St John’s Smith Square
(sung in English)
Apollo – Aoife O’Sullivan
Melpomene – Gwiawr Edwards
Erato – Anna Starushkeych
Euterpe – Caryl Hughes
Orfeo – Anna Starushkevych
Imeneo – Thomas Herford
Euridice – Aoife O’Sullivan
Friends of
Orfeo/Furies/Blessed Spirits – Gwawr Edwards, Caryl Hughes, Thomas Herford,
Robert Gildon
Jeremy Gray (director, set
designs)
Fiona Hodges, Pauline Smith
(costumes)
Karen Halliday (movement)
 |
| Painting of the premiere of Il Parnaso confuso, attributed to Johann Franz Greipel. The Archduke Leopold may be seen at the harpsichord in the pit, his sisters on stage. |
The response, or rather lack
thereof, of London's ‘major’ opera companies to the Gluck anniversary has been
nothing short of a disgrace. It would not matter, if they deigned to perform
his operas the rest of the time, but they might at least have made token amends
this year: instead, absolute silence has reigned, whilst the more artistically
pressing business of endless revivals of uninteresting stagings of still more
uninteresting works by Verdi and Donizetti has continued apace. After all, a
season without a surfeit of Traviatas is no season at all for some houses; it is as
if Gluck’s reforms, let alone Wagner’s, had never happened. Bampton Classical
Opera, however, has performed a real service, in mounting the first British
staged performances – at least that is the claim, and I have found no evidence
to the contrary – of Il Parnaso confuso.
Performances, especially in this country, of Gluck’s reform operas are so thin
on the ground that it seems an almost indecent luxury to see one of his other
works. It should not, however, and such works require no apology, simply a
hearty welcome – and of course good performances.
This one-act festa teatrale, here performed in tandem
with Bertoni’s Orfeo (on which more
anon), was composed to a libretto by Metastasio, for performance at Schönbrunn
in 1765. For the marriage of the Archduke Joseph, shortly to be Joseph II, Holy
Roman Emperor, to Maria Josepha of Bavaria, Gluck was commanded to write no
fewer than three works, the others being a full-scale opera, Telemaco, ossia L’isola di Circe, and a
pantomime-ballet, Sémiramis. (If we
think his operas neglected, just consider the fate of his ballets, with the
partial exception of Don Juan.) The
concept of Il Parnaso confuso was
that it would be a surprise for the wedded couple, performed by four of Joseph’s
sisters and directed from the harpsichord by his brother, Leopold. Were this
Strauss and Hoffmansthal we should doubtless all be hymning the
metatheatricality of a work in which four of the Muses are suddenly called upon
by Apollo to provide an entertainment for Joseph and his ‘stella bavaria’ and
hasten to do so, only to find out that the wedding has already taken places and
that their services are required not very soon but immediately. Indeed, there
are more than shades avant la lettre
of Ariadne auf Naxos. (Strauss, far
from incidentally, was a great devotee of Gluck’s operas.) That the libretto is
by Metastasio, and mocks as old-fashioned and merely conventional earlier Gluck
works, written for Joseph’s first marriage in 1752, offers irony aplenty, especially
when one considers the shortly-to-be-penned Preface to Alceste, in which the Caesarian Court Poet would find the
reformist boot very much on the other foot. Both Gluck and Metastasio show a
light, even comedic touch that confounds such expectations as we might
generally have today.
Performances did this work –
perhaps slight, but far from negligible – proud. Thomas Blunt showed a true,
and rare, sense of eighteenth-century style, which is certainly not what many
people nowadays think it to be. Tempi were well chosen, orchestral colour
within its bounds well balanced, and the singers well supported. The musicians
of CHROMA are of course equally to be credited; small numbers notwithstanding, the
band, placed behind the stage, never sounded meagre, the acoustic of St John’s
Smith Square doubtless proving of considerable assistance. Jeremy Gray’s
production offered an Alpine Parnassus, replete with Dirndl, Lederhosen, and
beer, which allowed the action – and above all, the music – to proceed without
unnecessary interference and yet which, at the same time, provided a witty
framing for further metatheatrical reflection, should one have wished to
indulge. (The question of Gluck and ‘nationality’ is complex and fascinating.)
All of the singers had a good deal to offer, Gwawr Edwards being perhaps my
pick of the bunch, the surprisingly difficult technical demands – how did the princesses cope with them? –
having little fear for her, but never being a mere end in themselves. She and
her sisters, played by Anna Starushkeych and Caryl Hughes distinguished well
between their respective roles, without attempting unduly anachronistic ‘characterisation’
in the modern sense. Aoife O’Sullivan’s Apollo sounded perhaps a little
strained at times, but otherwise impressed.
The passage from opera seria to ‘reformism’ was neither linear
nor uniform, as both the ‘reform operas’ and chronology will attest. Il Parnaso confuso was composed after Orfeo, though I should defy anyone to
guess so. Moreover, just as Metastasio’s libretti would be set by a multitude
of composers – Mozart had at least forty predecessors, Gluck included, when it
came to La clemenza di Tito – Gluck was
not the only composer for Ranieri de’ Calzabigi’s Orfeo. Here we heard what was intriguingly billed as the first ‘modern-times’
performance of Ferdinando Bertoni’s 1776 version in the United Kingdom; I can
only assume that there must therefore have been an eighteenth-century
performance somewhere in this country, and should be grateful for confirmation
and details. Doubtless the strangeness would have been greater had we not heard
the work in English translation, but even so, it is a slightly odd business
hearing a text – even when cut – one knows so well, set to different, yet
clearly ‘influenced’ music. The impression is generally of pleasant, perhaps
more ‘up-to-date’ music, somewhere between imitation Gluck and Johann Christian
Bach, but deeper acquaintance might possibly ascertain greater individuality
(or not). It is well-crafted and certainly to be preferred to many of those aforementioned
undistinguished nineteenth-century works our houses continue to foist upon us.
An exception seemed to be offered by certain odd tonal jumps in the
recitatives; without consulting a score, I cannot say whether that was Bertoni’s
fault, or a matter of the performing edition. Maybe it would have been too much
to hear both Orfeo settings back to
back, but it would have been intriguing: an idea for another occasion, perhaps?
Again, performances were
generally impressive. Blunt, clearly a force to be reckoned with, and someone
from whom I hope to hear more soon, again led his players in a stylish,
committed performance, which enabled parallels with as well as distinctions
from Gluck to be drawn. Gray’s modern-dress production again permitted the work
to progress without fuss. The lion’s share of the singing is Orfeo’s; here, Anna
Starushkeych was a little more variable, perhaps a little tired at times, but
nevertheless gave a good sense of what was at stake. Thomas Herford and Aoife O’Sullivan
provided very good support, as did the small soloists’ chorus. Charles Burney’s
doubts concerning Bertoni’s inventiveness may have been justified, but so, for
the most part, was his discernment of a style that was ‘natural, correct, and
judicious; often pleasing, and sometimes happy,’ both in work and here in
performance.
