For St Cecilia's Day

 

 

The patron saint of musicians (pictured, courtesy of Raphael) has found herself especially favoured by English composers. One of the greatest odes to her is that by Handel, that greatest of honorary Englishmen, to a text by Dryden. (If only we heard more of his oratorios and choral works, and somewhat less of his operas: fine music but, more often than not, dramatically uninvolving.) The finest recording I know of Handel’s 1739 Ode for St Cecilia’s Day is conducted by today’s centenary birthday boy, Benjamin Britten, at what I think - though I shall be happily corrected - was the celebratory opening concert of the Queen Elizabeth Hall in 1967.

 

 

Alas, I cannot find an excerpt on Youtube or another such site, so here instead is a refreshing performance of the glorious final chorus, ‘As from the power of sacred lays,’ from a young Tuscan choir and orchestra. The Italianate charm of the younger Handel’s music never left his work, and how refreshing it is to come across musicians being able to treat it as music, rather than as a pseudo-archaeological exercise replete with inspectors and enforcers from the non-vibrato Taliban.

 

 

 

 

Handel’s work, in this and many other cases, owed a great deal to Purcell, perhaps the greatest English composer of all. Certainly no composer, not even Britten, has set the English language with greater facility. The late Sir Charles Mackerras’s joyous recording of Purcell’s 1692 Hail! Bright Cecilia has never been equalled, let alone surpassed, though Sir Michael Tippett’s earlier recording offers a splendidly characterful alternative. Amazon links to all three of recordings may be found below.

Arden Must Die - or the arts will...

Some excellent footage from the days when BBC television still retained a degree of respect for Lord Reith's principles:





Look out for Charles Mackerras as conductor.

Will someone now revive this fine Brechtian opera, Alexander Goehr's first? Now more than ever we need to show what the arts are capable of, as their political enemies take lipsmacking delight in slashing budgets. Opera companies and other arts organisations must be bold, must never retreat into rehashings of tired repertoire that could quite readily be mounted commercially.

Rolf Liebermann's words are especially instructive. As Hamburg Intendant, he felt it artistically necessary to commision an opera from Goehr; the composer's nationality was supremely irrelevant to him. Covent Garden, kindly take note! Liebermann commissioned no fewer than twenty-six operas during his Hamburg tenure; others include Henze's Der Prinz von Homburg and Penderecki's The Devils. Opera and art in general must never consign themselves to the museum. That way they will succeed only in signing their death warrants.

The Makropulos Case, English National Opera, 20 September 2010

(sung in English)

Coliseum

(Image: EM with Janek - Neil Libbert)

Emilia Marty – Amanda Roocroft
Dr Kolenatý – Andrew Shore
Vítek – Alasdair Elliott
Kristina – Laura Mitchell
Albert Gregor – Peter Hoare
Baron Prus – Ashley Holland
Janek – Christopher Turner
Hauk-Šendorf – Ryland Davies
Stage Technician – William Robert Allenby
Cleaning Lady – Morag Boyle
Chambermaid – Susanna Tudor-Thomas

Christopher Alden (director)
Charles Edwards (set designs)
Sue Wilmington (costumes)
Adam Silverman (lighting)
Claire Glaskin (choreography)

Chorus of the English National Opera (chorus master: Nicholas Chalmers)
Orchestra of the English National Opera
Sir Richard Armstrong (conductor)


Christopher Alden’s production of The Makropulos Case garnered considerable acclaim upon its first ENO outing. It benefited from a strong cast and from the guiding hand of the late Sir Charles Mackerras – to whose memory this performance was dedicated – but it has virtues of its own. Foremost amongst them are Charles Edwards’s powerful set designs, redolent of Eastern European civic architecture without fetishising a location that ultimately is neither here nor there: for the truly though not exclusively national, one turns to the music. These designs frame the action in a manner that manages to convey a degree of claustrophobia but also the public arena in which the drama plays itself out. Emilia Marty is an opera singer, after all – and a ‘famous’ one at that. But there is perforce coldness at her heart, such being the nature of her near-immortal predicament, and that coldness is reflected in the setting, not least Adam Silverman’s lighting. The men lined up outside look in on her world and occasionally participate, insofar as she permits them, though they never really understand it or her.

And yet, Alden seems to view the opera partly as a comedy, or at least has come to do so. (I do not remember this registering last time around, but that may just be my failure to recollect.) Karel Čapek’s original play is a comedy, though I cannot claim acquaintance with it. That has never, however, seemed to me to be the spirit in which Janáček prepared his opera. There are surreal happenings, to be sure, but playing Marty for laughs, as Amanda Roocroft often did, and turning Baron Prus into something of a Carry On figure, embarrassed and embarrassing in his underwear, does the work no favours. Moreover, one needs a good directorial reason to disregard the instruction that Kristina burn the Makropulos document, red Glückliche Hand-like glow of burning or otherwise; I am not sure that there is one here.

Roocroft’s performance was loudly acclaimed. During the first act, she impressed considerably. However, a reading that threatened to degenerate into farce seemed, at least to me, to undersell the nobility in the role. Diction and intonation deteriorated too. There was certainly enthusiasm to her portrayal; one could not fault her for effort, but it increasingly seemed misapplied. Cheryl Barker first time around gave a more complete account. Casting in general, however, remained strong. Andrew Shore and Alasdair Elliott provided subtly coloured and differentiated readings of Kolanatý and Vítek, whilst Christopher Turner and Laura Mitchell proved youthfully ardent as Janek and Kristina. There was strength, but strength aptly born of bluster, in Ashley Holland’s Prus. The serving roles – Cleaning Lady, Stage Technician, and Chambermaid – were characterised, some might say caricatured, with musical and verbal aplomb by Morag Boyle, William Robert Allenby, and Susanna Tudor-Thomas. Perhaps, though, someone – whoever issued instructions to this effect – should be informed that cod-Northern accents does not always sit well with operatic vocalism, and, more seriously, that geography does not equate to class. It was worth attending for Ryland Davies’s splendidly acted Hauk-Šendorf alone.

Sir Richard Armstrong often drove the ENO Orchestra fiercely. There was no want of dramatic verve in his reading; it echoed Mackerras quite strongly in fact. There were, moreover, moments, however fragile, in which Janáček’s musical phantasmagoria could truly beguile, supreme amongst which must be the waltzing harmonics that enable E.M. to reach the climax of her tale. The orchestra was on excellent form, strings especially sweet, and the full head given to pounding kettledrums dramatic rather than melodramatic. Perhaps most impressive was Armstrong’s handling of Janáček’s fragmentary technique. Snatches become parts of a whole, but the alchemy, like that of Makropulos’s formula, is mysterious. One knows it when one hears it – and one heard it here.

