Glyndebourne Billy Budd revisited

Britten's Billy Budd is being revived at Glyndebourne. Eveyone loves this production, directed by Michael Grandage, because it's so straightforward. Assuming, of course, that Billy Budd is a straightforward sea shanty about life on the ocean wave. Perhaps productions like these are popular because they castrate the opera and minimize its more disturbing meanings. Like Tim Albery's 1988 production with Thomas Allen, Grandage's Billy Budd could have been made for pre-watershed TV costume drama, where brutality, sodomy and moral contradictions have no place.  It's very dark and claustrophobic, which is true to the opera, but the emphasis is on Billy, not on Captain Vere, whose dilemmas should really be central.

Glyndebourne's Billy Budd will be immortal, however, for Jacques Imbrailo. He is so exceptionally perfect in the role that he outshines everything else. His portrayal is so charismatic that he shifts the whole balance of the opera from Vere to Billy. Imbrailo glows, as if lit by inner light. He's like a beacon in that fetid, prison-like underworld below decks.  Sometimes the role has been played as if it's a cipher, for no-one really knows where Billy is "coming from". Captain Vere has spent decades trying to figure him out, without success. Imbrailo, however, inhabits the part so fully that he turns the opera on its head. Imbrailo's Billy exudes genuine goodness and purity, borne of deeeply intuitive conviction. “Through the port comes moonshine astray” isn’t the usual lyrical magic but a kind of spiritual apotheosis. “I’m strong, and I know it, and I’ll stay strong!” Imbrailo’s “Beauty” isn’t a passive “Baby” but an assertive force of life.

Imbrailo's Billy is also deeply sympathetic. Imbrailo understands the psychological importance of Billy's stutter. Vere is intellectual. Billy, on the other hand, is instinctive, physical, direct. Imbrailo lives the part in his body. No makeup can turn his face red so quickly, no costume can create the tense, twisted coil of his frame. Imbrailo’s Billy is musically astute, as stammer is integral to Britten’s music. The mutiny, in Billy Budd, is in the music. So echoes of Billy’s stammer burst out in recurrent staccato in the orchestra, disruptive protests against the rigidity of naval life. The sailors don’t mutiny, but Billy’s stammer comes to affect the rhythms in other voices, even Claggart’s. Like Billy, Britten expresses himself in abstract sound, rather than relying on words alone. Orchestration as protagonist. In Billy Budd, Britten shows why he didn’t need to write symphonies.

Claire Seymour, author of The Operas of Benjamin Britten, will be reviewing it in Opera Today.  I was at the premiere in 2010, which is also available on DVD and will be broadcast this year in cinemas and online. 

Read the full review from 2010 HERE. 

Sunshine Mahler Resurrection? Jansons Prom 35

Mahler in the sunshine? Mariss Jansons conducted Mahler's Symphony no 2, BBC Prom 35 with the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra. Jansons has a devoted following because he's good. But he's also not the most incisive or challenging interpreter of Mahler's quirky genius. On the other hand the Mahler anniversary year changed the way Mahler's music is heard.  Whole new audiences have come to Mahler through celebrity performances like those at the South Bank. Lorin Maazel triumphs! At long last he's made his mark. Jansons was an established Mahler conductor long before the anniversary year, but he's gold standard compared with some of the entry-level pap we've been fed – books and commentary as well as concerts.

"I do not like this", a friend emailed me."It makes me feel like Die Walküre converted to Christianity"

A brilliantly perceptive line!  Although Mahler did convert to Christianity, he wasn't a cynical or calculating person. An element of genuinely sincere interest in Christianity runs throughout his music, far more deeply than ever gets credited. But fundamentally, Mahler does his own thing. If Wagner could mess around with theology, Mahler wasn't under any obligation to stick to strict  liturgy. Jansons' Mahler 2, however, takes religiosity at face value. Of course one will respond, as millions have done for centuries, because religion appeals to something in the human spirit, whether or not one truly believes. 

"He turns that trembling opening theme into powerful light like Wagner, but admits much less noise", my friend added. Of course the Urlicht theme pervades the symphony but it makes its full impact when approached gradually. The symphony unfolds like a procession, a pilgrimage towards a goal that''s so great it can't be grasped without a penitential journey beforehand.  Without death, there is no Resurrection.

So much has been written about Mahler's struggles writing this piece that I don't need to repeat it. But imagine how Mahler felt at the funeral of Hans von Bülow a man he identified with. Once Haitink conducted the long Allegro maestoso at such slow tempi that the orchestra had trouble sustaining their lines. But he was making a valid point. We were in  the presence of a stillness like death, the music barely ticking over, as if in the final stages of coma. 

Jansons was good, however, at the summery Ländler images in the second movement. Their place in the symphony serves as a Rückblick, a glance backwards, but it's not nostalgic so much as poignant, for they can never be regained. Better to hear them expressed with pain and regret than as diversion. This symphony can throb with fear. "Der Mensch liegt in größter Pein!". When the contralto sings it can feel like a primal scream, even a suggestion of the pain of childbirth, because the song represents a new stage in the traverse. Gerhild Romberger took her cue, as she should, from the conductor. Nice singing, but little anguish. The choir awakened, as if they'd been "snoozing in the Bavarian sunshine", as my friend commented. Genia Kühmeier's "Aufersteh'n" was bright and shiny, but for maximum impact it should have risen from an hour and a half of darkness. Christians know there will be Life Everlasting, but they also know Purgartory comes first. As Wagner told us, we have first to be cleansed by fire.

Most people would have enjoyed Jansons' Mahler 2. It was certainly bright and glossy, and technically very well performed, if a straightforward interpretation. Mahler is never boring, and the whole premise of the symphony is that it's uplifting. But where does that "Primeval Light" come from? Note the terminology. Wherever this Light is coming from, it comes from a mysterious source possibly even greater than notions of formal religion. But I wish Jansons had addressed it with more reverence.

Stockhausen Klang at the Roundhouse

The Royal Albert Hall isn't the only round powerhouse for music in  London. Karlheinz Stockhausen's mega saga KLANG is coming to the Roundhouse NW1 on 22nd August. Kathinka Pasveer, Stockhausen's muse and interpreter, will be on hand to recreate four of the 24 hours of Klang. For maximum impact, Stockhausen needs to be experienced. It's not enough to just listen. The Roundhouse, being round with a high dome, resembles a spaceship, which is utterly appropriate since Stockhausen believed that he came from the star Siriius. His horizons were extra-terrestial. At the Roundhouse, we'll get the right cosmic vibe.

Together with the London Contemporary Orchestra (Hugh Brunt), Kathinka will be bringing us Paradies (hour 21), Hoffnung (hour 9), Balance (hour 7), and Cosmic Pulses (hour 13).  Cosmic Pulses was a fantastic success at the Royal Albert Hall in 2008. Read about that HERE. The Roundhouse isn't quite so huge but it should be fascinating. Hoffnung, Balance and Paradies are London premieres, the last in a new version for 8-track mixing. .Before Stockhausen, the Roundhouse is hosting a performance of Claude Vivier's Zipangu. This too is a remarkable piece of music by an esoteric composer, one of my favourites. Read about his  Orion, Kopernikus HERE.  Vivier worked with Stockhausen but was not one of the hard-core obsessives. His music is oddly exotic, even beautiful. Zipangu is an ancient European name for Japan, (not a Japanese name) so the piece is an exploration into exotic mysteries. Brunt and the LCO are quite into Vivier and Gerard Grisey. I wrote about their 20111 Spitalfield's performance HERE.  Also please read about this year's Stockhausen Prom 11 on the subject of Stockhausen's concepts of space and sound.  Stockhausen was the great great grandad of sampling and DJ mixing. All the more reason to catch Stockhausen at the Roundhouse, where dozens of legendary gigs have happened since the 1960's. Loads on Stockhausen on my site. Mainstream classical audiences are often too uptight to relate to Stockhausen, but he's extremely important as a conceptual artist.

Mitsuko Uchida Prom 33 Jansons Berlioz

Mitsuko Uchida made BBC Prom 33 a sure-fire sell-out. She's a  Living National Treasure whose sheer presence puts everyone else into perspective. Amazingly, she hasn't played a Prom in 20 years though she plays everywehere else, and sometimes in smaller houses when she has something special to contribute. The BBC should be booking her years in advance then picking conductors and rep around her.

So I blissed out at Uchida's Beethoven Piano Concerto no 4. Some people grind themselves into a tizz about details of fingering and so on, but I listen for musicality in the broadest, deepest sense. So I luxuriated in the sheer joy of Uchida's playing and in the obvious pleasure with which she interacted with Mariss Jansons and the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra. Serious music can be many things. Uchida shows how it can be expressed, intelligently in many ways. Someone who should know better once sneered that "fun" should never come into the consideration of music. That's nonsense, I think.

Uchida has never struck me as being a Berlioz kind of person, so I had to shift mental gears for the second part of the Prom when Jansons conducted the Symphonie fantastique. Perhaps some of the Uchida persona glowed over this, like a shining sunset. Sometimes Berlioz works best when he's done with a dash of vulgarity. The Symphonie fantastique needs a bit of gross, in-your-face bravado to highlight its audacious inventiveness.  Jansons and the BRSO were a bit too civilised, though enjoyable enough on a nice summer evening.

Holst Lutoslawski Prom 32

Holst, Lutoslawski and Sexy Ed, BBC Proms 32 - what's not to like? The Planets may have brought the punters in, but it was Holst's lesser known  Egdon Heath and Lutoslawski that made this Prom a magical experience. Enjoy Gardner's lively Planets on i-player, but listen to the first part of Prom 32 for an even greater experience.

Lutoslawski's Symphonic Variations are astonishing. They sparkle with inventiveness, less "variations on  a theme" than an adventure in sound, exploring infinite possibilities, enlivened by wit and a sense of freedom. All condensed into the space of a few minutes, less than a movement in many symphonies. Astonishingly, Lutoslawski wrote this when he was only 23. It has the madcap verve of Britten's Simple Symphony (1934) but is far less buttoned down (and British).  The BBC shoves Lutoslawski into a straitjacket by pigeonholing him as Polish, but for once silly national boundaries make a bit of sense. This year we've had a lot of his music: Esa-Pekka Salonen, who knew the composer well, did an excellent retrospective with the Philharmonia at the South Bank (review here) and Simon Rattle has been doing Lutoslawski all year with the Bertliner Philharmoniker. Rattle also knew Lutoslawki personally and championed Szymanowski long before anyone else in this country. As for me, I missed hearing Lutoslawski himself conduct his Third Symphony in 1992 when the Newbury Festival was at its artistic peak. I've regretted it ever since.

While I listened to Holst's The Planets I kept thinking of Lutoslawski and Szymanowski, because they were voyagers in the most extravagant sense of the term.  Both set out on voyages of discovery where no-one had quite been before. Gustav Holst 's interest in eclectic subjects gave him the stimulus to be truly creative. He didn't do exotic just for show. We might not have The Planets at all if his horizons weren't "out of this world". So it was wonderful to hear his Egdon Heath sandwiched between Lutosklawski. Egdon Heath doesn't really exist. It's a state of mind, invented by Thomas Hardy to evoke a mysterious, elemental world where sturdy peasant yeoman live with the forces of nature, which are often malign. This Wessex is a blasted heath, with scrubland and sour soil. Nowadays Hardy Country is conurbation, acres of warehouses and tract housing. But one strange phenomenom still exists: the Blue Pool near Wareham, where chemical residues turn the water an unnatural, glowing shade. I digress, but it's relevant. Holst's Edgdon Heath seems still and calm but it teems with life. Edward Gardner's controlled poise works extremely well: the BBCSO murmur, hinting at things unseen. This, too, is a work that defies category. It's worlds away from the robust philistine spirit of the comfortable middle class of Middle England.  It also defies silly definitions of "modern" being a choice between tonal systems. It's amazingly modern in spirit, while connecting to possibly ancient mysteries. This painting of the Blue Pool was made in 1913 (Derwent Lees). Like Holst's Egdon Heath, it's way outside its time.

