Handel and the House of Homosexual Culture. Words by Fiona Haliday.
I must admit I’ve never been an out and out fan of the baroque. You say baroque and I see great aunts in fur wafting talcum powder. You say Handel and I see those who use ‘antiquing’ as a verb. There is, of course, beauty in Bach’s effervescing eddies. One can lose oneself in the great ormulu landscapes of Vivaldi and Pachabel and Scarlatti. But for me, the baroque is as soft and slippery and inane as Bambi slow cooked in baby oil. But to Handel I went. Reluctantly. Expected 20 Cantatas for the Happy Harpsichord.