It was lovely to return to the beautiful surroundings of Opera Holland Park – a vast performing space with orchestra pit set into the middle, covered by an open-sided canopy – for the last night of this year’s season.

The opera is (and always was) a difficult piece to get right. Following on from the success of The Mikado, Ruddigore was widely panned at the premiere, underwent innumerable cuts and alterations before then disappearing from the repertoire entirely for 35 years. Whilst many directors look for ways to make G&S ‘relevant’ to contemporary audiences with varying degrees of success, John Savournin has, refreshingly, eschewed that and presents a production that is as close to the original material as I’ve seen in a while: no modern references thrown in here for cheap laughs, the writers’ material is allowed to do the work – and my word, in these hands, it achieves it well.

Musically, too, the production is pretty faithful to the original material. The new reduction by conductor David Eaton, superbly played be the City of London Sinfonia truncates the overture (vastly preferable to the unfortunate current habit of cutting them completely) and moves the Act 2 melodrama music to the piano. I liked the decision to include the second verse of duet at the start of Act 2, again usually cut, which adds more context to that scene, and a pleasure to hear the original version of the Act 2 finale.

The energetic chorus of professional bridesmaids led by Zorah (Natasha Agarwal) and Ruth (Caroline Carragher), bemoaning their lack of employment, led to the introduction of a feisty Dame Hannah (Heather Shipp).

The central pairing of Rose Maybud (Llio Evans) – delightfully fussy, in her strict adherence to the ridiculous rules of her book of etiquette – and Robin Oakapple (Matthew Kellet) – awkwardly shy – complimented each other well, both as actors and vocally.

A muscular portrayal of Dick Dauntless (David Webb), a particularly unnerving and convincing interpretation of Mad Margaret (Heather Lowe), a splendid turn by G&S veteran Richard Suart, clearly thoroughly enjoying himself as Old Adam, whilst Director John Savournin as an over-the-top caped and curly moustached Victorian showman-magician completed the Act 1 line-up.

The test of any performance of Ruddigore is the revealing of the ghosts a short way into Act 2. Here we were treated to the full Hammer Horror panoply of effects: thunder, lightning, spooky laughter, intense music in a minor key – which made the eventual appearance, sliding in round the flats, just a touch underwhelming. However Stephen Gadd’s stentorian Sir Roderic Murgatroyd, the last ghost to appear, commanded the stage whilst his later duet with Dame Hannah was beautifully delicate.

It goes without saying that all parts were beautifully sung with clear diction that reached all parts of the theatre, and a pleasure to hear. It’s also true that the Savoy Operas were written for all-rounders and understandably today’s first-study singers don’t necessarily make the best spoken-word actors (at times I felt the dialogue was bellowed and lacked nuance) or dancers (whilst Merry Holden’s choreography was slick and appropriately pitched, more than once I sensed on-stage self-consciousness).

After the calls, OHP CEO James Clutton asked all staff and crew onto the stage to receive an end of season ovation – a lovely touch, making me feel like a guest at your party. Thank you very much for having me, look forward to seeing you again!

Lucas Elkin

György Ligeti Requiem (Jennifer France: soprano, Clare Presland: mezzo-soprano)
György Ligeti Lux aeterna (Edvard Grieg Kor)
Richard Strauss Also sprach Zarathustra

A second visit in a week to the Royal Albert Hall, and a second packed house for a programme loosely based around Stanley Kubrick’s 1968 film 2001: A space odyssey – all three works feature in the film’s soundtrack.

Ligeti’s Requiem (1963-5) is a piece that pushes the boundaries of the musically possible. An extraordinarily low-pitched, very quiet opening for the bass singers and trombones leads slowly through a rising progression of instruments and voices, all starting from their lowest registers. This polytonal word painting for the opening line (Requiem aeternam dona eis, Dominine) sets the mood for the rest of the piece, the Kyrie continuing with heavily layered voices and the accompanying strings subdivided into at least sixteen parts.

In a movement of great extremes, The Dies Irae unleashes a violent attack on the first chord. Remarkable acrobatic work from the two sopranos follows (Jennifer France and Clare Presland) for whom Ligeti writes enormous leaps and instant dynamic changes throughout – handled with great skill by both. The concluding Lacrimosa, meanwhile, returns to stings scored as thick as organ mixtures, this time punctuated by chilling harpsichord interjections.

Given the work is a mass for the dead I found it a particularly programmatic interpretation, bringing to mind a tortured soul trapped after a painful death. Comfortable listening the piece isn’t – but powerful, moving and impressive it most certainly is.

After the interval was Ligeti’s much calmer unaccompanied Lux aeterna. Here conductor Edward Gardner opted for a theatrical approach, putting the Edvard Grieg Kor into the top galleries and the hall into darkness bar a single spotlight on the podium. This allowed the audience to focus entirely on the sound, washing down from above – a cleansing coda to the preceding Requiem.

The concluding work, Richard Strauss’s vast tone poem Also sprach Zarathustra, is loosely based on ideas from Friedrich Nietzsche’s poem of the same name, and best known for its opening sunrise motif. At the start the sound felt rather than heard, helped by the Albert Hall organ’s pedal stops, a luxury seldom available in concert halls. The LPO’s string section, given full range in Strauss’s exceptionally specific division by desks and players were as warm and lush as I have ever heard in the following Von den Hinterweltern whist the fugue (Von der Wissenshcaft) – often payed in a strictly metrical manner – was gentler and more lyrical than many performances, and approach I liked. The delightful waltz, illustrating The Dance Song (Das Tanzlied) with its busy, chattering wind instrumentation was particularly notable for leader Pieter Schoeman’s excellent solo work with its elaborate string crossings and double stops. Following the dramatic 12 bell strikes the piece winds down to its pianissimo end, delicately played, to a final pairing of chords that never quite settle – a fitting epitaph to a challenging evening.

Lucas Elkin

Dora Pejacevic Overture
Grace Williams Violin Concerto (Geneva Lewis: violin)
Gustav Holst The Planets

On a damp London evening it was warming to see the Albert Hall as full as I have seen it for a very long time for this evening’s concert, barely a spare seat in the house and Promenaders packed in like Sardines – all very encouraging.

Dora Pejacevic’s Overture (1919), is a short work loosely in sonata form with hints of film music and the Croatian and Hungarian music of her background, particularly towards the end. It dances along too, with syncopated rhythms and a triumphal ¾ ending with forthright brass that in the careful hands of Jaime Martín isn’t allowed to dominate.

Grace Williams’ violin concerto is in unusual form, the three movements being slow-slow-fast. An eerie opening with the solo violin floating over muted strings and brass develops into a deeply lyrical movement punctuated with a fiery cadenza with tricky double stopping and an awkward passage of stopped fourths, all handled expertly by Geneva Lewis, a current BBC Radio 3 New Generation Artist. The second movement, with some unusual orchestral effects (pianissimo gong, just enough to sense the timbre, for example) segues into the punchier last movement with more humorous rising chromatic phrases intruding into the lyricism. At times the orchestra and soloist lost balance, drowning out some of the detail of the solo work which was unfortunate..

After the interval there was a definite sense of both orchestra and audience settling in for 50 pleasurable minutes with a well-known old friend, Holst’s stellar suite having been played over forty times at the Proms. And tonight’s performance would have been up there with the best of any, from the opening tension of the Mars rhythm to the final drift into the distance of the ladies’ voices at the end of Neptune the energy infected the whole hall.

Venus employed some particularly beautiful playing from the two harps and celeste, Mercury bubbled along playfully especially in the string semi-quaver passages whilst Jupiter had the audience almost sighing with appreciation at the very well-known second subject.

But it is the last three movements that, for me, make a Planets performance, and where Holst employs some unusual and challenging orchestration: Saturn with four flutes (one of them a bass) accompanying the double bass section (particularly fine dynamics this evening, the crescendo and decrescendo being acutely observed). Uranus with its angular, staccato 6/4 rhythms and particularly Neptune with its wordless celestial chorus of womens’ voices. Tonight they were positioned at the back of the very top gallery with their backs turned to the stage. Whilst the effect was magical the musicianship challenge was huge and it was a great shame that there were a couple of perhaps inevitable rhythmic glitches and speeding up.

The only criticism I might make was of the audience – perhaps it is my age and upbringing, but a collective decision to applaud after every movement (presumably because they’re played commonly as stand-alone pieces on certain radio stations) somehow diminishes the integrity of the suite as whole work. I sensed Jaime Martín felt it too, as he was very keen to move on swiftly after Saturn and segued Uranus and Neptune together, which I thought worked much better.

But overall, an excellent evening of pieces both new and familiar that left this reviewer smiling and humming all the way home.

Lucas Elkin