Scottish Opera’s revival of Anthony Besch’s Tosca offers a rewarding evening, though not one without its problems. Vocally, this is a Tosca not to be missed. Unfortunately, most of the evening is marred by insensitive conducting and far too much noise from the pit.

The production itself has been a very successful one and surely owes the company no debts now. This is, believe it or not, the eighth time it has been revived and it has done more globetrotting than Scottish Opera productions usual manage, being seen as far afield as New Zealand and the USA. Such success is based on a solid, confident director who clearly knew what he was doing by updating the action to 1940s fascist Italy. It is immensely pleasing to look at and fits its shiny jackboots perfectly.

We begin, of course, in church. The church of Sant’Andrea della Valle in Rome to be precise. And we begin at something of a gallop as Paul Carey Jones races onto the stage from behind a wonderfully painted pillar: as Angelotti, the prisoner on the run from the regime, Jones presented a terrified figure searching for safety. Vocally, he was excellent – the only trouble with his character being that Angelotti comes to a bad end all too soon and the glorious singing is silenced. Jones left us wishing for much more and that is a good place to leave us.

Meanwhile, David Morrison gave some good comic business as the befuddled Sacristan but whatever he was doing was completely overwhelmed by the volume of the orchestra. Here and at many points during the evening the band were simply far too loud. At one point in the first Act, the back of the stage was filled with a large chorus who were apparently singing but rendered almost completely inaudible by the goings on below. They moved their lips but the effect was more of a silent movie than of going to the opera. The music shone like the sun in Francesco Corti’s hands but a sun which completely eclipsed all we had come to see and hear. If one can’t hear the singing at all then one might as well be at an orchestral concert. Or, heaven forefend, the ballet.

There was lots of detail going on in the background to catch the eye whilst the ear was deafened. Some of the liturgical business in church was a little odd though. Did people in Italy in the 1940s really cross themselves and genuflect towards a holy water stoup, even if it was surmounted with a Madonna and child? I have my doubts, but whether they did or they didn’t, no Italian bishop ever appeared centre stage at the front of a liturgical procession. Some of the liturgical carelessness could be forgiven by the presence on stage of the most glorious cope and mitre this side of the alps but other things which niggled suggested a production which needed to wear a little more of its heart on its sleeve. There was no water in the aspergillum, no incense in the thurible and worst of all, no blood on Tosca’s hands despite a rather energetic stabbing of the villain. Was it all perhaps just a little too neat and tidy?

Which brings us to Tosca herself.

Susannah Glanville’s Tosca was a revelation. She was marvellously histrionic and clearly something of an emotional handful. She raided the perfect diva’s toolbox and offered us every possible swoon, fluttered eyelash and gasp imaginable. And she could sing like a linnet too. Emotionally, Miss Glanville left one feeling entirely drawn into her passions and fears. Her voice was never less than beautiful, even amidst all her troubles. However, here again there was trouble from below, as chief amongst her torments were the orchestra who nearly drowned out much of her more gentle singing. Notwithstanding that, one was still left secure in the knowledge that this was a first rate performance and that Tosca’s tragedy was Miss Glanville’s triumph. After stabbing the chief of police at the end of Act Two, this Tosca was visibly a whole whirlpool of emotion and her gentle setting down of two candles by his corpse was at once both tender and chilling.

Wonderfully, the two other male leads were tiptop too. José Ferrero’s Cavaradossi was the stable point about which Tosca’s emotional world whirled. At first, I was unsure whether there was going to be enough of a vocal palette of colours for this painter to draw upon. But Ferrero’s voice quickly warmed up and a rather narrow and slightly constricted sound soon gave way to something much more satisfying. His duet passages with Miss Glanville in the final act were by far the most emotionally successful moments of the entire evening – a glorious paean to freedom – and, joy of joys, Puccinni gives us them unaccompanied.

Star of the show though was undoubtedly Robert Poulton’s Baron Scarpia. It did not so much feel that Poulton owned this stage but that in his fascist outfit he would sooner or later own every stage. His was a villain who clearly did bad things before breakfast and had made cruelty his career. And yet he was mesmerising. Poulton’s was also the voice which was best able to deal with the over-eager orchestra. It was shone out, as polished as his jackboots and stalked the whole theatre to within an inch of its life. That’s the trouble with charismatic fascists – they are uncomfortably attractive and Poulton’s Scarpia niggled away at us all for our being utterly fascinated by his every move.

It is difficult to pass judgement on this evening. It has been, over the years, a hugely successful production and one can instantly see why. Anthony Besch was confident and assured in what he was doing over thirty years ago and this one has certainly stood the test of time and bears up well to being revived under the direction of Jonathan Cocker. Vocally, there was without doubt some five star singing going on. However, if you can’t always hear the singing, those stars start to fall from sky faster than a diva dropping from the battlements.

50 days of unremitting joy were announced on Easter Day. Storms and hail and mid-May snow are not going to stop us.

Here’s a wee video of the way in which we keep the Feast around here. Great Western Road and Park Road never look finer than this – it is the joint walk of witness that we undertake with our friends in St Silas at this time every year.

He is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Though he doesn’t have a great place in the grand scheme of things, I rather like to remember this day. It is a reminder that sometimes vocation is about being in the right place and the right time rather than about gifts and skills, even though those are the thing we concentrate on most of all.

I am also reminded to pray alongside ‘Joseph called Barsabbas, who was also known as Justus’. He was the one not chosen. Preaching on his situation seems to me to be just as interesting as attempting to think about Matthias.

Of course, choice by lot still sometimes gets used. It is used to decide elections sometimes when the votes are cast evenly. (One is tempted to suggest at the moment, that the Greek election should be decided by the toss of a euro). The final choice in the decision to choose a new Coptic Pope will involve a small child choosing a name at random.

Anyway, let us remember Matthias and Joseph/Barsabbas/Justus. God uses people even amidst the apparent randomness of life choices and situations. And scripture reminds us through their story that randomness is very much a part of God’s world.

Matthias – a patron saint for all those who believe that God has a very precise plan for their lives.

Joseph/Barsabbas/Justus – a patron saint for the rest of us.

It is the consecration of the next Bishop of Edinburgh today. Usually I try to go to these services but sadly today,  I’m not able to go. So here’s a photograph of the colour purple for the Diocese of Edinburgh. God bless John Armes and all who will build the church with him.

I’m considering the lilies of the field.  They neither toil nor spin.

Well, the results of the local elections are now in. There were several surprises. Congratulations are certainly in order for the Labour party in Glasgow and also the Greens. Both did well – better than many expected them to do. Labour did amazingly well to regain the city with the Nats on their coattails and their former councillors turning against them. To gain any working majority under STV is a huge achievement and to do so under these circumstances is all the more so.

My dire predictions about the Liberal Democrats came to pass.

No-one asked me to vote for them and given that I’m reasonably politically connected, that seems rather a surprise. It is perhaps no wonder that there is a low turn out when the local parties are at such a low ebb that they don’t get much done.

There are, no doubt, good councillors and bad councillors out there. I find myself feeling terribly sorry for those who work very hard, engage in good public service and then lose their seats because of national events. Seeing the Lib Dems swept away from Stirling Council, I can’t hep but feel for those involved. Had circumstances been ever so slightly different, that could well have been me.
The fate of political liberalism in Scotland hangs in the balance right now. There are a number of options for those so minded, if they want to see a more liberal Scotland.

- Accept that the Greens shall inherit the liberal earth.
- A new party in the liberal tradition making a clean break with the past. This will only work and have energy if there remains a Liberal Democrat party to oppose. I’m thinking something in the tradition of the NDP in Canada.
- A new role for the Liberal Party which still continues yet, believe it or not. (If it hasn’t happened yet, my guess is that it is not going to happen).
- A break with the past.  A new leader in Westminster & a new message in Scotland. (Specifically, a leader’s office which is not sponsored by an anti-gay right wing group). Public penitence. “We got it wrong”. Grassroots takeover.

Continuing down the same road that the Liberal Democrats have been treading this last 18 months is not an option that will lead to more power, greater liberalism or better government at local or national level.

(If you ask me).

I had two predictions about these local elections in my New Year Predictions. In January, I said:

• There will be further significant losses for the Liberal Democrats who will face a wipe-out in local elections north of the border. The message from party leaders will be that we need to keep on with current policies, times were bound to be hard, it was always going to be difficult, government is tricky but it will all be worth it in the end. Activists will pour scorn in private and increasingly in public. The country will refuse to be fooled (this time).
• Labour will lose control of Glasgow City Council but Obama will retain the White House though America will seem more divided than ever. We might hope that he governs more bravely if he does get four more years.

It remains to be seen whether Mr Obama manages to retain control of the White House, but I don’t think I’m going to be far off when it comes to the rest.
The reality of the situation for the Liberal Democrats is that they are not going to be elected at any level unless there is a new leader and one who represents a clean break from the past. Yes, it is boring to say so, but the Tuition Fees debacle really was that serious a loss of trust. It was that serious because it was such a potent symbol of trust being lost on other issues.

One of the interesting things about the prediction I made in January is that some of the Lib Dem activists that I know said rather mournfully to me, “Yes, it will be bad in Scotland but, you know, this isn’t playing out as badly in England – it isn’t going to be as bad down there, just you wait and see”.

Well, I harumphed a bit about that in January and I harumph about it now.

The most frustrating thing about the local elections this time for me has been the absence of any real debate about local taxation or local services. I don’t feel as though I’ve been engaged by any of the political parties about that. The SNP seem more interested in the idea that winning Glasgow might be a stepping stone to independence than about providing adequate services to the city. Labour have seemed intent on ripping their local party to pieces and establishing one remnant as a permanent opposition. The Tory party are not a local fighting force. The Liberal Democrats, whom I do still, despite everything, feel supportive of, are being harried out of existence. Then there are the other parties – the Green’s whom I always feel I ought to want to support, Britannica, which I certainly don’t feel I want to support, various socialist factions and a ghastly right-wing Christian party that chills the blood.

One cannot say one wants for choice.

I’ve been very frustrated by the main players making a big deal out of freezing council tax this time. However did we get into a position where council tax has been frozen? Populist it may be. Stupid it certainly is. Freezing council tax hands power away from local government to the next tier up – Holyrood in our case. It also means squeezing public services beyond recognition.

When I was a local government candidate, I spent a lot of my time on pavement politics. It was said at one time that there was not a single pot-hole in Bridge of Allan that was so unglamorous that I would refuse to have my photograph taken by it. However, I was trying to make a point – that local services matter.

Last week my car had its MOT and needed quite a lot of work done on its suspension. “Ah, pot-holes!” said the garage manager with a fair degree of pleasure.

I’d rather pay a couple of pounds a year more in council tax and get decent roads than have a frozen council tax and a large bill when it comes to the MOT.

And therein lies my frustration with local government at the moment.

I believe in the joy of tax but, more geese than swans now live, more fools than wise.

Incidently, this one reminds me of my interview for the job at St Mary’s, after which, one of those interviewing me confessed that she had been swayed by the fact that I knew who Zelenka was.

After church this morning at the God Factor, I was in the hot seat and being quizzed by the participants about what I thought about gender and God.

I think I like this, very much:

[Thanks to Susan Sheppard Hedges for reminding me of it]