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.