One other thing, though: Janáček objected to the freedom with which Max Brod prepared his German translation for the first German performance under Josef Krips; Brod was compelled to make many alterations. I dread to think what the composer would have made of this English version by Norman Tucker. One can argue about the merits or otherwise of opera in translation, especially since the advent of surtitles at the Coliseum, but if the libretto is to be translated, something that captures the spirit and perhaps even the sound of the original better than this would be welcome. Jarring colloquialisms appear thick and fast: ‘Cor Blimey!’ inevitably puts one in mind of Dick Van Dyke. It was difficult to discern any effort to provide a substitute for the Czech speech rhythms that so colour the composer’s music. Still, performances were of a high standard – and ultimately, the play’s the thing.

Prom 17: SCO/Boyd - Mozart and Dvořák, 29 July 2010

Royal Albert Hall

Dvořák – Serenade in D minor, for wind instruments, violoncello, and double bass, op.44, B.77

Mozart – Serenade no.10 in B-flat major, for thirteen instruments, KV 361/370a

Scottish Chamber Orchestra
Douglas Boyd (conductor)

This late-night Prom was to have been conducted by the late Sir Charles Mackerras, featuring two particular loves of his: Dvořák and Mozart. One might add a third: the Scottish Chamber Orchestra, of which he had long been Conductor Laureate. For a programme of music for wind ensemble, it was not unfitting that Mackerras’s replacement should be another former oboist, Douglas Boyd.

The first of two works on the programme was Dvořák’s D minor Serenade. Its first movement is marked Moderato, quasi marcia. One certainly heard a strong impression of the march, even if Boyd was somewhat on the fast side for Moderato; nevertheless, the tempo worked well enough. There was nothing small-scale about the interpretation, which had a welcome sense of the symphonic to it. Particularly striking were the SCO’s grainy bassoons (Peter Whelan and Alison Green). The second movement flowed nicely; if its trio was a touch fussy, it was despatched with panache. I cannot claim to find the main body of the slow movement especially compelling: it comes and goes, and would doubtless make for superior background music. However, the agitated middle section intriguingly presented intimations of Mahler. There was an infectious sense of countryside music-making to the finale. At times, it perhaps sounded a little too ‘conducted’, though this aspect came into its own with the march reminiscence from the first movement.

The masterpiece on the programme was, of course, Mozart’s Gran Partita. My reservations here were usually concerned with tempi – and also, I am afraid, with the use of natural horns, which simply cannot play in tune to the expectations of modern ears and which must also uncomfortably resort to rasping. Valves were invented for a very good reason. The Largo introduction to the first movement was full of promise, perhaps a touch moulded by Boyd, but I should not exaggerate. The Molto allegro was properly lively, with clear counterpoint, if again a little too obviously ‘conducted’. Minuets – the second and fourth movements – were brisk, but not unreasonably so; again clarity was commendable. The second trio of the first minuet brought an extremely noticeable fluff from one of the natural horns, but those of the second minuet could certainly swing. In between those movements comes the sublime Adagio. Boyd’s was not my idea of an Adagio, nor was it Furtwängler’s in his incomparable Vienna Philharmonic recording, but if one could take the Andante approach, there was some beautiful playing to hear from the SCO: less blended than, say, the Academy of St Martin in the Fields, but graininess has its own rewards. The ‘flowing’ – a current ‘period’ euphemism for fast – tempo certainly fitted with Boyd’s conception, outlined in a brief pre-performance discussion, of the movement as an aria in an overtly operatic work. It was beautiful, however, rather than profound: no metaphysics here. I was taken aback to hear the Adagio section of the fifth movement taken slower than I could recall hearing previously. Unfortunately, it sounded laboured, since Boyd gave the impression of hearing it on a bar-to-bar, sometimes even a beat-to-beat, basis; the longer line was lacking. There was great contrast with a fast, driven Allegretto, which would have benefited from time to breathe. The bubbly theme and variations that followed was, however, quite delightful. Here a longer line was discernible, save for a somewhat choppy minor key variation. Then came the finale. Molto allegro is generally an extremely difficult tempo to bring off in Mozart. The modern tendency is to drive too hard: not in itself so much a matter of tempo. Boyd did not entirely avoid this trap, but I have heard worse. All in all, a mixed performance, then, but there remained much to enjoy.

Sir Charles Mackerras

Herewith a press statement from the Royal Opera, including tributes from Antonio Pappano and Elaine Padmore. The breadth of repertoire listed is quite remarkable, and this of course only refers to his work for one company.


The Royal Opera is deeply saddened to hear the news of the death of Sir Charles Mackerras, who died on Wednesday 14 July 2010.



Antonio Pappano, Music Director, The Royal Opera:


“Charlie Mackerras’s impact on the development of musical performance practice over the last 60 years has been enormous. He was a force of nature, a true man of the theatre, who grappled with how to honour a composer’s intentions with the utmost rhythmic flair, drama and enthusiasm. His performances were always so full of life it is almost impossible to imagine he is no longer. A true friend of the Royal Opera House, he is irreplaceable; we will miss him terribly. Our sincere condolences to Judy and the rest of his family.”




Elaine Padmore, Director of Opera, The Royal Opera:



He was a very dear friend of the Royal Opera House and clearly loved his times with us. It was a great pleasure that he chose to spend his 80th birthday here at the Royal Opera House. We brought on a cake and sang ‘Happy Birthday’ on stage with the audience and had a splendid time with him, the audience and the Company together. Much as he was a great symphonic conductor, he was a man who loved opera houses. It was very apt that the last opera he conducted with us was one of his great favourites, Janáček’s The Cunning Little Vixen, which we’d programmed at his request. We had two further seasons planned for him. Alas those are not to be, but the wonderful memories of his insightful performances of his beloved Janáček are the last we will have.”



SIR CHARLES MACKERRAS AT THE ROYAL OPERA HOUSE



Sir Charles Mackerras made his Royal Opera debut conducting Shostakovich’s Katerina Ismailova in 1964, having first conducted the Ballet Company at Covent Garden in 1955. During his long career at Covent Garden, he conducted over 30 operas for The Royal Opera. He celebrated his 80th birthday on 17 November 2005 at the Royal Opera House conducting the first in a run of nine performances of Verdi’s Un ballo in maschera.



Most recently, he conducted The Bartered Bride, Orlando, Katya Kabanova, Le nozze di Figaro, and Don Giovanni for The Royal Opera. His last performances with The Royal Opera were The Cunning Little Vixen in March 2010.