And Lutoslawski's Piano Concerto, with Louis Lortie, soloist? That was so magical that I can't find words to express how it made me feel. Listen for yourself. This Proms performance was even better than the recording because it felt so personal and direct. Listen for yourself and dream!

Prom Queens : Korngold Symphony Prom 31 Rubbra Bruch

Prom31 on the theme of Queens: Walton, Rubbra, Bruch and Korngold's only symphony. John Storgårds conducted the BBC Philharmonic.

Korngold's Symphony in F sharp major was completed in 1952, having germinated over a period of five years. Ostensibly it was dedicated to the memory of President Roosevelt, but there's little in the music that would really suggest that. Far stronger though is the connection with Korngold's career in film. Korngold's symphony doesn't sound like a symphony despite ts formal structure. It's so dramatic that it sounds like music for the grandest, most dramatic film imaginable.  Until fairly recently, film music wasn't considered to be as serious as formal classical music, although most composers wrote for film, including Hanns Eisler, who was in so many ways Korngold's mirror opposite. Movie music is nothing to be ashamed about unless it's bad (and much of it is) but Korngold was highly original.

The first movement is jagged and angular, stabbing string, mysterious winds, turbulent "winds and sails" that remind us of Seahawk, Sea Wolf and Robin Hood, and specifically with The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex (1939) which starred Bette Davis (pictured) and Errol Flynn, for whom Korngold was to write some of his finest work. Elizabeth was growing old, terrified of losing her chance of love, but she has Essex executed because it is her duty. It's true film noir, despite the gaudy costumes. In the Adagio, we move to quieter scenes, where we pay attention to fine details, just as we might observe in a film. This movement has been described in programmatic terms suggesting references to Bruckner and Roosevelt, but strictly speaking thus is not relevant. It stands on its own perfectly well as echt Korngold. And there's a "happy ending". The long finale is expansive, extended lines suggesting vast horizons, leading away from the turbulence that has passed. It's glorious. Storgårds gave it an incisive, inspired performance that did justice to the drama in the score. Interestingly, Storgårds has extensive experience in contemporary music.There are many forms of "modern" music. The myth that everything is pro or contra Schoenberg is nonsense.

Elizabeth fell in love with Essex because he was a flatterer. But she was too good a queen to let him turn her head. Bear that clearly in mind when listening to Walton's March "Orb and Sceptre", and to Edmund Rubbra's Ode to the Queen, both written for the coronation of Elizabeth II. Walton's piece is facile, hardly his most serious work. Rubbra's Ode is more ambitious with three movements on a grand scale, designed to be a showpiece. Years ago Susan Bickley recorded it with Richard Hickox. She gave a good performance, but still not quite enough to rescue it from its self-conscious lack of spirit. When Rubbra's music was fashionable a few years ago someone described it as being "like brown linoleum". Rubbra died only 27 years ago but his music was dated even when it was new. Perhaps our present Queen Elizabeth was as sharp as her predecessor. Instead of commissioning a composer from the established Old Guard, the honour went to Benjamin Britten. Gloriana operates on two levels, first as a retelling of the story of Elizabeth and Essex and more pointedly as a satire of sycophancy and falsehood. (read more here) The Establishment just couldn't get it. Britten wasn't mocking the Queen but paying her the  compliment by suggesting she, too,  was smart enough to see through bluff.

Vilde Frang played Bruch's lovely Violin Concerto no 1. I enjoyed it a lot but I'll leave it to violin people to write about.

Paradise and Penance Tannhäuser Prom & Bayreuth

WagnerTannhäuser Prom 29 and at Bayreuth. Worlds apart. If there were a contest between the two, Bayreuth would win on every single count. Daniel Barenboim's erratic but exciting, passionate Ring with the Staatskapelle Berlin (reviews here, here and here) raised expectations but lightning doesn't strike in the same place twice. Donald Runnicles has a reputation for Wagner because he conducted on the West Coast of the US, the most computer-savvy place in the world. But hearing this Prom  together with Bayreuth is a telling exercise that reminds us that internet opinion is dominated by a relatively small circle and primarily reflects the perspective of the English-speaking world.  Antonio Pappano's Tannhäuser wasn't idiomatic, but at least it had character and was engaged, so it worked. Runnicles' Wagner appeals because it fits what some assume Wagner should be, and Wagner never disappoints. But if Tannhäuser tells us anything, it's that the safe bet isn't the right choice. Listen to  Bayreuth  HERE and hear how challenging this opera can really be. 

If Bayreuth makes odd choices with directors, its choice of conductors is pretty close to flawless. Andris Nelsons, for example, one of the most exciting conductors of his generation. Axel Kober was new to me, but he has a good pedigree from Leipzig Opera. His Tannhäuser is a revelation. In the long ballet introduction, Kober emphasizes the conflict between the main themes: trumpets surging confidently forwards, undercut by a more mystical theme later associated with the pilgrimage. As the music surges forwards, it's lit by "flames" from the strings, suggesting perhaps the flames of hellfire and damnation. Tannhäuser isn't a jolly medieval pageant but a struggle that cannot be reconciled. Kober brings out the fundamental tension that lies behind the grandeur. In the lighter, more magical moments and scurrying "winds", he even makes us feel why Tannhäuser enjoyed Venusberg, and why he longs to return to its freedom, however corrupt.

We don't need to see medieval trumpeters to feel the emotional soul of this opera.  Truly wonderful, folk-like woodwinds suggest the simplicity of medieval music, its purity a foil for the excesses of Venusberg. The Young Shepherd (Katja Stuber) sounds part shepherd, part angel, calling down from the heights. As usual, Wagner's theology is dodgy. The battle here is between Venus, the Virgin Mary and the Virgin Elisabeth; Jesus doesn't get much of a look in, so the Shepherd is more significant than we might think.

