L'Orfeo at the Barbican

28/09/13
Academy of Ancient Music

This "concert hall staging" of L'Orfeo was the first in a projected Monteverdi cycle that the Academy of Ancient Music plans to undertake over the next three seasons. Director Orpha Phelan updates the piece to the present day, the wedding guests marching down the isles of the stalls in preparation for what looks like a typical British wedding. Security guards stand around in the foyer and onstage, one of whom it turns out is conductor/musical director Richard Egarr who surprisingly takes his place at the harpsichord. As Orfeo awaits his bride Eurydice, who it seems is not that keen to marry Orfeo, it is announced that she has been killed by a snake, though it seemed here that she might actually have been in some way murdered. Orfeo is lead by a nurse (Speranza) to Eurydice cadaver on a mortuary bed, and is discouraged from staying by an angry doctor (Coronte). Orfeo's grief here becomes a sort of mad scene, where he merely imagines going to hell. John Mark Ainsley is extremely moving here as he casts around desperately looking for a way out of his predicament. After the interval we see that Orfeo has hit the bottle, and he makes a scene in front of the party guests - the madness has not yet subsided as he hallucinates images of his dead wife. One of the guests (Plutone) takes pity on him at the urging of his wife (Prosperina) by giving Orfeo more drink and dressing him. Orfeo's father (Apollo) intervenes, telling his son to get a grip and Orfeo listlessly returns to society.

This basically coherent retelling of the story is a clear attempt to remove any classical references or supernatural elements from L'Orfeo, but it's not clear what the audience gains from this. Much of the libretto is rendered bizarre by the new context and it takes a long time to get used to the fact that what the characters are singing is meant to be only an approximation of what they actually mean. I find this sort of production distancing and alienating because you can't rely on your normal expectations of where suspension of disbelief is and isn't required - in short you have relearn the rules of the theatre. Or to put it another way, the realist setting suggests a realist/non-supernatural interpretation of the text, but since that is not attempted here (references to supernatural elements are merely ignored), the dramatic effect is jarring for longer than is comfortable or surely intended. Caroline Hughes' design is simple but serves the idea perfectly well - her lighting is the best part of this and she manages to create a real sense of atmosphere in Act III's mortuary mad scene.

Musically things were much more convincing. John Mark Ainsley is a moving Orfeo, still extremely controlled and expressive, though the voice has lost some of it's former bloom and flexibility. I instantly recognised Katherine Manley's voice having been so impressed with her as Creusa in the ENO's Medea earlier this year. She once again revealed a gleaming, expressive full lyric soprano with an excellent technique in the roles of Prosperina and one of the Nymphs - I would love to hear her in more recent repertoire. Sophie Bevan is luxury casting in the small role of Eurydice. Daniela Lehner was good as La Musica and Speranza, particularly in her low register which has an attractive colour. Thomas Hobbs made a powerful Apollo, beautifully matching John Mark Ainsley in their Act V duet. The smaller roles were mostly excellently taken by the rest of the young cast, though Paul Gerimon was sounding a little choked in the usually fearsome role of Coronte.

Richard Egarr's direction of the Academy of Ancient Music orchestra is energetic and large scale, an approach announced in the magnificent opening fanfare which here didn't so much dance as march into action. The continuo accompaniment is tasteful and varied, if not quite as colourful as seems to be the fashion in some French baroque ensembles. Orchestral playing is unerringly excellent, supporting the singers as gracious equals and Egarr doesn't underline anything - the sighing beauty of the string and woodwind lines, and the blaring majesty of the brass is left to speak for itself.

DVD Review: L'incoronazione di Poppea 2008 Glyndebourne

Decca

Poppea: Danielle de Niese
Nerone: Alice Coote
Ottone: Iestyn Davies
Ottavia: Tamara Mumford
Seneca: Paolo Battaglia
Drusilla: Marie Arnet
Arnalta: Wolfgang Ablinger-Sperrhacke
Nutrice: Dominique Visse

Director: Robert Carsen
Set Designer: Michael Levine
Costume Designer: Constance Hoffman

Conductor: Emmanuelle Haim
Orchestra of the Age of Englightenment



This is a slightly odd production of Monteverdi's great masterpiece. Carsen gets his cue almost solely from the Prologue which sees Cupid victorious in an argument with Fortune and Virtue about who has the most power. Carsen makes it a play within a play of sorts - Cupid hijacks an already started production of some other parable, to present his own story in which love is shown to be the most important force in shaping the lives of the characters. Garbed in red velvet like the omnipresent red velvet curtains and sheets that feature in the production, Cupid is present as an invisible shaper of events for much of the rest of the opera. While it is true that this opera is eros obsessed, the minimalism of the setting and the stripping away of political and social context takes with it much of the piece's richness, subtlety and interest. It's clear from the opening that Nero's world is meant to be that of the Glyndebourne audience's and so the blanks are meant to be filled in by this audience reflection, but this common director's trick rarely comes off in my experience. All in all there's just so much more that this piece can offer.

But there are positives. This production does do the sex very well indeed - the arching eroticism of the scenes between Nero and Poppea is extraordinarily intense (though perhaps doesn't evolve as much as it could do.) and the visual aesthetic supports this luxuriant intimacy. I find Alice Coote to be an awkward stage presence, especially in trouser roles, but she sings gloriously here, with huge dynamic and timbral range. Danielle de Niese is a fascinating and gorgeous presence as Poppea, not just physically, but vocally too - she's really committed to communicating every syllable of the text. Her breathing is very rough here which sometimes interferes but it's not a major defect. Her Poppea is turned on by Nero the man as much as she is by power - like Nero, she is a creature of emotion, and as a result for her the two can't be separated - her ambition is in a sense innocent. Nero's character is given a disturbing darkness in the scene following Seneca's dispatch - a homosexual encounter at a drunken party devolves into a cold blooded murder: his power unchecked, it seems only extremes of emotion can please him. The ending is strong: Poppea envelops herself in her enormous regal gown, but cannot leave it behind despite Nero's promptings, and we see that without external obstacles they are already drifting apart. Famously of course, Nero killed her less than a year later (as everyone is keen to point out in the DVD extra), kicking her in the stomach when she was pregnant with their second child, so this ending is clearly intended as an early intimation of this rift.

Tamara Mumford as Ottavia reveals an absolutely gorgeous voice, and she's a touching actress too, even if her role in this production is more rich woman spurned, than empress wronged. I also very much liked Paolo Battaglia in lovely voice as Seneca, and Iestyn Davies as a gentle, boyish Ottone.

Possibly the greatest beauty of this production comes from the pit though - Emmanuelle Haim leads the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment in a ravishing account of this score, endlessly shaded through sensitively selected changes in instrumentation. This is possible largely due to the enormous cavalcade of continuo players (10 in all plus Haim at the harpsichord and organ!) and the orchestral support in the love scenes is particularly noteworthy, surely accounting for a major part of their spine tingling intensity. Probably best that you just experience for yourself:

L'Orfeo at Silent Opera

23/01/13
Trinity Bouy Wharf

I'm a Monteverdi fan. It's such compelling theatre and beautiful music that I wonder that he got so much right in an art form that basically didn't exist yet. As always, the surprising thing about genius is that it's surprising! L'Orfeo is his first attempt, and is opera's first masterpiece.

Director Daisy Evans and designer Katherine Heath have given the opera a fantasy treatment by setting it in a sort of sci fi future/past/alternate reality. Society in the fields of Thrace has descended into some sort of ultra decadent orgiastic paradise, where people move like panthers and have sex a lot, wearing either zany make up or slightly fetishistic flashing harnesses. Dionysus/Bacchus is in vogue. But ardent Orfeo and his beautiful and coquettish bride Euridice seem more adjusted in their radiant happiness, or at least more open to each other than the narcissism and hedonism that is the norm for the rest of society. But their happiness doesn't last, and Euridice is struck suddenly dead by lighting. Thus starts Orfeo's quest to save her. 

There are lots of nice touches, and some striking visual elements - the room of glass and candles that the mystic Caronte has made for himself, and the inverted church for Plutone, king of Hades. Nice too is the idea that the underworld characters speak Italian, contrasting with the the English language "overworld" translation that frames the central underworld episode. Other choices are less clear such as why Euridice is played by an actress (with offstage singing), or how Orfeo manages to get past the forbidding Caronte and slip into Hades.

After the abortive rescue attempt, it finishes in pure noise as voices shout and argue over whether to save him or damn him, and in an ending akin to the original libretto he is carried off by the demented denizens of the fields of Thrace we met previously (a less crapulent, more hipsterish version of the amusingly sinister female drunks "the Bacchantes" as in the original) where presumably he'll be torn to shreds by violence and lovemaking. No Deus ex Machina in sight!

The cast are uniformly very good, all young professionals of a high standard. The particular standout is William Berger's Orfeo with his powerful and easy tenor that he is able to smoothly fine down to a thread for more intimate moments. Of the rest, Emilie Renard was particularly engaged and communicative as the overwrought Messaggiera. The score for L'Orfeo is so open to interpretation that every production sounds radically different from every other one, so it's often difficult to compare performances. The instruments that Monteverdi lists at the beginning of the score (though doesn't mark directly onto the lines of music) offer occasion for such extreme colour and contrast, not to mention beauty, that I always want them to be as dramatically exploited as possible, but this was a gentler, more restrained sound picture than I am used to, partly live and partly pre recorded (specially) as it was. As is hinted at above, the translated libretto takes several liberties with the original text, but it flows well and sounds natural when sung.

Why is it called Silent Opera I hear you scream. Calm down. The idea is akin to a silent disco where sound is relayed to you via cordless headphones and there is no ambient noise in the room. Here, the main body of the orchestra is present only in your headphones. Singers sing live with mics and so they are also beamed into your ears, but also, the five (!) continuo players also play live and are added into the recorded mix. I actually removed my headphones for quite a lot of it, because the natural sound of the voices and instruments blending was much more pleasing than the direct headphone noise. I didn't really understand why we were using them at all - yes, it means you can have pre recorded orchestral tracks which makes opera much cheaper and is less space prohibitive, but why not just get some good speakers mounted on the ceiling to do the same job as the headphones? I didn't feel the technology was really being utilised for what it immediately suggests, which is an emancipation from being in one indoors location, and also from the architectural exigencies of satisfying acoustics. The quay has such stunning views that it seemed a shame not to have that sense of space and the infinite sky above us.

I realise it's early days (this is only Silent Opera's third production) and that they're still working out how best to use their idea, but I was just surprised that it was put to such limited and spurious use. The other problem is that it's often hard to see what's going on as most things happen at ground level and within touching distance of the audience, which are always several people deep. It's also in the round, so you only get to see the singers's faces for half of any scene, and sometimes not even that - I noticed lots of people's concentration flagging as we were sometimes physically denied the ability to stay engaged with the action. The exciting din of the final scene was strangely anticlimactic for about two thirds of the audience as it all occurred on the floor and most people couldn't see what was going on. Sort of basic stuff to go wrong, and even the director chose to stand on the staging to see what was happening.

Another small matter for grumbling. I'm not a huge fan of direct audience interaction, because apart from it being uninvited and invasive, by breaking the fourth wall it draws attention to the absurdity of the action and of operatic conventions; it also interrupts our suspended disbelief as we struggle with the annoyance of it and on a subconscious level in how we try to make sense of what it might mean that we are interacting with these strange characters. If we're meant to be part of the drama and feel actively involved, then why are we so inert and lacking in dramatic importance in the story? Are we encouraged to interfere with the action? If so then maybe we could have been told at the beginning. I can imagine some operas where it could work well (e.g. Otello Act 3, or Act 2 of La Boheme, where we could be complicit in the action) but here it seemed out of place, or at least requiring of a more creative solution. I understand that we needed to be ushered through to the different sections, but being compelled by our own brains to move because it was obvious that action was going on elsewhere and we were so keen to find out what was going to happen would have been more interesting and engaging than being pushed. It only takes a few to lead a herd!

Still, technological gripes aside, it's a fun evening of opera, with lovely moments and overall doesn't bore, though I wished it had been more adventurous and boundary pushing, like it claims to be in the advertising. Lots of the audience were young which is a good sign, and what's great is that they're getting the full operatic experience with full orchestra. I am certainly keen to see Silent Opera's next effort.

L'incoronazione di Poppea Royal College of Music

27/11/2012

Monteverdi's L'incoronazione di Poppea, his last and maybe greatest opera, does not give up its pleasures easily to many listeners, who might find it dry and unyielding compared to the rich musical glories of the late Baroque that we are far more used to, let alone the perfection of Mozart. But like many of the best things, hard won pleasures often end up being the dearest held of all, and Monteverdi offers things which no other composer does. The psychological intensity and commitment to truth is staggering in this work, as is its eschewal of pat conclusions and plot devices for the sake of symmetry and the audience's peace of mind. Unlike the lunacy of many (if not most) 18th century opera plots of a century later, the wonderful libretto is conversational, psychologically driven, nonrepeating and therefore very fast paced, and Monteverdi matches every word with music of the same tone - intense, through composed, intimate and subtle. Nothing is illogical, farfetched, illconsidered or extraneous, though simultaneously almost no aspect of the human condition seems to be left untouched. (One passage that struck me quite forcefully this time, was a proto "Marschallin's Monologue" about ageing and the mystery of time's passing, all condensed into about 3 minutes). A cliché now to say it, but Monteverdi feels very modern.

Matthew Ward as Arnalta

Director James Conway's carefully considered production updates the action to communist Russia under Stalin. The depressing terracotta bunker like living quarters that the characters inhabit are claustrophobic and devoid of beauty or softness, representing the spiritual barrenness of the people in power in the opera, and the oppression of those that are forced to live in such close proximity with them. The capricious violence of the plot has its obvious parallels in the regime. Poppea is just a child out of her depth, not an innocent certainly - she knows what she wants and how to get it - but she's not aware of what she means to other people. Nerone is older and Poppea is initially attracted to his powerful masculinity, but he's also impulsive and quick to anger like a child. Conway is very good at presenting the characters as complex creations, always revealed in little details of characterisation so that none seem fully good or bad, no one is truly innocent or truly evil. This I feel is just the approach that is appropriate with L'incoronazione di Poppea, as we are never dealing with archetypes or characters that are merely channels for emotions "taken off the shelf".

Katherine Crompton and Annie
Frederiksson as Poppea and Nerone

Reviews are nothing if not personal, and there was a niggling doubt in my mind as I sat through this, that may be very personal, but I think is nonetheless valid. One of my strongest intuitions about opera (and one that is hardest to talk about, and most often ignored) is that what is going on visually and intellectually on stage needs to match the tenor of the music.The problem I have with this production is that the setting just "feels" wrong for the music - this music is intimate, small scale, understated, made of a thousand details of texture and mood. There's never any feel of some massive edifice in the background, some underlying terror, false jollity and mechanised violence, where emotion is secret and the emotional surface of society is ironed out. Everything is immediate, the characters are very much their own people unbridled by ideology or "the right thought". There's no communism in this music! That's glib, but I hope I make myself at least partially clear. People will disagree with me here no doubt, but it was something that struck me rather strongly, so I thought I'd mention it.

Any performance of Monteverdi is going to contain a lot of interpretation due to the choices that the folios force upon the performers. Here, the lack of any sustaining instruments in the continuo was a real problem - we had a triple harp, a theorbo and a harpsichord which provided constantly shifting, beautifully evanescent textures but didn't feel fully supportive to the singers or harmony. Much of the music felt a little dessicated as a result, despite moments of compelling intimacy. The string sound was a little thin, though the odd rambunctiousness of the harmony in the more festive elements of the score were nicely brought out, especially by the recorders.

Katherine Crompton

Katherine Crompton seemed a bit out of sorts as Poppea, not fully sustaining her lines, and struggling with intonation in the mercilessly exposed vocal writing. More assured was Annie Fredriksson as Nerone whose slightly brittle mezzo seemed ideal as the impetuous Nerone. High notes could be a bit disconnected from the rest of the line, but this was a fine piece of vocal characterisation and she acted the part well too. Fiona Mackenzie was a strong Ottavia, already doing expressive things and managing her wonderful music admirably, and I think she is capable of going much further. Angela Simkin in the small role of Nutrice her nurse handled the very low tessitura of her role very well and Hannah Sondison revealed a very attractive bright mezzo, also blessed with accurate execution.

David Hansford made a noble Seneca with a bass voice of impressive depth and alacrity. Tenor Matthew Ward played Arnalta, Poppea's nurse, a delightful piece of comedy casting, and in this setting she becomes a sort of Babushka figure. I kept thinking I was listening to a Marilyn Horne-alike singing in that ultra chest register she had - that is to say that despite the sillyness of it, I still found Arnalta a convincing woman! Bradley Travis gave a touching portrayal of Ottone and Peter Kirk revealed a gorgeous young lyric tenor which made one wish he had a larger part than just Lucano. I instantly recognised Vasili Karpiak's voice again with its throbbing Italianate legato from last term's Figaro - he didn't sound at all incongruent here, and was excellent casting in contrast to the more clipped tones of his fellow soldier Michael Buchard.


Just found this whilst rooting around Youtube which is absolutely stupendous: