opera reviews
alexandra.coghlan

In 1860 Wagner sent a full score of his recently published Tristan und Isolde to Berlioz, inscribing it: “To the great and dear composer of Roméo et Juliette, from the grateful composer of Tristan und Isolde.” The bonds between these two works go far beyond emotion, as last night’s inspired piece of programming from Simon Rattle and the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment proved. A phalanx of nine double basses watching over the swollen orchestral forces of the OAE set the tone for an evening whose “authenticity” was anything but dusty.

Six years after their triumphant Rhinegold, the unexpected partnership of Rattle, the OAE and Wagner have returned to the Proms, this time taking on the even greater challenge of a period Tristan – albeit only Act Two. Spanning the lovers’ move from private uncertainty to fully declared (and unwittingly public) ardour, this act has a sense of intimate detachment from the rest of the opera. Framed at the beginning and end by the receding calls of the royal hunting horns and the sudden return of King Mark, the central section sees even the faithful Brangäne melt away, leaving the two lovers alone to reach musically towards the purest expression of Wagner’s “true happiness of love”.

It’s a section that makes sense as an excerpt, but demands much from singers, denied the aid either of sets or the dramatic build-up to such intensity. Leading the way was Violeta Urmana’s Isolde, whose tone is so perfectly produced as to bypass the forceful, big clichés of Wagner singing, even in a space like the Royal Albert Hall. With a purity that sits well with this determined young heroine, she captured both the expansive lines and single-minded focus of Isolde, coming into her expressive own in the charged opening discussion with Brangäne.

It was lovely to see baroque darling Sarah Connolly, more often heard performing the likes of Handel with the OAE, making the transition along with the orchestra into this wildly different repertoire. Her Brangäne was ripe with gorgeous tone colours, particularly the Watchsong, her position at the back of the Choir lending it a dramatic potency matched only during the evening by Franz-Josef Selig’s heartbreaking “Mir dies?” – surely the most welcome of musical interruptions. Gravely noble and surprisingly well projected, his King Mark was a late star of the evening, taking the pressure off the massively over-faced and struggling Ben Heppner.

I’ve never had the pleasure of hearing Heppner in good voice, and while I’m sure accounts of his vocal and dramatic capabilities are true, the fact remains that his notoriously troubled voice is letting him down more often than not these days. When he doesn’t actually pull out of a project he frequently sounds as though he should have, and last night was no exception. It never bodes well when a tenor is cracking and straining within the first 10 minutes of Tristan, and vocal (not to mention dramatic) suicide to attempt to carry on regardless.

Translucent and flexible, the “authentic” interpretation was so musically convincing as to overcome its novelty.

Carry on Heppner did, however, with a gripped tone and adolescent hope-and-a-prayer approach to top notes that simply weren’t on offer. The whole experience, far from transcendent and pure emotion, was one that left the audience nervously anticipating the next crash. Credit must go to Urmana, who staunchly continued to emote despite the intonation issues next to her, and the fact that Heppner was giving her all the dramatic impetus of a tea cosy. Heaven help next year’s Covent Garden Peter Grimes.

Translucent and flexible, the “authentic” interpretation of Rattle and the OAE was so musically convincing as to overcome its novelty. The sharper than baroque, less sharp than contemporary concert pitch of A=437 took a little getting used to, but together with German instruments brought a darker timbre to proceedings that was particularly striking after the bright French textures of the Berlioz.

I can’t help feeling that with his love of technical innovation and excess Wagner would have welcomed the greater brute force of the contemporary orchestra, but the clearly defined textures of the period interpretation made sense of his multi-layered motivic writing, drawing the eye more frequently beneath the dense surface of massed strings. And you can’t argue with the bluntly atmospheric impact of five single F horns – an absolute joy.

With his prologue of Romeo et Juliette, Rattle placed the Wagner in context both musically and texturally. Providing a different period sound for this work (using instruments made to the French model familiar to Berlioz), the orchestra showcased the expressive range of an approach that goes beyond mere academic curiosity.

With contemporary-instrument Rattle still to come at this year’s Proms, the OAE have laid down a colourful, many-textured gauntlet for the Wagner of unlikeliest of competitors, the Berlin Philharmonic.

David Nice

They're having a laugh at Holland Park, surely: offering 700 pay-what-you-like tickets to hook newcomers on the wonderful world of opera, and then serving up a Pythonesque staging of an immoveable Italian dinosaur.

edward.seckerson
Alice Coote and Lydia Teuscher in Cardboard City

Glyndebourne’s Hänsel und Gretel comes in a large cardboard box, with plain brown wrapper, duct-tape and a barcode. There’s a public health warning, too: sugar and spice and all things nice come at a price. The evil witch Rosina Sweet-Tooth is nothing more, nothing less than rabid consumerism masquerading as a smart lady in a pink two-piece suit. Yes, Laurent Pelly’s 2008 staging was/ is the first environmentally aware Humperdinck. It had to come. For revival read recycle.

igor.toronyilalic

First to crane his head anxiously in Plácido Domingo's direction was the leader of the Royal Opera House orchestra, Peter Manning. Then came an agitated look from conductor Antonio Pappano. Soprano Marina Poplavskaya clutched Domingo's chest as if to feel for a heart beat. "Is he ok?" we all mouthed. We had just seen Domingo slam his wizened Simon Boccanegra to the ground, dead. The music had rumbled to a close. The Prommers' applause had erupted. Yet, Domingo had remained grounded, motionless, eyes closed, face perhaps growing paler. As were ours. Was, er, Domingo, er, dead?

David Nice

Two birthday parties kept me away from the Albert Hall yesterday (though I'll confess that in the end I treacherously skipped the second and stayed glued to the TV's delayed relay). That, and a slight fear that the concert performance of Wagner's Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg from the BBC Proms couldn't match up to the original Welsh National Opera production of the decade.

igor.toronyilalic

It's tough being a critic.

Ismene Brown

Of course she isn't now the watchful, learning 29-year-old who premiered Covent Garden’s opulent, sensually loaded production in 1995, but Gheorghiu’s varicoloured voice - a rainbow of tears, sobs, scoops, warbling runs and top notes that seem to rack her body with pain - has if anything added more colours since then (including a less fetching jeune-fille timbre in the middle that sounds as if it’s hiding a problem).

David Nice
John Adams thinks his and poet June Jordan's fantasia on love in a time of earthquake flopped at its 1995 Berkeley premiere for two main reasons. The characters - three blacks, two whites, a Hispanic and an Asian - were deemed too self-consciously multiculti: odd when America knew that was just how LA was then, even more so than Stratford East today (for once, the audience reflected the cast in this co-production with the Barbican). And Adams was shocked to find the pop and classical worlds so rigidly defensive. I've spoken to plenty of folk who hate the piece, trapped as they are behind the barriers its 24 vernacular numbers try to break down. Yet it seemed no problem for anyone in the theatre last night, chiefly because the ensemble of seven brilliant young singer-actors was totally on top of their tricky music. They'll never have to master anything as complex again, so they have every reason to be proud.
David Nice

The first time I saw David McVicar's production of Strauss's hypersensuous shocker, I gaped in horrified wonder at the Pasolini Salò-style mise en scène but didn't find the action within it fully realised. When it came out on DVD, the close-ups won greater respect but there was still the problem of Nadja Michael's singing, hardly a note in true. Now it returns with Angela Denoke, an even more compelling actress with a far healthier soprano voice.

David Nice

With several replicas of Mozart's libertine stalking the country this summer, there had to be a good reason for seeking him out in the cinema. I had two. One was a curiosity to see how the TV channel Arte and the French Institute in South Kensington would handle a medium so successfully exploited around the world by New York's Metropolitan Opera.