In an abandoned mansion at the heart of Barcelona, a young man, David MartÌn, makes his living by writing sensationalist novels under a pseudonym. The survivor of a troubled childhood, he has taken refuge in the world of books, and spends his nights spinning baroque tales about the city’s underworld. But perhaps his dark imaginings are not as strange as they seem, for in a locked room deep within the house lie photographs and letters hinting at the mysterious death of the previous owner.
Like a slow poison, the history of the place seeps into his bones as he struggles with an impossible love. Close to despair, David receives a letter from a reclusive French editor, Andreas Corelli, who makes him the offer of a lifetime. He is to write a book unlike anything that has existed – a book with the power to change hearts and minds. In return, he will receive a fortune, perhaps more. But as David begins the work, he realises that there is a connection between this haunting book and the shadows that surround his home.
~~
The first installment of this series, The Shadow of the Wind, was a triumph and to follow-up such a tale would have been a huge undertaking. But this book, The Angel’s Game not only continues the story, it also becomes a whole tale on its own and makes Barcelona come to life in a dark, gloomy way.
The story starts with David Martín as a young boy of a murdered father, working as a writer for The Voice of Industry. He manages to get himself work writing fiction, dramatic over-the-top murder mysteries for the newspaper, which doesn’t turn out to be as fun as he thinks it will be. Thanks to having a wealthy friend, Pedro Vidal, a failed writer to lean on, Martín is lucky to eek out a living in gloomy and depressing Barcelona.
Martín’s fortune changes when he gets a new publisher, two greedy men who aren’t worth his time, and Martín is able to lease the tower house of his dreams, an ancient and dismal place where he quickly falls into a habit of writing and neglecting his life and self. Writing as Ignatius B. Sansom, Martín pumps out dark murderous novel after novel, barely eating or sleeping. He soon finds that his 20’s are just rolling by as he sits at the top of his poisonous tower house and bleeds onto his typewriter.
Gothic is the best way to describe the scenes as Martín goes through many changes in 1920’s Barcelona. The scenes are rich and easy to understand, and the characters, while all dark and troubled, are all equally entertaining. Enter Andreas Corelli, a French publisher with an offer too good to be true. With love-life trouble of the highest order, Martín has little else to do but work on the most dreary and thought-provoking novel, one never quite accurately described. A fable, a religious work, a family story – but what ends up on the pages turns out to be pure evil.
As Martín deals with increasingly terrifying meetings with Corelli, ‘the boss’, the history of the tower house and the last writer who lived there and attempted to write a great tale takes ever murderous and scary turns. From basements filled with dummies, evil dogs lurking in the shadows, doves stabbed through the heart, an ageless boss who smiles like a wolf, fires and disasters all over the city, and even a spiderweb-like tumour, Martín’s life descends into madness.
As this book is the prequel of the first in the series, Martín has one bright spot in his life, the Sempere and Sons bookstore. The characters are the grandfather and father of Daniel Sempere, protagonist of the first book, and give more insight into the lives of the Sempere family. Another bright spark is Isabella, a young aspiring writer who latches herself onto Martín and is his saviour multiple times over. Isabella is the only person who can cope with Martín and his bleak attitude, and it’s great to have a strong female character in a book that isn’t there to be some kind of love interest, but a fully fledged character with thoughts and actions that contribute to the story.
The first half of this book is immense; the detail and the writing is superb. Through the latter half of the book, hints fall from all over to give the full picture of what is happening to Martín as he fights to stay alive and try to protect those he loves. Both his friend Pedro Vidal and his wife Cristina, the love of Martín’s life, get in the way of Martín’s spiralling determination to discover the fate of the last owners of the tower house, and the whole picture becomes very desolate. In the end, the body count is high, prices are well and truly paid and Martín’s fate is disturbing indeed.
I rarely read reviews by others before I review, so it doesn’t influence my own opinion, but I couldn’t resist reading a few between reading and reviewing. Yes, this book is very complex, and it seems that this book divides people. There are people who relish the florid prose and detailed vision of the author, and some seemed disappointed. Some felt the book was too complicated at the end. Personally, there are so many hints to the fate of Martín and of Andreas Corelli. Yes, there is a huge cache of characters to follow, but with such vivid descriptions, I felt it easy to keep up and the outcome, to me, was sad but simple. This book is far removed from the first in the series, it’s a dark prequel which only has a slim connection to the first book. Readers should be prepared for that fact. There is a third book in the series, which I will review next week, and that ties together The Shadow of the Wind and The Angel’s Game beautifully, for all to see. If you do find The Angel’s Game complex, you should read the third book, as it gives you a clearer picture of the characters and how they bind together.
