Wormsley, 1 July 2015

The vast drifting, billowing white curtains of Kevin Knight’s setting create the perfect environment for Paul Curran’s insightful and sensitive re-appraisal of Britten’s final masterpiece. More than any recent production I can recall we are constantly made aware of Aschenbach’s isolation. Though he is surrounded by the life of La Serenissima it passes in an instant from sharp reality to hazy memory. There are many telling moments – the crowd reading the cholera notices, Tadzio walking past oblivious because distanced by the change of light through the curtain, hotel guests so close yet outside Aschenbach’s world. More than anything else this puts the whole focus of the work firmly on Paul Nilon’s Aschenbach and he brings us a man of intense humanity and passion, attempting to make sense of his creative life but always on the brink of collapse, just as life in Venice is itself about to go down under the tide of cholera. His voice has weight and a fragile authority which reflects the changes of mood with ease and the many moments of pain and exquisite beauty. It is the heart of the work but he is fortunate to be surrounded by so fine a company for the myriad of smaller parts.

Because the work is conceived within a dreamlike world, the dancing seems to make a bigger impact. There is no sense of dream sequences, more a case of Aschenbach moving in and out of memory. As a consequence it is easier for us to take all the dancers seriously as a normal part of Aschenbach’s world rather than an addition to it. In this Celestin Boutin is particularly successful as Tazio. He presents us with a very real young man – at least in his late teens – who is as open to a heterosexual interest in the Governess as he is to larking about with his friends. The very normality of his Tadzio makes Aschenbach’s infatuation all the more striking.

The other key performer is William Dazeley’s shape-shifting Traveller, ever present to undermine Aschenbach’s flights of fancy. His changes of costume and personality are subtle enough to confuse and accurate enough to combine all of them into the antagonist that Aschenbach finds so difficult to confront.

The large cast of characters are drawn from strength and while many are necessarily rapidly pencilled stereotypes, the production manages to keep them convincingly naturalistic. As ever the Garsington Chorus provide fine voices and real presence.

Holding the whole evening together is Steuart Bedford’s masterly control of the glorious nuances of Britten’s orchestral writing. He conducted the first performance in 1973 at a time when the composer was too ill to conduct himself. It was the only work to have been mounted without the direct involvement of the composer himself and in many ways has a closer association with Steuart Bedford than any other. Garsington Opera are privileged to have his experienced hand on the tiller for a production which, yet again, speaks of the growth of this company as far more than a summer opera.

London Coliseum, 6 June 2015

This was Edward Gardner’s last production as Music Director for ENO, though he returns next season for a new Tristan and Isolde, and it drew on all of the strengths he has shown during his time with the company. The orchestra was on exceptional form with a rich romantic sound throughout and the cutting intensity which is a particular quality of Tchaikovsky’s late score. Added to this was choral singing which was outstanding throughout, high quality soloists and a production that drew just a few boos at the end!

The conductor has worked closely with David Alden over the years and this new production was as challenging as we have come to expect. The easiest approach, I find, is to go with the flow. Don’t expect beds in bedrooms or bridges from which to commit suicide, and don’t be put off by furry animals appearing in the party scenes. After all, Hermann is insane, and while he may be less so at the start of the work than at the end, there is little doubt about his sanity. Gideon Davey’s deliberately ill-fitting set, painted in acerbic pastel colours, is lit throughout with a harsh cruelty by Wolfgang Goebbel to highlight the nightmare which surrounds Hermann.  The costumes drift across the centuries with little sense of connection except where they impinge on what is actually happening in Hermann’s mind. Peter Hoare is outstanding as Hermann. After a slightly shaky start the voice quickly settled and he produced ringing, often Wagnerian, tone with dramatic intensity which was entirely convincing. Giselle Allen’s Lisa is a lost soul, unsure how to react and buffeted by events around her. The claustrophobia of the settings aptly reflect the way the world closes in upon her to the point where she brutally kills herself rather than accept the on-going chaos. Vocally she is a fine foil to Hermann and grows in strength as the evening progresses.

Felicity Palmer’s voice does not reflect her age, and its stamina and subtlety are never in doubt. When on stage she is the centre of attention and effortlessly draws the focus towards herself.

The large cast of smaller parts are carefully individualised – some more effectively than others – but the insistence on so many smoking on stage, while possibly historically accurate, does raise inevitable concerns. The presentation of Pauline, a vocally strong Catherine Young, was simply confusing. The more naturalistic approach to Prince Yeletsky, a virile Nicholas Pallensen, was more pleasing.

This has been a superb season, running from Otello through The Pirates of Penzance to The Queen of Spades and the next season looks just as exciting and challenging.

Millenium Centre, Cardiff, 29 May 2015

David Pountney seems to be back to his old form with this troubling and often enigmatic production of Debussy’s Pelleas et Melisande. If a first sight of the set, with its vast metal cage and hanging skeleton, is momentarily off-putting then the arrival of the protagonists puts one immediately at ease. Keeping closely to a world of fantasy, where the unusual remains unexplained, is a real strength throughout the evening. Melisande emerges, chrysalis like, to be discovered by Golaud, and the unfolding narrative makes no attempt to explain why things happen – they simply do as part of the cycle of life. The final scene, when both Melisande and the baby disappear gently before our eyes and we are returned to the opening state, a hand emerging from the chrysalis like a flower coming gently into bud, is the most optimistic reading of this work I can recall.

Along the way there are many telling moments. Water, so heavily noted in the text, is ever present and the singers spend much time moving through it or into it. Golaud’s vicious attack on Melisande seems all the more unsettling for the way in which she is drenched by its conclusion. There are also frequent moments of telling insight. The parallels with Parsifal are there as the wounded Golaud/Amfortas is brought water by Melisande/Kundry. It emphasises the sense that Melisande is an unknown quantity with a whole history which we can never really comprehend. Rather than exiting and keeping Je ne sais pas heureux to herself, she says it directly, and almost naively to Golaud. When she insists Pelleas tell the truth, she looks at her ring finger.

Throughout Jurgita Adamontye is an enigmatic Melisande without ever being waif-like. Her very physical presence makes her all the more enigmatic. Her Pelleas, Jacques Imbrailo, is by contrast almost impossibly naïve at the start – a little boy who is at odds with the complex relationships of an adult world. He grows visibly as the story unfolds and is only just at the point of maturity when he is killed. It is a wonderful piece of characterisation and completely convincing.

Christopher Purves is a troubled Golaud, his passion often at odds with his authority until it breaks through and destroys everything he loves. The scene with Yniold – a touching Rebecca Bottone – is masterly as Golaud tries to force his son to admit to things which probably did not happen but which are anyway beyond the boy’s understanding.

Leah-Marian Jones as Genevieve and Scott Wilde as Arkel create a secure framework within which events are allowed to unfold, their presence at the end marking the continuity from one generation to another even in the face of death.

Johan Engels metal cage works surprisingly well and is superbly lit by Mark Jonathan, allowing the day light to creep in at the right moments but never overtake the darkness – even when the stars are out. In the pit Lothar Koenigs provides a subtle and luminous account of the score and one which I would be very happy to encounter again.

After a few less than convincing evenings this is WNO at its best again.

Photos WNO Clive Barda

London Coliseum, 20 May 2015

Calixto Bieito’s approach to Carmen is a world away from the tourist image of Spain and there’s not a flamenco dancer in sight. Instead we are at a nebulous crossing point somewhere in the late 1970s, surrounded by low life and dropouts living by the skin of their teeth. Even Escamillo is an alcoholic and obviously near the end of his career.

While this works well for much of the time it has a number of problems, not the least of which is the translation which often seems at odds with the action, but more importantly the score which is frequently optimistic and romantic when what we are witnessing is shabby to say the least. Moreover the characters do not compensate as they seem to know the world that they inhabit is going nowhere.

For much of the time this works well and the erupting sensuality and vulgarity are in keeping with the action, but there are too many occasions when we are left wondering why. In the opening scene the massed forces of soldiers impress but there is nobody else on stage; there is nobody for them to look at passing by .In fact they could be as abandoned in the desert as Lillas Pastia seems to be.

Thankfully the characterisation and singing more than compensate. Justina Gringyte is a blond bombshell of a Carmen, almost the opposite of what one might expect, but there is nothing amiss with the intensity of her singing and the sensuality she brings to it. If she seems hard-bitten then this is the way life has made her. Eric Cutler cuts a fine soldierly figure as Jose and has the strong upper register to match. Given that Eleanor Dennis is required to be extrovertly flighty as Micaela there is little reason for Jose to say no to Carmen.

Smaller parts are strongly cast and the chorus are strongly focussed throughout. Under Sir Richard Armstrong the orchestra plays with flair and often with an extravagant edge which works well even if it is at odds with what we are seeing.

