Theatre Royal Brighton, 9 May 2013

We are used to site specific presentations but it is not often that a conception is so closely linked to a particular building and set of performers. In approaching Britten’s Canticles Neil Bartlett wanted to ensure that those developing the individual sections worked within the parameters of the bare stage at the Theatre Royal and only rehearsed on that stage, coming together with the musicians a few days before the first performance.This gives a frisson not only to the sense of immediacy but also to the high level of trust between the various components and their presenters.

At the heart of the creation is Ian Bostridge, singing as beautifully as ever but lending an astringency to the music which acts as a link throughout the five sections. He rarely leaves the centre of the stage and in many ways the world revolves around him.

Though the Canticles were written over a period of 27 years, their spirituality, more than anything else, is what unites them, and it is this heightened awareness which made the evening so satisfying.

The emotional out-pouring of love in My beloved is Mine is mirrored by dancers who combine the most banal of acts – sharing breakfast, getting dressed – with the pain of parting, and this flows easily into Abraham and Isaac where lovers become father and son, with the threat of imminent death coming between them. Ian Bostridge was joined by Iestyn Davies in a touching scene, the text carrying the weight of the action without any need for extraneous movement.

John Keane’s film for Still falls the rain was possibly the least successful idea as the extended video worked at a different rhythm to the music, setting up unexpected and often contradictory responses. Richard Watkins’ solo horn was sensitive and moving, drawing us back to the intensity of the music rather than the visual images.

Paule Constable approached The Journey of the Magi through the most subtle of lighting, suggesting constant transitions while the singers remained static. Given the unsettling nature of T S Eliot’s verse this was remarkably effective, and made an apt prelude to Wendy Houston’s direction of The Death of Saint Narcissus. Where Julius Drake had been ever-present at the central, and very dominant, piano so far, now he was gone with only the delicacy of Sally Pryce’s harp playing to compensate. The sense of a slow drift towards death was implied in every note and every step from Dan Watson’s shadow, twirling against the black vastness of the Theatre Royal’s stage. The falling curtain seemed like the final act in a crematorium, cutting us off from another world.

A festival performance in every sense of the word, and one which can be caught when it moves to Aldeburgh on 11 May and the Linbury Studio, Royal Opera House 10-12 July. BH

St John’s, Smith Square, 8 May 2013

A promising career as a concert pianist was cut short in 1990 as a result of a trapped nerve. Since then Angelo Villani has gradually worked towards a full return to the concert platform, and this was his first solo recital at St John’s, Smith Square. That he continues to show great promise is without doubt, but the concert was uneven in delivery and impact.

He opened very strongly, linking three Debussy preludes into what was effectively a lyric suite. La Terrasse des audiences du clair de lune, an unexpected rarity, was given a gentle, improvisatory approach, dwelling on the solitariness and loneliness of the composition rather than any potential romantic yearnings. This was in splendid contrast to The Girl with the flaxen hair, whose warm romanticism mirrored the cool deliberation of the opening prelude. Minstrels proved a suitably tongue-in-cheek conclusion though it highlighted the darker moments of the work with skill.

The following two Chopin nocturnes never quite came to life. A reserved, almost hesitant, approach to Op9 No1 never allowed the musical line to blossom and Op9 No2 seemed at times perfunctory in its lack of phrasing or clear dynamic structure.

Reminiscences of Tristan und Isolde was heralded as a premiere of a new concert paraphrase. In the event it was a short but dense arrangement of the Liebestod. It opened strangely with a musical line which is not in the opera, working its way towards the Tristan chord, after which it moved rapidly towards a combination of the orchestration for the love duet and that for the Liebestod. It was difficult to tell what was in any sense new in this arrangement, and the phrasing only occasionally came close to the over-powering impact of the work in the theatre.

