Festival showcases local talent – and local librettist

Politics has become too boring these days – too predictable, too strong and stable, too staid – whether in Westminster, North Korea, or the White House.

So let’s talk about something else, shall we? (This is irony, by the way – just in case you think I’ve completely lost the plot.)

The St Magnus International Festival has just finished. It was a terrific event, full of fine music, drama, illumination and entertainment.

It got off to a royal start, with the presence of Crown Prince Haakon Magnus – great name, by the way, incorporating both Orkney’s saint and his executioner – and Crown Princess Mette-Marit.

I had a particular interest as the crown prince opened the St Magnus Centre in Kirkwall on St Magnus Day, April 16, 2001, which was, in effect, my last day at work as minister of St Magnus Cathedral.

Back then, the crown prince made a great impression on his first visit to Orkney, and on his return visit last weekend, he and his charming wife won even more friends and admirers with their relaxed, engaging style. The festival was a singular challenge this year, as I was commissioned to write an opera about the martyrdom of Magnus. I’ve written for the stage before – not for an opera.

I was described as a “librettist”. I wasn’t too sure what a librettist was, but I’m not one to turn down a gig. I thought I had signed up to be a librarian, until somebody asked me where the music was.

The composer who set my words to music was the talented Dr Gemma McGregor, who does some teaching at Aberdeen University.

The cast consisted mainly of local singers and actors of all ages and experience, supplemented by a few professionals.

Opera star Francis Church made a splendid Magnus, and professional Orcadian singer Paul Rendall was Earl Rognvald, who initiated the building of St Magnus Cathedral.

Dressed as monks, Kirkwall Grammar School pupils and Aberdeen University Operatic Society singers combined to sing atmospheric solemn chants as they processed through the cathedral to great effect. The St Magnus Cathedral choir, conducted by Iain Campbell, with Heather Rendall on organ, were also in fine voice.

The cast rose to the occasion splendidly, with Orcadian storyteller Tom Muir excelling as the Bard. It was quite an achievement for Orkney to stage such an ambitious community drama around one of its foundational stories, and to showcase local amateur, as well as professional, talent.

I’m fascinated by the whole business of talent. It’s rather mysterious.

Here’s an example. Turn the film back to 1924. Two sisters are singing on stage in Grand Rapids, Minnesota.

On toddles their two-year old sister, Frances, to join in the singing. Then Frances sings a solo, Jingle Bells, which has the audience in raptures.

Her father had to haul her off stage.

Thus does baby Frances Gumm set out on the faltering journey which is to turn her into Judy Garland. Somewhere, over the rainbow. Fast forward to 1934. It’s amateur night at the Harlem Opera House. A skelf of a 16-year-old comes on to the stage.

The MC announces: “The next contestant is a young lady named Ella Fitzgerald. Miss Fitzgerald is gonna dance for us . . . Hold it, hold it. Now, what’s your problem, honey? Correction, folks. Miss Fitzgerald has changed her mind. She’s not gonna dance, she’s gonna sing.”

The skinny girl goes on to give three encores. Yet, according to her biographer, she had fully intended to dance that night. But she sang, oh how she sang! And she never looked back.

What do these stories mean? Are they simply random happenings? There was a special moment when young Ella Fitzgerald decided that she would sing, rather than dance. In that moment, her life path changed.

What was it “in her” that made that unplanned choice?

The Romans gave the name “genius” to the special unique “something”. Whatever its source, genuine talent inspires – in all areas of human life, not just in the arts.

So let talent flourish. Be open to epiphanies, those strange intimations of mysteries for which we cannot find adequate descriptive language.

Turn but a stone and an angel moves: but only if we have eyes to see and ears to hear.

Maybe that’s what festivals, both local and national, are all about.

Turn but a stone and an angel moves: but only if we have eyes to see and ears to hear. Maybe that’s what festivals, both local and national, are all about.