Martyn Brabbins, conductor; Ruth Knight, director; Ian Jackson-French, lighting designer. Cast – Christine Rice, Queen Elizabeth I; Robert Murray, Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex; Paula Murrihy, Frances, Countess of Essex; Duncan Rock, Charles Blount, Lord Mountjoy; Eleanor Dennis, Penelope (Lady Rich); Charles Rice, Sir Robert Cecil; David Soar, Sir Walter Raleigh; Claire Barnett-Jones, a housewife; Innocent Masuku, The Spirit of the Masque; Willard White, a blind ballad singer / The Recorder of Norwich
This work has seen remarkably few performances. There was a concert performance in 1963, which was the opera’s first performance in any form since its inaugural production in 1953; the second re-staging of Gloriana was undertaken by Sadler’s Wells Opera in 1966, with a concert version at the Proms under conductor Charles Mackerras performed and recorded in 1973. There was a revival of the 1966 SW/ENO production in 1984 under Mark Elder and other performances in productions by Welsh National Opera in 1992 and by Opera North in 1994. Apart from a production in Colorado, and a one off production by Richard Jones at ROHCG for the Britten centenary, that’s it!! So it’s a rare work to get to see and I am not at all sure I will see it again in my lifetime. I was fascinated in advance to see how I would react to this work, the music of which I knew nothing about except for the Courtly Dances compilation. It’s not often you hear a known major work by a major composer for the first time.
Although billed as a ‘concert performance’, and despite being a one-off, this was a staged performance with costumes – who knows from where and what production the three ladies’ splendid Elizabethan costumes came from – as well as movement, a tiered stage for the chorus (who however were in modern dress with their scores) and strongly directed interactions between the characters. There were also some effective video projections, sometimes suggesting a commentary on the characters’ words – leaves falling from a tree, for example. and sometimes illustrative, such as a picture of Ireland. The staging overall was much more than i was expecting and felt like a real labour of love. The auditorium was gratifying full, though not completely sold out, with a strong sense of empathy for the Company in their current predicament.
These then were my thoughts on the work:
1. As in some other Britten operas the language of the libretto often jarred and sounded clunky. Sometimes it sounded twee; sometimes there was an odd mix of modern and vaguely 16th century cod-Shakespeare, with no consistency on the use of the two. Odd words cropped up that sounded misspelled or misunderstood – kern (kerl?), ‘ obstrude’ etc.
2. Much of the music was wonderful – full of invention, memorable melodies, and carefully crafted. Very little sounded routine and all felt as though shaped for voices to enable them to be at their best. The choral masques I’ve sometimes seen flagged as a low point – and maybe, had there been dancers, this might have been the case. Somehow though the stage focus on the chorus alone left me impressed by the beauty and skill of the choral writing. The Elizabethan musical pastiches were very cleverly woven into the texture of the work.
3. The problem for me in the first half was that, unlike most of the other Britten operas, which have a passionate core to them about the outsider, the destruction of innocence, and the workings of evil, which grip you in seeing the works on stage, in Gloriana we somehow never engage with the characters before us – they are remote figures from a well known historical past. Only the Queen is treated in a way that gives her character depth and the rest seem one dimensional. Perhaps the second half is slightly better handled – two more female figures are introduced that make the plot and what’s happening more complex, and the Queen’s undecidedness about what to do with Essex is something that I sympathised with. But at the end of the day this is about a man who’s a bit of an idiot and a queen who has, as rulers do, to make tough decisions. It doesn’t make for compelling drama.
4. Whatever Britten’s and Plomer’s thinking, I found the spoken words at the end disruptive – somehow in their bare intensity they made speech more dramatically profound than the music, and that can’t be right; Britten’s score became akin to film music.
Christine Rice was very fine as Queen Elizabeth though without really moving me with her voice. Robert Murray didn’t have a particularly sympathetic presence but that goes with the role, I suppose (and had a voice that sounded extraordinarily like Pears). It was great to hear Willard White in fine voice in two small roles.
