Opera, my new love and me

1/2

Glyndebourne is not quite Glyndebourne without blue skies. The most stoic picnickers brave the drizzle and sodden grass under large umbrellas, says executive chairman and scion of the opera festival's founding family, Gus Christie. But most squash shoulder-to-shoulder onto the covered balconies, where, if you're not careful, you're quite liable to ruin your best heels in a plate of someone else's soggy coronation chicken.

If this season's weather has been a wash-out, the music so far has not. Tristan und Isolde was an instant sell-out, as Wagner at Glyndebourne always is, while Richard Jones's mildly controversial production of Verdi's Macbeth received rave reviews from the London critics.

Bach's St Matthew Passion, this year's most innovative production, staged by theatre director Katie Mitchell, began its run of 14 performances last night. Artistically, the festival is on a high - thanks in large part, claims Christie, to the authoritative and theatrical musical directorship of the young Russian conductor Vladimir Jurowski, last seen in London performing dervish-like at the Royal Festival Hall's re-opening gala.

Jurowski is, however, the only Russian you're likely to see at Glyndebourne this year. Though the festival has produced a number of more obscure Russian operas in recent years (Prokofiev's Betrothal at the Monastery last year, for example), the fabled rich Russians of London have not yet made the trip to the 1200-seater opera house nestling in the Sussex Downs near Lewes.

"We've tried to bring some down, but without success," admits Christie. The festival relies heavily on private donations, and Russian money would be as welcome as any, yet the contact he has had with the legendary "oligarchs" has left Christie, 43, bruised and rather angry.

"They're very hard work, some of those Russians, and can be more trouble than they're worth," he sighs. "I get the feeling they want the red carpet out all the time, which, fortunately, none of our English sponsors wants. Possibly we're not flashy enough.

"I went to a Russian gala evening at a hotel in London to try and meet some of them and actually I found them very rude. There was a Russian singer there and all the other guests carried on talking throughout her performance, which I found ..." he pauses and screws up his face ... "I found it extremely frustrating."

It's an unusual outburst from a man known for his level head, Eton-educated and brought up with all the privilege of the English landed gentry - though the Christies, too, like much of the aristocracy, are not without their eccentric elements.

Before Glyndebourne, Gus had a 10-year career as a wildlife documentary-maker, and you sense he'd much rather track badgers or buffalo than stalk the equally elusive oil barons of the former Soviet Union.

I'm told by a friend before I meet him that, on the retirement of his father Sir George as chairman in 2000, he and his elder brother Hector sat in a pub and tossed a coin to see who would take on the Glyndebourne legacy - the festival, established by their grandparents in 1934, the touring opera company, and the country estate itself. But Christie laughs at the tale. "Hector never wanted to take over. That sounds like a story he might tell, but even if we did [toss a coin], it was just a joke."

Hector is now a full-time eco-warrior, and runs a green commune in north Devon. It was he who heckled Tony Blair at the 2004 Labour Conference in Brighton, in protest at the hunting ban, and was forcibly ejected from the hall by security guards.

"He's a sort of global activist," explains Gus. "He campaigns against supermarkets and GM foods and nuclear energy, and he's chairing a wind farm down in Devon. I very much believe in a lot of what he's doing."

The other siblings are both involved in the arts: Gus's younger brother Ptolemy has directed opera at Grange Park in Winchester and is currently working as a director for Pimlico Opera. In the past he has introduced opera into prisons, directing all-male casts to great acclaim.

The more prosaically named Louise sits on the board at Glyndebourne, and both siblings live down the road from the main house. Theirs is a fiercely close family.

But Gus was groomed for the top job: "I joined the board when I was 25, and I knew my dad was sort of keen that I take over, but he didn't force me into it. The idea scared the hell out of me at first. It's a big national institution and I'm glad I pursued my own career first. I think an inheritance of this kind can be difficult."

It has been a steep learning curve, he confesses, not least because of Glyndebourne's notoriously perilous financial structure. Uniquely among British arts companies, the festival must sell 94 per cent of the tickets each season - top price £165 - to keep itself afloat. Last year it hit 97 per cent, and Christie expects to meet a similar target this year. Sponsorship and donations fill a budgetary hole of £2 million, yet the corporate hospitality department essentially comprises one man: Gus Christie himself.

Most nights of the season he "entertains, and nurtures" supporters in the family's 500-year-old manor house next door to the opera house, just as his parents did for more than 35 years. "It's a crucial part of my job," he says.

