and Klezmer music. The views were stunning and the array of local pates and cheeses, not to mention rustic breads, a would-be dieter's nightmare. Thank goodness the trees provided a respite from the brilliant sunshine for a quick forty winks before the need to soldier back to base for the second concert of the day.
Schumann's Frauenliebe und Leben Op. 42 was sung beautifully by the South African soprano, Pumeza Matshikiza, with the acclaimed pianist, Julius Drake, accompanying. A change of musical direction followed, with haunting renditions of Fernando Obrador's 'Canciones Clasicas Espanolas' and Xavier Montsalvatge's 'Cinco Canciones Negras' before a short break before the third, and final, concert of the day. The contrast couldn't have been greater, for VOCES8 led us on a magical musical journey through their amazingly eclectic repertoire of classic and contemporary pieces scanning five centuries. From Palestrina and Bach to 'Jailhouse Rock' and songs from the great American songbook, we were treated to yet another hour of joyous music making.
The evening finished pleasurably with a delicious BBQ feast in the Big Top and a wild night of whacky music, led by the brilliant Baghdaddies with their blistering brass, Balkan rhythms and rousing harmonies. Being a lightweight, especially after too much sunshine and champagne at lunchtime, I skipped off back to the Hotel du Commerce to sleep, perchance to dream.
Sunday began with the obligatory Queille Festival mass [not really obligatory, of course, but 'de rigeur' for all us lovers of the sung mass], led by the inspiring Reverend Dr John Munns, with a small part of the service in French in deference to our surroundings. This year VOCES8 sang the Byrd Four Part Mass and it was truly glorious. As the sun shone against a brilliant azure sky outside the high Romanesque chapel windows, I thought to myself that just for a moment, all is well with the world. These brief interludes in life are precious indeed and to savour one like this is a privilege.
A little later, we were treated to a virtuoso performance by Simon Crawford-Phillips of Chopin Nocturnes Op. 55 Nos. 1 and 2 and Janacek's deeply moving 'On An Overgrown Path' Bk 1. As Janacek himself wrote, "All in all, there is suffering beyond words contained here." When we had picked ourselves up, Simon was joined by the Ristov Quartet for Mozart's Piano Quintet in G minor, K 478.
A leisurely lovely salmon and salads lunch in the meadow, washed down with refreshing glasses of Domaine Gayda rose, had us all scrambling for the shade again. The weather could not have been better and we have been blessed this year. We all remember the occasional downpours of previous years. Afterwards, replete and happy, we head back up the steps to the chapel for the final concert of the classical part of the festival.
The charming French clarinetist, Nicolas Baldeyrou, together with the Badke Quartet, performed an exquisite rendering of Brahms' Clarinet Quintet Op. 115 in B minor and, in his second piece of the concert, was joined by Simon Crawford-Philllips at the piano for Debussy's 'Premiere Rhapsody', both of which I loved. I had not heard the latter piece before and was struck by just how 'modern' it is. Finally, the gorgeous Pumeza Matshikiza returned [in a stunning black and white Amanda Wakeley gown], accompanied by Simon and Nicolas, to sing Schubert's 'Der Hirt auf dem Felsen' D 965, 'The Shepherd on the Rock', scored for voice and piano and an obligato clarinet. They did not disappoint; it was sublime. The concert ended gracefully with Pumeza and the Badke Quartet in a performance of Schubert's Marion anthem, 'Salve Regina' in A D 676. It was a fitting 'Adieu' indeed.
Sadly, for personal reasons, I had to miss the Grand Finale in the Big Top, an event which is legendary. This year's theme was 'One Thousand Nights and One Night', and people seemed to have been planning their outfits for weeks. I had retrieved a stunning pink silk sari from the back of my wardrobe, together with some pink sequined Indian slippers, which probably would have made me look like an overgrown pomegranate, but it was not to be. C'est la vie. Acrobats from Le Cirque la Cabriole and music from VOCES8 and The Baghdaddies set the scene and, by all accounts, it was a very late night to remember......like the festival itself. By 10am the following morning, I was pinned into my Easyjet flight, en route to a wet and windy Gatwick. Sadly, there was no magic carpet for me. Roll on 2013 when the magic will continue......