The first book is a dream; no question. The Angel’s Game feels like the author let go and wrote everything he had ever dreamed of, and was given all the rope he needed to produce the work he loved. If I was asked to pick which book is best in the series, I would say The Angel’s Game is the narrow winner, because it’s dark, complex, sophisticated and you can feel the dampness of the tower house, the pain in Martín’s head, the warmth of Sempere and Sons bookstore and the ice underneath Cristina’s bloodied feet. I did a little Carlos Ruiz Zafón wander last May on my last visit to Barcelona, and he makes the city seems so alive in all new ways. This book is for everyone who wants characters who hold nothing back. Just don’t sit alone in the dark while you read.
There are many beautiful buildings in Valencia, and this one is my favourite. She may not be much to look at, but she gives great inspiration to writers (well, me).
Everyone knows the gorgeous and majestic 13th century Micalet bell tower against the cathedral. Next to it lies the sweetest street in the city, Calle del Micalet. A busy road in the Valencia for hundreds of years, it is now pedestrian only and so important for the city. Anyone who has visited the city will have walked down this tiny street, and features in both of my recent Valencia-based novels (shameless plug). Most fiestas features heavily in this street’s activities, has the old water court held there on Thursday’s and the prime plazas of Valencia sit at either end of this lane. Sitting quietly on this street is the abandoned building once belonging to the local watchmaker. The cathedral used to have a clock attached to the Micalet tower, and the watchmakers lived across the street from the important town landmark. When the clock and the adjoining buildings were torn from the cathedral side on Calle del Micalet, the watchmakers store and building across the street also became abandoned, and has sat in a state of despair ever since. Tucked just behind the bell tower, it just hides itself in multiple photos of the cathedral entrance, but the adjoining buildings can be seen. These buildings were still standing in the early part of the civil war, but then disappear from photos, around the same time the watchmakers abandoned their building. The building has been used for a few different businesses on the ground floor since, but in the decade that I have known the place, it has never once been open.
Good news came just yesterday that work has begun to stabilise this old relic, with metal beams going up, and mesh covering the facade for protection. While the Valencian government claim to have to no money to fully restore the building, it will be stabilised now, at a cost of €35.000, to preserve it for future use. El ayuntamiento consolida su finca junto al Micalet para evitar que se caiga.
I love this little street and the watchmakers building. When you walk past it, it whispers a grand history of this ancient city. Expect it to be a main attraction in a historical novel by me soon as I uncover its full history.
1870 – the watchmakers just out of view, but the mish-mash of buildings against it can still be seen
1920 – still in use
1937
1964 – tram ‘traffic controller’ outside the building
Adventures of a Doctor by Eduardo Martínez Alonso seems to be so rare, I can’t find any cover art or a blurb about this book. I managed to purchase a damaged copy from the New Zealand parliamentary library, and when they tossed this book to me for a mere $6 (about €3.60), they obviously didn’t know what a treasure they had. Eduardo Martínez is quite an extraordinary man with a story that seems to have been largely lost. With the market flooded with 1001 Spanish civil war books, it comes as a great surprise that this book doesn’t get more recognition.
The story starts with the author born in Vigo, Galicia in 1903. His father was from Uruguay, and was the consul in Vigo. As a young boy, Martínez travelled to his father’s homeland, along with his family (he was one of eleven children, and talks of his mother constantly having to nurse his siblings). The story tells of life in northern Spain in the era, and exploits with his brothers and attending a boarding school with mixed success. In 1912, Martínez’s father received a post to Glasgow, and the whole family moved north for a new life. Martínez dreamed of working in hotels or on ships, able to meet people and travel far and wide. He became bilingual at a young age, seeing the benefit of speaking Spanish, English, French and more. But it was his father who said he would be a doctor, not a sailor. As each of the eight boys grew and carved out professions (sisters, of course, were to be wives and caregivers), the prophecy of the hard-working consul came true. The family and Martínez recalls the first world war, his school years and an eventual trip back to Uruguay.
As a trained doctor, Martinez moved to Madrid with his grandmother, and speaks of seeing Anna Pavlova dance at Teatro Real, with the King and Queen in attendance. He quickly took up a post at Red Cross Hospital, and met Queen Ena, British wife of King Alfonso XIII, and the Duchess of Lecera, who were delighted to have an English-speaking doctor. News travelled of an English-speaking doctor in favour with the queen, and Martínez was in hot demand. Just eighteen months later, Martinez graduated from San Carlos Medical Facility and while meeting the King and Queen socially and professionally, was appointed the medical adviser to the royal family. This proved to be an amazing and dangerous post.
When the Second Spanish Republic was founded in 1931, Martínez was in the palace in Madrid with the royal family as they were deposed. He tells of sitting casually with Queen and princesses as the monarchy fell. As the family were forced into exile and as Spain underwent revolution, Martínez’s position as a monarchist him an easy target. As civil war came five years later, things changed dramatically. Martínez got his family out of Spain in July 1936, or off to the safety of Vigo, and knew he would be in danger as a former royal family aide. Through his work for the Red Cross, he was ordered by a Communist faction to work as a doctor for the Republican side of the war.
On Saturday morning the shooting started. We sat in a bar and heard the crackling of machine guns, the burst of hand grenades, and I saw smoke arising from many quarters of Madrid. By Monday morning a general strike had been called. Everything was paralysed except murder, arson, and rape. The Spanish civil war had commenced – Pg 70
Martínez talks of watching a church burning as priceless works of art were set alight along with the riches of the churches of Madrid. He saw a priest thrown on the flames but was unable to save his life when he pulled the screaming body from the blaze. Most priests were taken out to Casa del Campo to be shot. Men were burning priests but trying to revive pigeons which fell from bell towers, overcome by smoke. Martínez had an apartment in Madrid, and he hid as many people as he could throughout the war. Nuns and priest were hidden, and forced to serve meals to men who sat and spoke of vicious murders they had committed against the clergy.
Martínez was posted to a town outside Badajoz, Cabeza del Buey, in the south-west, working for the Communists. While running the hospital, a young nurse, Guadalupe, suggested they flee and work for Franco’s troops instead, but Martínez seemed convinced that he would be killed at some stage, regardless of where he was posted, and claimed no political alliances. In Cabeza del Buey, he was forced to attend mass executions of seemingly innocent men, and despair at violent speeches about revolution and vengeance. He performed many surgeries and saved lives in the most atrocious conditions. But with no warning, Martínez was shipped off, with Guadalupe, and sent to Ocaña, just outside Aranjuez, to work in the prison there, and be a prisoner himself. As he had in Cabeza del Buey, Martinez managed to get some nuns freed from prison to work as nurses, and treated patients while living in a cell himself. Between dire conditions and deadly activities, a patient told Martínez that his turn to be executed was near. An in understated manner, Martínez talked of his prison escape to Valencia in March 1937, were he managed to procure a fake passport and get aboard the Maine, a ship bound for Marseilles.
Martínez quickly got himself back in Spain, despite the dangers. He chose to cross the lines and work for the ‘white’ side of Spain, Franco’s rebel army. Red Spain (the Republicans), he felt, thought nothing of him, his work, and long suspected their cause would lose the war, one they never had a chance to win. Posted to Burgos, Valladolid and then San Sebastien, Martínez then found himself working on the front lines as Franco’s army continued to advance into enemy territory. Towns fell one by one as Martínez fought to save lives, but writes in such a humble, unassuming manner. Once in Zaragoza, Martínez worked hard to care for patients at the hospitals, and pioneered the use of closed casts on wounds, a procedure first tried with less success twenty years earlier. Despite the smell offending wealthy female volunteers, Martínez’s experiment helped the lives of many patients otherwise in agony as they recovered. He was then moved on to his own mobile surgical unit in Teruel in 1938.
