L'incoronazione di Poppea - Teatro Real Madrid, 24 May 2010
You don't expect singing of subtlety and elegance from Danielle de Niese and, unsurprisingly, you don't get it here. But you can practically see the steam rising from her squirming, panting Poppea. No-one is going to topple De Niese from her perch as the reigning queen of baroque sluts any time soon. She dominates the stage every time she steps on it.
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Prom 18: The Coronation of Poppaea - Glyndebourne Festival Opera - Royal Albert Hall, 18 July 2008
Having decided I'd rather spend four hours in a comfy(ish) seat with a decent view than straining my stilettos to peer through the crowd, I forked out £21 for a choir stalls seat, behind the stage. This isn't always a great place to sit for big orchestral concerts, right on top of timps and tubas which can drown out every other sound.
But for this semi-staged performance of Monteverdi's Coronation of Poppaea (yes, the English title despite being sung in Italian) I ended up mere inches from the action, and what's more, the orchestra were behind the singers. The best seats in the house? For one night only, possibly.
Robert Carsen's original Glyndebourne staging was swagged top to toe in red velvet. The Royal Albert Hall couldn't quite stretch to that, so instead we got a few draped objects scattered strategically around the stage >>>>>
Normally when Glyndebourne visits the Proms, it brings a full sized orchestra with it, so the singers end up squeezed on to a sort of landing strip in the middle.
But with the 20-odd musicians of Emmanuelle Haïm's tiny band shoehorned on to the front of the stage, there was plenty of space left for what turned out to be one of the most complete operatic stagings I've seen at the Proms, not much 'semi' about it at all.
It opened with a cringemaking and redundant bit of comedy 'business': Virtue (got up as a nun see left) and Fortune (glamorously evening-gowned) arguing in the front row of the Arena - from where they were invisible and inaudible to most of the audience (except us lot in the choir, nah). Did the director not realise the audience would be standing?
Equally irritating was the way Cupid - written into only a couple of scenes - loitered around the stage throughout like a wasp at a picnic. It may have made sense in the Glyndebourne staging, but it didn't transfer to the Proms. I shall now remember Amy Freston for her annoying arrow-waving intrusion rather than her brief but excellent singing.
Emmanuelle Haïm directed the pared-down Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment from the keyboard, in thinly-scored, unfussy and beautifully translucent arrangements.
Although she'd trimmed the score here and there, only one full scene was sacrificed. I wished she'd pruned more ruthlessly - or at least upped the consistently stately pace here and there. It was a hot fuggy night, half the audience hadn't heard of deodorant, and there there several moments I just wanted her to get on with it.
Vocally, the main draw was Alice Coote, and she didn't disappoint as the coolly psychopathic Nero, a butcher in a dinner suit. An opaque and less intense performance than Coote often gives, but just as enthralling.
Danielle de Niese made a surprisingly good job of Poppea, given that her career seems to be headed down the Katherine Jenkins route.
While her idea of acting secksy is as subtle as a stag party strippergram, the voice had more colour and gleam than previous exposure had suggested. As she pouted and squirmed and ground her sturdy thighs into the prone Nero, the difference between the two performances became painfully obvious though. Coote wants you to believe in her, utterly; De Niese just wants to be admired. Poppea is more than a firecrotched party girl; she's a schemer who uses her body as a tool to pursue her broader ambitions. De Niese's dramatic skills didn't stretch this far. But otherwise, the role didn't tax her limitations, and she was one of the best things about the evening.
Iestyn Davies sang Ottone with remarkably secure tone and excellent projection - definitely one of the few countertenors with the ability to fill a space the size of the Royal Albert Hall. He bravely sidestepped a cheap laugh, and didn't allow the female disguise he sported for Poppea's attempted murder to overshadow the implications of this desperate act.
Just as well really, because there were men in frocks to spare. Though neither could resist dipping into mannerism, some of the best vocal performances came from the character singers Wolfgang Ablinger-Sperrhacke as the Queen Motherly Amalta and Dominique Visse as the Mrs T-like Nurse.
Tamara Mumford as a Nepregko-lookalike Octavia and Marie Arnet as Drusilla also gave able performances, and only Paolo Battaglia's desiccated and uncomfortable-looking/sounding Seneca really disappointed. Cruelly costumed in a thick tweed suit, he must have been envious of the many other characters given dramatic licence to cavort in their underpants on this steamy night. Nero's, Ottone's, Amalta's, Lucan's - we saw 'em all.
The only evidence of airconditioning was the noise it made, like hobnailed elves dancing in the pipes. Now that's one area where the Arena really does score - for some reason it's noticeably cooler than the seated areas on the hottest days.
Listen to the whole concert for the next 7 days on Radio 3 here.
A few reverse-angle photos - the only real disadvantage of the choir seats:
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On present form, English National Opera may be cr@p at, er, opera, but they retain a peerless genius for looking on the bright side, as the surgically enhanced press reviews on the publicity blurb for their dreary Coronation of Poppea demonstrate:
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What THE STAGE said: 'Kate Royal shines vocally as Poppea, though spends too much of the evening awkwardly placed on a high platform in Walt Spangler’s unimaginative set.'
What ENO heard: 'Kate Royal shines vocally as Poppea.'
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What ENO heard: 'ENO has pulled together a strong cast including Lucy Crowe and Tim Mead, elegantly conducted from the harpsichord by Laurence Cummings.'
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What THE FINANCIAL TIMES said: 'The entire show is an empty conceit that confirms Chen as an adherent of the Robert Wilson school of direction: one style fits all. Pity the poor cast. A few of the singers summon enough voice and personality to shake up Chen’s dumb-show: step forward Robert Lloyd’s charismatic Seneca and Lucy Crowe’s Drusilla, a performance of real vocal edge.'
