The last opera in Stockhausen's Licht cycle to remain unperformed, Mittwoch received its belated world premiere on Wednesday. It would have been the composer's 84th birthday. Had he still been around, he would have performed the part he wrote for himself - compere of the notorious Helikopter-Streichquartett. That role was assigned instead to the cheesily effective ("Let's hear it for Stockhausen!") DJ Nihal, who rattled the chin-stroking fraternity by treating the whole thing as a Radio 1 Big Weekend with beards.
But with a comparatively modest budget (£1m, or so I understand; the ROH eats through nearly £2m a week), a disused factory and a huge corps of local volunteers, Vick has pulled an impressive performance into shape. He has respected Stockhausen's frequently bonkers stage directions - as far as reality permits anyway. But more importantly he has respected the spirit of the work, that unique mix of mysticism, logic and German humour that made earlier fans of the composer wonder if he had lost his marbles.
I knew it was going to work as soon as I saw this parked outside the entrance:
Here's one of its occupants:
The pair of camels weren't part of the opera (though there's a connection, hinted at in the photo below).
They were just there to entertain the guests...
......and provide dangerous photo opps for the local MP:
Inside the factory, the control desk was fully visible next to the entrance.
And we could also watch the Ex Cathedra singers getting made up for their Welt-Parlament section.
One end of the factory was set up with camping stools and a screen in each corner:
We sat there for the opening Gruß section.
The lights went out; the electronic music started. Speakers were placed around the room, high and low. The volume was turned up. We bathed in music.
Now and again a light would illuminate members of the local cast. These two ran up the wall:
We processed into another corner of the factory for the start of the opera proper, the Welt-Parlament....
....passing en route a man pouring yellow paint over his head:
Through the yellow light....
....and into the next room, where high chairs were ranged around the walls, surrounding an island of foam mats.
We sat on the floor while the choir sang acapella, a different flag painted on each face.
Like a real parliament, the singers take turns to 'speak' and 'answer' - or make party statements.
Another sun-like light to end the section:
After a break (more camel petting) we returned to the same room for the Orchester-Finalisten section.
The musicians swung above while the local cast made animal shapes beneath.
Each musician took a turn in the limelight, as if it was a multiple concerto.
The factory has a near-perfect acoustic - echoless, just resonant enough to provide depth. Sound engineering was brilliant throughout, the effect of being surrounded by music perfectly achieved.
These are paper birds on sticks:
Some of the musicians were supplanted by the silent cast during the piece.
Vick didn't impose a narrative, though you could create one if you wanted to.
We raced back into the other part of the factory for the time-sensitive string quartet. The apprehensive-looking bloke in the yellow vest is the viola player of the Elysian Quartet, before he went up:
A screen at each corner of the room showed the progress of the quartet. The music itself is uneventful, a sort of extended tremolo that mimics the sound of the helicopter's blades.
Afterwards, the quartet - and pilots - submitted to questioning:
Stockhausen's long-time associate Kathinka Pasveer took control of the final part, Michaelion:
And here's the camel connection. The panto favourite defecated glass orbs while the doughty musicians and singers tackled the very difficult music.
We adjourned into the other part of the factory for the Abschied, a repeat of previously-heard electronic music, while the cast offered drinks and answered questions in the dim yellow light.
Six hours after it started - the end of an extraordinary journey:
All photos intermezzo.typepad.com
More photos here