Martínez was there on the ground when troops stopped in Sarrión, 100kms north-west of Valencia, as the war finally came to its brutal end. On April 1st, 1939, the war was over and declared won by Franco in this small town, and after helping a man and his son to Valencia, Martínez sought out all those who had helped him during the war, and moved back to Madrid. No sooner than Martínez had helped his friends and former nurses, and begged for clemency for some condemned to death by the new regime, the second world war broke out. With some family in Vigo and some Britain, travelling on multiple passports, danger was again faced. As Hitler plowed through Europe, Madrid suffered greatly after the civil war and Martínez went to work at Miranda de Ebro, near Burgos, to help war refugees from all nations. With such a humble attitude, he glossed over his feat to aid refugees out of Spain, saving their lives, until in 1942, when his ferrying of innocents was discovered and he was forced to flee Spain. His time working with British Naval Attaché, Captain Alan Hillgarth is barely touched upon, but should surely serve as an incredible tale of a man saving lives at great risk to his own. This two-year period alone could serve as a story all of its own. Just his dramatic escape would serve as its own story, but the author covers it in a few sentences, and neglects to mention he fled with a new wife. He also failed to mention his first marriage which produced two children, but was annulled after Franco took power in 1939 (His wife was a British woman who went home without him). I only found about either marriage after studying the doctor further myself. There are no clues to whom these women are at any point in the book. His personal life is never touched upon.
Again, Martínez talks little of his involvement with the rest of the world war, after being detained when first arriving in Britain (no idea if his Spanish wife was also detained), but worked as a spy for Britain throughout and barely talks about it. He worked at Queen Mary Hospital after the war and oversaw great new procedural advances, meeting some of Europe’s finest surgeons, but then returned home to Madrid. Life was hard in the beleaguered nation, and he again went to work at Red Cross Hospital, specialising in chest surgery. He then moved on to working as the doctor for the Castellana Hilton, newly opened in 1953. He recounts stories of wealthy Americans, and famous movies stars (unnamed) alike, who came to Madrid for all sorts of reasons. He spoke with frustration at his patients demanding penicillin shots, not wanting to discuss why they need this medication. Many guests, male and female, had a penchant for sleeping around and wanting medicine to atone their sins, either before or just after the liaisons which bore infections. One guest talks of being raped and demanding penicillin, though the story is far from convincing to the doctor. Sexual liberation had come to the foreign guests at the Hilton, and expected Martínez’s penicillin to cover it up. He makes his disdain clear for these patients and the abuse of this groundbreaking medication, and of the myriad of alcoholics he was forced to attend to, when little could really be done for them.
The book is written in the manner of a doctor – no-nonsense, no fussing with detail, just the raw facts given out without prejudice. Martínez is a man with the story worthy of a Hollywood blockbuster, but it wouldn’t be his style. This book was written in 1961, and Martinez lived until 1972. It shows what really stood out to the doctor in his life, because details are excluded, and there are many secret operations he simply never wanted to discuss. He is free and easy with dates – because I know the civil war, I could piece together the timelines of the book, but needed to look up world war details and the opening of the Madrid Hilton, just to give myself an idea of how much time passed between chapters.
Martinez’s daughter, Patricia Martínez De Vicente, has written several books in Spanish about her father, notably La Clave Embassy: La Increíble Historia De Un Médico Español Que Salvó a Miles De Perseguidos Por El Nazismo. The stories not told by her father in his memoir are a whole other side to this man who worked tirelessly for others, and had a strong ability to do good, without any need to be recognised. To read his book is a gift, and I will be also reading his daughter’s books.
*above photo taken just prior to release from the Spanish army, 1939. Photo supplied in the book (page 112)
This was my most popular post from my music blog – Night Wants to Forget, so once I closed the site, I have added this here for future readers 🙂
Tuesday February 14 started in good standing. My alarm went off at 5am and I had Senza Parole in my head. It was going to be a long day. I am an author, and a blogger, and a prolific Il Divo reporter. However, firstly I am a mother of four. For eight years I have been in this starring role and I have never left my children behind for anything. I don’t spend time away from them. So when I decided that I was taking a few nights in Sydney alone to listen to a double helping of Il Divo, it was a big step for me. And them. But mostly me.
Kiwis can fly!
