Sergei Prokofiev (Wikimedia Commons, public domain)
It’s been a while since I was last at the Royal Festival Hall, and I’ve never had such a good seat. Four rows back from the stage, up close and personal with the London Philharmonic Orchestra. I was mesmerised by the violinists (the LPO has a lot of violinists).
Yesterday’s performance was a little unusual. It focused on the Russian composer Sergei Prokofiev, with readings from his diaries interspersed with his music. Narrated by Timothy Walker, it featured the soprano Joan Rodgers and the magnificent Simon Callow as Prokofiev, the latter by turns playful and sad, indignant and resigned. The music, redolent of grief and joy and impending doom, was wonderful, transporting the listener to the soul of Russia.
I knew of Prokofiev in only the vaguest terms, and was fascinated to learn more of his life story. The diaries, a candid record of his life and music, record his journey from child prodigy to international personality to returning hero to the near-broken man who died on the same day as Stalin at the age of 61. One can only wonder what would have happened if he had lived longer, surviving into the thaw of the Krushchev years. As it was, so much of his music, having incurred the wrath of the Soviet authorities, remained unperformed for decades.
For a taste of Prokofiev, check out this video:
