Wagner, The Flying Dutchman. Opera Holland Park. 12/6/25

Paul Carey Jones, The Dutchman; Eleanor Dennis, Senta; Robert Winslade Anderson, Daland; Neal Cooper, Erik; Angharad Lyddon, Mary; Colin Judson, Steersman. Peter Selwyn, Conductor; Julia Burbach, Director; Naomi Dawson, Set Designer; Sussie Juhlin-Wallén, Costume Designer; Robert Price, Lighting Designer.

I haven’t been to the Holland Park Opera set-up since 2021 (when I saw excellent productions of L’Amico Fritz, The Cunning Little Vixen and Hansel and Gretel), and that was the first time then I’d been there. I remember enjoying the atmosphere and the way operas have to be performed there (in a tent, relaxed, little opportunity for fancy scene changes except in the interval, the uncertainty of noises off [peacocks and parakeets this time] and whether it will rain). It has what feels like a different crowd going to it from either Glyndebourne or the regular ROH/ENO-goers, and when the CEO of Opera Holland Park, in a welcome speech, asked ‘hands up those attending an opera for the first time?’, a surprising number of people put their hands up. Several people around me who had put their hands up were whooping enthusiastically after the performance, so it seems to have gone well for them. I tried to imagine hearing this work through their eyes and I could see it spoke to the mostly young couples who had put their hands up about the relationships between men and women, what love means, and so forth. Though some of the words (‘the duties of a woman to obey her father’) make me squirm, they didn’t seem so bothered

This was a straightforward production and performance of the Hollander which I enjoyed a lot. It focuses on Senta’s obsession and sheer oddness, and made the most of the specific theatrical context of Holland Park. The photos give you a particularly clear sense of the set and my memory is that all OH performances need to have the orchestra pit situated in the middle of the acting space, with a performance space behind and in front. As you can see, the area behind the pit is steeply raked, with the top representing Senta’s place of security and safety, with a bed and a lamp, and the bottom Daland’s table, but it is also used flexibly for the big choral scenes. The area in front of the orchestra is a gravelled space representing the sea shore (and other places) and is where the picture of the Dutchman is held – under a bollard or something similar. The two big staircases into the auditorium are often used by the chorus for exits and entrances – they run in and out, adding to the energy of the production. The tent area conveniently does for a general sense of sails, and then there are ladders and ropes around as well to add to the ship-like impression.  Costumes are broadly modern and all colours are muted – grey, browns, dark green and black – with the exception of Senta, who is in white or wine red. As you can see, the set is very busy, and the one drawback of it – but maybe this was intentional – is that it was sometimes quite difficult to know when the Dutchman was entering, in his all-black coat. Given the complexity of the stage area here, and extra things to take into account like the steep raking of the back stage, direction of movement was generally good, but there were one or two moments when things seem to droop back into stock operatic acting – semaphore arms and face the audience, particularly with poor old Erik, a thankless part if ever there was one. There were appropriate sound effects and occasionally the whistling of wind which came from the outside. The ghost ship was suggested by flashing lights and a fairly abstract projection.

Wagner made a range of revisions to the work throughout his life and this one had a few seconds of music I don’t recall hearing before (maybe the recent ROHCG production used them). This OH production employed the early 3 act version, with an interval after the first act, and the version which does not have the ‘redemption’ theme at the end of the overture and the conclusion of Act 3 (as with ROH). This makes for a less than wholly satisfactory ending – Senta has the spotlight on her, sings her final words about eternal fidelity and then slowly walks off up one of the staircases. It is unclear what her fate is – a problem in the production but also arising from how Wagner ends this version.

Peter Selwyn conducted the work broadly but without ever losing momentum, and with plenty of energy for the Dutchman music and the sailors’ songs. I was very impressed by the orchestra – the City of London Sinfonia – which is obviously a reduced one, given the size of the pit and the need to keep costs down, but which had all the volume, detail and bite you need in this score. The horns and trombones sounded particularly splendid, but the string sound was warm and never sounded thin or scratchy. And a shout to the timpani player,  who was thwacking away enthusiastically. And, to my ears anyway, there were very few mishaps and wrong entries.

The cast was very strong. As in so many other productions in the UK over the past few years, I am constantly coming across British singers I’ve never heard of before – Eleanor Dennis I thought was very good indeed. She’s tall and able to be still and yet have a significant stage presence and used those qualities to help portray the depth of Senta’s obsession. Her voice was powerful, top notes secure and with plenty of shading – she had all you want for an ideal Senta. I was reading an article about Lise Davidsen’s recent recording of this work where the reviewer refers to the fact that Senta as a role is deadly for singers’ vocal chords, and Davidsen herself has said she would never sing the role again after the recording and the concert performances in Norway. I hope Ms Dennis’ voice survives these performances…….I was also deeply impressed by Paul Carey-Jones, who I had previously come across as a fine Wanderer at Longborough during their recent Ring.  He has all the gravitas you need for a good Dutchman – again, confident stage presence, a strong  but warm voice easily spreading throughout the whole auditorium, and excellent diction. His approach at the beginning of Die Frist ist Um and the Act 2 duet was inward, beautifully legato – drawing you in superbly.  Robert Winslade Anderson’s Daland was a lighter, rather dry, – voiced character than you get sometimes, but conveyed well his venality and was confident on stage. Colin Judson and Angharad Lyddon did their best with Erik and Mary. The chorus sounded tremendous, and they were extremely well directed !

As I walked back towards Holland Park tube station I found myself in reactionary mode, feeling perhaps newly and freshly outraged by the Tcherniakov Bayreuth Dutchman I saw in 2022. If a publisher decided to publish a book under the title of Pride and Prejudice which took the view that Jane Austen needed expurgating and updating to reflect contemporary views, and twisted round all elements of the plot in the process into a new story, there would be outrage from all quarters if that were then published as ‘by Jane Austen’. Why is the critical framework for that Bayreuth production any different? OK, there are elements in the text which are outdated – particularly concepts of daughterly obedience- but any competent director can find a way of handling these (eg suggesting Daland is abusive). And, yes. I know about modern theories of theatre, and observers recreating the text, but still – it has to be understood as a shared experience, with understand being emphasised. As for concepts of eternal love – well, these have been around in at least the 3 main monotheistic religions for thousands of years…….And for the sake of the future of the art form any director should always be thinking- what would anyone who hadn’t seen/heard this work before make of my production? Barrie Kosky’s recent Walkure shows how a director can handle a canonic work brilliantly, offering new insights without in any way distorting what is going on, and all the while remaining faithful to Wagner.

Wigmore French Song Exchange lunchtime recital, Wigmore Hall 12/6/25

Bethan Terry, soprano; Ellen Pearson, mezzo-soprano; Harun Tekin, tenor; Anton Kirchhoff, baritone. Anna Giorgi, Francesca Lauri,Jia Ning Ng, piano

This is apparently the fifth year of the Wigmore French Song Exchange, devised by Dame Felicity Lott and François Le Roux, two great champions of the mélodie, alongside Sebastian Wybrew. The programme offers gifted singers and pianists a year of coaching from their mentors, culminating in showcase performances.

There was a soprano, mezzo, tenor and baritone presenting songs and duets at this recital, alongside their accompanists. Let me say first that all the singers were excellent and the accompanists likewise. There are two further things I think I’d like to say.

  • The songs were well chosen, in being varied in form, content and composer. Inevitably I liked some more than others. Top was a great favourite I’ve known for more than 50 years – ‘L’Invitation au voyage’ by Duparc. I also particularly enjoyed Reynaldo Hahn’s setting of Verlaine, ‘L’Heure Exquise’, and some of the Ravel and Bizet songs
  • It was interesting watching and listening to the singers. When you see a group of quite, but not massively, experienced youngish singers, you realise how important communication is – with face, eyes, hands – in the art of singing. To my mind, the best singer of the four was Bethan Terry, not because of her technical vocal expertise (as I said, they all sang very well), but because she was constantly alerting her audience to nuances of text in the song by gestures, movements, and facial expressions even (particularly in the Bizet duet) – good acting in other words, and making herself vulnerable to aid that connection with the audience. As a result she was totally absorbing to listen to

Brahms, Weinberg. CBS0, Mirga Gražinytė-Tyla. Symphony Hall, Birmingham. 11/6/25

Mirga Gražinytė-Tyla, conductor; CBSO, Stephen Waarts, violin. Brahms, Violin Concerto; Weinberg, Symphony No.5 in F Minor 

The programming of this concert seemed odd – what possible connection could Weinberg and Brahms have? Probably the simple explanation is that the CBSO needed to programme a crowd-pleaser alongside the unknown Weinberg…..

I’ve not heard of Stephen Waarts before this concert. He seems to have a good stream of European and US invitations at present so his career is obviously taking off. The last live performance I heard of the Brahms was an enervated over-subtle performance by the LSO, Isabelle Faust and Simon Rattle, so exquisite it seemed almost lifeless. By contrast this was a much more robust affair with Mirga encouraging the orchestra to offer an energetic and forceful account of the outer movements, dotted rhythms and syncopations clear and precise, with subtle rubato at times. The soloist played the work straightforwardly, caressing phrases where needed. He’d maybe not that big a sound , but he had plenty of bite as well as sweetness. The oboe solo in the second movement was beautifully done. I very much enjoyed this performance. The soloist gave an encore I found impossible to place – modern, full of subtle harmonics. It might have been by someone like Adès or John Adams, perhaps.

The Weinberg symphony, like so many of his works, I was hearing for the first time, and there is a lot to get one’s head around. It’s for a big orchestra – 7 horns, 5 trumpets, a battery of percussion, triple woodwind – and is in 4 movements – the first an allegro moderato, second an adagio sostenuto, the third an allegro, and the fourth an andantino. The programme note suggests connections between Weinberg’s 5th and Shostakovich’s 4th, but I couldn’t hear myself much evidence of this, apart from the very obvious borrowing of the very ending of Shostakovich 4, with an insistent rhythm, celesta and percussion.

I found it an impressive work though it’s not easy to follow its emotional journey. The two most immediate (to a newcomer) movements are the middle ones. The first movement starts with wavering uncertain violins and a 4-note cutting theme on the cellos broadens out into two main themes. The themes turn both threatening and mocking, and then the uncertain opening returns and the music seems to become lifeless, hopeless. There’s a faster passage, with more energy, and marching rhythms – this is quite Shostakovich-like – and then the music gradually subsides into the uncertainty with which it opened. There’s a final sudden outburst from the orchestra

The second movement starts with a meandering melody on violins (maybe violas too) and is gradually harmonised. It becomes beautiful on repetition – a sad calling out into the dark – and more emotionally intense. Its intensity gradually subsides. There’s a quicker section with an oboe solo, and flutes and other woodwinds then joining the oboe, plus high strings. The opening melody returns, with greater emotional intensity and builds to a sweeping string-led climax – there’s huge longing and sadness.  Gradually everything subsides, and the opening melody gradually breaks down into isolated phrases. My immediate thought was that this was as fine as say the slow movement of the 10th Symphony of Shostakovich