Informed by my four young gentlemen that they were fine in the capable hands of their terrific father, I was left on my own at Auckland airport to board a flight. I hadn’t flown alone since the children were born. And without the tears and the fussing and the excitement they always have on a plane, I remembered again just how much I hate to fly. How awful it is to be in the air. And I had sit next to a woman who complained endlessly about how there is not enough hand luggage space. Her carry-on bag was larger than my suitcase. When I pointed that out she got even more annoying. I would like to thank Sony for the new noise-cancelling headphones I had bought only a few weeks earlier, and the plug that can be put into the on-board entertainment system. Next to her, half a season of Two and Half Men with Ashton Kutcher never seemed more appealing (I met him once, he is nice).
The flight took three hours, as it always does to Sydney, but with an added half an hour circling the airport as well. That was added to the half an hour delay in taking off, and it rapidly looked like I would be late to the diva lunch at midday. Patience is not my strongest virtue, so when I had to wait in my seat at the back of the plane for every passenger to get off, I was getting annoyed. Luckily the sexy Australian man at immigration rushed me through and I had to sprint with my heavy suitcase to catch the train into the city – which I missed. It was hot. Australia is. And humid. And the train wasn’t coming.
Sydney Harbour Bridge
By the time I stepped of the next train at Circular Quay I wasn’t in a great mood. Sure, the view before me was great – the Sydney Harbour bridge and the Opera House right there, but so was rain. Up a hill with my heavy case, and wearing six inch heels, I struggled my way into the Sir Stamford Hotel. I can’t rate it highly enough, but with my frizzy humid-weather hair, panting and red faced, it wasn’t a great way to arrive. My things flung to one side, they shoved me in a taxi to get Square Bar at Rydges a few miles away. My heels couldn’t make that walk, not in the rain for sure.
Sir Stamford on Circular Quay
That was when my mood changed for the trip. Only about 15 minutes late, I strolled in looking a mess and there was the diva group. After years of talking online to these women, it was beyond fantastic to meet in person. You know them instantly! It is a great privilege for this New Zealander (or ‘vowel swallower’ as I was called) to be included in the Aussie divas group. You will not find a better group of women. An afternoon of lunch full of champagne, cake, Divo love and laughs, I was more than ready to see the show. I had not been especially excited to attend, but in the comfort of like-minded ladies, I was ready.
View from the hotel
Back to my hotel, the room was perfect. And the view! The Opera House was only two minutes by foot away, and the buzz and energy of Sydney was hurrying me along to get organised. One of my true loves, Twitter, was on the desk so I could chat with divas everywhere as I got myself organised and into my blue gown, which I had altered only the night before after losing 7kg leading up to the trip. With four Valentine’s Day gift bags in hand, and my clutch purse armed with my camera, I set off. I walked the short distance along the waterfront to the opera house, which was full of people sightseeing and heading out for after work drinks. There I was, in a full length gown, five inch heels, holding my dress up with my purse one hand, gifts in the other, on the uneven cobbles that make up the paths. I quickly lost count how many men asked me if I was free for Valentine’s Day. They must have been desperate! I guess I looked ready for a date?
Out and about at the Opera House
With my ticket, Row A, Seat 27 (centre!) in hand it was time to wait for the Meet and Greet. Again meeting up with divas arriving for the show, we chatted and laughed as the minutes quickly ticked by. Those of us doing the Valentine’s M&G headed off, to meet Ivan, who is the liaison for the M&G for Il Divo. Running almost half an hour late and with 53 people to tick off his list, the poor man was a bit flustered. Chic was kind enough to help him out and take over, to the amusement of Lois and I, who somehow ended up at the front of the queue, the opposite of our plan. One minute I was enjoying some diva banter and telling the security guys that Aussie men are sexy, next I was being guided into a small dressing room by Ivan. It was dimly lit, decorated with a couch and grand piano and against the wall by a dressing table surrounded by lights was – Il Divo!
I stepped forward, careful not stand on my dress, and shook David’s hand, to be greeted with his warm illuminating smile. I was happy to see it, since he isn’t known for his love for M&G meetings. Next was Carlos (YAY!) and I introduced myself, to which he replied “it’s amazing you came all this way to meet me – us.” Sebastien laughed at Carlos as he took my hand and asked me where I was from, and I mentioned New Zealand, and also shook Urs’ hand, also a warm smile from him. Sebastien put his arm around me as I stood between him and Carlos for the photo, which caught me by surprise as we chatted about Auckland. In my desperation to stay composed in the presence of the men I forgot to take my glasses off for the photo! It was an absolutely awful photograph of me – but the guys looked fantastic. As I went to leave Carlos put his arm around me for a moment, which was great! All those Il Divo videos I have made that he has stolen the link for to put on his FB page were worth it. The smell of his favourite Chanel cologne bringing back memories of my memorable 2009 M&G (that is for another time!). All guests were given autographed programme and silver Il Divo picture frame for our M&G photo upon our exit.
Don’t laugh at me! It took a lot of guts to share!
Leaving the gift bags with the lovely Ivan to put in the dressing rooms, I headed out in the backstage cafeteria, where the Il Divo orchestra members, and some of the cast for Turandot that was in the opera theatre next door, were waiting. After more diva chat, and catching up with a couple I sat with at the 2009 tour, we headed to the concert hall with only 10 minutes until the start of the show, and a final chance to chat with divas before were scattered to take our seats. Once in my front row seat, it was obvious all those worries of the stage being very high were all nonsense. I barely had time to talk with the other fans around me and get my camera ready (and tweet my lovely divas the details!) before the lights dimmed.
Sebastien was ready for a big night
The show was nothing like I expected. In 2009 I went to a show and a M&G, and I was starstruck (for lack of a better word). But this was different, it was like seeing four old friends coming out to entertain. The venue was intimate, with everyone able to be encapsulated with the tones of Il Divo. ‘Come What May’ is a perfect song to start with, dramatic and cinematic, setting the tone for the evening very well. Each Divo got their own applause with their first line, before they wandered to the edge of the stage for the big finish. It was that moment when David was only a few feet from me did I notice his earrings and I pointed them out. He nodded with a huge grin and waved. He was rapturous with the reception they were getting and it was only the first song.
What bowtie?
‘Dov’e L’Amore’ was everything I had dreamed of, powerful and dark and intense. I love Carlos in this song especially and he didn’t disappoint. It was quickly followed by ‘Adagio’ where David comes into his own. After those three songs we easily could have gone home happy. By this time, David had plucked off the bowtie, leaving it to hang around his neck. Next was the delicate ‘Nella Fantasia’, my first time I have heard it live, and it was beautifully done. Then it was ‘Don’t Cry For Me Argentina’ and Sebastien stumbled with his first lines. He was right in front of me, and I could see on his face he didn’t know what he was doing as the moment came and he failed. The guys and the audience took it in good humour, before Carlos carried on with his lines. The song is amazing on the album, but much more luscious and theatrical on stage. The playlist deviated from what as initially put out, and ‘Si Tu Me Amas’ rang out. It is one of my all-time favourites, and I was singing (silently) along, and Carlos kept locking eyes with me while he sang, which was a superb treat.
Si Tu Me Amas
A short break in song produced a golden moment. Sebastien pointed out Renee about five or so rows back, sitting with Urs’ wife. He professed his love to her, tears in his eyes. A bunch of dozens of red roses was produced from a staff member on the side of the stage and given to Renee to big applause. The man loves his family and it is so lovely to see. I think every man in the place (and there were many) were nudged by their wives for not giving the same. The group broke into ‘Everytime I Look At You’, and this time I got to sing along with Carlos again. Yay! The pace moved along quickly, passing through the perennial favourites ‘Passera’ and ‘Senza Catene’, which seems to still be a very popular song. Then came the reinvigorated ‘My Way’ to complete the first act. While many say they are sick of the song, they have not seen it live on this tour, because it is a riot. The men left the stage exit left to a thunderous applause.
Their Way
After an interval that flew by, and more tweets sent, the second act was already upon us! ‘Senza Parole’ was presented on stage, and it is a shame it never made the DVD, because it is astounding. The sound is potent and demanding, sucking the audience in with its presence. Sebastien has more of a role in the song than on the CD, and the song is all the better for it. I jumped from my seat for a standing ovation at the end, aware I was alone, but I didn’t care. They then launched into ‘Melanconia’ and it is far more amazing than on the CD. The evocative and compelling song lit up the room, matched by the flames that shoot across the backdrop.
Melanconia
The treats were never-ending. It was time for the Latin medley of ‘La Vida Sin Amor’, ‘Ti Amero’, ‘Have you Really Every Loved A Woman’, and ‘Angelina’, David saying it was four for the price of one. These songs go together so well, and ‘Ti Amero’ has been given an injection and made it much more impressive and now concert-worthy. I got up to dance and Sebastien was directly in front of me, and he and Carlos were impressed, dancing with me and giving me winks and kisses. What I didn’t know was that I was dancing alone in front of the 2000 people there. At least that is better than in Auckland, where the 12000 in the arena saw me being crazy in the front row.
The pace then changed to ‘Mama’, Carlos giving his “I am the single one” speech, but with much less cheese than usual. I won’t say he wasn’t firing that night, but he was more subdued than expected. This was followed by the guys sitting to the left of the stage to perform ‘Hallelujah’, Carlos very deep in thought during this song. Then came the all new ‘Llorando’, which I personally love. I have never cared for Rebekah del Rio, and they don’t need her voice at all. This all came after Sebastien made fun of his own accent and sung some ‘wheels on the bus’. While that is fun, after a while it could become a tedious anecdote later in the tour.
The show then moved on, the guys going to the right of the stage to perform “Ven A Mi’, a real tear-jerker. The song is simultaneously elegant, precise, flowing and passionate. David switched it up and sang ‘Stay With Me’ in the first chorus, and it is a dream come true to have heard it live. The guys then briefly disappeared from moment, Sebastien and Urs coming back out without their jackets, and launched in ‘Regresa A Mi’, which is as beautiful as the day it was released. It was the perfect accompaniment for “Pour Que Tu M’Aimes Encore’, which had the crowd clapping along and received the biggest applause of all, and never fails to please. Again I was singing along and I could to sing while in eye contact with David which was amazing. But then, as always, the show was at an end, David mentioning in Spanish that he hated doing that part. ‘Somewhere’ was the final song, and it is obvious it is a real favourite of the guys themselves, who enjoyed singing every note to perfection. By then the place was all on their feet in applause as the guys dashed off.
Urs strips (a little)
But we knew to wait for more, clapping and cheering until the foursome appeared again at the top of the stairs in the all-black tuxedos for ‘Time To Say Goodbye’. This is another people say they are tired of, but clearly they have not seen Il Divo sing it live. It has a passion and a heartening warmth to it not experienced on the CD. A full standing ovation was of course given again, and I myself was leaning against stage in applause. I thanked Sebastien, who leant down to me, along with Carlos. A dream come true!
Time To Say Goodbye already?
Of course the show needed a full diva debrief, a large group of us all stopping to discuss the show. The Aussie divas are lovers of music and the whole show was well received, not a dull moment for anyone. A had many strangers come to tell me they saw me dancing, and that was when I realised no one had stood up. Never mind! I had the extra enjoyment of going back to my hotel with three lovely divas and we sipped drinks in the bar and discuss life and Il Divo, which was fantastic! Thank you, ladies!
The man I had waited to see
I wasn’t able to get much of a review in or post many pictures in the Australian Il Divo Fan Club on Facebook, it being the small hours before I went to bed as it was. But, unusually for me, I woke up the next day awake and ready for the day. I strolled the botanical garden, seeing the bats in the trees, and went to the New South Wales Art Gallery, and their magnificent Picasso exhibit in town from Paris. A double treat for me! The afternoon was wiled away shopping and sipping coffee, stopping to buy red roses for the show down by the opera house. I bumped into Urs and Tania as I was leaving my hotel to have a wander around the opera house, such a lovely couple. They were heading to the restaurants at Circular Quay for an early dinner. The day couldn’t have been any better for an outdoor meal, the weather was glorious.
