English National Opera’s venerable production of Handel’s Xerxes came back to the Coliseum on 15^th September. Now ENO’s oldest production, originally from 1985, this revival proved it could still be core repertoire in another thirty years hence.

Originally created by Nicholas Hytner, this revival is under the tutelage of Michael Walling, and just as good too.

Ostensibly about the Persian king Xerxes this is really not about Persia, or his campaigns or anything else oriental at all, merely a three times two love story spun out over the requisite three acts. The name ‘Xerxes’ is a hook upon which to hang the Georgian love of all things levant, then all the craze. Handel, it must be said, whilst famous for many things, is not renowned for his comedies. Some like Semele lift the corners of one’s mouth, but Xerxes is really very funny from start to finish. It must be said that this production hams up all the foibles admirably such that there is almost a laugh a minute. And there are a lot of minutes! Scheduled to start at 7 and end three and a half hours later it actually started ten minutes late and, with often slow tempi, finished at five to eleven. The libretto was edited by the late Charles Mackerras who states in the programme introduction that there was no need to edit but I disagree, profoundly. A solid 30 minutes judicious cutting would be missed by only the most dyed-in-the-wood aficionado, and an hour wouldn’t affect anything that much. A few shorter recitatives, perhaps a whole scene chopped wouldn’t have made any appreciative difference.

For Xerxes ENO had assembled a stellar cast. In the title role Alice Coote was in all things other than stature a great Xerxes. Costume-wise she is decidedly well padded too, so that we don’t notice gender, though occasionally her movements were a bit cumbersome. Occasionally a bit shrill, a bit strident, in character she convinced. Ombra mai fu, the first and most famous aria was decidedly slow. I wonder if this was her or conductor Michael Hofstetter’s decision. Her brother Arsamenes, the counter tenor Andrew Watts, has a very powerful voice but frequently he not only dominates but quite startles. His top notes are every now and then a full 20 decibels louder than the note before; by contrast his lower register is sometimes a little quiet. Amastris, Catherine Young, in a small role was well cast, masterful even; Romilda, Sarah Tynan was again excellent. On stage the majority of the evening she was strong and fluent throughout. Atalanta, the other love interest, Rhian Lois is a revelation. I saw her in ENO’s recent Magic Flute as Pamina, in which she was very good, here she has the most burnished, effortless voice; I wanted her to be on stage all evening and never stop. Finally Elviro, Adrian Powter, was in a small role funny and engaging whenever he appeared.

Another star of the show was undoubtedly the production itself. Staged as, I would guess, the Georgian Vauxhall Gardens full of see and be seen gentry taking the air, it was surreal and gloriously over the top throughout. Although directed originally by Hytner, his designer David Fielding must take huge credit.

Inventive yes, charming yes; high culture yes, but down to earth fun too, very much so. CMk

Verdi’s Otello is often seen as the most Wagnerian of his works and David Alden’s new production takes this at face value, giving us a psychological insight which is closer to Tristan than Traviata. Jon Morrell’s grey cavernous castle is a world away from the colour and excitement of Venice or North Africa, a womb-like space within which the tragedy unfolds. Even when sunlight pierces the space in act three it does so to highlight the darkness around it. There is no sense of comfort for any of the characters. The final act remains in the open courtyard, Otello snapping Desdemona’s neck and leaving her on the ground, taking his own life distant from her. As in the final scene of Tristan, the onlookers fade away leaving us with the bodies of the protagonists and the brooding, living presence of Iago. It is a magnificent, totally convincing, approach even where it moves away from expectations.

There is no attempt to present Otello as racially different. Stuart Skelton’s massive soldier, both physically and vocally, towers over the cast and brings a dangerous intensity which is at odds with all around him. When faced with the chorus in both the first and third acts he seems like a wounded animal with none of the civilised manners needed for the court. Leah Crocetto’s Desdemonda is similarly an outsider. Her dark hair and ample figure make her an excellent foil for Otello and even in act three where the court are in formal dress with hats she maintains the simplicity of dress she has had throughout. Her equally ample tones fill the theatre thrillingly. I can’t recall a Willow Song presented with such intelligence and power.