The third movement starts with a flute-led folksy, perhaps East European Jewish but not kletzmer, fast theme, and then a bustling cartoon like tune which seems to get faster and faster……… and louder, with the brass joining. The noise subsides with the clarinet and later the trumpet taking over the lead playing of the main theme. The music is both fun and threatening at the same time, a kind of perpetuum mobile. There’s a sense of the uncertain violins of the opening movement and the music gradually subsides into the final movement. Another sad violin theme with flutes weaving in and out follows (this is where I got a bit lost). The mood is sad and resigned. There’s a more agitated dance-like section which gradually subsides. Anger  – or is it something oppressive and external? – seems to take over, and the heavy brass and percussion come in with a galumphing rhythmic tune (the trombones particularly impressive). The galumphing melody becomes the mainstay of the final section, lurking behind all the notes, and the works ends in a dull repeated thumping with flute and celesta gliding over the top that is, as above, akin to Shostakovich 4.’s ending. Surrender or withdrawal ?

What does it all amount to? ‘I’m not sure’ would be an honest answer – I’d have to listen to it again (and it sounded from the programme as though DG is recording this with Mirga and the CBSO – I must buy this!) The symphony is a record of the feelings of a quiet, in many ways badly treated and under-valued, soul living in a regime which only intermittently acknowledged him (and imprisoned him in the Lubyanka at one point). The difference from Shostakovich is that the Polish Weinberg was always profoundly grateful to the Soviet Union for the entry he was given into Ukraine in 1939, while the rest of his immediate family were killed during and after the Nazi invasion. There is despair, anger and melancholy, occasionally playfulness, but also ultimately maybe more of an optimistic outlook than Shostakovich’s.’

The CBSO sounded glorious playing it – really full-bodied playing: glowing strings, some splendid flute and oboe solos, and some great timpani playing. Mirga had clearly inspired them. In addition this was the least cough-ridden most intense audience I think I have ever heard outside the Proms. It sounded from conversations in the interval that a number of people had travelled quite a distance to hear this work.

Richard Strauss and the Cello – An Afternoon with Alice Neary: Lauderdale House, London

Alice Neary (cello), Sophia Rahman (piano):  Richard Strauss Cello Sonata, Op. 6 (1881);               Franz Schmidt  Fantasy Pieces after Hungarian National Melodies (1892); Richard Strauss Don Quixote finale, Op. 35 (1898)

This was a delightful short recital to accompany a relaunching of the UK Richard Strauss Society, a meeting which included a number of prominent experts e.g. Prof Laura Tunbridge from Oxford University. I had not come across the names of these two musicians before but they both have had, and are having, notable careers. Ms Neary also works with orchestras, and in a question-and-answer session after the performance was talking about leading the cello section as a guest principal for the ROHCG orchestra under Pappano for the performances of Elektra in early 2024 ,and the enormous complexity of Strauss’ orchestral writing.

The Cello Sonata is a very early work, unfamiliar to most – it has elements of Brahms and Schumann but occasionally you can hear glimpses of the later Strauss, particularly in the work’s lighter moments. It is – well – let’s say intermittently engaging. Schmidt’s two Hungarian-folk works were very charming. The playing in the arrangement for cello and piano of the final movement of  Don Quixote was glorious and really gave light and colour to a very gloomy rain-washed afternoon in North London.

Wagner, Parsifal. Glyndebourne Festival Opera: 6/6/25

Conductor, Robin Ticciati; Director, Jetske Mijnssen; Set Designer, Ben Baur; Costume Designer, Gideon Davey; Choreographer, Dustin Klein; Lighting Designer, Fabrice Kebour. London Philharmonic Orchestra, The Glyndebourne Chorus. Cast: Parsifal, Daniel Johansson; Gurnemanz, John Relyea; Kundry, Kristina Stanek; Amfortas, Audun Iversen; Klingsor, Ryan Speedo Green; Titurel, John Tomlinson

In the essay ‘Religion and Art’ (1880) Wagner says that “…. where Religion becomes artificial, it is reserved for Art to save the spirit of religion”. In my view, almost all Wagner’s music dramas from the Flying Dutchman onwards deal in some way or other with the ‘spirit of religion’, though by no means through the lens of orthodox Christianity. Issues about what ‘salvation’, ‘renunciation’ or ‘redemption’ might mean in a modern context are often referred to, as well as concepts like sacrifice – dying that one may live. Wagner was also very much aware of the power of myth, and mythic symbols, many years before Jung and others began to explore these issues – in the inimitable translation of Ashton Ellis, “The incomparable thing about the mythos [Wagner wrote] is that it is true for all time, and its content, how close soever its compression, is inexhaustible through the ages. The only task of the poet was to expound it”. For me the classic presentation of that religious/mythic ‘‘Parsifal’’ was the 1950’s Wieland Wagner production at Bayreuth, which I was lucky enough to see in one of its last showings in 1972.  Different ways of exploring the meanings of ‘‘Parsifal’’ are possible within a broadly similar framework. One can focus on a corrupted religious community and the story of how that comes to be healed; there is the approach (quite well taken in the much-abused Bayreuth production of 2016) which moves from the externals of religious faith to what Wagner called ‘True Christianity’, based on compassion and without any sort of clerical caste or external symbols. I saw a notable production which had Parsifal rejecting the demands of an oppressive community and going off on his own at the end as a kind of sadhu. I have also seen productions that emphasise the male oppressiveness and crudity (exemplified by the ‘robust’ Grail knights’ choruses) of Act 1 and the reunion of male and female at the end of Act 3 (and of course the spear and the grail can be seen as symbolic in that context). In many productions a core issue is the distinction. learned through painful living, between eros and agape – desire and compassion, if you like.

