More than ten years ago, kind friends invited me to a performance of a Handel opera. As it turned out the evening brought surprise that led to rare and lasting pleasure.
During the first act a tall young man strode on to the stage, portraying one of those hard-done-by exiled monarchs, usurped by an evil brother/uncle/cousin, who are two-a-penny in the deliciously dippy world of eighteenth-century opera.
And then he sang.
For me, the clarity, purity and manly strength of that voice brought one of those rare experiences of being unable to tell the music from the music-maker - so perfectly did the one complement
the other, in this outpouring of yearning and loss.
The dodgy storyline, the bizarre posh-Goth makeup, the faux classical setting - none of these mattered in comparison to the music.
Time stood still.
The singer is Andreas Scholl.
And, of course, this may not be your 'thing'....