Kober's textures are clean and bright, so details shine. Before the footmen announce Wolfram von Eschenbach, (Michael Nagy), we hear their sprightly footsteps in the music. The harps adorn his singing with luminous grace, so we remember how fragile Tannhäuser's "lute" sounded in comparison.  Duelling stringed instruments! Wolfram and Tannhäuser have different weapons, but the apparently more primitive weapon triumphs in the end.  Kober, Pappano and Barenboim also had the advantage of working with orchestras who have the natural dramatic sheen that comes from playing opera all the time.

The Bayreuth singers, too, were among the best in the business.  No-one who heard Johan Botha's Tannhäuser will ever forget how he made the role glisten with almost supernatural colour, but Bayreuth had him sing Siegmund this year. Torsten Kerl is extremely good. His timbre is naturally bright and he shades it well to create the ravages that Tannhäuser's experiences have wrought on his soul. At the Prom, Robert Dean Smith sang the role. As Tristan last week, he was barely audible live, but OK on the broadcast. We owe a lot to BBC sound engineering.  If Dean Smith's voice sounds old and tired, arguably so was Tannhäuser. But in the critical third act, Kerl's mastery of range and emotion was more impressive, by far. Such ringing, penetrating notes !

Camilla Nylund's Elisabeth in Bayreuth was glorious. Her top is spectacularly lucid. Elisabeth applies her voice like a spear, hurling it to the heavens, so it draws down the mercy of the Virgin Mary herself. Nylund's singing make you believe such things are possible. I've loved her work for years, but this was her finest performance ever. Michelle Breedt's Venus is almost her equal, glowing with sultry power. Heidi Melton and Daniela Sindham for Runnicles  are good enough, but just aren't in that class.

Christian Gerhaher's career as opera singer was made by his stunning Wolfram "O du meine holder Abendstern" at Covent Garden. At Bayreuth, Michael Nagy sang a more rounded Wolfram. He wasn't quite so stunning in the Big Number, but he didn't save himself for it, either. As all-round characterisation, Nagy's Wolfram had personality and a certain depth the role doesn't often get. I quite liked Christoph Pohl at the Prom, but Nagy just has more finesse. Similarly, Günther Groissböck's Landgrave would be hard to equal, though Ain Anger has potential.  The Prom was pretty much saved by the Concert Association of the Chorus of the Deutsche Oper Berlin, proving yet again that opera choruses are a different species from ordinary choruses,

In live performance, we often get carried away because of the sense of communal occasion.  That's not quite the same as hearing things in purely musical terms, but artistic quality is what really counts in the end.

Bayreuth 2013 links that WORK

THIS is a link to five of the Bayreuth 2013 performances. What's more it actually works,: no need to subscribe or be in Germany or whatever. Plus if you can follow the commentary, it's better than average. The downside is that it's audio only, though they give still photos. But from what we've heard that might be an advantage. Besides, it's good to listen without visual aids, to keep your aural ears sharp. There is a link to  Lohengrin, but it's not a new production, but a reprise of the one currently in rep, with the same conductor (Andris Nelsons) and principals, who are superb. The director is Hans Neuenfels. It's brilliant ! I wrote about in HERE in 2012.
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Wagner Tannhäuser Part 1

Wagner Tannhäuser Prom 29, hot on the heels of an excellent  Tannhäuser, at Bayreuth. Bayreuth wins hands down, no contest.

The Prom was OK for what it was and fans of conductor Donald Runnicles will be pleased, but orchestrally, Bayreuth was a revelation. Axel Kober was exceptionally good, and his singers (Torsten Kerl, Camilla Nylund) are top league. Bayreuth is the one to spend time with. I've listened to it 4 times now and still find wonders. I'll write more later. But first, some thoughts on the opera.

Wartburger Schloss is a fortress  See how it stands, dangerously perched over a steep cliff. It's a military base. In the 16th century, Martin Luther hid out here, after defying Church and temporal rulers. It became a symbol of resistance to "foreign" ideas. By setting Tannhäuser in Wartburg, Wagner connects his ideas to the rockface of rebellion. Significantly, Tannhäuser is rejected by the Pope, but he isn't destroyed.

In Tannhäuser the battleground revolves around  singers and singing. Wolfram supports esoteric art, uncontaminated by worldly needs. Hence his affiliation to the Evening Star, pallid and remote. Tannhäuser, however, has tasted lust, decadence and extreme emotions and wants something more. So he's an affront to  courtly Minnesänger values. Yet, compare Tannhäuser to Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg. Walther von Stolzing is an aristocrat, but an outsider, who challenges mindless conservatism. Elisabeth is a kind of female Hans Sachs.
 
Zwietracht und Streit sei abgetan commands Landgrave Hermann, (no more contrariness and strife). Tannhäuser is welcome as long as he conforms. They want him because Elisabeth won't come to their revels otherwise. It's not him they care about really. But he's seen Venusberg, and alternatives to Wartburg the others can't even guess at. So they leap on him, prepared to kill, until Elisabeth intervenes. (The photo is Lauritz Melchior)

Who is Tannhäuser? He's arrogant, crabby and treats his good fortune with contempt. And yet Elisabeth adores him. Wagner treated many others in much the same way. So what's the pilgrimage? The Landgrave exiles Tannhäuser, forcing him to go to Rome to be absolved.  The pilgrimage music is so dominant that it's much more than a plot device, but fundamental to the whole idea of the opera: The pilgrims are a mass movement, old and young, submerging their individuality in heartfelt abasement. Significantly, Tannhäuser isn't one of the crowd. Maybe Elisabeth knows, for she heads off heavenwards. Nicht such ich dich, noch deiner Sippschaft Einen. (I don't want you and your type), he tells Wolfram, whom we in the audience have just heard singing the transcendent Song of the Evening Star. Tannhäuser deliberately rejects rarified, otherworldly sublimation. Old forms are hollow for him now. What he's become is a "modern" man with conflicts and angst.