There’s also the definition of the term Gesamtkunstwerk – in my understanding this is the ideal of unifying all expressions of art via the theatre. That must include words – that the text is important and that the words the characters are using when they sing in a Gesamtkunstwerk must be consonant with musical expression, dramatic movement and sets/costumes/lighting.  A Wagner production of his works after Lohengrin that ignores that consonance is likely to be problematic.

And yet……………….despite all the above, there are the occasional productions that break all the rules and yet are clearly well-grounded interpretations, winning much praise. I am going to what may be one such in Vienna after Easter in 2026, the Serebrennikov production of Parsifal set in a prison, much praised by Mark Berry (whose views I take seriously, so I’ll give it a try…….though loathed by others). People of many different persuasions have praised the power of the Herheim production at Bayreuth in 2008 (which I haven’t seen, though it is on YouTube and I should do so), set in Wahnfried and the wider Germany of the 19th and 20TH centuries. It is also worth pointing out that a director of an opera/music drama does have in theory the ability – often taken up in regietheater – to ignore the gesamtkunstwerk concept and offer different meanings related to different elements of the music drama in question – to indicate one meaning through music and another through words or set, an interplay which is unique to this art form. This can make for complex but powerful theatre, particularly relevant if there are, for modern eyes and ears, problematic elements to the work in question. I have just been reading about a feminist production by Katie Mitchell of Die Frau ohne Schatten – a problematic work in terms of some of its assumptions – in Amsterdam, where a reworking of some elements of the plot sounds to have been very successful.

Ultimately, though, while there may be a very few outstanding directors who can look at a work like ‘Parsifal’ and provide a radical reinterpretation that is satisfying to many, there are considerable perils in moving beyond that essentially religious/mythic focus which Wagner clearly has in mind in relation to all his works, and only a few highly talented directors are able to provide a radical reinterpretation of ‘Parsifal’, in particular, which is consistent, truly satisfactory and without serious problems emerging.  To me, maybe because I am a ‘person pf faith’ ,‘Parsifal’ is not problematic in the way Die Frau ohne Schatten can be, and I see little evidence for Gutman-like (and others’) interpretations of the work as racist.

So – after all this long preamble – what of the Glyndebourne ‘Parsifal’? My first comment is – why on earth would you seek to graft an additional story onto a plot which is already quite complex and sometimes obscure….? I find it difficult to summarise my reactions to this performance: maybe my best effort would be that it was flawed, insightful, and very impressive musically. It was not a Herheim-like totally original take on the work, magnificently realised. Nor by any means was it a disaster. It was much more powerful and moving dramatically (though musically marginally less impressive) than the Parsifal I saw in Bayreuth last summer, and also much better than many of the reviews I’d read had led me to expect.

The ‘flawed’ aspect is not easy to describe and assess. The director had decided to recast the work as a ‘Chekhovian family drama’ (her own words, in the programme’). Essentially then the back story changes to something very different from  Klingsor’s estrangement from Montsalvat, his entrapment of Monsalvat Knights through their sexual desire for his “flower girls’, and his seizing the Holy Spear from Amfortas after his seduction by Kundry, wounding him in the side as a symbolic representation of sexual desire constantly tormenting and never overcome.  Instead we have a (far too quick) back story during the Prelude of a quotation of part of the Cain and Abel story from the Bible on the front curtain, and two young men, one Klingsor, one Amfortas, clearly intended to be brothers, seen with a young woman, Kundry.  both clearly in love with her; there is then an altercation between the two men, Klingsor stabs Amfortas with a small knife and runs off. Klingsor and Amfortas are thus permanently estranged. This back-story is clearly intended to cut through and remove the mythic and to some extent religious (but see later) aspects of the work. There is no Holy Spear, no real emphasis on the difference between eros and agape. It is unclear in this version why Amfortas should feel unable to take the Grail service. The wound here becomes simply an ongoing fratricidal hatred, powerful obviously, but not connecting clearly to many of the Buddhist, Schopenhauerian and Christian elements of the story that Wagner clearly wanted to include. The whole idea of Kundry being in thrall to Klingsor and her moving between the Grail castle and Klingsor’s gardens and castle, her timelessness,  becomes obscure in this context, as are the reasons for why she should be seducing Parsifal or of Klingsor being a sorcerer. The whole issue of Kundry being cursed because she laughed at Christ becomes unmoored

 The ‘family feud’ idea is intensified by the use, rather confusing, of ‘young’ and ‘old’ figures of the main  characters – a young and old versions of Kundry, Klingsor, and Amfortas, as members of the family. The use of these additional characters and the import of them I often just didn’t ‘get’, particularly in the first scene of Act 3. Much more effectively, Titurel is present on stage throughout Act 1, fussing around Amfortas ineffectually. At times in Act 1 Klingsor males his way into the house, hoping to be accepted and there are mimes of his being pushed away by other family members. The family dimension disappears entirely in Act 2 (though see below) and appears again (in ways to be described later) in Act 3. To make things more confusing, there is a very clear and straightforward Grail scene in Act 1, with the family, Gurnemanz and all the Knights in white and black surplices and essentially a Protestant Communion service enacted with a giant cross and crucified Christ in the background. The Grail is an ordinary silver chalice.  None of this very clearly relates to the emerging themes hitherto. At first sight, therefore, so far so grim – more than a bit of a muddle. 

The key to what is insightful here is excellent personen-regie, every move, every character reaction, carefully plotted, with an intensity of acting only a Festival opera setting can create.   What was particularly insightful is the way the theme of compassion is treated in the production – and its obverse. In terms of the latter, the knights are a brutish bunch, in the 1st Grail scene manhandling Kundry and setting upon, booting and punching Parsifal with abandon during the communion service. Parsifal ‘s dawning awareness and reaction to Gurnemanz’s comments on the swan is very carefully and well handled. In a remarkable handling of the ending of Act 1, Parsifal cradles Kundry in his arms, empathising with her rejection (she has tried to enter the grail scene and been pushed away by Titurel). The staging of Act 2 is exemplary and throughout Parsifal demonstrates a sensitive compassionate approach, not just feeling the wound of Amfortas and his suffering, but also clearly understanding the suffering of Kundry in front of him, in a way I’ve never seen in any other Parsifal production. The way in which Act 2 ends is extraordinary – not with the collapse of Kingsor’s castle and his presumed death, but rather with Parsifal holding Klingsor in his arms. In Act 3, Klingsor, who enters with Parsifal and who in a sense has ‘become’ the Spear (a point of major obscurity I’m just passing over) is constantly the focus of Parsifal’s compassionate attention, as is Kundry. Kundry’s role is by now impossibly complex, and not again one I can elucidate, as she washes Parsifal’s feet and receives his baptism but she is undoubtedly fully also the object of Parsifal’s compassion – and he washes her feet too, which is a very moving moment. This compassion is remarkably evident in the Good Friday music, where (maybe with a bit of help from changes to the surtitles) Kundry becomes the subject of all Gurnemanz’s and Parsifal’s comments about redeemed Nature, through references to flowers; there is no pointing to an external world as there normally is (in the 2016 Parsifal at Bayreuth there is a Garden of Eden scene at this moment, with naked young people)  There is no Grail scene at the end, only the healed family gazing at each other with love, presided over and brought together by Parsifal, with Amfortas and Klingsor finally reconciled. It does leave an open question though as to what status Parsifal has at the end of it all – he is shorn of his normal ‘king-like’ manner and attributes.

In short, what we end up with in this production is something like Wagner’s True Christianity, but with an overlay of Christian and mythical inputs from a traditional version of Parsifal which don’t fully now fit into this renewed reading. 

In design terms, things looked much the same throughout the three acts. As the curtain opens after the Prelude to Act 1 we are in a gloomy claustrophobic Victorian large countrty house, perhaps a seminary. The set for all three Acts remains essentially the same – dark and forbidding. In the first act there is a sidelong seemingly large window letting light in but this disappears thereafter, and the whole building appears to be crumbling in Act 3 . The Grail scene in Act 1 is impressively staged, with long tables, candles and a very large image of Christ on the Cross at the back of the stage. There is no opening up of the set to light during the Good Friday music. Costumes are grey, black and dour. There are no richly coloured flower girls, just young women in long Victorian grey dresses and tightly drawn hair. Kundry is depicted with red hair and clearly intended to look something like Lizzie Siddall (the model for Rossetti and Millais),. Again, she wears a long grey dress but changes into a white night slip for the seduction scene with Parsifal. There are two rather clumsy black curtains drawn across the set by the actors to effect scene changes. Three design memories stand out – the white Victorian bed in front of a bare black tree in Act 2 for the seduction scene, and the remarkable visual impact of the procession for Titurel’s funeral in Act 3, snow falling, the pall bearers and mourners wearing heavy black coats and top hats. Also the flower girls all dressed identically to Kundry – is this meant to suggest they are all figments of her imagination?

Musically there are no question marks – this was a remarkably good performance, all elements of it being at a very high level. The orchestra has a golden glow in the Glyndebourne house’s acoustics, and there was first class playing from all sections of the orchestra, though I’d single out the woodwind as being particularly excellent. The string playing was also enveloping and warm. Ticciati’s reading struck me as very flexible – shaping the music carefully, extraordinarily slow at times (e.g. the Prelude to Act 3) while the flower girls chorus went at quite a lick. He was particularly good at shaping climaxes,  and holding back the full force of the orchestra until it was really needed. I also heard a lot of the inner voices in the orchestra through Ticciati’s careful balancing. Of the five principals, the standout has to be John Relyea as Gurnemanz -a beautiful voice and the music sonorously delivered, always with clear diction, and breathing understanding and meaning into every phrase. I was also deeply impressed by. Kristina Stanek as Kundry, who offered real warmth of tone in her voice, looks right for the part, and, through her singing, engendered a real sympathy for her character. Though a mezzo, her top note in Act 2 for ‘lachte’ was remarkably powerful. Amfortas and Klingsor were perhaps less notable but still very good. Parsifal came across as a bit of a cypher sometimes dramatically – you got in a sense that he was working his way into the role, but he did have the power for key parts of his role in Acts 2 and 3, and provided some sensitive shading of phrases. The chorus sounded magnificent throughout (though at times I think their singing was recorded)

In summary, then, the production’ is incoherent and muddled at times but also with new and refreshing readings of some of the scenes. All in all this was an impressive evening, albeit problematic. I am glad I went.