It's been much harder, he admits, since 2004, when his former wife Imogen Lycett Green, a granddaughter of the poet John Betjeman, suddenly left him, and took their four young sons with her. The break-up hit the gossip columns with a vengeance, largely because they had seemed so perfect a couple, but also because Glyndebourne's survival appeared to rely on a strong Christie family at its heart.

"What I went through was life-changing," he says of the break-up. "But things settle down and move on." The children - aged six and seven, and twin boys aged 10 - live with their mother in Brighton, but come to Glyndebourne regularly, where they play frisbee with the musicians on the lawns, just as Christie did himself as a child. The twins even appeared on-stage in The Magic Flute.

"I certainly feel as though I'm juggling more balls nowadays," he says wryly. "My children are the most important thing to me, and some of the entertaining that I might have been doing before, I haven't been able to do because I want the boys here. It's all about forward planning and being organised. But I think it's working fine. I have a good housekeeper who helps with the children."

He admits there are often nights when he'd rather eat beans on toast with his sons than a formal dinner with opera's wealthiest fans: "But I knew what was involved before I took it on."

Besides, the Christie family is tight-knit, and his parents rallied to help when Imogen left. In particular, his mother, Mary, returned to help him host the interval drinks and dinners. It was always unlikely that someone so eligible - he appeared on all the Most Eligible Bachelor lists just months after the marriage ended - would remain single for very long.

Last year Hector was quoted in a gossip column saying: "He's got women queuing up, but he hasn't got a girlfriend yet. He's playing it super cool."

But Christie now confirms rumours of a new relationship with Australian singer Danielle de Niese, who played Cleopatra at Glyndebourne in Handel's Giulio Cesare two years ago. "She's an extremely successful singer, and performing all over the place - Paris, Brussels, New York. I see her as often as I can. I'm happier than I've felt for a long while. Good things come out of bad."

Meanwhile, he is attempting to remain super cool - and not always quite achieving it - on a completely different flank altogether. In a fortnight's time the local council will rule on Christie's controversial bid to erect a wind turbine 70 metres high on the Glyndebourne estate, and thereby generate the opera house's entire annual electricity needs.

The plans have met with stiff and sometimes aggressive local opposition (Christie claims that 75 per cent of the local population are in favour and 25 per cent against, though the anti brigade would certainly dispute those figures) and though the row centres essentially on what the thing will look like, it's the tone of the debate that most depresses him.

"Personally I feel they're objects of beauty because of what they do, as well as what they look like," he says, sounding very much like his older, more militant brother.

"I think they are symbols of the age we live in. The local kids have voted in favour of it; they see it as a beacon of the future and I think they're the most important people in all of this. It's about them, not the kind of people who don't like change, which is basically the problem.

"The hostility has been quite highly charged. Some of the letters I've had have been quite heavy, but I do think we need to do something. There's been a lot of talk, but not much action and the consequences of not doing anything are obviously far worse than looking at a wind turbine.

"I hope, if it gets the nod, that it will be a reminder to people who live around here, and to audiences, about how they live. I also think that after six months people will be proud of it. But I've no idea whether we'll get consent. We'll look at appealing if we don't."

The upkeep of the manor house and estate is itself, of course, a time-consuming job in itself. At any time during the opera season, up to 20 people are living here with Christie - directors, designers, technicians and so on, though not singers who require controlled living conditions without smoke or dogs.

He describes it, in rather hippie fashion, as an "artistic commune". "It's a big draughty old house and a bit of a struggle to keep the hot water going. It needs permanent tinkering." I point to a yellowing damp patch in the corner of his fabulous, book-lined study: and the roof? "Luckily, dad did that before he left," he says, peering through the window at thunderous skies. "Which was very good of him."

As I leave, the Downs look splendidly dramatic beneath the rippling cloud, and it actually seems to me - though the picnickers would surely disagree - perfect weather for a spot of solemn, elemental Bach.

Glyndebourne is on until 26 August (www.glyndebourne.com).

Create a FREE account to continue reading

eros

Registration is a free and easy way to support our journalism.

Join our community where you can: comment on stories; sign up to newsletters; enter competitions and access content on our app.

Your email address

Must be at least 6 characters, include an upper and lower case character and a number

You must be at least 18 years old to create an account

* Required fields

Already have an account? SIGN IN

By clicking Create Account you confirm that your data has been entered correctly and you have read and agree to our Terms of use , Cookie policy and Privacy policy .

This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged in