Eunuch Shostakovich The Nose, Royal Opera House

In  DmitriyShostakovich The Nose at the Royal Opera House, London, it wasn't just Kovalov's nose that got cut.  This production was a mutilation, The Nose as Eunuch, the opera stripped of its vital, creative essence.  In Gogol's original story, Kovalov is a "collegiate assessor", a petty bureaucrat who passes judgement, based on surface values. His Nose, however, has other ideas and runs away, taking on a life of its own, more adventurously led than its supposed owner's.   The nose of a person's face defines their outward appearance.  Kovalov's nose shows him up for what he is, or isn't.  And, by extension, the whole social order.  The Nose is not comedy, it's savage satire. Miss that and miss its fundamental, pungent purpose. No excuses. Shostakovich is hardly an unknown composer. Moreover, The Nose,was created at a time of exceptional artistic freedom in the early years of the Revolution, when the Soviet dream represented ideals and progressive change. Futurism, expressionism, modernity, Eisenstein, Bulgakov, Mayakovsky.  Shostakovich was only 20 when the piece was written, still full of courage and hope. But even those who don't know the background have only to pay attention to the music to get it.

Shostakovich's score explodes with inventiveness and zany experiment.  It begins with a fanfare and the roll of drums, like Grand Opera, but opens onto mundane scenes in mundane lives.  David Pountney's translation respects the image of smell. Something's off , rotting perhaps, even though we can't see it.  Despite the exuberant scoring  deliberately more circus than High Art, The Nose parodies the rich tradition of Russian opera. There's relatively little singing, and what there is is shrill and distorted, closer to Sprechstimme than to aria.  Significantly, some of the best music for voice lies in the choruses, who represent the "ordinary" masses, and in the vignettes for subsidiary characters, all of them characterized with great gusto.  The Nose may also be the Royal Opera House's tribute to John Tomlinson, who will never sing again but can still hold an audience spellbound by his incisive acting in multiple roles, a good foil for Martin Winkler's Kovalov, whose  identity remains constant throughout proceedings. Part of this story is about Kovalov's supine personality, in contrast to the vivacious spontaneity of his Nose, who doesn't give a stuff about propriety and the right way to do things.  Winkler's a good singer, which made his performance piquant.  The innate authority in Winkler's voice suggested that there might, somehow, be depth in Kovalov, if only he wasn't so repressed.  The vignettes were also well performed : honours to the ever popular Wolfgang Ablingrer-Sperrhacke, but also to the sturdy regulars of the ROH company, without whom the ROH would not be what is is.  The choruses, needless to say, were superb.

The extremes in Shostakovich's score should also alert any listener to the true nature of the piece.  The famous Percussion interlude pounded violently: it might suggest Kovalov's approaching nightmare, or perhaps the tension the Nose feels as it's about to break way.  Words would be superfluous. This isn't "comfort listening". Ingo Metzmacher's conducting was idiomatic and utterly expressive. The angular, jagged edges in this music are absolutely part of the meaning of this opera, as are the bluesy distortions, especially in the brass, where the lines of convention are eroded. Horns  and trumpets blowing raspberries, just as The Nose treats Kovalov with jaunty irreverence.  Wonderful playing from the Royal Opera House orchestra, who sounded as though they were having a wonderful time, escaping, like The Nose, from standard repertoire.  Shostakovich's instrumentation is deliberately bizarre. Famously, he employed a Flexatone, a kind of whirring saw whose wailing timbre suits the craziness in the plot. He also uses a xylophone, a balalaika, a whistle and castanets, and weaves these in well with the rest of the orchestra. The high woodwinds, for example, chuckle and chatter in frantic staccato, the strings scream. This manic instrumentation reflects the plot, too, in its depiction of the variety and diversity of life beyond Kovalov's narrow horizons.

Wild as the music is, it would be a mistake to assume that undisciplined playing would be in order. Quite the contrary.  Metzmacher pulls the wildness together so the colours stay vivid, and the players operate in relationship to each other. Again, this precision reflects the dance element in the opera, so very much a fundamental to its meaning.  The Nose was created for the Mariinsky and its excellent corps de ballet.  Dancers can't do free for all, or they'd collapse in an unco-ordinated heap. The tightness of Metzmacher's conducting gave them firm support so they could do their artistic thing, knowing they could rely on the pulse in the orchestra. Absolutely fabulous choreography (Otto Pichler) and wonderfully executed dancing from the members of the Royal Ballet.  Who can forget the chorus line of high-kicking Noses. The Nose itself was Ilan Galkoff.  For me, the high point was the ensemble of Eunuchs, a flamboyant drag act.  I loved their physicality: the animal energy in those limbs expressing the freedom the Nose represents!

Wonderful performances all round: the Royal Opera House at its best.  The disappointment, though, was the banality of the staging,directed by Barry Kosky. Presenting Shostakovich, and especially The Nose as feelgood West End Song and Dance Act is a travesty, a total denial of everything the piece stands for.  Kosky is popular because he gives punters what they want, nice things to look at without engaging their minds.  Obviously there's a market for that, but it's a betrayal of The Nose and everything it stands for.  The Nose isn't specifically Russian or Soviet, though those elements are relevant, but its primary focus is on the way society operates through group think , based on shallow surface appearances.  So what do we get ? A Nose dedicated to unquestioning superficiality.  All those wonderful individual performances but built on the dead heart of a clueless concept.  Audiences  assume Regie means costumes, and updating, but what it really means is whether the visuals contribute to the expression of meaning. Kosky's The Nose is bad Regie because it ignores the basic ideas behind the opera, its music and its composer.  We live in times when artistic integrity doesn't count for much and mob populism rules.  So a lot more is at stake than just opera.  All directors have their signatures, just like conductors and singers make an individual stamp.  Kosky's reminds me of Tracey Emin's unmade bed.  Wildly popular, but who needs the whiff of stale emissions and sordid self obsession?  We've all "been there" but most of us grow up and  do other things. But the punters like it, so it must be art.  That is why, for me, Eunuch The Nose was a deal breaker.

Schoenberg in London - WNO Moses und Aron

Arnold Schoenberg's Moses und Aron at last returned to London. The Royal Opera House in fact gave the British premiere of the opera, in 1965.  In the present philistine artistic climate, would they dare value art over stupidity? We need the values of Moses und Aron more than ever.  Thank goodness ROH has sponsored the Welsh National Opera production, which itself dates from 2003. At least we in London get a chance to experience the opera live. House co-operations like this are a boon.
 
John Tomlinson sang Moses in the Met production eleven years ago. Moses, as the text tells us, is a man who doesn't express himself in words, so Tomlinson's powerful presence creates the right impact. Rainer Trost sang Aron, catching the true Sprechstimme cadences well. The opera is a dialectic between Moses and Aron, but the choruses provide ballast and background. Their music is wonderful. Sometimes they represent the voice of god, sometimes the voice of the people. I would have liked sharper, tighter diction but for non-German speakers this was good enough.  Good enough playing, with the WNO orchestra conducted by Lothar Koenigs. Although I hate it when people wail of any performance "It's not like the recording" in this case we have such a choice of outstanding recordings that if we compared like for like, this performance won't come near the top. But never mind. Just getting a chance to engage with Moses und Aron is a privilege.

Please read Mark Berry's review of Schoenberg Moses und Aron in Opera Today. It's the most detailed of all.

The original Stuttgart production looks a little dated now, but it's perfectly acceptable. Although the story comes from The Book of Exodus, when Schoenberg was writing in 1932 he may have been intuiting another kind of exodus. Moses believes in ideals that can't easily be put into words. Aron is his interpreter, much in the way a performer interprets what a composer sets onto paper. No need for tablets made of stone. Pocket scores will suffice.  And even these are meaningless unless the people engage with the content therein. But will the people care, or understand?  Will they prefer cheap thrills and easy answers? Yet, as Moses says, "Ich darf, und ich muss". He cannot compromise or lose his integrity.

There's plenty of nudity and sex in the libretto, but not in the production. The historical-reality crowd might prefer that, but the original directors  Jossi Wieler and Sergio Morabito,adhere to the spirit of that which cannot be expressed in direct images.  The People sit in what looks like a cinema, facing the audience in the auditorium, "watching" the golden calf in their imaginations, having vaguely impersonal orgies when they think they cant be observed. Much better this than gaudy special effects to distract from the moral power of the opera and the music. Indeed, the staging allows us to concentrate on the inner workings of the music. The naked women emerge vocally from the sprawl in the "theatre", their voices ringing out from the throng. So damn what if they're wearing anonymous clothes. Anyone with ears can pick them out clearly.  Moses und Aron is as much an opera about music as it is about faith.

The god of the Hebrews was austere, so holy that his name could not be spoken, whose presence could not be depicted in crass graven images. When Verdi Nabucco was staged last year at the Royal Opera House (read more here) some people went nuts because there wasn't enough gold and decoration. Surely such people must realize that the Hebrews chose the God of Moses, and not the graven images of Babylon? 

Tomlinson triumphs - Harrison Birtwistle Gawain Barbican

John Tomlinson stole the show in Harrison Birtwistle's Gawain, at the Barbican, London. In  the Salzburg production last year, he wore a green slime costume (pictured at right) but this semi staging might have been even more impressive. We could see Tomlinson's every expression, and  relate to him not only as the Green Knight but as an  artist and human being.  His voice roared, growling with menace and portent: yet when he raised his eyebrows and opened his eyes wide, one could glimpse a strangely refined sensibility. "Who is it", this Green Knight, and how did he come to be? What are the more esoteric connections between the Green Knight and Gawain? Who is Sir Bertilak? Does he belong to Arthur's Court (since his wife hangs out there) or is he supernatural? How does he connect to the Green Knight, his next door neighbour in the forest?  And where is Gawain heading when he takes the First Step on his next journey?  All provocative questions, which can't be answered but must be asked - a choice that's "no choice". Everything connects, as in a tightly wrought  puzzle,  Tomlinson's insights into Birtwistle's world are unique: we're fortunate that the music will suit his voice long after he retires from other parts. Tomlinson's Green Knight is even more commanding now than it was 20 years ago. Those tricky long passages up and down the scale are difficult to sing, but are now enhanced by an overlay of Weltschmerz, that's quite endearing.

Like most people,  I learned Gawain from the old Elgar Howarth/Royal Opera House Orchestra recording from 1994, just re-issued by NMC Records (review here). Howarth is good - he premiered many Birtwistle operas , but Martyn Brabbins with the BBC SO are  even better. The complex layers and textures in Birtwistle's music shone, details illuminated to show their place in the whole, The  pace was electrifying, pulling inexorably forward, despite the murmurs of overwhelming doom. This conflict between opposing forces  reflects Bitwistles idiom - circular forms, ritualized processsions and progressions from which there's no escape. Gawain is hypnotized. Orchestra and voices are closely integrated. Morgan le Fay's lullaby is picked up first by the harp, its strings held tightly so when plucked it sounds like a manic lute, such as Orpheus might have strummed.  Brass and strings scream with clarity so intense that they might be expressing what the singers dare not articulate. The Turning of the Seasons has a stylized rhythm, like the rhythm of time, but Brabbins and the BBCSO  make it grandly processional. Hidden from view the BBC Singers sang the choruses, the sound beamed round the auditorium by Sounds Intemedia: a wonderfully theatrical effect,. Later, as Gawain returns tom the "real" world a quartet of flutes herald, a parody of trumpets, but also perhaps a reference to the Spring that is to come. Ingo Metzmacher conducted in Salzburg, Brabbins and Metzmacher are both specialists in contemporary music, so they can create Birtwistle's audacious blend of violence and - dare I say it - Romantic intrigue.

Leigh Melrose sang Gawain. Much as I love Francois le Roux, Melrose is  far more persuasive. Gawain starts out naive, so a bright, light timbre works fine for a while. On his journey to the Green Chapel, Gawain matures. Melrose's voice becomes more assertive. Indeed, he reveals Gawain as a younger version of the Green Knight himself. It isn't just that their music connects, but Melrose intuits the steel in Gawain's personality. He does't need religious incantations or magic armour. He's begun to find himself, while for Arthur and his Court, nothing has changed. "How will I live in this tyranny of virtue" sang Melrose with such resolve that you sense what he means by "I am the sudden guest, unwanted, raw, as winter weather, bringing news no-one wants to hear". Melrose isn't a bass so he can't sing The Green Knight, a tour de forces of the lower register, but he makes Gawain feel like a hero in that mould. (the photo shows Christopher Maltman in Salzburg).

Laura Aikin's Morgan Le Fay was more complex and subtle than Marie Angel for Howarth in 1994. There's a point to the shrillness Angel produced, as Morgan le Fay is dangerous. But she's not evil. Aikin brings out the sensuality in the part, suggesting that Morgan le Fay is an Earth spirit, a female version of the Green Knight.  Her lullaby was sweet and perverse, but sincere - how hard it must be to sing those ululations!  Perhaps Bishop Baldwin, chanting in Latin is a lesser, earth-bound copy, lulling peoiple to sleep with words they can't understand. William Towers, greatly underrated, sang the Bishop  far better than one would expect, given the limitations of the part. He's a counter tenor with a delicuously masculine bite to his voice, suggesting demons hidden behind angelic sounds.

Jennifer Johnston sang Lady de Hautdesert, as she did in Salzburg. Her rich mezzo colours the part so it feels both comfortinga nd seductive - all the more reason to respect Gawain for not giving in! Good balance between her voice and Aikin's. In their dialogues, their voices entwined, suggesting the dense undergrowth of a forest, where vines overlap each other, forming an impenetrable thicket. I closed my eyes better to listen to the way their voices overlapped. Did I see their eyes smile? I wasn't sleeping, just trapped in the wonders of their music.

Jeffrey Lloyd-Roberts sang King Arthur, nice and solid. John Graham-Hall sang A Fool, bringing out the wisdom behind the mania. Rachel Nicholls sang Guinevere, Ivan Ludlow sang Agravain  and Robert Anthony Gardiner sang Ywain. How delicious those names are, a reminder of Birtwistle's zest for word play

John Lloyd Davies's semi staging was dramatic and to the point. No need for too much literalism. Gawain is myth, not history. The people sitting near John  Tomlinson when he went "hunting" as Bertilak must have had fun as he leaned off the stage, wielding his axe at them.

Top photo of John Tomlinson : BBC/Mark Allan, courtesy Barbican Centre

Lots more on this site about Birtwistle - more than anywhere else . Please explore.

Harrison Birtwistle - Gawain, NMC review

New from NMC, a reissue of the recording of Harrison Birtwistle's opera Gawain, being performed live at the Barbican tomorrow, part of the Birtwistle at 80 celebrations. HERE IS THE LINK TO MY REVIEW OF THE CONCERT.This was recorded live by BBC Radio 3 on 20 April 1994 at the Royal Opera House. Elgar Howarth conducted. Soloists included a very young Omar Ebrahim and John Tomlinson, like Birtwistle an Elder Statesmen of British music. Tomlinson is reprising the Green Knight again tomorrow, a role so suited to his voice and artistic persona that he's bound to be commanding, A friend heard him sing this at Salzburg last year, and admired him..

Twenty years later this recording feels like a glimpse into a distant past, which is rather appropriate, since the plot revolves around medieval myth, half-glimpsed through shadows. King Arthur (Arthur Greager) isn't a  merry man, though it's Christmas, which coincides with the Winter Solstice, the darkest time of the year, when sinister things happen. Morgan Le Fay (Marie Angel) and Lady de Hautdesert ( Anne Howells) chant a strangle duet, their voices overlapping, wavering up and down the scale., their voices underlined by an orchestra which seems at once to wail, shriek and murmur.  "The warp and the weft of innocence", the text perfectly describing the way Birtwistle's music operates.  Arthur wants dangerous thrills: long brass lines surge forwards, probing space.  Suddenly, silence, and Arthur asks, "Who...is...it" in an oddly conversational style. This interjection undercuts the complexity in the music but creates patterns of its own, for interjections recur throughout the opera, sometimes spoken, sometimes as the tolling of bells..

The Green Knight (John Tomlinson) arrives in the midst oif an amazing fugue of  screaming brass and percussion - the hooves of a horse from hell? The Green Knight is a figure from pre-Christian mythology, who connects to Earth spirits, renewal and death. Tomlinson intones his lines with gravity, growling along the lowest point of his register, then suddenly rising to its top, where even he strains, but the tension feels right. Magnificently theatrical. But what follows is even more powerfully written. When The Green Knight takes his leave, the Court is thrown into horrified confusion.The  "Turning of the Seasons" is pivotal. Wild cacophony, but meticulously delineated and measured - Birtwistle, a master of puzzles and mazes, doesn't do indiscipline.  Arthur cries, "it's nothing...nothing...nothing" repeating himself as if to nullify the horror. But perhaps he understand more than he realizes. "a game... an escapade, Christmas mummery, a raree show". Birtwistle relishes games and strategems, patterns in abstract sound. Winter turns to spring, to summer, to autumn and thus to winter, the music turning like a series of tableaux marking time and approaching fate. Wonderful choral singing, which lifts the action away from "characters" into something more primeval and universal.

Huge planes of sound open the Second Act. They're reminiscent of the beginning of the First Act, this time undercut by Morgan Le Fay's shrill, fluttering cries of alarm. She's Fata Morgana, a sorceress whose weapon is illusion. When Birtwistle describes Gawain's journey to destiny, she taunts and tantalizes. The lullaby she sings is poisoned. Lady Hautdesert tries to seduce Gawain, and her husband Bertilak hunts a boar. Seduction and bloodlust: talismanic references to "The Cross of Christ" seem powerless in this primordial struggle.Morgan Le Fay and Bertilak shape shift, creating confusion, as in a nightmare. Francois Le Roux sings Gawain, while Tomlinson sings both The Green Knight and Bertilak, suggesting complexities one can hardly grasp,. Eventually The Green Knight re-emerges. Instead of killing Gawain, he spares him because Gawain has faced himself. "I wanted fame, I loved myself too much, I'm guilty of cowardice, too". So Gawain returns to Camelot, a wiser man. Arthur and the court repeat the same old fomulae ("Who is it"). "Nothing has changed" sings Morgan Le Fay, "....except for dreams of fear and fame, except for lies.....". Birtwistle gives Morgan Le Fay a brilliant coda : the text may be opaque, but the music crackles and sparks. "Look in your mirror, you might see the the image of someone retreating before your face.Think only of dreams and promises..." The vocal line fragments into crazy angles as if a mirror were being smashed. Perhaps the "window" she refers to opens out into alternative reality, closed to fools like Arthur and Guinevere. .
 
Buy the recording here so the money goes direct to NMC, a not for profit organization that has done almost more than anyone else to promote the best of modern British music.  

More on Birtwistle on this site than anywhere else ! (see also Earth Dances and Theseus Games)

Wagner Parsifal Prom 57 Tomlinson Elder

Prom 57, Wagner Parsifal (Mark Elder, the Hallé) brought us John Tomlinson, perhaps the greatest Wagnerian bass of our time.  Gurnemanz is one of his signature roles. He might bark, but he doesn't "park". Age skills are enhanced by age, not diminished.

When Titurel sounds in better vocal health than Gurnemanz, it's worrying. But Gurnemanz is probably even older than Titurel. John the Baptist knew nothing of Christianity but baptised Jesus himself. Like John the Baptist, John Tomlinson's Gurnemanz recognizes who Parsifal must be and anoints his mission.  Tomlinson now portrays Gurnemanz as an Ancient, a witness to primeval mysteries that long predated formal religion. An Erda in male form!

The part is also huge, bigger even than Parsifal's in many ways. Tomlinson still has stamina and stage presence, even if he makes us wince at his dry, constricted croaks, though they're arguably in character. Tomlinson's just back from singing The Green Knight in Birtwistle's Gawain in Salzburg. He's tired, but he's still giving us pointers in how to channel Gurnemanz.  Like Gerontius in the Bible, (not in Elgar) Tomlinson's Gurnemanz is redeemed because he has seen the future. This Proms Parsifal was something to cherish because Tomlinson made us "feel" Gurnemanz's soul, still idealistic, despite the ravages of time.

Katarina Dalayman's Kundry, in contrast, was uncommonly seductive. Waltraud Meier's wild animal Kundry remains a tour de force, defining the role at its most savage, but Dalayman's more womanly portrayal is perfectly valid, bringing out the more human, vulnerable side of the role. This is important, for in Parsifal, Wagner reprises themes that persist throughout his career: motherhood, or the lack thereof, the distortion of sexual and family relationships, inter-generational power struggles and basic body fluids. Kundry is an outsider because she's a sexual being in a repressed society. Dalayman blends the natural warmth of her voice with forceful delivery, so her crescendi rang out , reaching into the furthest recesses of the Royal Albert Hall. At times, she almost sounds like a Verdi heroine. But it's a perfectly valid interpretation, which would benefit from a sympathetic staging which deals with the psycho-sexual emotional thickets that underpin the portentious pseudo-religiosity which has dominated Parsifal interpretation. Read my "Religion versus Religiousity" here.
 
In Parsifal, there are three different Parsifals, just as there are three different Wotans in the Ring. We can't gauge the whole Wotan from either manifestation. It's a mistake to expect Parsifal to be glowing and luminous from the start . Like most Wagner heroes, he goes through a process of change. Lars Cleveman achieved this transition well. In the first Act,  Parsifal's a young Siegfried, imnstinctive and almost animal. He kills the swan because he knows no better. Lars Cleveman's sturdy physicality suits this Parsifal . He's cocky, confident and even sexy in a quirky way: a good foil for Dalayman's mother/seducer Kundry. The second act brought forth the best singing of the evening, even from Tomlinson.  Yet Wagner springs a surprise in the end. Once Parsifal is mature and takes on his mission, he doesn't actually sing all that much. The mystical splendour of transfiguration comes from the orchestra. The Divine Presence is in the music. Parsifal kneels and listens, in awe.

And so to Mark Elder and the Hallé. We don't hear them enough in London, and they're very distinctive. The music in the first act is notoriously hard to pull off. Haitink, for example, stretched the tempi so one could feel the comatose Grail community, so desiccated that it's become fossilized. But inertia and dramatic thrust don't sit naturally together. Elder's approach allowed details to be heard, such as the sour wail of the brass. One of the percussionists leaned onto her timpani to dampen the sound. With a huge orchestra and several choirs, this act must be a beast to conduct. Elder held the orchestra back, giving prominence to Tomlinson's long monologue. But the overall effect was more symphonic than operatic. Fortunately, once the drama got going, the playing gained pace.  Klingsor's magic castle was nicely conjured up. Theologically. Klingsor is off the wall. His battle with Amfortas is kinky, when you really think of it. But the scene sets the tone for the Parsifal/Kundry dialogue, so central to the deeper meaning of the opera.



The Hallé showed their real strengths in the Third Act, where music even dominates the singing. The orchestra evoked the complex images in the narrative. Parsifal's on a mysterious journey, whose nature we don't really know. The angularity in the music cuts against the dream-like chromaticism, suggesting pain and suffering. The Knights are dying. The Hallé express the savagery without the need for words. They were splendid in the Good Friday music, augmented by metallic "Parsifal bells" resonating into space. Despite the Communion imagery in the text, these shouldn't sound "churchy". Good Friday is the one time in the Christian year when the Mass is not celebrated and communion not re-enacted on site. Wagner created new instruments for a purpose. The photo shows the original "bells" used in Bayreuth in Wagner's time.

Detlev Roth replaced Iain Patterson  at short notice. I was pleased, because Roth is highly regarded and experienced in a broad repertoire, other than Wagner. His voice has more natural colour than a traditional Wagnerian, so he sang Amfortas with more flexibility that we associate with the part. There are a lot of heavy low voices in this opera, and Roth's relative brightness was different, but not wrong. Picking Roth was a wise choice. He was an interesting counterbalance to Tomlinson's Gurnemanz of the Ages.

A full version of this review, with cast list, is here in Opera Today.

John Tomlinson The Minotaur Birtwistle Royal Opera House 2013

 John Tomlinson stole the show - deservedly - in the revival of Harrison Birtwistle's The Minotaur at the Royal Opera House. Thunderous applause and then a surprise. A table was wheeled onto the stage with a giant cake. "We're celebrating Sir John Tomlinson's 35 years at the Royal Opera House" said Antonio Pappano, beaming with joy.  "I wasn't expecting this", said John Tom, visibly moved. We can see curtain calls anytime, but this one we will never forget. The house roared approval.

Harrison Birtwistle wrote the The Minotaur  as a gift to John Tomlinson because it's a role he could be singing well into old age, long after he ceases to sing other parts.  Tomlinson's acting skills are so strong that he can dtraw on inner reserves few others can tap. Any gruffness in the voice becomes a positive asset because it expresses the ravages the Minotaur has experienced. When Tomlinson sounds vulnerable, he's showing how the Minotaur, for all his ferocity, is himself vulnerable. He shows us the man Asterios, behind the mask. Half naked, and with a tail, Tomlinson manages to look both strong and fragile at the same time. He shows just how young the creature really is, younger than Ariadne, closer perhaps to the Innocents whom he is forced to kill.

Although the cadences sway upwards and downwards, like the paradoxes in the plot, the middle register is warm and natural, the lines ending in diminuendo. At the very end, Birtwistle clothes the Minotaur’s dying moments with remarkably subtle counter-tempi. The Minotaur is at last liberated from the prison that is his body, and for a few moments his soul is expressed in music of great purity. This is a role that needs sensitive, thoughtful interpretation, and John Tomlinson has its full measure. "Between most and least, between man and beast, ...next to nothing". As the Minotaur dies, the small boy within the monstrous frame is released. The mighty John Tomlinson becomes a frightened lad with stumpy, childlike legs, singing a broken lullaby. It is almost impossible to imagine another singer bringing to the role  Tomlinson's depth of characterization. We were indeed priviledged to have had another chance to hear him as The Minotaur. I, for one, shall never forget.

Because I've written about The Minotaur and about Harrison Birtwistle so many times over the years, I don't need to write another "review" as such, even though my ideas continue to develop that I could write volumes.  Birtwistle has written another intricate maze. a "place with more dead ends, more flaws and fault-lines than the human heart”. But you could read more HERE and HERE 

and HERE (Ruth Elleson's review of the premiere).

Much credit to the Royal Opera House for commissioning and reviving The Minotaur which looks set to become a classic. Good performances from Christine Rice, Johan Reuter, Alan Oke, Andrew Watts, the choruses and Elisabeth Meister, a striking leader of the Keres.

photo credit : John Tomlinson as the Minotaur, Bill Cooper, Royal Opera House

New role for John Tomlinson!

A new role for Sir Joihn Tomlinson up close and personal! A cherished friend had a wondeful time at a recital John Tom  gave at the National Gallery this week and sends a heads up for the next performance on Friday 16th. More HERE.

"To celebrate the 500th anniversary of the unveiling of the Sistine Chapel, Sir John Tomlinson, one of England’s finest basses and pianist David Owen Norris will perform the poems of Michelangelo by Britten, Wolf and Shostakovich. Sir John will give a wonderfully charismatic staged performance of Britten’s 'Seven Sonnets of Michelangelo', Op. 22, Wolf’s 'Drei Gedichte von Michelangelo' and Shostakovich’s 'Suite on Verses of Michelangelo', Op. 145, with David Owen Norris on piano. This is a rare opportunity to hear one of the world’s great operatic voices in an intimate setting, away from the world’s biggest stages."

Wonderful programme, which will suit Tomlinson's voice.  What's more, you can combine the recital with a visit to Michelangelo's works in the National Gallery. To whet your appetite, here's a description of the piano song version of  Shostakovich Suite on the Verses of Michelangelo which Tomlinson and Owen Norris will be performing  HERE.