Rossini, Barber of Seville. Met Opera HD screening, Sheffield Curzon Cinema, 31/5/25

Conductor, Giacomo Sagripanti; Rosina, Aigul Akhmetshina; Count Almaviva, Jack Swanson; Figaro, Andrey Zhilikhovsky; Dr. Bartolo, Peter Kálmán; Don Basilio, Alexander Vinogradov. Director, Bartlett Sher; Set Designer, Michael Yeargan; Costumes, Catherine Zuber

It is a long time since I’ve heard the Barber of Seville – it’s probably 45-50 years since I’ve heard it live in the theatre, and even in terms of screenings/streamings, the last time I sat through a screening was the Glyndebourne production in 2019. I am sure I have only seen live the elderly ENO one from the 70’s, with a rather rickety brown-looking set inherited from the old Sadlers Wells performances in Islington.

I am surprised how much I remember of the music, given how long it is since I have heard any of it. I remembered all the arias except a very florid aria with dense coloratura at the end before the final number, for Almaviva, which must have been thought beyond the capacity of the ENO tenors of the time

This was a lively production which gave the three youngish principal singers room to innovate, extemporise, and energise each other.  It’s impossible not to have some comic drills embedded in the director’s concept (the production dates from 2008) for that’s the nature of the work but you could also sense particularly Rosina and Almaviva ad-libbing in small ways all the time in movement and looks. The costumes were utterly traditional 18th century Spanish and very expensive looking – they looked very traditionally ‘Met’. The sets were much less traditional and very effective – essentially a series of doors and walls (also bushes and trees in one scene) on wheels manipulated by chorus members which were not at all distracting but gave further pace to the production, and gave a real sense of the maze like prison in which Rosina was being kept. In addition, as you can see from the photo there was a walk all the way round the pit to allow variation of scene and engagement with the audience by individual characters

This was a screening which had no down sides at all. All the performers looked the age they were supposed to be and all were good actors, somehow just being themselves, unselfconscious and not using exaggerated gestures. I guess the star was Aigul Akhmetshina. She not only has a most beautiful mezzo voice, with a wide range, including a very high top note at the end of one of her arias or ensemble pieces; she is also  very comfortable with the coloratura demands of her role, tossing off runs with a light grace, and she is a consummate actor, naturally dominating the stage. I was impressed by Andrey Zhilikhovsky as Figaro. His voice had richness and depth, he had a good energetic stage presence and conveyed very well Figaro’s occasional venality.  Perhaps his delivery was a bit unvaried, in terms of musical phrasing; it tended towards the continuously loud (but his Italian was excellent). Jack Swanson (not a name I’ve come across before but he’s obviously developing his career both in Europe as well as the US)  has a high lyric tenor which sounds bright and clear – the coloratura occasionally sounded a bit more effortful (he himself said in the interval, perhaps unwisely, that he felt he’d done well when he’d articulated about 80% of the notes Rossini had written; Rosina was delivering 100% alongside him) and occasionally the voice sounded under strain towards the top of his range. Peter Kalman had a good comic presence and excellent diction, while I was very taken by Vinogradov’s world-weary, tricksy but not over the top Don Basilio, whose Slander number was excellently done. The orchestra had a real zing under Giacomo Sagripanti.

Unsuk Chin/Beethoven. Halle, Wong. Bridgewater Hall. 29/5/25

Kahchun Wong, conductor; Wu Wei, sheng; Nardus Williams, soprano; Susan Bickley, mezzo-soprano; Nicky Spence, tenor; William Thomas, bass; Hallé Choir, Matthew Hamilton choral director. Unsuk Chin,  Su. Beethoven Symphony No.9, ‘Choral’

David Butcher, the Halle CEO, said before the beginning of this concert that Halle ticket sales were 33% up this season compared to the previous one and that’s a very good piece of news. Obviously Kahchun Wong is only one of a range of conductors working with the Halle but it is definitely a public endorsement of the new regime.

Unsuk Chin is a prolific South Korean composer, now based in Berlin.  She was a self-taught pianist from a young age and studied composition at Seoul National University as well as with György Ligeti in Hamburg. I have not heard a great deal of her music – most recently I heard her cello concerto in Aldeburgh. Hers is not an easy compositional style to get your head around – I was interested to hear what this piece, based around an instrument called the sheng, would sound like…..Su was composed especially for this concert’s sheng performer, Wu Wei. A sheng is a Chinese mouth-blown polyphonic free reed instrument consisting of vertical pipes. It is one of the oldest Chinese instruments, with images depicting its kind dating back to 1100 BCE, according to Wikipedia. The nearest European equivalent to the sheng would be the mouth organ with some extra pipes .

The Unsuk Chin did not do much for me as a piece – I couldn’t get a sense of clear structure or progression. ‘Su’ means Air in ancient Egyptian (relevance??) and there was a sort of ethereal sense to the beginning and end, I guess, which I did like, while the polyrhythmic middle section was fun. But its main point, I guess, was to foreground the sounds of the sheng and the marvellous playing of Wu Wei, which was hugely enjoyable. Even better was a substantial encore by Wu Wei , which sounded contemporary, was more accessible and which obviously and wonderfully showed off his virtuosity. This was a real treat!

 The Beethoven 9 which followed was very fine – one of the best I’ve heard live. There were several reasons for this. One was the careful lyrical sculpting of line in exchanges between particularly the woodwind and strings; the splitting of 1st and 2nd violins also helped with that sense of exchange. Second, although the overall approach was not slow the sense of lyrical line took precedence over an approach (adopted by some) of jagged nervous constant energy and surface excitement. The energy was there but seemed to come, as it were, from within rather than externally imposed – it seemed ‘natural’ I guess. The orchestral sound was very clear, with Wong encouraging the woodwind to sing out to balance other parts of the orchestra, particularly after the first big orchestral tutti with the Ode to Joy theme. I am pleased to report. after my comments about the recent LSO performance, that the slow movement did indeed start more slowly, with the knock-on effect of allowing the faster, later variations to sing, and not scamper. Tempi generally sounded ‘right’, not forced or self-conscious, and allowed both the first and last movements to be very exciting, with subtle rallentando emphasising key climactic moments. The timpani playing was of a piece with this approach – thrilling where needed but not with very hard sticks. The only criticism I would make was that perhaps the beginning of the first movement could have been more mysterious. 