This is the set Wagner designed for Venusberg. Cliffs of stone outside, corals next, but as the eye penetrates deeper, softness, lushness. With Freudian hindsight one might think of reproductive organs. How that would upset conservative opera audiences!  So much for the idea of being true to a composer's stage directions.  Wagner's description of the scene is chaste but he and everyone else knew what Satyrs and Nymphs get up to. Tannhäuser isn't about the art of theatre so much as about, to put it bluntly, sex, and its creative power.
Tannhäuser knows Venusberg is dangerous but he has to go back.

Listen carefully to Tannhäuser's big aria Inbrust im Herzen which often gets overlooked because we're so stunned by the Abendsterrn. No-one was more penitent than he, says Tannhäuser, because he values Elisabeth's virtues. Therefore, Wie neben mir der schwerstbedrückte Pilger die Strasse wallt', erschien mir allzuleicht:.Tannhäuser debased himself more than the other pilgrims, choosing the most painful route, such was the intensity of his repentance. But the Pope (ie, God's representative) refused him pardon. Shattered, Tannhäuser's going back to Venus. To Wolfram, that's just nuts, he can't  understand at all. Tannhäuser's on an emotional plane which a relatively conventional man, even a poet like Wolfram, cannot begin to comprehend.. As Tannhäuser has been telling the Knights all along, they don't know know what intensity is, since they haven't experienced the extremes of Venusberg.

What they all didn't count on was Elisabeth's own ferocious intensity. She's so extreme that she can force God into action. She is definitely Tannhäuser's soulmate. Wolfram doesn't even come close, and it's a misreading of the opera to assume otherwise. Tannhäuser and Elisabeth are Tristan und Isolde.

From pilgrim procession to funeral procession. The pilgrims bear the Pope's staff, now sprouting fresh new growth. However the Pope's staff may be staged, the concept is crucially important to the meaning of the opera. Arrogant and rebellious to the end, Tannhäuser is saved, not by himself but by Elisabeth and what she believes in. The miracle may seem outrageous, but that's the whole idea.  As the pilgrims would say, Hoch über aller Welt ist Gott, und sein Erbarmen ist kein Spott! (God is greater than anything on earth. Don't make fun of his mercy.)

Coleridge-Taylor Hiawatha Three Choirs Festival

The Song of Hiawatha, Samuel Coleridge-Taylor at Gloucester Cathedral, highlight of this year's Three Choirs Festival. The Three Choirs Festival is the world's oldest music festival.  For over three hundred years, the choirs of the cathedrals of Gloucester, Hereford and Worcester have been coming together to sing. In many ways, British music was defined by the Three Choirs Festival well into the mid 20th century: it is the epicentre of a grand tradition. Hearing Coleridge-Taylor's Hiawatha here was significant, because the Festival was instrumental in bringing the composer to prominence. While still a student, Coleridge-Taylor came to the attention of August Jaeger and Edward Elgar. The Three Choirs Festival gave him his first big commission in 1897.  Hiawatha's Wedding Feast followed soon after, then the full Song of Hiawatha. By the age of 25, Coleridge-Taylor was a resounding success.

Coleridge-Taylor is sometimes called "The Black Mahler" but it's a silly marketing gimmick. It's musically illiterate. Coleridge-Taylor didn't conduct opera and didn't write symphonies. The Song of Hiawatha sits firmly in the oratorio tradition. If anything, Coleridge-Taylor was the "Black Elgar". The Three Choirs Chorus sang with such fervour that the Elgarian aspects of the score shone with great conviction, even if the words were a little indistinct.  But what joy it must have been for them to tackle this strange, almost hypnotic chant, and words like Pau-puk-Keewis, Chibiabos, Shaugodaya, Kuntassoo and Iagoo! Hiawatha is a Grand Sing and needs to be done on this grand scale.

The soloists stand forth from the chorus. Twenty years ago, Bryn Terfel sang the baritone part for the Orchestra of the Welsh National Opera, under William Alwyn. He was brilliant, defining the whole piece with his presence, all the more striking because he sounded so young, No-one could compare, though Benedict Nelson did his best. Robin Tritschler sang the tenor part, negotiating the cruelly high cry "Awake ! my beloved" with ease. Hye-Youn Lee sang the soprano part with exceptional freshness and vitality. She's a singer we should be hearing a lot more of.

Orchestrally, The Song of Hiawatha is rousing. London's Philharmonia Orchestra played for Peter Nardone as if they were playing grand opera. The horn call that introduces the piece and runs throughout suggested Wagner. Both Siegfried and Hiawatha are Noble Savages, setting out on voyages of discovery. The pounding timpani, however, suggest the type of drums white people assumed Red Indians would play. They also anchor the orchestra in a way percussion would not perhaps control symphonic form for many years to come. The Song of Hiawatha is oratorio, but also influenced by new European influences. Englishmen didn't really write opera until Britten's Peter Grimes in 1948.The Philharmonia were much livelier and more vivid than the WNO Orchestra on the recording.

Although Hiawatha hands his people over to missionaries to be civilized, it doesn't sit well with the pious religious values of its time. Even Elgar's Dream of Gerontius, completed two years after Hiawatha's Wedding Feast, was considered racy in many circles because of its Catholic connections. But Hiawatha is important, not just for its exotic subject. Coleridge-Taylor may have chosen Longfellow's text because of its unique syntax, imitating the repetitive chant of oral traditions. "By the shores of Gitchee Gumee, by the shining Big Sea Water". Even the stange names come over like incantation. For a musician, this syntax translates into musical form. Coleridge-Taylor adapts the syntax into short rhythmic cells. Coleridge-Taylor is experimenting, tentatively, with new form. How he would have responded to Stravinsky, to Picasso, to Diaghilev and to Ravel!

