Hänsel und Gretel, British Youth Opera, 12 August 2021

Holland Park Theatre

Mother – Hilary Cronin
Father – Jack Lee
Gretel – Ellie Neate
Hansel – Amy Holyland
Dew Fairy – Rosalind Dobson
Sandman – Eva Gheorgiu
Witch – Fiona Finsbury

Southbank Sinfonia

Stephen Higgins (musical director)

Max Pappenheim (arrangements, sound design)

Daisy Evans (director)
Loren Elstein (set and costume designs)
Jake Wiltshire (lighting)

Not at all what I was expecting—and in many ways all the more moving for it. British Youth Opera, hosted by Opera Holland Park, presents a Hänsel und Gretel for our times. This was not, I hasten to add, a Hänsel replete with masks, ventilators, Microsoft Teams, and so on. I think we all fear these will be theatrical clichés soon to descend and slow to depart. Rather, preparation for performance, adjustments made, and what we see and hear on stage and through headphones resonate strongly with recent and current experience in and out of the theatre.

The work is reworked, as it were, so as not only to offer a lightly metatheatrical treatment, but also to enable ways of hearing especially, necessarily prevalent over the past eighteen months to shape, perhaps even to invade, our theatrical space. We begin in medias res, rather than with the Overture. Rehearsal for a traditional staging is under way, directed by an actor-ly woman who, suggestively, later plays the Witch. (Her chance at last to shine, or something more sinister?) Two children, Hannah and Gemma, commence a disruption of proceedings that offers both opportunity—the path to their surprise assumption of the central roles—but also apparent danger, let out into the world without their telephones, their parents both concerned and distracted. Daisy Evans, artistic director of Silent Opera, brings her experience to bear in having much of the earlier action play out on two aural levels: we set our headphones according to whether we wish to listen to the children’s or the adults’ perspective. In practice, we probably flit between the two—as with our eyes too, sometimes in harmony, sometimes not. It initially seemed surprising that this experiment did not continue, but coming together after estrangements of various kinds is surely the point here.

Likewise the counterpoint, for want of a better word, between a small live instrumental ensemble and a fuller recorded orchestra transformed in various unexpected ways by Max Pappenheim. Such tension and overlap tend, like a new English version of the libretto—perhaps it would be better to say of the story itself—both to enhance and estrange, like much recent experience. We make our way through, together, then, like Hänsel and Gretel—or Hannah and Gemma. Resourceful use is made of the stage, of earlier designs, of found objects, of electronic means, but above all of theatre itself. When it all comes together, we rediscover with true joy what we have been missing—yet perhaps also recognise ruefully what continues to be absent.

Amy Holyland and Ellie Neate made for a colourful central pair, charting vocally and scenically the theatrical transformation, far from linear, of Hannah and Gemma into Hänsel and Gretel. Hilary Cronin and Jack Lee, taking on a larger slice of the action than would generally be the case, shone similarly as their parents in accomplished musical and dramatic performance. One often had only to tilt one’s head to witness another, unsuspected layer to the action. Fiona Finsbury clearly had an excellent time in her roles, as did the rest of a cast which worked very well together. Coordination of scenic and musical elements by Daisy Evans and Stephen Higgins not only worked well, but combined to provide in itself heightened emotional response at what remains a time of deeply heightened emotions.

Phaedra, Royal Opera, 16 May 2019

Linbury Theatre

Artemis (Patrick Terry), Hippolyt (Filipe Manu), Phaedra (Hongni Wu), Aphrodite (Jacquelyn Stucker)
Images (C) ROH 2019, by Bill Cooper

Phaedra – Hongni Wu

Hippolyt – Filipe Manu

Aphrodite – Jacquelyn Stucker

Artemis – Patrick Terry

Minotaurus – Michael Mofidian

Noa Naamat (director)

Southbank Sinfonia

Edmund Whitehead (conductor)

Hans Werner Henze’s penultimate opera, Phaedra has been fortunate indeed in London since its 2007 Berlin premiere. Astonishingly, this was the third time I had seen the work in London: first a Barbican concert performance; then the Guildhall’s excellent double-bill, coupled with the early radio opera, Ein Landarzt; now a staging at the Royal Opera’s Linbury Theatre, from members and one soon-to-be-member of its Jette Parker Young Artists Programme and the Southbank Sinfonia.