SIR CHARLES MACKERRAS PERFORMANCES



1951

Pineapple Poll 13 Mar

(Sadler’s Wells)



1952

Pineapple Poll 21 Aug

(Sadler’s Wells)



1954

Pineapple Poll 27 Feb

(Sadler’s Wells)



The Lady and the Fool 27 Feb

(Sadler’s Wells)



1955

The Lady and the Fool 9 June

(Sadler’s Wells)



1964

Katerina Ismailova 8, 14, 16 Dec



1966

Turandot 6, 11, 14, 19, 22, 24 Jan/ 20, 24, 28 May



1967

Turandot 6, 9, 12, 14 Jan/ 24 Feb/ 6 Mar

Carmen 11, 16, 19, 24, 27 May/ 1, 5, 9 June



1968

Carmen 3, 7, 15, 19, 23, 28 Feb/ 5, 8 Mar

Tosca 22, 30 Mar/ 2, 5, 11, 15 Apr

Così fan tutte 8, 12, 16, 18 July



1969

Aida 29 May/ 4, 10, 14, 17, 20 June

Così fan tutte 4, 6, 9, 14, 17, 20 Jan

Simon Boccanegra 30 Apr/ 6, 10, 14, 20, 22, 26 May



1969/70

Le Coq D’Or 12, 16, 22, 27, 30 Dec/ 2 Jan



1970

Tosca 26, 28 May/ 1, 4, 9, 16 June



1971

Turandot 6, 9, 12, 15 Jan/ 3, 12, 18 Feb

Orfeo ed Euridice 9, 13, 16, 19, 21 July



1971/72

Billy Budd 30 Dec/ 3, 5, 11, 17 Jan



1972

Jenůfa 13, 20, 25, 29 Apr/ 2 May

Orfeo ed Euridice 24, 27, 30 May/ 3, 6, 9 June



1973

Aida 23, 27, 31 March/ 3, 6, 9, 12, 17 April

Il trovatore 23, 26, 30 May/ 2, 6, 11 June



1974

A Midsummer Night’s Dream 2, 4, 11, 15, 19 Jan

Otello (Verdi) 1, 4, 10, 13, 17, 20, 24 May

Jenůfa 22, 25, 28 May/ 7, 10 June

Tosca 8, 12, 16, 18 Nov

Faust 5, 7, 10, 13 Dec



1977

Jenůfa 8, 11, 14, 17 June



1978/ 79

Un ballo in maschera 21, 27, 29 Dec/ 3, 6 Jan



1981

Alceste 26 Nov/ 1, 4, 9, 12, 15 Dec



1982

Semele 25, 29 Nov/ 1, 4, 7, 11, 14 Dec



1984

Tosca 18, 22, 26, 29 Sept



1988/89

Semele 22, 28, 30 Dec/ 3, 7 Jan



1994

Roméo et Juliette 28 Oct/ 1, 4, 9, 12, 15, 17 Nov



2000

The Greek Passion 25, 27, 29 Apr/ 3, 5, 8 May

Roméo et Juliette 18, 21, 26 Feb / 1, 6, 9 March



2001

The Bartered Bride 7, 10, 12, 20 Nov 2001

Die Entführung aus dem Serail 30 May / 2, 4, 7, 9 June



2002

Don Giovanni 18, 20, 23, 28 Feb



2003

Rusalka in concert 14, 17 July

Semele 25, 28 June / 2, 5, 8, 11 July



2004

The Greek Passion 15, 19, 21, 23, 25 Sept / 1 Oct

Der Rosenkavalier 13, 19, 22, 24, 27, 30 Apr



2005

Un ballo in maschera 17, 21, 25, 29 Nov / 3, 7, 10, 13, 16 Dec

Die Zauberflöte 11, 14, 16, 21, 23, 26, 28 Feb/ 3, 4 Mar



2006

The Bartered Bride 6, 9, 12, 14, 17, 20 Jan



2007

Katya Kabanova 19, 22, 15, 28 June / 2, 5 July

Orlando 26 Feb / 1, 3, 7, 9, 13 Mar



2008

Don Giovanni 8, 10, 12, 15, 18 Sept

Le nozze di Figaro 24, 30 June/ 2, 5, 10, 12, 16 July



2010

The Cunning Little Vixen 19, 22, 25, 29 Mar / 1 Apr





BIOGRAPHY



Born in 1925 of Australian parents in America, Sir Charles Mackerras studied in Sydney and Prague and made his debut as an opera conductor at Sadler’s Wells. He was First Conductor of the Hamburg Opera (1966-69) and Musical Director of both Sadler’s Wells (later English National Opera) (1970-77), and of Welsh National Opera (1987-92), where his notable Janáček productions, amongst many others, were acclaimed. From 1982-85 Sir Charles was Chief Conductor of the Sydney Symphony Orchestra and also conducted the opening public concert at the Sydney Opera House. Sir Charles is Conductor Laureate of the Scottish Chamber Orchestra, Conductor Emeritus of the OAE, Conductor Laureate of the Brno Philharmonic Orchestra, Principal Guest Conductor of the Philharmonia Orchestra, Conductor Emeritus of the Welsh National Opera and Principal Guest Conductor Emeritus of the San Francisco Opera. A specialist in Czech repertory, Sir Charles was Principal Guest Conductor of the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra from 1997 - 2003, following his life-long association with both the Orchestra and many aspects of Czech musical life.



Sir Charles had undertaken much research into performance practice of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. One of the highlights of the 1991 season was the re-opening of the Estates Theatre in Prague, scene of the original premiere of Don Giovanni. Sir Charles conducted a new production of that opera to mark the bi-centenary of Mozart’s death. He recorded all Mozart’s Symphonies and Serenades with the Prague Chamber Orchestra. With the Scottish Chamber Orchestra he recorded seven Mozart operas, most recently La Clemenza di Tito following a performance at the 2005 Edinburgh International Festival. [2002 marked Sir Charles’ 50th year with the Edinburgh Festival, in which he conducted Donizetti’s Maria Stuarda, Handel’s Jeptha and Mozart’s Gran Partita.] He was recently named Honorary President of the Edinburgh International Festival Society.



His vast discography includes an award-winning cycle of Janáček operas with the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, Britten’s Gloriana with WNO [awarded ‘Gramophone’ magazine’s Best Opera Recording for 1994] and Dvorak’s Rusalka with the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra [awarded ‘Gramophone’ magazine’s ‘Best Opera Recording’ and ‘Best Recording of the Year’, the ‘Preis der Deutschen Schallplattenkritik’, ‘Prix Caecilia’ and ‘Edison Award’ for 1999]. Notable are his recordings with the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra of Beethoven’s and Mahler’s symphonies and Brahms’ four symphonies with the Scottish Chamber Orchestra. Sir Charles and the Scottish Chamber Orchestra have recorded eight Mozart concertos with Alfred Brendel. Sir Charles has recorded much Czech music with the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra, including Dvorak’s Slavonic Dances, Smetana’s Ma Vlast, Martinu’s Field Mass and Double Concerto and Janáček’s Katya Kabanova, Sarka and the Glagolitic Mass all for Supraphon. For Chandos he has recorded The Magic Flute, The Makropolous Case, Cosi fan tutte and Hansel and Gretel, which won the 2008 Grammy Award for Best Opera Recording. He has recorded the complete Beethoven symphonies for Hyperion Records.



Sir Charles made his debut with the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden in 1964, where he has since conducted over 30 operas, including Un ballo in maschera which celebrated his 50th anniversary and 80th birthday in 2005. He also recently conducted Katya Kabanova there, an opera that he first introduced London audiences to in 1951 at the Sadler’s Wells theatre; the first performance of a Janáček opera in the United Kingdom. In addition to his many appearances with the San Francisco Opera, he has a long association with the Metropolitan Opera, New York. He made his debut at the Salzburg Festival, with the Vienna Philharmonic, conducting Le nozze di Figaro in 1998, and returned to Salzburg to conduct the orchestra in a programme of Schubert and Mozart in 2005. He made his debut with the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra in 2004, in which year he also made his debut at the National Theatre Prague, conducting Janáček’s Vylety pana broucka (The Excursions of Mr Broucek).



In the 2009/10 season he conducted the Philharmonia Orchestra, the Scottish Chamber Orchestra and the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment. For English National Opera he conducted The Turn of the Screw, for the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, he conducted The Cunning Little Vixen and for Glyndebourne Festival Opera he conducted Cosi fan tutte.



Sir Charles received a CBE in 1974 and was knighted in 1979. He was honoured with the Medal of Merit from the Czech Republic in 1996, made a Companion of the Order of Australia in 1997 and made a Companion of Honour in the 2003 Queen’s Birthday Honours. In May 2005 he was presented with the Royal Philharmonic Society Gold Medal and in November 2005 was the first recipient of the Queen’s Medal for Music. He was awarded a DMus (Hon) of the Universities of Hull, York, Nottingham, Griffith (Australia), Oxford, Napier, Melbourne, Sydney, the Janáček Academy of Music (Brno) and the Prague Academy of Music. Sir Charles was also President of Trinity College of Music.



CAREER DATES



1943-46

Principal Oboist, Sydney Symphony Orchestra



1947

Oboist, Sadler’s Wells Opera Orchestra



1947-48

Won British Council scholarship to study conducting with Vaclav Talich in Prague



1948-54

Staff conductor, Sadler’s Wells Opera (first opera Die Fledermaus, October 1948)



1951

Conducted UK premiere of Janacek’s opera, Kat’a Kabanova at Sadler’s Wells Opera



1951

Pineapple Poll – his arrangement of G & S for ballet choreographed by John Cranko (Sadler’s Wells); also made his first recording (Suite from Pineapple Poll)



1954-56

Principal Conductor, BBC Concert Orchestra



1957-66

Freelance conductor, orchestras in Britain, European Continent, USA, Australia



1955

Debut at Covent Garden, with the Ballet Company – conducting The Lady and the Fool (for which he had arranged the music)



1955

First worked with Philharmonia Orchestra (recording The Lady and the Fool)



1964 (Dec)

Debut with The Royal Opera (Katerina Ismailova)



1966-69

First Conductor, Hamburg State Opera



1970-77

Musical Director, Sadler’s Wells Opera (later, English National Opera)



1976-79

Chief Guest Conductor, BBC Symphony Orchestra



1982-85

Chief Conductor, Sydney Symphony Orchestra, Australian Broadcasting Corporation



1986-88

Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra



1987-92

Musical Director, Welsh National Opera



1992

Conductor Emeritus, Welsh National Opera



1992-95

Principal Guest Conductor, Scottish Chamber Orchestra



1995

Conductor Laureate, Scottish Chamber Orchestra



1993-96

Principal Guest Conductor, San Francisco Opera



1996

Conductor Emeritus, San Francisco Opera



1993-96

Principal Guest Conductor, Royal Philharmonic Orchestra



1997-2003

Principal Guest Conductor, Czech Philharmonic Orchestra



1998-2001

Music Director, Orchestra of St Luke’s, New York



2001

Music Director Emeritus, Orchestra of St Luke’s, NY



2002

Principal Guest Conductor, Philharmonia Orchestra



HONOURS AND AWARDS



2005

Gold Medal of the Royal Philharmonic Society (May)



2005

The Queen’s Medal for Music (first recipient of this new annual award, to be presented at a private audience with HMQ and Sir Peter Maxwell Davies, Master of the Queen’s Music, on 22 November – St Cecilia’s Day



2003

Companion of Honour (CH)



1997

Companion of Order of Australia (AC)



1996

Medal of Merit, Czech Republic



1979

Knighthood



1974

CBE



Honorary Fellow of:

Royal Academy of Music (1969)

Royal College of Music (1987)

Royal Northern College of Music (1999)

Trinity College of Music (1999)

Saint Peter’s College, Oxford (1999)

Cardiff University (2003)



DMus (Hon) - Honorary Doctor of Music – at the Universities of:

Hull (1990), Nottingham (1991), Brno (Czech Republic, 1994), York (1994), Griffith (Brisbane, 1994), Oxford (1997), Prague Academy of Music (1999), Napier (2000), Melbourne (2003), Sydney (2003), Janacek Academy of Music, Brno (2004), London (2005)

The Cunning Little Vixen, Royal Opera, 19 March 2010

(sung in English)

Royal Opera House, Covent Garden

Vixen Sharp-Ears – Emma Matthews
Gamekeeper – Christopher Maltman
Fox – Elisabeth Meister
Schoolmaster/Mosquito – Robin Leggate
Gamekeeper’s Wife/Owl – Madeleine Shaw
Priest/Badger – Jeremy White
Harašta – Matthew Rose
Innkeeper’s Wife – Elisabeth Sikora
Pásek – Alasdair Elliott
Pepík – Simona Mihai
Frantík – Elizabeth Cragg
Rooster/Jay – Deborah Peake-Jones
Dachshund – Gerald Thompson
Forester’s Wife – Madeleine Shaw
Cricket – Peter Shafran
Caterpillar – Talo Hanson (front), Korey Knight (back)
Young Vixen – Eleanor Burke
Blue Dragonfly – Tom Sapsford
Spirit of the Vixen – Lyn Routledge
Chief Hen – Glenys Groves
Woodpecker – Amanda Floyd
Hare – Marnie Carr
Flies, Foxcubs, Other Children, Dancers

Bill Bryden (director)
William Dudley (designs)
Paule Constable (lighting)
Stuart Hopps (movement)

Royal Opera Chorus (chorus master: Renato Balsadonna)
Orchestra of the Royal Opera House
Sir Charles Mackerras (conductor)

An enchanting evening at Covent Garden: what with this and The Gambler, things seem to be looking up, following a dispiriting spell in the Christof Loy doldrums. Indeed, the theatrical and musical magic woven here could not stand further removed from the pretentious dreariness inflicted upon new productions of Lulu and Tristan und Isolde. Bill Bryden’s production of The Cunning Little Vixen was first staged in 1990 but, twenty years on, it is yet to look tired. For this, William Dudley’s designs deserve a great deal of credit. There is to action and staging a crucial sense of life, in all its complexity, never more ambiguous than when it is apparently straightforward. The life-cycle, human or animal – should the distinction even be made? – is the guiding force, in every sense, of Janáček’s drama, and so, appropriately enough, one sees a huge circle on stage, which provides a treadmill for walking as well as a frame in which the first act’s acrobatic ‘Spirit of the Vixen’ may swing. Here, form is wondrously imparted to the Vixen’s dream, both for the eye and the ear. Humour, arguably more immediate, if less idiomatic, when sung in English, was present too, for instance in the portrayal of the clannish farmyard hens, large and contented, unable to heed the Vixen’s siren-voice of feminist revolt. It is, however, the interplay between wondrous machinery and Nature that penetrates to the very heart of the opera. This both highlighted such relationships in the score and put me in mind of another Royal Opera production: David McVicar’s Magic Flute – never more magical than when heard under Sir Colin Davis (available on DVD). Lighting (Paule Johnson), colours, and scenery ensure that Nature is present, overflowing in her abundance, without being domesticated or prettified; for there is wildness aplenty in Janáček’s score, and this must be reflected in the action.