There are lyrical passages in Hiawatha that evoke the freshness and wonder of Dvorák's Symphony From the New World, written only five years before, and definitely "new" music. Yet Coleridge-Taylor's style is distinctively his own.  At this stage, Vaughan Williams, though slightly older, was still under the thumb of Charles Villiers Stanford and Delius was yet to find himself. Unlike, say, Granville Bantock, whose exoticism operated like fancy dress costume, Coleridge-Taylor absorbed alien ideas into his very artistic core. He listened to Black American music and adapted it to create something original. Years later Bartók would turn to Hungarian folk music to create new music, but Coleridge-Taylor was well on the way earlier. Perhaps he was attracted to Black music as a kind of atavistic quest for identity, since he never knew his father. But every time he looked in the mirror, he must have been reminded  that part of who he was remained a mystery. Vaughan Williams's later discovery of English folk song seems very tame in comparison.

When Coleridge-Taylor collapsed on West Croydon railway station, dying a few days later aged only 37, British music lost a true original, perhaps, even, its greatest hope after Elgar. He should not be judged by the colour of his skin, but it's an inescapable part of what he means to us today in multicultural Britain. He's probably also influential in the United States where he was welcomed into the White House by the President, at a time when blacks entered only by the back door. When Coleridge-Taylor was born in 1875, being illegitimate was scandalous. Even though he wasn't "deprived", and there weren't enough Black people around for prejudice to develop beyond curiosity, Coleridge-Taylor would have had to live with other people's stereotypes, however veiled. So I hope we'll be able to get away from the Brittish music ghetto and the "Black Mahler" cliché and respect Coleridge-Taylor in a wider music and social history context.

Please see my piece "Who was Samuel Coleridge-Taylor" which describes Jeffrey Green's well written and well researched biography of the composer. "what emerges from Jeffrey Green's book is a full and vivid portrait of Samuel Coleridge-Taylor himself.  Because there's so much genuine information about the composer, his music and the world he lived in, there is no need for fantasy. We have enough here that we can "feel" what Coleridge-Taylor might have been like, and understand him as a human being." The book is not cheap but is the essential authority. 

Britten Phaedra at the Proms

This afternoon, Proms Saturday Matinee 2 at the Cadogan Hall: Britten Holst, Berkeley and Tippett with Sarah Connolly and the Britten Sinfonia.  It's an interesting programme. Britten's Phaedra will be the highlight, especially after Connolly's Phédre in Rameau Hippolyte et Aricie at Glyndebourne (review here)

In Phaedra, written towards the end of his life, Britten  weaves maze-like patterns, reflecting the way Phaedra is trapped by Fate.  The music is austere and solemn, without a trace of sentimentality.  The orchestration is bizarre. It's scored for percussion and harpsichord, with small string ensemble and soprano, Its textures are stark and stylized, with the directness of Greek or Roman art: no fancy background decoration. The photo I've used shows fragments from a Greek fresco showing Hippolyte before Phaedra. His appeal is obvious, but Phaedra isn't erotic but tragic.

Percussion and harpsichord? The timpani and metallic instruments add a raw edge, militaristic perhaps, or maybe ceremonial. Phaedra, after all, is a queen and she takes her regal responsibilities seriously. Britten's cycle feels like state treason (which of course it is). Against the grim percussion, the harpsichord struggles, the thinness of its tone perfectly portrays Phaedra's vulnerability. Harpsichords are percussion instruments too, and Britten makes no pretence at writing anything harmonic or baroque.

Britten's nine songs evolve like tableaux, each a stage in Phaedra's journey from her wedding day to her death. Phaedra's feelings are not love, but a curse. "I faced my flaming executioner Aprodite, my mother's murderer". Phaedra's mother was Pasiphaë, who slept with the bull and died giving birth to The Minotaur. Britten sets the vocal part in a combination of long, soaring arcs and short staccato interspersed with tense silence. "I could not breath or speak", she sings , describing the compulsion that overwhelms her. She rasps, "Love. Love. Love" heavy and hollow like ostinato, against wildly turbulent, twisting discords, marked by high, screaming strings. "Alone" she suddenly shouts : no adornment, no softening. Indeed, by this stage words are bursting out almost randomly, without any attempt to civilize feelings into conventional form.

"Death to the unhappy is no catastrophe" she intones. At last the strings rise in a sort of elegaic anthem, almost recognizably melodic, but quickly surge into a whirring, rushing torrent. "Chills already dark along by boiling veins" Phaedra faces death heroically. In the end, a solo cello plays a sweet, lyrical passage : Phaedra is no more.




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Opera elite? Hampson trounces troll

This letter has gone viral  PLEASE take the trouble to read it in full, because it's the most succint rebuttal ever of the myth that opera is "elitist". Artistically elitist, maybe, but not socially elitist per se. Significantly, the programme the writer (Alexander Robinson) is referring to wasn't on BBC Radio 3 but on a lesser channel.  But why did the BBC let a superstar like Thomas Hampson get mauled in this way ? Really nasty PR somewhere down the line. Fortunately Hampson's exceptionally articulate and intelligent and can fend off trolls.here's a link to the original interview. But don't forget ! read the Open Letter to the BBC  !

Bayreuth Götterdämmerung 2013

 Götterdämmerung at Bayreuth, 2013: Wagner's Holy Grail. Kyrill Petrenko conducted with authority. In Siegfried, his dense textures and firm tempi evoked vast rock formations and impenetrable forests. In Götterdämmerung, the atmosphere changes. Now Petrenko's tempi became sharper. The orchestra zipped urgently forward, creating the tension and anxiety we should feel as the Ring draws to its conclusion. When Siegfried greets the Rhinemaidens, the music flows lyrically. But the undertow in the orchestra reminds us that all will soon end. The Rhinemaidens sound sweet and innocent, but the whole saga might not have happened if they hadn't been more attentive to the Ring in the first place. 