New South Wales Art Gallery
I was in a rush to get ready for the second show, pulling my pink dress and getting my long hair tied up. Me and my five inch silver heels again made the trip down the cobbles, with more success, in time to meet the divas again. This time for the M&G, Ivan was on time, and only 18 people were booked in. I asked Ivan if that meant more time with the guys, gaining me a quiet nod. I stood back, chatting with another New Zealand couple, managing to get the illustrious last place for the M&G. I stepped into the lovely room again to gain an ‘oooooooooooh!’ for the guys, raising their arms. “It’s the singer girl!” Sebastien said. Who knew singing through the show would come in handy? I was doing it for myself. “No,” Carlos said stepping forward for a hug, “this is my Caroline.” Night Wants To Forget is well known it seems! I am flattered. I rarely post my opinion on here, I prefer the facts, but I am glad the guys approve of what I have made on screen and in print, Carlos especially. I got about 15 minutes with the guys, chatting about Australia, New Zealand, music (of course!) and Sebastien wanted to know all about my children and why I didn’t bring them all. He told me I am the most amazing mother, and that means a lot to me. And I glad they had got their gift bags the night before and liked the gifts. After Dick took the photo (a FRACTION better than the first night, but still awful), I said goodnight and joined Ivan out in the hallway again, to give him a hug. He could have hurried me and he didn’t Another round of programmes, autograph and picture frame!
Not much better than the first!
I had more time to talk with friends before the show started this time. For the second night the set was the same and the emotions were as heightened as the night before. Again I sung though the songs, getting the chance to sing along with prolonged eye contact with each Divo! I had said I wouldn’t do it if annoyed them, and they dismissed that idea. Seb kept pointing over at me while I was singing. Poor Seb, he seemed to be in pain and was coughing all night. When it came to the wonderful ‘My Way’ again, he offered me the microphone to sing which I did. How could I not? Thank goodness you can’t hear me on the video that Erika made.
The feeling of being with old friends was even more prevalent on the second night, and the whole concert atmosphere was one of relaxation. No one was stupid enough to throw underwear and I am glad for that. Carlos may take it in good humour, but the others hate it, and it does nothing to respect Carlos’ talent. The charmer attitude is a game, the man is totally different to his stage persona. This time, when the Latin medley came around, many more divas got up to dance! Sydney had loosened up! Luckily so had Carlos from tonight before. But it was Sebastien who again stole the limelight with the dance moves, and it was loads of fun for us all. When ‘Pour Que Tu M’Aimes Encore’ came around the crowd were enthralled and engaged, all on their feet at the end. I jumped up myself for ‘Senza Parole’, ‘Melanconia’, ‘Ven A Mi’ and ‘My Way’ as well. ‘Somewhere’ blew everyone away as the finale, as did the encore of ‘Time To Say Goodbye’ again. At the end I got the chance to thank David when he leaned down to me and he replied “you are VERY welcome”. I am sure I saw tears in his eyes. Nearly everyone had tears on this night to remember.
Brothers
With the guys and the divas all farewelled with great reluctance, I headed back to the hotel and managed to upload a few photos and a quick review. I barely had time to post on the forum when Carlos was there having a read too. I love his enthusiasm for our opinions. I never went to bed at all, needing to check out of the hotel at 4am to get to the airport. A fortifying breakfast of strong coffee and bacon and egg toasted roll was essential to soak up the adrenalin, exhaustion and a few cheeky alcoholic beverages that were all oozing from my body. I got on the plane in my special Valentine’s Day IL Divo t-shirt I got, and still with my makeup on from the night before! Talk about a whirlwind trip! After a bumpy three hours I was back in Auckland, to a round of warm happy hugs.
I know many divas have carried on to Melbourne, Hunter Valley, Brisbane and Perth, but my journey had to stop in Sydney because of work back here. But the people I met are what made this trip so special. The Aussie divas are amazing own in their own right, and Il Divo lovers second. I won’t ever forget any part of Il Divo in Sydney. No matter where in the world I will be living for the next tour, Australia will be my choice to see the guys, and the amazing women who love their music.
On the site of a gothic palace, the Palacio del Marqués de Dos Aguas on Poeta Querol was designed in 1740 by Ignacio Vergara. The main features are the male figures to represent the Doa Aguas, the two main irrigation channels to Valencia city, and after the original owner, the Marqués de Dos Aguas, the wealthy merchant nobility family who occupied the palace. The baroque alabaster facade has been added to and cared for since the orginal design was created, and the building was declared a historical monument in 1941. In 1954, the Museo Nacional de Cerámica y de las Artes Suntuarias González Martí, the ceramic museum. The building is must-see for anyone in Valencia.
The smell of his favourite Chanel cologne bringing back memories of my memorable 2009 M&G (that is for another time!). All guests were given autographed programme and silver Il Divo picture frame for our M&G photo upon our exit.
CAROLINE ANGUS 