It must, of course, above all be expressed by the orchestra, and so it was here. The name of Sir Charles Mackerras is so indelibly associated with Janáček’s music that one might take for granted his excellence. However, I doubt that even the most jaded listener – note that one must listen, rather than passively consume – could have done so in this case. The angularities of Janáček’s score, so often ironed out by conductors not so intimately attuned to the idiom, were immediate and telling, but they were always integrated into a longer line, never aggressive, let alone exhibitionistic, for their own sake: the opposing temptation to smoothing out. Equally apparent, and again never merely for their own sake, were the ravishing beauties of the score’s extraordinary sound-world – extraordinary even by Janáček’s standards. One example would be that utterly characteristic high string sound, split into several parts, which one might be tempted to call Straussian, but which is in reality quite different, if anything more akin to the Schoenberg of Gurrelieder. (Janáček was greatly interested in the music of the Second Viennese School.) Building of climaxes was masterly, above all in the great, pantheistic conclusion, so redolent, or rather prophetic, of the Glagolitic Mass. Life goes on, yet is transformed, transfigured. Tension had sagged slightly, I thought, both on stage and in the musical performance, during the first half of the third act, but this conclusion certainly compensated. As Sir Charles’s aforementioned knighted colleague sounds so effortlessly right in Mozart, so does Mackerras in Janáček. How odd, then, that this was the first time he had conducted the work at Covent Garden, though not quite so odd as the fact that Bryden’s production has no predecessors in the house. (Having said that, The Cunning Little Vixen received its Paris premiere as recently as 2008, and then in a production borrowed from Lyons.)

If Mackerras and the orchestra, which throughout played superlatively, a match for any other ensemble, were the brightest stars in the firmament, then they were ably supported by much of the cast. Most impressive of all was Christopher Maltman, whose Forester grew in stature, as he should, as the work progressed. The final transfiguration was as much his as the natural world’s. Elisabeth Meister, a Jette Paker Young Artist, had originally been slated to sing the roles of the Rooster and the Jay, but had to replace Emma Bell at very short notice, the latter having been rushed to hospital for an emergency appendectomy. Meister proved a winning replacement, moving in her love for the Vixen: an anthropomorphic fantasy, maybe, but an irresistible one. Sadly, Emma Matthews brought no especial individuality to the title role, though she did nothing especially wrong either. Many of the smaller roles, however, were sharply etched, most memorably Matthew Rose’s poacher, Harašta, Robin Leggate’s lovelorn Schoolmaster, and Jeremy White, both as priest and badger. The children, drawn from various London schools, did not disappoint either.

Performance in English did not disconcert me as much as I had feared. There is loss, of course, in terms of the music’s relationship to the language’s speech-rhythms, but this registered less than it had during ENO’s Katya Kabanova earlier in the week. Perhaps it was a better translation; there was certainly more opportunity, often very well taken, for wit. Banking jokes may be easy, but sometimes we should be grateful for any weapon we have. One gripe though: why start at 8 p.m.? It made no especial difference to me, but a 7.30 start would have been of help to those who had to travel out of London, or who simply wished to dine a little earlier. Such practical reservations should not detract, however, from a triumphant return to form for the Royal Opera.

The Cunning Little Vixen will be broadcast by BBC Radio 3 on Saturday 15 May at 6 p.m.

The Turn of the Screw, English National Opera, 22 October 2009

The Coliseum

The Governess – Rebecca Evans
The Prologue/Peter Quint – Michael Colvin
Miles – Charlie Manton
Flora – Nazan Fikret
Mrs Grose – Ann Murray
Miss Jessel – Cheryl Barker

David McVicar (director)
Tanya McCallin (designs)
Andrew George (movement)
Sirena Tocco (movement revival)
Adam Silverman (lighting)

Orchestra of English National Opera
Sir Charles Mackerras (conductor)

I have long thought The Turn of the Screw Britten’s finest opera. It is a superior work to Peter Grimes, for instance, which boasts an excellent story, set to music of variable quality; only English insularity could possibly explain the wildly extravagant claims one often hears for it. In The Turn of the Screw, however, genuinely interesting, highly ‘constructed’, music adds to the story, engendering an artwork inevitably different from, yet far from unworthy to be ranked alongside, Henry James’s original tale.

Sir Charles Mackerras certainly made one hear Britten’s score that way. Mackerras’s was an outstanding achievement: if only he would devote, or indeed had devoted, more of his time to repertoire such as this than to his increasingly hard-driven, often downright charmless, Mozart. (A recent Don Giovanni was, I admit, something of an exception.) Here, however, the music lived, breathed, developed with deceptive ease; it responded to and incited the drama, its structure clearly delineated in musical and dramatic terms. As the conductor himself noted in a brief post-performance speech, following a presentation, there are only thirteen players in Britten’s orchestra, yet the composer suggests more extensive forces. There is no monotony but a wealth of instrumental colour and variation. Such economy undoubtedly puts Peter Grimes to shame. And the ENO orchestra was on top form. Every player might justly be mentioned, yet, if only on account of his part’s prominence, Murray Hipkin’s piano playing is perhaps worthy of especial mention.

A fine cast had been assembled. Rebecca Evans was a sympathetic Governess: victim of the supernatural or hysteric? Who knows? Her musical qualities were as high as her dramatic ones, vocal lines retaining an integrity of their own. Ann Murray was at least equally fine as Mrs Grose. Truly inhabiting the character, her suspicions, doubts, and humanity were readily apparent. Cheryl Barker had less to do as Miss Jessel, but was disturbingly malevolent on stage and in voice. I was less impressed by Michael Colvin’s Peter Quint: weird, certainly, but lacking in insidious charm. His intonation sometimes wavered too. Charlie Manton seemed a very young Miles, which has implications for how one considers the character, who thereby comes across as considerably less knowing. Nevertheless, his was a splendidly sung and acted performance, which would have put to shame many adult professional singers. Nazan Fikret seemed to me somewhat miscast as Flora; one can get away with a young Miles but a Flora who looks more than twice his age is unfortunate: a bit too much Little Britain. She sang well enough though. Female diction was not always impeccable, but I have heard far worse.

David McVicar’s production, first seen at ENO – though not by me – in 2007, and before that at the Mariinsky Theatre, is pretty much an unqualified triumph. Where I thought his Salome for the Royal Opera too sensationalist – the work hardly needs it... – this production responds to words and music in so telling a fashion, like a horribly realistic dream, that one can hardly imagine it being done otherwise afterwards. Set ‘in period’, the period is not fetishised as an end in itself, but employed as a source of strangeness. Tanya McCallin’s sets deserve credit here, likewise Adam Silverman’s lighting. All of the characters seem exceptionally well directed. The twisted nature of the story is relished – surely Daily Mail writers and readers should be protesting outside the Coliseum – without being exaggerated. Disturbing realities concerning children, their sexuality, and adults’ responses thereto are portrayed bravely and with sensitivity. If there is a problem with the ghosts, that they are perhaps too apparent, then that is inherent in the work itself. The extras’ movement was originally undertaken by Andrew George and is skilfully revived by Sirena Tocco. All told, and very much more than the sum of its parts, this was an excellent performance, wholeheartedly to be recommended.

Salzburg Mozartwoche (2): VPO/Rattle - Haydn, Mahler, Debussy, and Mozart

Grosses Festspielhaus, Salzburg

Haydn – Symphony no.88 in G major
Mahler – Rückert-Lieder
Debussy – Danse sacrée et danse profane
Mozart (completed Sir Charles Mackerras) – Recitative and aria: ‘Guinse alfin il momento – Non tardar, amato bene’, KV 492/28
Mozart – Symphony no.40 in G minor, KV 550

Magdalena Kožená (soprano)
Xavier de Maistre (harp)
Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra
Sir Simon Rattle (conductor)

Sir Simon Rattle has a longstanding affection for Haydn. This is the third time that I have heard him conduct Haydn’s eighty-eighth symphony, having done so once before with the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra and also last summer with the Berlin Philharmonic. Rattle has a tendency to micro-manage certain aspects of the work, which some may find irritating, but I do not mind too much, given that he also manages to project a sense of the whole. It helps, of course, to have the Vienna Philharmonic as one’s orchestra. I first heard this symphony in that orchestra’s recording with Karl Böhm, a recording I still treasure, but one would not expect Rattle to sound quite like that – and he does not. I am pleased to report that the orchestra still sounds recognisably itself. Smaller in size (strings 10.8.6.5.4), the orchestral sound might not have been so luxurious, but nor was it thin. Eminently cultivated it remained and with a variety of string articulation which, at the very least, rivals Rattle’s Berlin orchestra. The first movement set the scene for the rest of the symphony: full of life and with an infectious sense of fun. In the Largo, the Viennese oboe sounded almost as of old and the sheer grace of the violins’ filigree was remarkable. I very much liked the way that tonal contrasts – including dynamics, but not restricted thereto – mirrored the movement’s harmonic contours. The end of the movement seemed rather casual, almost throwaway, but otherwise this was a fine account. As is now fashionable, the minuet was taken one to a bar; unlike some minuets, this can take such treatment, even if I hanker after something more stately. It had swing and was always stylish. Rattle clarified the part-writing, allowing the all-important ’cello line to shine through, thereby propelling the harmonic momentum. The trio was wonderfully rustic, perhaps a little more ‘eastern’ in tone – and not at all inappropriately – than Rattle’s Aix performance with the BPO; the leader’s solo was straightforwardly excellent. We then heard a very quick finale. At first, I thought, ‘if you can, why not?’ but eventually found it a little fatiguing; was the very end just a little too much of a dash? Likewise, keen dynamic shading is often to be savoured, but sometimes it seemed on display here for its own sake. Despite my reservations concerning the final movement, this remained an impressive performance.

Then came Mahler’s Rückert-Lieder. An announcement before the concert had signalled that Magdalena Kožená was unwell. This may explain her rather mixed fortunes in this performance; it is difficult to tell in such circumstances. My suspicion is that her voice may not be ideal for this music, intelligent musician though she undoubtedly is. Rattle seemed happy to follow her, whilst making a great deal, though never too much, of the orchestral part, for instance in the febrile opening to ‘Blicke mir nicht in die Lieder!’ It set the scene for a splendidly malevolent reading, seemingly presaging the music of the Second Viennese School, although that quality owed more to the orchestra than to the soloist. There were nice touches from both artists in collaboration, such as the slowing for the words, ‘Perlen klar,’ in ‘Liebst du um Schönheit’. The dark orchestral solos in ‘Um Mitternacht’ were all the more effective for their lack of exaggeration. However, it seemed to me that the song would have benefited from a deeper, more contralto-like voice, and I did not care for the histrionics of the second stanza. Kožená’s diction was rather indistinct in ‘Ich atmet’ einen linden Duft!’ The orchestral solos, however, were ravishing; special mention must go to the solo violin, viola, flute, oboe, and horn. Further magic was to be heard from the celesta. Fortunately, diction improved dramatically for ‘Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen’, although I was not convinced that the vocal line really sounded ‘lived in’. Rattle imparted an admirable sense of something inchoate stirring to the orchestral introduction and the orchestra once again sounded exquisite, especially the leader’s solos. Kožená’s reading appeared to gain new depth in the final stanza, which proved to be deeply moving, followed by a heart-stopping stillness to the final orchestral bars.

It had originally been intended that Kožená would sing three versions of Susanna’s aria from Le nozze di Figaro. On account of her illness, she quite reasonably decided to concentrate upon the Mahler songs and one of the Mozart arias, which had been reconstructed by Sir Charles Mackerras. Here she seemed much more at home, which added to my doubts as to whether Mahler was really for her. She sang with style and animation, adroitly accompanied by Rattle and the orchestra. I could understand why Mozart gave up on this aria, though; it is too redolent of the world of opera seria. Perhaps the Countess might have sung it but hardly Susanna.

Before this, the VPO’s principal harpist, Xavier de Maistre, had stepped in as substitute, saving the day with a marvellous reading of Debussy’s Danse sacrée et danse profane. Rattle has often excelled in French repertoire and so again it proved here; soloist, orchestra, and conductor seemed utterly at ease in what must have been something of an impromptu performance. The music sounded like an invitation and indeed admission to a magical kingdom, both dances seductive in their different and all-too-similar ways. For Debussy, any distinction between sacred and profane is unlikely to hold for long. De Maistre proved effortlessly evocative, likewise the Vienna strings. This kingdom was akin to one in which Pelléas had lived – and ruled, as evinced by the modal harmonies of triumph at the close. This being Debussy, however, there remained a rightful sense of ambiguity.

Finally, we heard Mozart’s great G minor symphony. I am sorry to say that this performance did not convince me at all. The Vienna Philharmonic can doubtless play this music in its sleep. Rattle would therefore have been right to guard against complacency but the hyperactivity of this rendition was maddening. The micro-management that had often worked – sometimes surprisingly – in Haydn sounded completely out of place in Mozart, not least since the sense of line that had always endured in the former did not stand a chance on this occasion. From the outset, the first movement sounded cultured rather than tragic and this did not change. Irritating dynamic exaggerations were taken too far – and then further still. The modulations at the beginning of the development section gave a good sense of queasy disorientation. Thereafter, however, the music was vehement but still not tragic. ‘Period’ mannerisms were sometimes applied, giving an impression of the world’s least ‘authentic’ orchestra being asked to play with one hand tied behind its back. Matters improved in the recapitulation, with a splendid transformation of tone colour for the brief false dawn of the major mode. But it was all too late and was followed by a hopelessly mannered coda. The Andante was taken so breathlessly that I had a sense of something approaching enforced cheerfulness. Perhaps this is how Rattle hears the music; I cannot imagine why. I longed for a relaxation of the basic, all too metronomic pulse, but it was not to be. The minuet once again evinced vigour without tragedy; it needs to be taken with greater dignity. Here, the lighter passages sounded uncomfortably close to Mendelssohnian fairy music, although the horns were to die for. The opening of the finale appeared to herald something better, even if it remained excitable rather than devastating. Inclusion of clarinets paid off handsomely when it came to the ravishing Harmoniemusik of the second subject. The grand rhetoric that announced the development section rang false, however, given the aforementioned lack of tragedy, as did the all-too-theatrical Luftpause at its close.

One might have seized upon certain ideas in this account and approved of them; yet, without a greater sense of the whole, what Furtwängler called Fernhören, it could not but remain less than the sum of its parts. Although more ingratiating, Rattle’s Mozart sounded like something akin to Harnoncourt-lite. It was a pity that this, rather than his Haydn, concluded the concert.

Don Giovanni, Royal Opera, 12 September 2008

Royal Opera House

Don Giovanni – Simon Keenlyside
Donna Anna – Marina Poplavskaya
Don Ottavio – Ramón Vargas
Donna Elvira – Joyce DiDonato
Leporello – Kyle Ketelsen
Masetto – Robert Gleadow
Zerlina – Miah Persson
Commendatore – Eric Halfvarson

Orchestra of the Royal Opera House
The Royal Opera Chorus (chorus master: Renato Balsadonna)
Sir Charles Mackerras (conductor)

Francesca Zambello (director)
Duncan Macfarland (associate director and revival choreographer)
Maria Björnson (designs)
Paul Pyant (lighting)
Stephen Mear (choreography)

I have until now remained steadfastly sceptical, or downright hostile, concerning Sir Charles Mackerras in Mozart. His widely-praised Figaro earlier this year had seemed to me mercilessly hard-driven and often far too fast for the singers to be able to project the words, let alone the music. In a sense, it had mirrored David McVicar’s irritating, manic production, but this had seemed more coincidence than shared (seriously flawed) approach. I retain my incomprehension at why one would employ natural brass instruments; their rasping sound, especially during the Overture, adds nothing but coarseness. And there were occasions when I worried about speeds. To stick with the Overture – and its counterpart in the Stone Guest Scene – one can play alla breve without robbing the music of its cataclysmic grandeur. Here it sounded more like the opening of Mozart’s D minor piano concerto than the voice of something eternal and unworldly: not an uninteresting link to make but nevertheless robbing the music of its astounding proto-Romanticism. Where would Romanticism, let alone Romantic music, be without Don Giovanni? There is no wonder that E.T.A. Hoffmann delivered a panegyric to this ‘opera of all operas’. However, there was much to admire elsewhere. Whereas the strings had often sounded wiry and under-nourished in Figaro, that was not the case here; nor did they stint unduly on vibrato. I should have preferred greater orchestral weight, as Daniel Barenboim had provided in a miraculous Berlin performance last December, but at least lightness was not now confused with inconsequentiality. Tempi were mostly sensible – and varied. There was even at times, if not so often as I might have liked, a graceful yielding I should have considered inconceivable from prior experience. Perhaps above all there was a dramatic drive, an attentiveness to the drama, which I had previously found to be confused with a headlong rush to the finishing line.

However, I was a little disappointed that we heard the ‘traditional’ composite version of the work. I am no purist when it comes to such matters and appreciate that many singers will relish, perhaps even insist upon, their additional arias. There may even be occasions when the production facilitates use of this version (thankfully without the dreadful, rarely-heard duet between Zerlina and Leporello), although not here. The Prague version, however, almost always maintains a dramatic superiority over that for Vienna or any composite. Additional arias, however heart-rendingly beautiful, undeniably hold up the action. To use the composite version also seems to me to sit a little uneasily with any claims to ‘authenticity’ – although I suppose the accusation might well be turned round upon me, to say that preference for Prague might sit uneasily with reverence for tradition.

There remain many conductors from the past and a few from the present whom I should prefer to hear in Mozart, ranging from Furtwängler, Klemperer, Böhm, and Giulini, to Barenboim, Colin Davis, and Riccardo Muti. (These are examples, not an exhaustive list.) Yet I shall now be interested rather than reluctant to hear Mackerras again. He was of course helped by the Orchestra of the Royal Opera House. It might not have sounded as it had for Così fan tutte under Davis – never have I heard a better Mozart performance, although it was betrayed by a crass production – but there was some fine playing, not least from the woodwind. I may disagree with Mackerras, as I often do with Nikolaus Harnoncourt; that should not entail automatic disregard. Contrast this with the cynical, marketing-led exhibitionism of, say, a René Jacobs or a Roger Norrington: ‘The wisdom of tradition is naught. Let us strike up a brazenly ugly noise; let us rid the music of any meaning, let alone beauty, and show the world or at least the gullible how it must be done. In other words, let us create a provocation.’ The distinction between musical intelligence and charlatanry is clear.

There was certainly no charlatanry when it came to the singers. Simon Keenlyside offered a scrupulously musical and sometimes seductive Giovanni. I suspect that I might have been more enthusiastic, had I not experienced Erwin Schrott’s assumption of the role in the same production a little over a year ago. I am not convinced that Keenlyside is so at home with the demonic and Faustian as with the various guises of touching naïveté required in such varied roles as Pelléas, Papageno, or Billy Budd, yet there was nothing really to complain of here. Kyle Ketelsen was at least as good as he was last year, if anything better. Those – and I have heard them – who claim that Leporello is but a stock buffo character should have heard and seen him, to appreciate how the genius of Mozart’s music transforms an ordinary servant into a human being. There was once again a more or less perfect balance between comedy, charisma, and class struggle. His shaping of the musical lines was as impressive as Keenlyside’s. Marina Poplavskaya was certainly vastly improved upon last year, when I had heard her step in at the last minute for the second act. Her tuning on this occasion was secure, but I still missed a sense of style. I can imagine her in Verdi roles, or as Tatyana, but here the line is too full of steel and somewhat lacking in grace. Joyce DiDonato presented quite a revisionist Elvira. There was none of the usual eroticism, such as we heard last year from Ana María Martínez. Yet in its place there was a striking transformation from a wronged yet determined woman, with none of the essentialist hysterical caricature that often characterises the role, to someone who really is driven mad by her experience. I suspect that DiDonato’s experience in Baroque opera informed this portrayal, as it did her flawless coloratura, even in a swift ‘Mi tradi’ that pushed towards the bounds of the acceptable in tempo. Ramón Vargas was a more Latin-sounding Ottavio than I am used to, but there is nothing wrong with that. He sang with great musicality, quickly recovering from a slight difficulty in a treacherous passage from ‘Il mio tesoro’. Robert Gleadow proved a fine Masetto, never sacrificing musical line for peasant gruffness, yet touching in the artful simplicity of his portrayal. As Zerlina, Miah Persson was quite outstanding: maintaining throughout a beautiful, sensitively spun line and supplying plenty of the eroticism lacking from Elvira. Only Eric Halfvarson was disappointing as a lightweight Commendatore.