This ambivalence towards the works being played continued in the second half. Angelo Villani obviously has a great deal to offer, but this concert only went a small way towards proving it. BH

Glyndebourne Opera House, 5 May 2013

Sublime is an overused epithet but when one comes to sum up Paul Lewis’ performance of Schubert’s late piano works over the last two years there is really no other word that does them justice. On a radiantly sunny Sunday afternoon, with picnics out for the first time this year, he drew the cycle to a close with performances of the last three piano sonatas, D 958-60.

Hi stage presence is stark. Wearing black against Glyndebourne’s black fire curtain and a black piano he almost disappears, but this is fully in keeping with an approach which eschews histrionics and focuses entirely on the music.

The opening Allegro of the C minor sonata has strong Beethovian echoes but quickly mellows to a more romantic and gentler impact, moving seamlessly into the beautifully crafted Adagio, with its moments of authority and nobility. The Menuetto’s rapid figuration brought a return of tension which carried over into the final Allegro, where lighter moments only served to highlight the underlying anxiety.

The emotional range of the A major sonata is even greater than that of the C minor. The Allegro proved warmer than anything we had encountered in the previous sonata with even greater fluidity, though Paul Lewis also found an edgy undercurrent which seemed at one with the following Adagio. It was difficult to ignore the shadow of Winterreise which seems to hang over this movement, both in the cantabile opening and the contrasts between delicate phrasing and painful tensions, and a final chord which fails to settle. The Scherzo comes as something of a relief and prepares the way for the melodic outpouring of the final Rondo.

The Molto moderato which opens the B flat major sonata is more highly developed than anything we had previously heard this afternoon, and here it was the momentary silences, the stillness, which impressed, as if the music hesitates to speak. Unlike the earlier Rondo movement Schubert seems driven by the melody here, returning to it in ever more fascinating ways, toying with it in an almost improvisatory way. This mood continues into the Andante which frequently seems to blossom and fly as if released from the tensions which had underpinned so much of the earlier scores. The joy of the Scherzo led to the deeper warmth and extrovert enthusiasm of the final Allegro.

It has been a long journey, but Paul Lewis has taken us deep into Schubert’s heart in a way few musicians have ever done before. BH

London Philharmonic Orchestra, Ryan Wigglesworth

1 May 2013, Royal Festival Hall

The combination of Vaughan William’s Fourth Symphony and Tippett’s A Child of Our Time was almost too much for one evening. The raw emotional energy of the symphony, which never seems to let up even in the quieter moments, was driven with relentless passion by Ryan Wigglesworth, helping us to experience the explosive danger the work must have had for the original listeners in 1935. That it can still shock is a tribute not only to the performers but the work itself. The combination of near rigid classical structures with a post-romantic energy creates a frisson throughout which is constantly exciting.

The opening of A Child of Our Time seemed almost Elgarian by comparison, and as the work unfolded it was fascinating to note how often the younger composer reflected Elgar, where Vaughan Williams had seemed far more modern. Not that Tippett is reliant on anything as obvious as a conventional oratorio for his structure, but that his writing deliberately moves between the familiar and the more challenging. If anything it is his text which still brings us up short, rather than the musical setting itself.

The dynamic range of the London Philharmonic Choir impressed, with the hushed romanticism of the fruitful land contrasted with the almost bombastic outpouring of The trumpet sounds within a my soul. The spiritual settings have always found favour, often being performed separately from the rest of the work, though here they were integrated without compromise, the narrative flowing easily between chorus and soloists. The final Deep River and earlier Go Down Moses were very moving.

Claire Booth was a late substitute for Rebecca Evans, and while she has a secure upper register she was not quite able to breathe the long lines Tippett needs. Pamela Helen Stephen characterised the different alto voices with skill and Matthew Rose carried across orchestra and chorus with authority. Ben Johnson has the innocence for the Boy, but his voice was often lost in ensemble.

The London Philharmonic brass and woodwind excelled themselves throughout and the performance was very warmly received from a full house. BH