And so, we, too, should be more attentive with what we have. These days, opera audiences are bear-baiting bullies, who go for the pleasure of being abusing. There is no such thing as non-interpretation. Even when we read a score, we are "interpreting" the relationship between the marks on paper and what we hear in our minds. Love or loathe a production, it's someone's point of view. In normal life, people can disagree rationally. But shouting others down on principle is the mindset of the mob. Opera houses used to restrict photos before a performance so people wouldn't make up their minds  beforehand, based on minimal knowledge. Screaming abuse is easy when you don't care about what people say.  So I've listened audio-only, avoiding the pictures, in order to focus on the music. The Ring suggests that we should go back to true values. And in Wagner, true values pivot on ideas. 

Siegfried in Götterdämmerung is very different from Siegfried in Siegfried. The tessitura's less of a stretch, but characterization is more of a challenge. Once, Siegfried was a blank, now he's tasted the ways of the world and is sucked into its material values. Lance Ryan's deliberate, clear diction served him well. No need for decorative frills. This Siegfried could be a better master of the Hall of the Gibichungs because he's firm and decisive. No wonder Gunther and Gutrune are entranced.  Siegfried's just easily fooled but, as Ryan shows, he's direct and without guile. In his scene at the rock with Brünnhilde, Ryan';s voice takes on a metallic edge which is perceptive, for Siegfried is controlled, robot-like, by someone else. When he sings the word "Brünnhilde" before he dies, Ryan breathes into the word, so it expands with real emotion. The "spell" is broken, but too late.

In this performance, the relationship between Siegfried, Gunther and Hagen was less evenlty balanced than in Barenboim's Proms Götterdämmerung (more here) because Ryan was clearly the dominant force. Attila Jun's Hagen gives him a challenge, though. When the trombones, horns and tubas wailed in the dream sequence, Jun's voice hardened, suggesting suppressed rebellion and rage. Jun's an interesting singer, who can convey feelings which aren't strictly obvious in the text, but which colour character. For example, when Gunther casually dismisses Hagen when he and Siegfried go to kidnap Brünnhilde, Jun's voice almost imperceptibly flinches. He obeys but he's not happy. I didn't see him grab the ring from Siegfried's body  but I could sure hear the violence when Jun sang "Her den Ring!"
Alejandro Marco-Buhrmester's Gunther is more reserved, closer vocally to Koch and Ulrich in Siegfried (more here) The rest of the cast was nicely done, but the chorus was particularly good. They really sounded like a mob of thugs perpared to do whatever their leaders tell them, even when they cry "Was tatest du!"in horror.

In Götterdämmerung, Brünnhilde's part is infinitely more demanding than in Siegfried. At last we got to hear what Catherine Foster is capable of. While she's not the most complex or heroic Brünnhilde one could imagine. her voice feels sturdy and forceful. Since she's spent her career in German-speaking countries, her voice was new to me, but she's interesting. Certainly she has stamina. This Immolation was grand, and Petrenko's orchestra excelled itself, describing the soaring, redemptive flames, complete with flying embers.

Bayreuth Siegfried - Lance Ryan redeemed

Siegfried at Bayreuth, 29/7/13, (broadcast live by BR Klassik) showed why Lance Ryan is the Siegfried of choice on the Wagner circuit. At Bayreuth, where it really counts, Ryan was very good indeed. In London, his mind may have been focused on Bayreuth, so his Proms performance was a shock.  Ryan's strengths lie in his diction and projection. He is so clear that any problems are magnified. Robert Dean Smith, on the other hand, can get away with anything because he can't be heard. Ryan doesn't have the most floridly beautiful  voice, but he uses it wisely. This Siegfried had authority. We could glimpse the genuine hero Siegfried might have become had he had the chance.

Kirill Petrenko conducted. Where Barenboim relished muscular energy, Petrenko went for clean lines and clarity, the energy purposefully contained. How wonderful it was to hear two very different interpretations only two days apart. Both valid, both authoritative. Wagner conducted with committment always gives us something to think about. Petrenko was specially good at defining the rumbling undercurrents that flow through this opera. The orchestra doesn't have as many "star turns", as in, say Götterdämmerung but it conveys atmosphere. Petrenko's textures suggested the density of rocky outcrops rising above a dense forest. Fafner feels overwhelmingly present, even though he doesn't actually appear until the second Act. He's breathing, ominously, while everyone else is busy singing, scrapping and posing riddles. A bit like Erda. Perhaps this sounds silly, but my dog, who hears opera all the time and usually ignores it, jumped up and paid attention when Fafner growled out of my PC. Staffies don't know what operas are "about" but they sure can recognize sounds!

Burkhard Ulrich's Mime wasn't quite as manically kinetic as the score might suggest, but he negotiated the twists and slithers in the part effectively. Trolls are dangerous when they don't look like trolls. Real life Mimes hide their treachery by sounding smooth.  Wolfgang Koch's Wanderer sang with slow-moving gravity. It can't have been more than 20 years since Wotan fought with Brünnhilde over Siegmund, but he's aged dramatically. Koch's Wanderer is fast becoming an Erda, too. Nadine Weissmann's Erda, by contrast, sounded refreshingly sprightly. Her sleep must be doing her good, and she doesn't want to be disturbed. Martin Winkler's Alberich was lively, taunting and tantalizing.

But the show revolved around Lance Ryan. Significantly, Wagner doesn't write the part in this opera for effusive emotion. That comes in Götterdämmerung when Siegfried has, more or less, grown up.   But while he's in the forest, he's still in fragments, like the sword. Mime splutters and splatters. Siegfried sings in brief bursts: a surly teenager ! Mime spars with the Wanderer and with Alberich  on equal grounds. Until Siegfried has forged the sword, he's no match for anyone. In this performance I was hugely impressed by the way Ryan transformed. With the wonky, out of tune horn warbles, Siegfried is taking his first baby steps so to speak. The Bayreuth horn player sounded surprisngly bluesy, intensifying the humour. Gradually Ryan's voice rises and fills out. Rich vibrato isn't his thing, but his sound rings clear and pure. No forcing or stutter this time. Ryan's Siegfried is  pristine, like the child of Nature he's portraying. Mirella Hagen's Waldvogel is a little shrill, but that only serves to highlight Siegfried's growing confidence. By the time Ryan confronts Fafner. he's fully formed, and Fafner's smart enough to notice. This time, when Siegfried meets Brünnhilde, he's most certainly the kind of man a Brünhilde might fancy, even if she's still half awake.  Now, both Siegfried and Brünnhilde are dazzled by the dawn and the glorious new prospects that await them. Catherine Foster sang a sweet, girlish Brünnhilde. She's the first English soprano to sing the part in Bayreuth (Susan Bullock has done it just about everywhere else). But Lance Ryan's Siegfried steals the show.

Sensational singing Götterdämmerung Barenboim Prom Wagner

With this phenomenal  Prom 20 Götterdämmerung, Daniel Barenboim's traverse through Wagner's Ring reached its culmination. After the Prom, Barenboim spoke of the "communion" this journey has brought to performers and to the audience. Barenboim and the Staatskapelle Berlin have upped the ante for all future performances with this ground-breaking interpretation. I will;never forget this experience. This Götterdämmerung felt like a historic moment.

 This  Götterdämmerung, was historic, too, because of the singers. Nina Stemme and Andreas Schager were making their high profile Proms debuts as Brünnhilde and Siegfried. Because the BBC Proms are broadcast internationally, there can be no greater exposure. But bear in mind, too, that that creates tremendous pressure. Nina Stemme is one of the greatest Isoldes of our time, and everyone was expecting miracles. Brünnhilde and Isolde may be sisters in spirit, but Brünnhilde is a very different prospect. She's a Valkyrie, a woman-warrior and the true hero of the entire Ring. On Brünnhilde all interpretations evolve. Stemme's Brünnhilde is feminine and surprisngly fragile. When she's led into the Hall of the Gibichungs, Stemme sings softly, showing how Brünnhilde is lost, for once, out of her depth ins a strange new environment. Stemme's Immolation Scene was magical. Standing in the organ loft, lit by ethereal light, Stemme delivered a performance that would put many others to shame. As the "flames" rose in the orchestra, Stemme expressed Brünnhilde's resolve and strength. Although Brünnhilde returns the ring to the Rhinemaidens and Valhalla and its values are destroyed, we can't really be sure what happens next. So no false sense of triumph, but rather valediction for what has passed. Stemme is still finding her way into the role, good as she was. One day, she'll be truly superb. We were hearing her Brünnhilde in germination, and have something good to remember.

The sensation of the evening was Andreas Schager. True Heldentenors are rare and a singer like this is rarer still. Schager's voice is full of natural colour and beauty, which he uses well, creating myriad nuances and shadings. His phrasing is intelligent, bringing out character and meaning.  In Wagner, it's not enough, ever, to sing words without meaning. Each time Schager sang, I felt that I was learning more about Siegfried than I'd fathomed before. Every  passage was individual, purposefully and beautifully expressed. Schager's voice is flexible, so he can do subtle changes of inflection without sacrificing line. He also has stamina. Though the part isn't a killer like that in Siegfried, it shouldn't pose problems. Schager has strong lungs but also strong technique. 

He can also act. He inhabits the part so intuitively that his body becomes an extension of his singing. His movements are instinctive and expressive.  Schager could not have had much coaching for the part since he only stepped into the Berlin production at short notice, and from what I've read, it was one devoid of Personenregie. When Schager moves, we remember that Siegfried grew up with animals in the forest, a true child of nature. Even when he dons a suit, Schager's agility suggests that the real Siegfried still lives within. The sheer joy and energy in Schager's singing makes us realize that, for Siegfried, everything is new and exciting. The interaction between Schager and Anna Samuil's Gutrune is fascinating. These two are natural partners, frisky and playful. If Siegfried had had a chance to grow up normally. he might have picked a Gutrune. Let's not forget, his love for Brünnhilde, though genuine, resulted from unusual circumstances. As even Brünnhilde sings, "Zu neuen Taten, teurer Helde, wie liebt' ich dich, ließ ich dich nicht?" The Journey Down the Rhine expresses the wonder of expansive new horizons. When Schager's Siegfried dies, it's like something in all of us dies, too.

Waltraud Meier, one of the great Kundrys, Isoldes and Sieglindes of all time, sang  Waltraute and the Second Norn.  Her dialogue with Stemme's Brünnhilde was touching. Waltraute acts as Brünnhilde's conscience. Her voice still carries authority. This Waltraute was no mere incident in proceedings, but a turning point, reminding Brünnhilde where her duty lay. 

Mikhail Petrenko's Hagen was intriguing, as original as Barenboim's approach to the opera itself. . Petrenko's voice is firm, but clear and bright for his fach.That's good, for it brings out Hagen's human qualities rather than a more "mythic" portrayal. Hagen's conflicted by his heritage. Alberich (Johannes Martin Kränzle) haunts him, but he's been brought up among the Gibichung.  Petrenko's consonants bite, suggesting inner pain. The relationship between Petrenko's Hagen and Schager's Siegfried is thus even more interesting, because they're both outsiders in an alien environment. Listen to the interaction between the voices. Petrenko listens and responds. He's not simply doing a star turn of his own.

Gerd Grochowski's Gunther felt fresh and modern too. The moments when Grochowski, Petrenko and Schager sang together were particularly impressive, each contributing something individual.The fervent cries of "Bruderschaft" are sincere. It's male bonding. Siegfried has never known what it's like to be in social situations. Growchowski's Gunther isn't weak, but an optimist. And Petrenko's sensitive, conflicted Hagen suggests that Hagen truly wants to be part of a group, at last. 

And the orchestra and conductor? I've run out of time, energy and superlatives.  Mark Berry will be reviewing this Prom for Opera Today. Read HERE.  

This Prom can be heard for 7 days on BBC I player. It will also be recorded. 

 Please also see my posts on the Proms Die Walkure, Siegfried and Tristan und Isolde .
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