The Halle played very well indeed – a really stylish sound from the strings, including a very impressive double bass section. and an incredibly agile woodwind choir. The horns, with many tricky exposed passages, also did very well, with some beautiful soft playing at points. The choir, singing without scores (unlike the soloists – black mark) were very impressive, with all the difficult high passages sounding very strong. At some points the sopranos just soared – a wonderful sound. The soloists were at the back of the orchestra, sounding therefore a bit recessed, but were on paper and in reality a distinguished bunch, with Nicky Spence and Williams Roberts particularly notable – the latter is clearly making a great career for himself, and produced one of the best opening orations I’ve ever heard.

Mozart/Beethoven/ Elgar; Ensemble 360, Crucible, Sheffield, 24/5/25

Mozart Flute Quartet in D K285; Beethoven Quintet for Piano and Wind Op.16; Elgar Piano Quintet Op.84

It’s a pity I have been to so little of the Ensemble 360 annual Chamber Music Festival – a lot of good things to go and see (20 concerts) but in the event this was only the second and last I’ve been able to make this year. In fact Ensemble 360 have been giving these May concerts for 20 years – this concert was an exact replica of the final concert of the first season.

The programming intention of this concert was not obvious, but maybe one idea was to offer two works of great composers in their youth, with another great composer’s near-to-last major mature composition. Obviously another point of connection is that there are two piano quintets, though of very different kinds.

The Mozart Flute Quartet was written over Christmas 1777 for Dutch surgeon and amateur flautist, Ferdinand De Jean, who commissioned some new pieces from him. There are three movements – Allegro, Adagio and Rondo.  This Quartet was a delightful piece with a particularly bouncing last movement.  The flute playing was very supple and at times outstandingly ethereal. I have to say this quartet sounded an odd combination of instruments – the flute has a high and bright sound; it sounds too divorced from the other string instruments, in a way. The two seemed only to be comfortably combined when the strings are plucking as in the rather beautiful slow movement.

The Beethoven work, again a work of a young composer in their 20s, also had three movements and was the product of his first few years in Vienna in the early 1790’s. Its obvious model, the programme note, pointed out, was the Mozart Piano Quintet . The Beethoven piece’s horn, oboe, bassoon and clarinet blend much better with the piano, and the work had the rhythmic energy of Beethoven’s later works, the third movement being particularly attractive. I was very struck by the cleverness of the wind writing, with each instrument being given its opportunity to shine, and also the way the horn writing did not cover the other instruments with its much greater volume (though that may also be to do with the quality of the horn player!)

I have enthused about the Elgar work in this blog before – it is one of my favourite pieces of chamber music. Elgar wrote to its dedicatee, Ernest Newman, that ‘I want you to hear it. It is strange music I think, and I like it – but it’s ghostly stuff.’ (with reference to the first movement). I had the impression that this performance of the Elgar was more jagged, more fraught, than the Buxton Festival one a few years ago. The first movement sounded almost phantasmagorical, as the different themes flew in and out of attention, and with the world-weariness suddenly replaced by furious energy.   At times I was also reminded of Mahler – just as Mahler transforms schmaltzy folk tunes and military band music, so Elgar transforms his often-Palm-Court salon music into something rich and strange.  The slow movement was lovely, and the last movement generated the energy necessary to overcome the ghosts of the previous two movements. I hugely enjoyed this.

Matthew Johnson Photographer 2024

Ravel / Farrenc/ Durufle/ Schumann.: Ensemble 360, Crucible, Sheffield,19/5/25

Ravel (arr. Farrington) Mother Goose Suite ; Farrenc Sextet; DURUFLÉ Prélude, récitatif et variations; Schumann Piano Quintet in E flat Op.44 

This was a varied and interesting programme, with the best definitely last…..The Ravel piece I know from its full chamber orchestra version – here it had one each of strings, woodwind, horn and percussion, which amounted to the full complement of Ensemble 360 members. It’s a wistful lovely piece, based on fairy tales, both vivacious and pastoral, with a bit of chinoiserie thrown in for good measure.  The Farrenc piece felt rather a dutiful acknowledgement – ok, I accept that canons are constructed by those with power, that in the past many gifted women composers were not able to have their works performed or simply felt too disheartened to write music., and that therefore there must be positive action to unearth and display their work. Farrenc in fact was acknowledged in her day  to an extent so hers was work not completely ignored, at least during her lifetime. However for a piece to be revived it must be something that could take its place in a refreshed canon with justification, and this Farrenc piece, to me (and granted this is of course a personal reaction), was too conventional, too formulaic to achieve that status.  It is sort of sub-Mendelssohn, sub-Schumann, but without real energy, drive and passion. Themes were attractive but the overall temperature was cool. The comparison with the Schumann quintet after the interview was stark

I liked the Durufle piece – wistful (flute, viola and piano), poised in a very French way and always interesting to listen to. The Schumann piece, as already intimated, is in a different league to the other music in this programme – passionate, driven, exciting, and with memorable melodic material,  and with very little of the twitchy repetitions you sometimes get in Schumann’s music. The Ensemble 360 players seemed possessed – cutting, incisive string playing. Benjamin Nabarro’s and Gemma Rosenfield’s playing was particularly noteworthy, and Tim Horton as always was reliable – more than that, sensitive – on the piano. This was a memorable performance.

R.Strauss, Salome – Met Opera HD screening, Sheffield Curzon Cinema, 17/5/25

Conductor, Yannick Nézet-Séguin; Director, Claus Guth; Set Designer, Etienne Pluss; Ursula Kudrna; Costume Designer; Peter Mattei, Jokanaan; Gerhard Siegel, Herod; Michelle DeYoung, Herodias; Piotr Buszewski, Narraboth; Elza van den Heever, Salome

I had planned to go to an Ensemble 360 chamber music concert (Schubert and Janacek) on 17 May but discovered a week before that it started at 2pm and not, as I had thought, at 7pm – and I had to go to an important meeting at my church that wouldn’t finish with enough time to get me to the concert . I cast around for musical replacements and decided that the best option was the screened relay of the new Met Salome, again, as in Berlin in March, directed by Claus Guth. Although it means I will have been to three Salome performances in 2025 (there’s an LSO/Pappano concert performance in July, allegedly with Asmik Gregorian), I wanted to see this, given good reviews from New York-based critics. I’d read from a review that Guth was in this production as in the Berlin one using multiple Salomes (a reviewer called them Salomettes) of different ages during the Dance of the Seven Veils, and was suggesting, as before, child abuse as being a factor in the story of the opera.

The Sheffield Curzon was surprisingly full for this screening. I did wonder whether some had confused Strauss, R, with Strauss, J – if so they would have undoubtedly had a shock. 

The demands behind a cinema showing of a live staged opera are formidable. Singing actors who would be utterly credible in the theatre live can sometimes seem on the screen to be over-acting or not quite looking as they should in the part – others whose performances might be dismissed live in the theatre as routine are shown to have unexpected subtlety and credibility. And it is difficult on film to reproduce the balance between orchestra and voices, so you get that sense in Strauss of voices soaring over a powerful orchestra at climatic moments.

In this performance the two who came off best were Herod and Herodias. Both looked utterly convincing close up, both sang wonderfully and they were totally in character 100% of the time.  Jokanaan was not particularly well served by the movements the director had given him, and maybe he looked a bit too respectable and tidy close up. Salome in the theatre would have seemed utterly right, a first class performance, but you couldn’t escape the fact that in the cinema she did not look like an adolescent or even someone in their 20s, and as a result the impact of the performance. in the cinema, was diminished, and some of the intentional archness of her portrayal seemed odd, given that imbalance of age between character and singer.

Claus Guth said he was very influenced in this production by two Stanley Kubrick films – the Shining and another one I can’t remember. The set was 19th century Gothic horror, with all the servants and Herod in forms of evening dress. Herodias wore a ball gown. The set had three levels, dimly lit – an upper terrace where vaguely sinister, occasionally erotic, processions seemed to be taking place, often led by men wearing an over-sized goat’s head – this seemed to be something to do with the official religion of Herod’s court. There was a ground level ballroom, and then a lower stage which could be moved up, replacing the ballroom, and accessible via a steep set of stairs. In the lower level was both Jokanaan, and also the Salomettes, ghostly figures playing with dolls and rocking horses. Salome went to the bottom level for both the scene with Jokanaan and the final scene, where a spectacularly gruesome headless Jokanaan was sitting on a chair and his head lying on the floor. The reading of the ending was interesting – after Herod shouts out at the end ‘Kill that woman’ he falls to the ground with a heart attack, and Salome insouciantly walks off upstage. I suppose this emphasises the idea that in some way Salome is revenging herself on Herod. The connection with child abuse is obviously there in the text and an effective way of explaining why Salome is as she is. The Dance of the Seven Veils, again like Berlin using 7 different-aged Salomes, was more open in insinuating the abuse in the dancing, with a sinister goat head male dancer. It would have been (as Guth did in Berlin) better to leave it at that and have Salome played straight – just plain mad. Whether through Guth’s guidance, or the singer’s interpretation, Elza van den Heever made Salome a very arch figure, constantly trying as a character to be a wilful 18 year old and lacking any sense of maturity. Maybe that links with the abuse in some way, but the connection wasn’t obvious to me (at least) . Van den Heever did it very well – even in front of a merciless camera she was utterly in character – but the whole impression was to my mind a bit incoherent. In the theatre, again I emphasise, I would have been most struck by the remarkable singing Ms van den Heever offered us – beautiful phrasing, wonderful high soft top notes,  every appearance of being able to sail over the orchestra at the big moments from what one could tell from the recording, and a stunning lower register as well. In the theatre I would also have been mightily impressed by Peter Mattei. I can’t remember hearing him in a performance before – his was a wonderfully noble warm voice, and his diction was excellent. He was in recent years by far the best Jokanaan I have heard, voice-wise

I was slightly disappointed by the orchestral contribution – the Met orchestra sounded magnificent but sometimes the reading seemed a bit sluggish and needing more bite in the most frenetic moments, as well as more grandeur in the big Jokanaan 6 note theme, when it blazes in the brass. I think on the whole, of the three staged Salomes I have seen in recent years, the Paris one with Lisa Davidsen and Mark Wigglesworth was the most effective.

The Met ausdience went wild at the end, with a standing ovation, lots of flowers being thrown, and Ms van den Heever in tears. Given the notorious reputation of the Met as a bastion of staging conservatism, it was impressive to see the audience response to this, a classic bit of German regie-theater. Peter Gelb must be doing something right…………..