I did wonder on the tube back to my hotel why this was ever conceived to be an appropriate work for the Coronation in 1953 or why in the final analysis Britten felt compelled to write it. Somehow there is something about it that’s dutiful rather than blazingly inventive, even if there’s much that’s enjoyable musically. It’s essentially about the familiar, in operatic terms, clash of love and duty, keeping up appearances and suffering as individuals, which is the making of some of Verdi’s great operas but here there doesn’t seem to be a subtle sense of characterisation that would really bring the major characters to life, I’m afraid.
Winterreise is yet another work I am not sure I have ever heard live in the concert hall (though I am pretty sure I have heard at various times Die Schone Mullerin and Schwanengesang). I got to know Winterreise as a student through the Britten / Pears recording so I always have a tenor in my head singing this, rather than a baritone or bass. I have only heard Allan Clayton once before – he sung On Wenlock Edge at the Wigmore Hall about 9 years ago – but he had rave reviews singing Peter Grimes at ROHCG earlier in the year (which I missed through Covid), and, all in all, I was very much looking forward to hearing this.
And my expectations were more than fulfilled. Clayton is a singer, from the evidence of this performance, of an extraordinarily large range of vocal timbres and shades. Sone of his soft singing in songs like the final Organ-Grinder, the Linden Tree, Last Hope and the Phantom Suns was not only beautiful but, like all great singers, brought you intimately into his world, into his head. His soft singing was technically impressive too – no head notes/falsetto. At other times he could deaden the sound of his voice, as in The Crow. And yet, again, he could also sing in a strong declamatory style. He made you believe that there was one tortured character behind all these songs, not a string of mediocre poems in early Romantic mode set to often beautiful music being sung in a polite concert hall with beauty but little emotion. Some of the songs felt quite fast, some felt slow, but altogether the performance of the song cycle seemed to have a unified feel. The final song, The Organ Grinder, was as bleak or bleaker than I have ever heard it.
The concept behind this particular presentation of the work was two-fold:
It was acted. Clayton ranged the stage, fell to the floor, huddled under the piano, glowered in the background, loomed in the shadows, leant against the walls. This felt absolutely right and helpful in bringing the audience into the world of the singer and manifesting his increasing madness. Clayton was very good at suggesting the different moods of the character – sometimes fearful, melancholy, stubborn, even at times self-mocking
It also had scenery. This was less helpful – a series of impressive-in-their-own-right images picked by Paul Kildea, the creative director, pairing Schubert’s songs with hand-picked images of 20th-century Australian artist Fred Williams’ paintings and prints. The images were brilliantly colourful, clearly indicating the sun and natural life of Australia, but seemed to have only a tangential relationship with the Northern forests Schubert’s songs seem to be describing. Some of the images were apposite – e.g. the dark jewelled images for the graveyard song, or the dense yellow-reddishness of the Phantom suns. But often they seemed a distraction. It would have been better, I felt, to have had an acting platform for Clayton, a spotlight, white and black screens – this would have given more focus on Clayton’s performance without the distracting images.
I haven’t mentioned the pianist – I felt sometimes her phrasing at points was a little under-pointed, but that’s a taste thing, and she certainly didn’t distract from Clayton’s performance, and accompanied in a way that supported his singing. I did at the end wonder whether in an alternative staged version of the work directed by yours truly, the singer could actually treat the pianist as the loved one………
As a whole this was a tremendously impressive performance. There was an apology at the beginning for a throat infection the singer had, but there was no evidence of this
Sibelius The Oceanides & Tapiola; Bruckner Symphony No 7: London Symphony Orchestra, Sir Simon Rattle
The link in the programming here – quite a tenuous one, really – is ‘landscapes in sound’. This is fairly obvious in the two Sibelius pieces, much less so for the Bruckner, where the association is meant, I suppose, to be with majestic Alpine ranges. But I am not really sure that Bruckner ever really thought in these terms when composing and the programme booklet doesn’t even attempt to justify it! Never mind – it is an understandable compulsion to link pieces together in a programme, but when you are listening to performances of this quality, it doesn’t really matter if there’s not much coherence…….
I have heard both Sibelius pieces over the past year. The Oceanides – they are the sea nymphs of classical myth, apparently – is a pretty piece , but neither very Sibelian nor that memorable, in my view. There was some beautiful flute playing, and Rattle brought out very clearly the structure of the work, with the crashing of the waves at the climax suitably impressive.. The orchestra was larger than I remembered, with two sets of timpani and a celesta. Tapiola is a work I can never quite tune into fully – I find its sound world gripping at the beginning in its evocation of a Northern icy forest, I find my mind wandering in the middle, and it comes back into focus for me as the final storm/evocation of the forest god starts. Rattle and the LSO gave what to me sounded like an excellent performance.
I have heard many fine Bruckner 7s over the years – conducted by Haitink, Solti, Jochum, Kempe, and others. Like the 4th symphony last year, the LSO performed the work in a new ‘Ur Text’ edition by Benjamin-Gunnar Cohrs. Again, as last year, it was difficult to identify many differences from the standard versions – occasionally I heard orchestral voices within a dense mass of sound which I hadn’t heard before, but it was difficult to say whether this was an effect of the new edition, or the conductor bringing out specific inner voices in the orchestral melee (or a lack of control of the players, which I doubt). The performance was relatively swift, which worked well for the last two movements but occasionally meant that the first two didn’t have enough of the moments of repose and contemplation which they ideally should have. Another advantage, though, of a swifter approach is that the structure always seemed clear and this is particularly important in the finale, which can sometimes feel very episodic. It was by no means though a driven approach and there were plenty of well-handled lyrical moments in, say the Trio or the end of the slow movement, as well as plenty of flexibility of tempo when needed. Throughout the playing was very fine indeed. The 8 double basses ranged across the back of the stage gave a firm dark foundation to the sound, the Wagner tubas were beautifully played, the LSO brass sounded majestic rather than raucous and the rest of the strings had both heft and sweetness. It would be lovely if Rattle gave us a Bruckner 9 with the completed finale (though he seems to be working with Cohrs and maybe there’ll be no more Rattle Bruckner when he leaves the LSO – I can’t see Pappano as a natural Bruckner conductor……). I thought this was an excellent performance…..
Louise Drewett The Daymark (world premiere); Ravel Piano Concerto in G major; Shostakovich Symphony No 11, The Year 1905: London Symphony Orchestra, Gianandrea Noseda conductor, Alice Sara Ott piano
Not a great deal in common between these three pieces, one might have thought in advance. Perhaps in retrospect there are connections between the new Drewett piece and the Ravel, but both had very little in common with Shostakovich at his most raucous and brutal (though maybe that contrast was the programming point!).
This was an exciting and enjoyable concert, with a nearly full hall, including the Balcony in use. The orchestra was joined by a number of young professional musicians from the Music Academy in Santa Barbara, who have been working with the LSO in November.
The Drewett piece – the inspiration for which was a stone beacon on the Devon coast, which, as one walks around it, breaks up, with its octagonal shape, the light in various ways, was easy on the ears – in fact could have been written by Ravel! It was an enjoyable water/light scape, with rippling colours and changing sonorities but maybe a bit ultimately unmemorable. It was well-received by the audience.
I seem to have heard several accounts of the Ravel piano concerto since the end of lockdown – I think this was the third! This was much the best. The playing of Alice Sara Ott was exquisite – delicate, nimble, flashing with colour and subtle touches, and getting just right the playing of the opening of the slow movement, which was more touching than any performance I can remember of this work. The jazzy touches are of course right up the LSO’s street, but what was more notable were some beautiful solos – particularly by the horn, flute and harp. This was, I think, a great performance.
The Shostakovich 11th was the second performance of this work I’ve heard live – the first was at the Proms with LPO / Vladimir Jurowski about 5 years ago. I found this performance exciting, absorbing – perhaps in the end a little unmoving as a dramatic experience, but that may be the work rather than the performance (however I think not)……..The LSO certainly played superbly – particularly the battery of percussionists, the trumpets and trombones blasting forth, the cor anglais’ beautiful playing in the finale, plus the whirling strings coming in section after section in the second movement, digging deeply into their notes, and the Mahlerian woodwind playing out, again in the second movement, and particularly in that wind passage that sounds like an Orthodox chant, before the killing begins. I found the first movement played slightly too fast, but it was still very atmospheric – that sense of ice-cold blue skies in the sparse string writing perhaps does have some relationship with Drewett’s work. The word often used to describe this work is “cinematic’, usually with a slightly derogatory tone. To me, there are maybe elements of that in the first movement, but the other three movements don’t really wholly fit that description – they’re intense, dramatic but in the sense that many symphonies have dramatic movement and the capability to move an audience. The Leningrad Symphony does this, and rises above the programmatic history of the siege of Leningrad to be a meditation on the horror and terror of 20th century life, not just the specifics of revolution or war . Somehow the horror and the terror wasn’t quite present in this performance and it sounded a bit episodic at times– the sharp drum report and the pounding strings halfway through the second movement didn’t quite link with what had happened previously, and the woodwind/percussion/timpani passage which follows was exciting but not terrifying (as it is for instance in the LSO recording with Rostropovich). But this was an excellent performance by any normal standards. The audience gave Noseda and the orchestra a standing ovation at the end.
Antony Hermus, conductor; Orchestra of Opera North; Alice Coote, Orfeo; Fflur Wyn, Euridice; Daisy Brown, Amor.
Manchester was in a state of some chaos when I arrived at Piccadilly station. – the tram service wasn’t working in the central zone, and there were huge traffic jams. It took a while to work out what to do and in the end I hogged a taxi and arrived at the Lowrywith 5 minutes to spare – not an ideal preparation for sitting in the opera house for two hours.
The audience was on the thin side – another question mark therefore being put to the idea of ENO moving to Manchester – but they were enthusiastic -rightly so – about the performance.
This was described as a concert performance but it was much more than that, though no director was credited – only the function of ‘concert placing’, whatever that is, by Sophie Gilpin being mentioned in the programme. There was a starry backdrop at the beginning and end, and a dark one for hell. There were a few stage props – a harp for instance – and a platform for Eurydice to appear on when she is first introduced to Orpheus. The full length of the Lowry stage was used for movement by the contemporarily-dressed chorus, Amor and Eurydice. Orfeo had a cloak, with a drawing on the outside of a distressed woman, and trousers/boots, so was made to look a little distinct. The reactions.pf Orpheus and Eurydice to each other were as they would have been in a ‘normal’ staging. The only part of the opera which missed out in this approach was the dance of the blessed spirits and any other parts of the work which can be choreographed – eg the appearance of the Furies, which I remember being very well done by Wayne Macgregor in the 2019 ENO production.
Any staging of this work fundamentally stands or falls on the person playing Orfeo who’s singing for at least half the work. I was much more taken both by the work and by Alice Coote in this performance than I was by her singing and the general impact of the work in the ENO production, where perhaps everything was a bit overshadowed by the dancing and the imagery it provided. Alice Coote was marvellous in the ON staging, every element of the phrasing of the arias and recitatives thought through, subtlety varied and true to the words and music. She conveyed Orpheus’ anger and passion manifestly, while there was some lovely soft singing from her in Che faro senza Eurydice and Che puro ciel . To be frank, I listened afterwards when I got back home– as I have the early 1950’s Glyndebourne recording – to Kathleen Ferrier singing this role, and although the beauty and ‘personality’ of her voice is overwhelming in some ways, Alice Coote’s singing is far more intelligent, varied and thoughtful (though it is difficult to be objective. I have known Ferrier’s singing of ‘Che Faro’ for almost 60 years – when I got my first record player from my parents aged 12, at their instruction I bought my parents an EP of the aria, and something by Handel as a Christmas present – I’m not sure they’d ever heard her, but they were clearly aware of her voice, her tragic story and this piece of music). Fflur Wyn was perfectly acceptable but not memorable as Eurydice – her voice seemed a bit small for the house and, from where I was sitting in the middle of the stalls, didn’t really carry over the orchestra. I thought the orchestral playing was of the highest standard – full of bite, energy and precision – a really characterful piece of playing and conducting.
I was more taken by some of the other arias in the opera this time, beyond the famous two I have already mentioned. It seems remarkable that this work was first performed only 34 years or so after Handel’s Alcina, seen last week – it’s much more expressive, much less tied to the stand-and-deliver aria format, much less obviously full of display pieces, but instead a work where the artists’ first job is to communicate the dramatic truths which their characters are expressing and feeling.
Director, Richard Jones; Designer, Antony Mcdonald; Lighting Designer,Lucy Carter; Conductor, Christian Curnyn; Alcina, Lisette Oropesa; Ruggiero, Emily D’Angelo; Morgana, Mary Bevan; Bradamante, Varduhi Abrahamyan; Oronte, Rupert Charlesworth; Atlante, José Coca Loza
This will definitely be in my top ten list for 2022. It was for the most part extremely well sung and very cleverly staged.
The basic concept was that Bradamante and Ruggerio were Puritans, with Atlante an elder figure advising them. Alcina’s previous lovers who have all been turned into animals are also Puritans. The Puritans seem to be winning at the end, but Alcina and her sister Morgana have the last laugh! The set was a series of bunched together curtains which were lit in different colours to suit the changing moods of the piece. Beyond the curtains you occasionally see the darkness which highlights the magic of the Island – that darkness being something of a Jones trademark (in fact the greenhouse in Act 3 looked exactly like Hunding’s hut in the recent ENO Valkyrie, directed by Jones). At times there’s some front curtains with pictures of Alcina while set changes are taking place, and also another one, used for the overture and the later parts of the opera on occasion, with a picture of a Puritan man and woman walking together towards a setting sun with the inscription ‘The One Path’ – this gets changed to something else at the end by Alcina! The enthralled lovers of Alcina are a constant surprise with their animal and birds’ heads, reacting to the singers (was it my imagination or did the hare have waggly ears?). There are also some parkland trees and bushes which pop up from time to time, moved around by the ‘animals’, and there’s an enormous white bed for Alcina which periodically makes an appearance.
It’s a very busy production, bubbling with ideas and, where appropriate, gags, quite rightly so given the tendency towards the static in da capo arias – Alcina’s urn is a huge perfume bottle, for instance, that squirts out lethal scent with a brand label saying ‘Alcina’ . The famous aria Tornami a vagheggiar at the end of Act 1 is a tour de force – a dance routine that involves singers and animals and which really moves energetically with the music in a delightful and totally natural way (there’s another great dance routine for Ruggiero’s aria ‘Sta nell’Ircana‘, the one with the high horns). Throughout, the singers on stage act well, responding to each other with energy, intelligence and passion. Their actions seemed more attuned to the music than the ETO performances the previous week. Given all the grumbling I’ve seen about some of Jones’ productions in the past, this was a thorough-going repudiation of his critics. Costumes were blue and white bonnets for Puritan women, sober black for the Puritan, a blaze of colour for the animals and for Morgana. Bradamente and Ruggiero on the island tended to the sober black and white. Alcina had a very tight short black cocktail dress.
The stand-outs among the singers were (of course) Lisette Oropesa as Alcina and (perhaps less obviously) Mary Bevan as Morgana. Both had what I look for in singers – an ability to caress the notes, to convey the emotions they’re feeling through the nuancing of how they sing and their pointing of words, coupled with technical excellence. Oropesa had no problems with delivering razor sharp coloratura but was also excellent at conveying Alcina’s genuine emotion at the loss of Ruggiero – she is also a very considerable actor who had a whale of a time bouncing around the stage being seductive, provocative and imperious. All Mary Bevan’s arias were beautifully sung, with some lovely floated high notes and she also acted energetically. I was also quite impressed by the richness of tone of Varduhi Abrahamyan as Bradamante. The rest of the cast were very good (though, I thought, no better than the ETO singers the previous week) – Emily d’Angelo, of whom a lot has been written recently, did not particularly impress me (I kept hearing in my inner ear how other famous mezzo’s might have handled her arias and the shadings they might have introduced). I thought maybe the boy soprano was a bit of a mistake – it is, I think, more normally sung by a light female soprano. I have to say I was quietly pleased that the production team had decided to go for a woman in the role of Ruggiero rather than have a counter-tenor!