It is possible to regard the action as it unfolds as a nightmare within which the protagonists endlessly replay the events of that fateful last day. The English translation helps greatly here. Sung in Italian, it is easy to gloss over the constant nastiness of Iago’s language, but on this evening the incessant spite and vitriol which he spews out is shocking. Jonathan Summers is superb in the part, the voice rasping and aggressive when addressing us yet sycophantic and oily with those around him. Allan Clayton’s more lyrical Cassio and Peter Van Hulle’s sleek Roderigo and subtly sketched in. The choral movement creates a world of dangerous volatility, highlighted in the violence of the opening storm. I did wonder if the opening chorus was amplified in some so, so overwhelming is its impact, but it is surely the placement of the singers and the reflective qualities of the set.

Edward Gardner’s approach from the pit is electrifying and the orchestra were on superb form for the start of the season. How anybody could doubt the quality of ENOs work and justify the cut to their grant in the face of performances like this is utterly beyond comprehension.

WNO launched its new season in Cardiff on Friday with a new production by David Poutney of Rossini’s William Tell. It also welcomed Carlo Rizzi back to the pit and he galvanised his forces to bring us a fast-paced and frequently exhilarating musical experience.

Among a strong cast unfortunately Gisela Stille had been advised not to sing so walked through the part which was impressively sung from the side stage by Camilla Roberts.

Casting was from strength with Barry Banks heroic and secure in the high tessitura for Arnold and David Kempster a solid and dependable Tell. Fflur Wyn delighted as Jemmy, bringing sensitivity to her characterisation and flair to the vocal line. All smaller parts were strongly sung and the chorus was as virile as usual.

At which point readers may sense a rather over-large but and they would be right. David Poutney has brought us many fantastic productions over the years but things do not look good at present. His staging of the Debussy-Getty double bill last summer was unconvincing and the new William Tell is frequently dull, lacking any sense of dramatic impact. The set by Raimund Bauer does not help. A work that breathes the open air of Switzerland and the close relationship of the people to the landscape is here dominated by a tripartite grey translucent panel with what appear to be icebergs on it. Only in act three when these units are turned round to reveal the platforms and ladders does it make some sense for the interior of Gesler’s castle. At all other times it works against any action. Costumes are equally dull, being grey throughout. Barry Banks heroic Arnold is dressed like an escapee from an amateur performance of Patience. This would matter less if the action within it had real vitality but it resorts too often to cliché. Chorus positioning is static or so stylised as to be ineffective. There is no sense of place or action. It would be difficult without reading the programme note to work out what actually happens in the last act; and why is Gesler in a wheelchair? It worked for Russalka but here it is misplaced and almost laughable.

William Tell deserves better and these singers should have been given the support the quality of their singing deserved. Next month the same forces will be staging Rossini’s Moses in Egypt – let us hope for better.

My final visit this summer proved to be one of the most exciting. The Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra under Alan Gilbert brought us a thrilling and beautifully crafted reading of Mahler’s Third Symphony. In many ways there is little more to say! What stuck forcefully was the amazing clarity of sound they produce. Where the Royal Albert Hall can still tend to fudge the tonal impact of large forces there was here a sense of openness and space within the melos which was retained even at the highest dynamic levels. At the other end of the scale, the hushed string tones, the solo harp, the distant rumbling of percussion hardly impinged upon us. Rarely has the hall this summer seemed so focussed and silent. There even seemed to be fewer coughs than usual.

Solo instrumentalists are world class, with exceptional performances from the first trombone in the opening movement and a sweet sounding off-stage trumpet in the third. Gerhild Romberger brought warmth and integrity to O Mensch! and the combined female forces of the Leipzig Gewandhaus Choir, Children’s Choir and Opera Chorus brought a lightness and fluidity to Es sungen drei Engel.

The final movement What Love tells me unfolded with a dignity and calm that had been prepared for in the turmoil of the earlier movements. Throughout Alan Gilbert brought a sense of the work as a single continuous whole which carries us on a traumatic journey to a triumphant conclusion. That a work of this brilliance was ignored for over half a century now seems difficult to believe.

Tonight the same forces bring us Beethoven’s Choral Symphony, back in its traditional place on the final Friday. Catch it some way or other – you will not be disappointed.