Anyone tempted to think that opera might be a dying art only had to be at the Grand Theatre in Leeds on Tuesday night or the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden last night to discover that it is triumphantly and thrillingly alive.
On Tuesday, for a performance of Madam Butterfly, I sat surrounded by a group of fabulously dressed-up 16-year olds, mostly female and every one of them chattering or texting busily until the moment the lights dimmed and the music started. From that moment they were all on the edge of their seats and silent except for the occasional sharp intake of breath or sigh of pleasure. And at the end they cheered Butterfly (a gloriously erotic and tender Anne Sophie Duprels) to the rafters and clapped and booed simultaneously for the caddish Pinkerton (a clearly delighted Rafael Rojas).
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