Hippolyt and Phaedra

I continue to find it an elusive, even enigmatic work, difficult to pin down – as often with Henze. There is nothing wrong with that, quite the contrary. Immediately obvious works that have little to reveal on subsequent encounters – Tosca, for instance, whatever its qualities – are not the most interesting. Layering of its libretto, by Christian Lehnert, is, for me at least, a little too self-conscious, indeed in that sense itself obvious; that of the score, however, continues to fascinate, both in itself and with respect to Henze’s lengthy career and well-nigh unmanageable œuvre. Conductor Edward Whitehead and the Southbank Sinfonia proved strong in their communication of the score’s textural layering, Schoenberg, Berg, Mahler, and Wagner lying behind or, perhaps better, beneath it, the orchestra’s lines seemingly summoned up like a refined Götterdämmerung oracle. I was put in mind of a remark by Henze from four decades earlier, from an interview with Die Welt given to coincide with the premiere of The Bassarids: ‘The road from Tristan to Mahler and Schoenberg is far from finished, and … I have tried to go further along it.’

Henze’s way was always, or usually, though, then to take up another path thereafter, perhaps resuming that earlier path some time later. We perhaps view his way with greater clarity now, or kid ourselves that we do. At any rate, other tendencies shone through too: Weill-like (Hindemith too?) wind and percussion; mesmerising saxophone lines that lured one seemingly to nowhere (a remimaging of Natascha Ungeheuer?); magical forest colours (König Hirsch); and, perhaps most tellingly, towards the close, when Hippolyt surprisingly, disconcertingly returns as Virbius, the transformational magic of Ariadne auf Naxos, Straussian reference clear, but kinship to Hofmannsthal’s ideas (perhaps via Elegy for Young Lovers) ultimately more meaningful. At its best, Noa Naamat’s staging seemed to take its leave from these circles, lines, interactions of musical and aesthetic meaning, a sense of eastern ritual (perhaps a little Robert Wilson, but less formulaic than his work has come) coming into contact and conflict with turning of the wheel. Comparison and contrast with the work of Birtwistle came to mind, as they had on my previous encounters with the work.

Artemis

The singers all proved excellent. Though the work is called Phaedra, I do wonder whether Henze would have been better lending Hippolyt(us)’s name to it. (But then, arguably, Rameau’s Hippolyte et Aricie is similarly misnamed.) Filipe Manu, due to join the JPYAP next year, proved compelling indeed in the would-be title role, as vulnerable an object of contemplation and, later, as equivocal a vehicle of reinvention as Henze’s earlier Prince of Homburg. Was Hongni Wu’s Phaedra presented too vampishly in this production (not necessarily in performance)? Perhaps, but the deepening of her range of vocal colour throughout the evening offered compensation. Jacquelyn Stucker and Patrick Terry (the programme’s first countertenor) offered strong, detailed performances as Aphrodite and Artemis, whilst Michael Mofidian’s Minotaurus, richly sonorous yet equally careful of detail, left one wishing greedily that he had had more to sing, his persistent stage presence notwithstanding.

Why, then, did I emerge feeling slightly dissatisfied – or perhaps wondering whether I should have done? It may just have been a matter of how I was feeling on the day: it happens to us all. I do not think, though, that it was just that. Did the decision to introduce an interval get in the way? I think it did, making the work seem longer, more drawn out, more sectional than it is. I am not sure that the parameters within which Naamat’s staging had to operate helped in that respect. Though necessarily simple in scenic terms, it paradoxically seemed to dart around somewhat from scene to scene, perhaps through no fault of its own somewhat blunting the underlying ritual power of the score. Perhaps, alternatively, that was actually a reflection of the fragmentary qualities of the opera, of Hippolyt’s partial, flawed regaining of consciousness under his new identity. If I continue to find Phaedra enigmatic, Henze’s genre designation of ‘concert opera’ included, then that will doubtless say something about it, me, the performance, the production, or about any combination of the above. Such, after all, is opera.

Minotaurus (Michael Mofidian), Hippolyt

The Lighthouse, Royal Opera (Jette Parker Young Artists), 22 October 2015

Samuel Sakker as First Officer, Yuriy Yurchuk as Second Officer. David Shipley as Third Officer. All images: (C) ROH. Photographer: Clive Barda

 

 

Linbury Studio Theatre, Royal Opera House

Sandy, First Officer – Samuel Sakker

Blazes, Second Officer – Yuriy Yurchuk
Arthur, Third Office – David Shipley

Greg Eldridge (director)

Alyson Cummins (designs)
Warren Letton (lighting)
Jo Meredith (movement)

Southbank Sinfonia

Jonathan Santagada (conductor)

 

 

Peter Maxwell Davies’s chamber opera, The Lighthouse, made an excellent showcase for three singers from the Royal Opera’s Jette Parker Young Artists Programme. More to the point, they made an excellent case for the opera, which has been fortunate indeed in London over the past few years.

