Carols by Candlelight

Tonight, I took myself to a concert at the Usher Hall and enjoyed it so much, I just couldn't wait to get home and write about it.

The Usher Hall is in the city centre, just west of the castle, and was built at the beginning of the 20th century with money donated for the pupose by Andrew Usher, a whisky distiller. Although it seats almost 3,000 people, the setting feels much more intimate and the interior is adorned with hand-sculpted plaster work. The auditorium itself is all creams and soft greys with gilded plaster and cherubs (or perhaps they're pre-adolescent angels as they seemed a bit tall for cherubs).

The concert tonight was, as the title of this post indicates, carols by candlelight. Not real candlelight, unfortunately - that's undoubtedly in contravention of fire regulations. But the effect was almost the same. The programme was a mix of traditional carols sung by a choir, accompanied by the 28-piece orchestra, with most of my favourite composers thrown in. A lovely surprise for me, because I didn't pay attention to all the details, was that the audience was encouraged to sing some of the carols along with the choir. And being there by myself wasn't going to stop me from joining in.

Now most of you know me as a non-religious heathenish kind of person who worships trees and moss - a bit of a Druid really - but I'm very fond of religious music and terminology ("vespers" and "sacristy" are such lovely words). I also have an affection for churches and graveyards, but that's another story or two. I sang in my school choir for three years, including hymns every Monday morning at South Leith Parish Church, which my schoolmates and I were compelled to attend. Although these efforts to save (or find) my soul were unsuccessful and I don't remember a single word of the stern Presbyterian sermons delivered weekly, I was left with a fondness for singing hymns, psalms and carols, especially if there was any Latin thrown in. Anyone witnessing my performance tonight would have mistaken me for a very devout person. I sang enthusiastically and unselfconsciously, but did notice that I sang the words - inexplicably - with an English accent. Bit of a puzzle, that. I was a little disconcerted by "O Little Town of Bethlehem" sung to a different tune than I know, but, apparently, I've sung this version at some point because it dredged itself up from some long-lost compartment of my brain.

Instead of wearing black, as orchestra members usually do (and which invariably looks dusty and shabby under the stage lights, unless it's velvet), this orchestra was dressed in period costume from the 18th century, in keeping with their name (Mozart Festival Orchestra). It was so much more colourful and textural and they were all dressed in different colours, with differently-styled wigs. The female members were dressed as men, wearing stockings with buckled shoes, breeches, waistcoats and overcoats. The percussionist (who got to bash his kettle drums more often than orchestra percussionists usually do) apparently gave the front of his wig a bit of a haircut because it stood up in a punkish style. Most of them had their wigs tied back with black ribbon, except for the organist, who wore gold tinsel.

The conductor was a very posh harpsichordist, who spoke with a BBC accent and was quite witty. He wore a sumptuous moss green velvet jacket with gold embellishments. Very stylish. You can't help noticing the conductor at any concert, of course, because it's hard to miss someone leaping around in a controlled way at centre stage and waving a baton around like a madman. I've always enjoyed observing the other orchestra members though, especially if they're absorbed in the music. My dad, who was a self-taught, accomplished musician and worked as an entertainer (playing piano, accordion and organ) until he died, used to say he was "sent" when listening to music. You could see him being transported somewhere else when he was playing and I love to see musicians with that look of rapture on their faces. You can usually see this in the violinists because they generally have parts in most orchestral pieces. The timpani guy tonight got to clash his cymbals and tap his triangle quite a bit but wore a sullen face all night. Serves him right for choosing to play such little-used instruments. How do you end up deciding on a career hitting bits of metal together? Why not go for something more fun and noisy like an organ or a trumpet? He wore a lovely claret-coloured velvet coat and waistcoat though.

There was a very earnest man in the choir who fascinated me. He was so enthusiastic when singing vowel sounds that I was sure his jaw would become unhinged. His face was very expressive, with eyebrows either pulled into a frown at the seriousness of "Unto us a child is given" or bouncing up to his hairline in jubilation (or surprise at his unhinged-ness)

There was also a soloist, a recently-graduated young soprano. I'm not a fan of operatic solos and sopranos in particular get on my nerves, but they have to be endured as part of the Messiah. She was fun to look at though because she wore one of those dresses with the corset that pushes the breasts up to the throat and has big panniers on the side of the skirt. Her wig was whipped up to the sky in an elaborate style and she was all sparkly, which I always enjoy, being a bit of a magpie when it comes to shiny things. You could tell she was a novice though, partly because she didn't have the prerequisite vast bosom of the seasoned soprano (which is just as well because large chests pushed up against her larynx in that dress would've interfered with her high notes), but also because you could tell she felt a bit awkward on stage. She was clearly following the what-to-do-when-it's-not-your-turn-to-sing lesson from opera school because during the orchestral parts, she'd fix glassy eyes on some distant balcony spot and nail a big fake smile on her face. However, she must've felt she rocked with her final aria because she couldn't take the smile off. I do hope she wasn't throwing up from nerves every time she went off stage.

All in all, it was a delightful evening, with music that "sent" me, surroundings providing me with many things to look at, and the sheer pleasure of singing carols. The only drawback about being there on my own, though, was that I couldn't slap the thigh of the person next to me when I got excited about the crescendo in the Hallelujah Chorus.