That leaves the production. It has not improved with age. To stress the Christianity and indeed the Catholicism of the work and its predecessors is an excellent idea, which one might have expected to have represented some sort of norm, though alas not. Yet nothing is really done with this crucial background; instead, we have once again a backdrop of religious tat and that is just about it. Lavish and somewhat garish designs add to the feel of an upmarket musical, almost as much as in Francesca Zambello’s Carmen, also for the Royal Opera. If this is what attracts customers – judging by the Philistine applause following the stage pyrotechnics of Giovanni’s descent into Hell, I fear that it might – then let them stay at home. As for the confusion regarding the lack of a statue – to which Leporello nevertheless sings – and the appearance of a large, pointing, National Lottery finger, I despair. Producing Don Giovanni is an extremely difficult task, almost as difficult as performing it. The downright vulgarity of ‘bread and circuses’ is not an answer. Still, the music was the thing – and it was very good.

Le nozze di Figaro, Royal Opera, 12 July 2008

Royal Opera House, Covent Garden

Figaro - Ildebrando d'Arcangelo
Susanna - Aleksandra Kurzak
Bartolo - Robert Lloyd
Marcellina - Ann Murray
Cherubino - Sophie Koch
Count Almaviva - Peter Mattei
Don Basilio - Robin Leggate
Countess Almaviva - Barbara Frittoli
Antonio - Donald Maxwell
Don Curzio - Harry Nicoll
Barbarina - Kishani Jayasinghe

David McVicar (director)
Leah Hausman (revival director and movement director)
Tanya McCallin (designs)
Paule Constable (lighting)

Royal Opera Chorus (chorus master: Renato Balsadonna)
Orchestra of the Royal Opera House
Sir Charles Mackerras (conductor)

David McVicar's production of Figaro is for some reason updated to the France of the July Monarchy. This does no particular harm but I cannot see that any light is shed upon the work by such an arbitrary transposition. One could doubtless have made something of the parallels and differences between the ancien régime and so-called 'Restoration Europe'; in fact, much was anything but restored, and the questions of 1789 remained to be answered. Yet there appeared to be little attempt to run with the idea of remembering everything and having learned nothing. Instead, we had beautiful sets and a great deal of McVicar's trademark 'stage business', looking rather more tired than it had during the first revival. There is, I admit, a case for giving an impression of the house at work, yet I found the incessant running and fooling around of servant 'extras' became tiresome and distracting. 'Became' is not quite the right word, however, since the overture fared worst of all. Many directors nowadays seem quite incapable of allowing the music to speak for itself, in the overture, let alone elsewhere. Here there was so much choreographed activity - choreographed very well on its own terms - that one sometimes strained to hear the music for the heaviness of the footsteps on stage. This would have mattered more in a better musical account of the overture, but even so, it was inconsiderate. Mozart and da Ponte's comedy threatened to become an operatic version of Upstairs, Downstairs: or Rossini, for short. Some of the truest genius in Figaro lies in its darker undercurrents, which passed for little or nothing here. Comedy need not equate to thigh-slapping. By all means re-imagine the work, as Claus Guth did so magnificently for Salzburg, but truly re-imagine it, instead of playing to the gallery. (Speaking of the gallery, I could have swung for the woman a row behind me, who laughed uproariously throughout, irrespective of what was going on musically or scenically. And why, o why, did most of the theatre find the Count's beseeching his wife for forgiveness hilarious? This did not even have any warrant on stage, let alone in the work itself.)

The esteem enjoyed by Sir Charles Mackerras in Mozart's music continues to baffle me. Janáček undoubtedly, Strauss often, Handel in former times, but his interpretations of Mozart have never seemed to me more than passable. (One hears far worse, of course, but that is another matter.) Mozart needs to breathe, as Sir Colin Davis understood in his truly magical account last time around. Is it, moreover, so very difficult to appreciate that an orchestra of a size that may have been adequate to a small eighteenth-century theatre will sound lost in a space the size of the Royal Opera House? The overture set the scene in more than one sense for the first act; it was mercilessly hard-driven. Malnourished strings were rarely allowed to sing as they might have done, whilst natural brass and hard sticks on kettledrums - shall we ever rid ourselves of this ridiculous fad? - sounded merely coarse. There were a couple of bizarre harpsichord incursions into the overture, although the handling of the continuo was generally excellent. Subsequent acts fared somewhat better, although the great finale to the second act again often sounded rushed in the extreme. One has no chance of hearing the words at such speed during ensembles, let alone of reflecting upon them, despite the valiant attempts of the cast. The moment when Susanna emerged from the Countess's closet, surely a point to stand back in knowing amazement, would have been more fitting to a horse cantering around a paddock. At least the music relaxed for the Countess's arias and her moment of forgiveness. And Mackerras's ornamentation of the vocal lines - I assume it was his, for such appears to be his usual practice - was tasteful and often interesting.

It would be difficult to fault the cast, and I shall not try. Ildebrando d'Arcangelo's attention to all aspects of the stage and to the staging was truly remarkable. His is a darker-toned Figaro than one often hears - which, to my mind, is all to the better. His devilish attraction is flawlessly exhibited both on stage and, most important, in the music. Aleksandra Kurzak was a lively, musical Susanna and Sophie Koch a youthfully ardent Cherubino. (It is just a pity that she was so often forced to adopt such breakneck tempi.) We had a fine noble couple in Peter Mattei and Barbara Frittoli. The former again has quite a dark voice for the role but he nevertheless managed to engage our sympathy as well as our enmity. Frittoli grew into her role, I thought. She was never less than very good, but one did not initially feel for her and with her in the way one often can. Her moment of (divine) forgiveness was, however, moving as only this moment can be. The smaller roles were all very keenly observed, in spite of the excision of arias for Basilio and Marcellina. Special mention should go to Jette Parker Young Artist, Kishani Jayasinghe: a winning Barbarina. This strong cast often redeemed the other shortcomings of this Figaro, but it should not have had to do so.