The production can be seen in cinemas on 1 July.

Birmingham Symphony Hall, 17 May 2015

Andris Nelsons may be leaving CBSO soon but he is going out with a flurry of wonderful performances, none less surely than this Parsifal. He brings a dramatic urgency to the score which maintains a level of unexpected tension throughout. Where complaints are often made about long dull narrations, here every word has impact, particularly in the capable hands of Georg Zeppenfeld’s youthful Gurnemanz. We were encouraged to hear the dialogue as if for the first time and when this is added to the freshness and clarity of the orchestration it was frequently revelatory. Not that the evening seemed rushed. If anything the Grail scenes themselves, the moments of revelation, acquired a genuinely timeless quality in contrast to the angst of the earlier scenes.

To the outstanding playing of the CBSO can be added Simon Halsey’s choral direction for the CBSO Chorus. Where opera companies often need to double the chorus to make an impact there was no problem here in the cutting edge of the men as they assault Amfortas for failing to reveal the Grail or the horror of their gasp at Titurel’s body. The lower women’s chorus was placed on stage with the upper chorus in the top gallery, adding a clarity and immediacy to the sound. The flower maidens were as good as I have ever heard them in fifty years. (I heard my first Parsifal in Bayreuth in 1965!)

Soloists were all outstanding, with lyrical qualities to the fore, and legato lines one would expect of Verdi rather than Wagner. Burkhard Fritz has the stamina for Parsifal and a nobility of presence which carries him through. There was a wonderful moment at the end of Act One. As he was dismissed by Gurnemanz he stopped as he heard the Alto voice from above and turned towards it. He was aware, at last, of his destiny which makes sense then of his demands to be crowned in Act Three. I don’t recall ever seeing this done on stage.

Mihoko Fujimura has reserves of energy which allow her to colour the voice to meet the dramatic needs of Kundry, deep and pained in act one but seemingly lighter and more seductive in the early scenes of act two. It was a pity that she had a habit of fidgeting with her score when not singing which was slightly distracting.

James Rutherford was an unusually youthful Amfortas which again makes the whole question of his seduction more credible and he brought real pain to both of his narrations. Paul Whelan’s Titurel, sung from the organ gallery, added to the intense gloom of the opening of the Grail scene.

There was a standing ovation at the end and while I am never quite happy with the practise I fully understood it on this occasion. Even at a time of many great Wagner performances which we are privileged to attend this was outstanding.

BBC Symphony orchestra and chorus

Barbican Hall, 15 May 2015

With all the commemorations for the First World War I cannot recollect any recent performance of Sir Arthur Bliss’ Morning Heroes, first heard in 1930 as a memorial not only to the dead as a whole but in particular to his own brother, and a reflection on his own suffering on the Somme. With its striking choral settings, pitched somewhere between The Kingdom and Belshazzar, and its sumptuous orchestration you might have expected a large number of choirs to have taken it up but it appears not to have happened. All the stranger when one considers the impact of the work in the concert hall.

Perhaps it is the need for a strongly focussed orator? Here the BBC had marshalled the services of Samuel West, whose incisive and virile tones proved to be ideal for the passages from the Iliad and the more introspective notes of Wilfred Owen. The choral setting is demanding but not over-complex, allowing the text to carry with ease. Unlike Britten, Bliss is constantly aware of the allure of warfare. For all that men die, they are attracted to the bombast and pageantry of the build-up, and the excitement of attack. It is the women for whom there is great sensitivity, whether it be Andromache in the opening section or the poignancy of the warrior’s wife in Li Po’s Vigil.

Sir Andrew Davis has a deep commitment to British choral music and proved this yet again, convincing us that this is a work which can stand alongside any of the great works of the twentieth century.

This would have been enough for most listeners in itself but the concert had opened with two works by Berlioz. The Royal Hunt and Storm from The Trojans is familiar, but rarely in concert do we have the privilege of a full chorus for the height of the storm. It was splendid!

Then came La mort de Cleopatre. Is there anyone better in this work today than Sarah Connolly? I recall Janet Baker singing it many years ago with electrifying impact but this was in another league altogether. It also proves that a great singer can simply stand and sing to convey the intensity of the score, without any need for histrionics or semi-staging. Her careful crafting of the text, the sense of emotional melt-down, was impeccably controlled to the point where she dies before our eyes – a moment of real pathos and great beauty.

The concert is available via the Iplayer for 30 days but given the quality I would hope the works will be released on CD for posterity – they certainly deserve it.