 

The opera, as I wrote when reviewing English Touring Opera’s 2012 production, has the gripping quality of a superior detective – and ghost – story. Inspired, as the cliché has it, by a true story, in this case an account from Craig Mair’s A Star for Seamen: The Stevenson Family of Engineers, the opera’s unsettling mix of courtroom drama, in almost modern televisual terms, and all-too-real (or is it?) Revelation-style apocalypticism presents both narrative and self-critique, verbally and musically. It makes sense out of, or at least deals with contradictory ‘truths’ – and the magpie tendencies, which yet synthesise, of Davies’s score lie at the heart of that achievement. Words and music from characters in ensemble come together to present something that may or may not be more or less truthful than what it is they and we think they are saying individually. The difficulties of the three men’s relationship – they have been penned together for several months – is menacingly conveyed, though not without affection either. Parody is present, of course, most evidently in the reimagination of the ballads – a street variety from Blazes and Sandy’s sickly drawing-room version – and hymns. Arthur is the sort of pig-headed Protestant fundamentalist who has always drawn Davies’s ire, but there is an element again of affection, such as memories so often bring in spite of themselves, as well as anger in Davies’s presentation and subversion of the hymn tunes. The rhythm of the closing automation – ‘The lighthouse is now automatic,’ we hear at the end of the Prologue – sounded as stubbornly memorable as ever in this performance from the Southbank Sinfonia and Jonathan Santagada.

 

Their performance had been a little hesitant at first. Indeed, a lack of definition at times, mostly from the strings, had made the Prologue drag somewhat. There were no such problems in ‘The Cry of the Beast’, in which the players and Santagada seemed very much in their element, a far more colourful and rhythmically alert performance. In that screwing up of dramatic tension, the orchestra seemed at one with Greg Eldridge’s period staging: straightforwardly presented, yet seething with menace later on. Alyson Cummins’s designs proved a major contributor, likewise Warren Letton’s lighting; in Eldridge’s words, he and his designer had ‘tried to capture the dichotomy between the naturalistic action and the heavy supernatural elements present throughout the score. In the world of the music everything is metaphor and this sis a theme that we have continued in our design. Everything on the stage … is physically real … but also serves a representative purpose that underscores a symbolic element of the story.’

 

Within that staging – that imprisonment, we might say – our singers brought the drama to life. Samuel Sakker’s lyric tenor covered an array of musico-psychological states as Sandy. He even pulled off the difficult trick of questionable singing – in the ballad – as character portrayal, rather than from inability to sing it ‘right’. Yuriy Yurchuk’s diction was on occasion a little occluded, yet for the most part his was a powerful performance as Blazes, again encompassing a good deal of musical and dramatic virtuosity (to refer to a concept the composer has suggested is necessary, and surely is). David Shipley’s Arthur was possessed of as well as by frightening fanaticism, all founded upon a splendidly deep bass voice. Interaction between all three soloists was convincing throughout. I look forward to hearing them again.
 

L'isola disabitata, Meet the Young Artists Week, 26 October 2010

Linbury Studio Theatre, Royal Opera House, Covent Garden

Silvia – Anna Devin
Constanza – Elisabeth Meister
Gernando – Steven Ebel
Enrico – Daniel Grice

(Images: The Royal Opera/Johan Persson)

(Elisabeth Meister as Constanza)









Rodula Gaitanou (director)
Jamie Vartan (designs)
Simon Corder (lighting)
Mandy Demetriou (movement)
Philip d’Orleans (fight director)

Southbank Sinfonia
Volker Krafft (conductor)


It is often a lonely task to act as cheerleader for Haydn’s operas, so many thanks are due to the Royal Opera House for choosing L’isola disabitata for its Meet the Young Artists Week: the first ever performance at this venue, whether in the main house or, as here, in the Linbury Studio Theatre. Haydn’s general fate, not being Mozart, is perhaps more starkly demonstrated in the operatic field than anywhere else, with the possible exception of the concerto. Only a fool, and a (s)tone-deaf one at that, would denigrate Haydn’s symphonies and string quartets; I recall with anger even now the head of my college music society refusing to have any Haydn symphonies performed, since they were ‘school orchestra music’. Nevertheless, a good number of listeners – and performers – seem content to restrict themselves to a small number of works. (One could say the same of Bach’s cantatas, of course.) Yet there is a surprising number of people, many of whom ought to know better, who will dismiss all of Haydn’s operas out of hand; one wonders whether these people have ever deigned to listen to them.

L’isola disabitata is a short work (cut a little here, I think) with a cast of only four, though Haydn’s musical inspiration is not lacking. From the vigorous G minor Sturm und Drang of the overture to the delectable closing quartet – Haydn’s substitution for Metastasio’s original chorus – there is, via a considerable amount of accompanied recitative, a typical wealth of invention to be heard. There is not Così fan tutte, of course; one must turn to Mozart for that depth of characterisation and much else besides. But the musician in Haydn will always out – and the musician in the audience will always respond. Certainly conductor Volker Krafft seemed to do so, choosing his tempi well, providing a sure sense of momentum, without ever driving too hard. The excellent young players of the Southbank Sinfonia barely put a foot wrong. Though the orchestra was relatively small in number (strings 6.4.4.3.2), it did not sound so; it sounded full of life and did not shirk the anticipations of Beethoven one hears even in Haydn of 1779 vintage. The aforementioned quartet features solos for violin, cello, flute, and bassoon: all were delectably taken. Indeed, the solo work of leader Olga Muszyńska was first class throughout.

This is not a complex tale: two sisters, Constanza and Silvia find themselves lost on a desert island for thirteen years, left there by Constanza’s husband, Gernando. Constanza believes herself abandoned, though Gernando was in fact kidnapped by pirates and enslaved. He returns to the island with his friend, Enrico, and after a little ado – believing his wife to be dead, she spurning him, and so on – all ends well, with Silvia, turned against men by her sister’s plight, soon responding to Enrico’s charm. The four singers from the Young Artists Programme acquitted themselves well. Elisabeth Meister, who had previously made a great impression substituting in The Cunning Little Vixen, sang the role of Constanza with dignity and beauty of tone. Anna Devin did not prove quite so consistent vocally as her sister, but threw herself into the drama. A certain goofiness seemed to be dictated by the production; whether apposite or not is another matter. Steven Ebel and Daniel Grice impressed as Gernando and Enrico respectively. Both had occasional trouble with coloratura – nerves, most likely – but for the most part proved themselves to be reliable and warmly expressive of tone. There was an especially winning ardent quality to Grice’s baritone.

(Anna Devin as Silvia)

The only respect in which this performance really fell down was Rodula Gaitanou’s production. Her little programme note helps explain why. ‘As the name suggests,’ she writes, ‘L’isola disabitata is an environmental work.’ Well, not really. It is true that it takes its place amongst a number of ‘island operas’ written for Esterháza, and there are certainly points of comparison one might make, if so inclined, with Robinson Crusoe. But it is quite a stretch to set the action ‘following an apocalypse, where civilisation and humankind, devastated by an environmental disaster, no longer exist in the way they used to.’ Jamie Vartan clearly did everything he was asked to with his Waste Land-like set design, but I could not help thinking it might have been more appropriate to Götterdämmerung or Parsifal. The snorkels Gernando and Enrico are made to wear upon arrival seem gratuitous, still more so when Silvia starts playing around with Enrico’s – and with his clothes. It all begins to seem like an outing to a fetish club, whilst remaining stubbornly unerotic. I assume the idea behind Silvia’s antics was that, legs open wide, she was innocent to their meaning, a Naturkind; however, it was all just a bit embarrassing. And this is not really the place to lecture an audience on environmental catastrophe. The musical performances generally compensated though.

What next, then, for Sir Donald Tovey’s ‘Haydn the Inaccessible’? Haydn Year barely scratched the surface, especially when it came to the operas. The Salzburg Festival’s 2007 Armida was a recent – well, relatively recent – milestone in performance. Orfeo was performed a few years ago by the Royal Opera: largely, it seems, at Cecilia Bartoli’s behest; I do not think it has been revived. For better or worse, the main house at Covent Garden seems very much under director Christof Loy’s spell, so why not take advantage of this Linbury toe in the water, and try to bring Loy’s Armida to London? Even better, how about a new production of La fedeltà premiata or La vera constanza? ENO, are you listening too?

L’isola disabitata is far from the only event to note from this Meet the Young Artists Week. There is also a series of free recitals, covering repertoire ranging from Chinese songs to Schoenberg. It is worth mentioning too the proven track record of the Jette Parker Young Artists Programme; just glancing down a list of former members, one cannot fail to be struck by the number of ‘names’ who have gone on to forge successful and, in many cases, high-profile careers. Both this and the Southbank Sinfonia are fully worthy of support – and never more so than in the present climate of vicious ‘cuts’. Haydn or Trident…?