Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there
Which seek through the world, is ne’er met with elsewhere
Home, sweet home, there’s no place like home
Home, sweet home, there’s no place like home
An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain
Oh give me my lowly-thatched cottage again
The birds singing gaily that wait at my call
Give me them and that peace of mind, dearer than all
Home, sweet home, there’s no place like home
Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home
Well, this is absolutely gorgeous singing, which never fails to move me to tears of gratitude and love.
A simple Victorian ballad, accompanied only by a harp. And although it is in English - you really need to know (or read) the lyrics; because Sutherland is the nearest to pure-voice that I have ever heard.
In other words; she was the supreme exponent of the Bel Canto style, by which the aim of the singer is to produce a continuous flow of the most beautiful tone - which means that there is near-zero diction, and the meaning is carried almost entirely by the lyricism of the musical phrasing.
Of course, Sutherland was also among the greatest of technical singers in terns of intonation, control, colouratura (rapid decorations such as runs and leaps) and size of voice - but (aside from a few gentle flourishes) all that is set aside here.
Joan Sutherland also sang a verse as the final song of her Farewell concert in Sydney, Australia - accompanied with the utmost tenderness and sensitivity by her husband, the conductor Richard Bonynge - which was indeed her home. I saw this live on TV at the time, and said my own farewell to unsurpassed greatness.
No comments:
Post a Comment