I have become perhaps a bit too used to the fizzle and snap, the gut string sounds, of specialist Baroque bands, and at times the ROHCG orchestra seemed a bit less lively than would have been ideal (and it was very large – it looked almost a Verdi sized orchestra – I counted 6 cellos, for instance). The leader of the orchestra and the leader of the viola section rightly came on stage at the end with the conductor in recognition of their beautiful playing in two of the arias
At the end of the day this was not only a hugely enjoyable staging but also a reminder that there is some wonderful music in this work – Tornami a vagheggiar, Verdi prati, Ah mio cor, Lascia ch’io panga and the beautiful aria with the solo cello (Credete al mio dolore) are all world-beaters! These I remembered – but ‘Sta nell’Ircana’ hadn’t registered with me before, and it’s been going round inside my head all day………
Shostakovich: String Quartet No.13 in B flat minor, Op.138; String Quartet No.14 in F sharp, Op.142;Shostakovich: String Quartet No.15 in E flat minor, Op.144. Emerson Quartet
This was the fifth and last of the Emerson’s cycle of Shostakovich string quartets in London this year – 3 quartets per concert. It was also apparently their last performance in London before they retire next year – a pity then that the hall was not full (the feel was comfortably responsive but certainly not hanging from the rafters). Whether playing these quartets chronologically is the best form of presentation I’m not sure – one could easily see an alternative in playing numbers 1, 6, 11 and so on in successive concerts. The result of doing them chronologically was listening to these three arid and sparse quartets in the one concert, which sometimes felt a bit overwhelmingly bleak in prospect. But these works are all quite different also, as you listen to them in a live session, with more intent listening than (I at least can usually give) at home – the 13th more full of anger and terror, the 14th more elegiac, the 15th resigned. The 15th is by far the most memorable of the three, I feel – the beautiful opening, the 12 shrieks on different instruments, the sudden flurry upwards of the violin, and later cello, sounding like a demented Russian Lark Ascending, are all musical moments that remain in the memory vividly. But so does the whole feel of a work that has the feeling of mortality and the dread of death deeply embedded within it. There is no rhetorical final flourish, just a solo viola that just slowly winds down to a stop. There was – appropriate, since the quartets are dedicated to the respective players of the original quartet which premiered most of Shostakovich’s works – particularly superb performances by the viola and cello players.
I’ve not much more to say about this concert. The Emersons played very well indeed, as far as I could tell, and I just drifted with them through these pallid, melancholy, intense landscapes, totally absorbed. These are difficult but absorbing works which I feel privileged to have heard live
I saw this concert, presumably given by two students or recent graduates from a music college, being advertised on my phone just as my train drew into London from Birmingham. It was a quick dash on the Piccadilly line and a worthwhile 50 minutes or so to experience it.
The acoustics of the church are not ideal for this combination of instruments – sometimes the cello got lost in the general rumble of the piano, but the general gist was clear enough. The two works are 20 years apart and from very different parts of Beethoven’s career. I don’t think I’ve heard the Op5 piece before and enjoyed it very much – the rumbustious first movement , the sense of constant surprise and the vivacious rondo. The fact that it’s only in two movements is an example of Beethoven testing the forms he inherited even at a relatively young age – 27. From what I could tell the performers gave a lively account of it.
The Op 102 piece is full of dynamic extremes – maybe something to do with Beethoven’s increasing deafness. There is an unworldly and beautiful slow movement I hadn’t recalled from occasional previous listening, which is a real point of stillness. The final movement begins a little like one of the Bach cello suites. Altogether an enjoyable and unexpected event!
A note of thanks in passing to the wonderful Choral Scholars of St Martins in the Fields. Later in the afternoon I went to Choral Evensong at St Martins and heard them sing the Evensong parts of Howells’ Collegium Regale settings wonderfully……also a lovely anthem ‘And I saw a new heaven’ by someone called Edgar Leslie Bainton (14 February 1880 – 8 December 1956, a British-born, latterly Australian-resident composer), a new name to me
Ángeles Blancas Gulin, Emilia Marty; Nicky Spence, Albert Gregor; Gustáv Beláček, Dr Kolenaty; Mark Le Brocq, Vitek; Harriet Eyley, Krista; David Stout, Baron Jaroslav Prus; Alexander Sprague, Janek;Alan Oke, Count Hauk-Šendorf. Tomáš Hanus, Conductor; Olivia Fuchs, Director; Nicola Turner, Designer; Robbie Butler, Lighting Director
As I was walking to the Birmingham Hippodrome for this performance, I sadly reflected that this was probably be the last WNO production I would see, unless I was prepared to travel to Wales – their Arts Council budget has been cut to reflect the view that they should stay in Wales in future (possibly making way for ENO in the West Midlands – who knows…..?). I have seen some fine productions in recent years in Birmingham and Liverpool by the WNO – particularly their War and Peace, and their Eugene Onegin. Both WNO and Scottish Opera seem to be on a roll at present – it is really only ENO that offers a slightly depressing spectacle, despite all the good work they do.
I found this a very moving and compelling production and I was very pleased to have seen it – the last and only live staged performance I saw was sometime in the 70’s at the ENO – maybe Josephine Barstow as Emilia Marty? – though there was a very good Prom concert performance I went to in 2016 with Karita Mattila in the starring role, conducted by the late Jiří Bělohlávek. It’s – as can be said of many of Janacek’s works – a strange piece; all the legal details can take a while to get your head around (though it’s doable – see below) and the sudden blaze of glorious music at the end is unexpected after much of the work, in which the music tends to trundle along in the background, though always interestingly. There’s a very moving contrast at the end between EM’s expressions of world weariness and the meaninglessness of life, and the amazing music of the last 5-10 minutes, which actually does express something that makes it all worthwhile, that creates beauty that will last forever in a real sense, and not through alchemical potions.
The sets and what we saw on stage was well-conceived but a bit fidgety at times. The three acts had clearly defined locales – lawyers’ office, back of the Opera House, and Prus’ bedroom. There were occasional video images at the rear which were good in the Act 1 prelude but got rather irritating and unnecessary in Act 3. Vertical strips with coloured files on them appeared and disappeared in Act 1 for no particular reason. The central images of the clock in Act 2 and the curtains over the bed in Act 3 worked well. What was embarrassing was the interlude between Act 1 and Act 2, when Mark Le Brocq – Vitek – came out front while the stage hands changing the set to partly make sure the audience was au fait with the story (this was unnecessary) and, stepping out of role, made a few jokes about the stage hands. This was irritating and disruptive – as I know from my days directing the village pantomime, if a designer starts creating complex sets that disrupt the action, you tell them to go away and re-think. Brechtian alienation, possibly, but it didn’t work. On the other hand, EM’s stage transition from perennially young woman to old age was extremely well done, with the aid of the curtains.
Clearly a performance of this work stands or falls by the performance of the person playing EM, and Ángeles Blancas Gulin – not a name I’ve come across before – was stunning. She looked the part, she was totally credible in her acting, she sung beautifully when she needed to, and snarled and shrieked at appropriate points. Her voice had subtlety and power – and all in all her performance was overwhelming. The other parts were strongly cast – Nicky Spence, Mark Le Brocq, Alan Oke, to name but three, The orchestra played, as far as I could tell, idiomatically and powerfully and their Music Director Tomáš Hanus is a Janacek specialist who has prepared a critical edition of the score
John's musical journey 