What ENO heard: 'Robert Lloyd's charismatic Seneca and Lucy Crowe's Drusilla, a performance of real vocal edge.'
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What ENO heard: 'Doreen Curran's Ottavia and Anna Grevelius's Nero were sung with elegance and feeling.'
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The Coronation of Poppea - ENO, 18 October 2007
It came as no surprise that there were a few boos for director Chen Shi-Zheng after tonight's premiere of his new English-language production of Monteverdi's L'Incoronazione Di Poppea. (None of them I hope from his recent Monkey: Journey to the West collaborators Damon Albarn and Jamie Hewett, in the audience along with Anthony Minghella.) The staging, however beautiful in places, often distracts from the music, and characterisation is elusive.
The splashy cartoon colour, the twirling Indonesian dancers, the PVC costumery are all familiar from Chen's ENO Orfeo last year. Does he see the two as some sort of 17th century Ring Cycle, or is he simply out of ideas? His fairytale approach fitted Orfeo's mythical world more readily than Poppea's prosaic wife/mistress conflict. More fundamentally, he simply didn't tell the story. The acid test of any production is whether you'd understand roughly what was going on if you didn't have the words - for this one it would be some feat.
Using only the simplest of elements on stage - back projected images and a raised ship's prow for the first act that tipped over to become a staircase in the second, the production relied heavily on its sweetie-wrapper costumes and spectacular dancers for visual effect.
At least Chen is a SpongeBob SquarePants fan -- the glamour of gleaming PVC and shimmering haberdashery was comically compromised by Empress Ottavia's mobile sea urchin throne and a completely inexplicable radio controlled neon snail -- and more elegantly interrupted by a sort of seafood ballet.
Laurence Cummings' musical direction, best in the vibrant multi-harpsichord continuo, was sensibly boosted to fill the cavernous Coliseum, but retained a respect for Monteverdi's timbres with gut strings and period bows and trumpets. That it lacked much light and shade was largely down to the need to keep it audible in a space this size.
Robert Lloyd's grave and resonant Seneca (right), by some distance the most fully realised portrayal on stage, stood apart from the froth and spectacle in his sober suit -- his suicide was the only point at which I came close to caring about any of the characters.
Kate Royal, in the central role of Poppea, had some great frocks, and like most of the female cast, some gratuitous underwear displays too. But I was never certain who she was supposed to be -- an ambitious schemer, a lovelorn mistress, or just eyecandy. And their position way above the stage in the first act lost both Royal and Nerone (Anna Grevelius) too much vocal resonance.
Baby Spice lookalike Lucy Crowe (left) proved a comic gem as neglected but faithful girlfriend Drusilla. Gamely clad in American Apparel undercrackers and a cellophane dress, her lush soprano journeyed from sparkling wit to touching pathos with equal brilliance.
The smaller parts were unusually well filled in this production. Brad Cooper, credited in the programme but not on the ENO website for some reason, displayed a sensational high tenor in the tiny role of Seneca's friend -- I hope ENO can find him something more substantial to do in the future.
In the end though, Christopher Gillett in his cross dressed and brilliantly camped up portrayal of Poppea's nurse Arnalta (below right) may be the lingering image of this unfocussed production.
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Alfred Brendel - Usher Hall, Edinburgh, 15 August 2007
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Concerto Italiano, Greyfriars Kirk, Edinburgh, 15 August 2007
Edinburgh International Festival
Haydn Piano Sonata in C minor, Hob.XVI/20
Beethoven Piano Sonata in A flat, Op.110
Schubert 4 Impromptus, D.935 - No.1 in F minor; No.3 in B flat major
Mozart Piano Sonata in C minor, K.457
Alfred Brendel stuck with the familiar tonight, repeating a programme he's played elsewhere this year, including the Royal Festival Hall a couple of months ago. But, never one to set his interpretations in stone, tonight he re-cast every single piece. If there was any overriding theme, it was slow tempi and big finales.
His Haydn C Minor Sonata moved from a spirited, crisply phrased allegro through a dreamy, meditative slow movement to a brisk and surprisingly light-hearted conclusion. Brendel underlined its prescient romantic flavour with subtle inflexions of pace and dynamics.
The front end of the Beethoven sonata which followed has an austere simplicity that doesn't invite ready engagement. Brendel didn't really catch my attention here until he unleashed the explosive finale.
The first of his two Schubert Impromptus was taken bizarrely slowly, with an even-handed balance that largely obscured its melodic impact. And did he retake some da capos, or was it just the pace that made it seem so long? His second Impromptu was framed more conventionally, apart from some hyperextended rubato towards the end, with a strongly delineated contrast between its variations. His ability to mint a fresh perspective at this stage of his career is inspiring, even if the results were rather mixed.
His closing Mozart sonata had colour and intensity and another almost recklessly bold finale.
The swiftly taken encore, the No.2 A flat major Impromptu from Schubert's D.935 set drew out a more conventional interpretation from Brendel than the earlier pair, marked with a gracefully smooth phrasing.
Brendel appeared rather more sprightly physically than he has been of late, and I gather that, true to form, he's been checking out everyone else's concerts while he's been in Edinburgh.
Earlier in the evening, I hit one of the Monteverdi Madrigals concerts that Concerto Italiano have been performing all this week in Greyfriars Kirk. This music is a joy to perform, but can be rather more effortful to listen to for song after song. However Concerto Italiano's Monteverdi recordings escape the pallid wash of sound more often heard in this repertoire, largely because of the variety of vocal timbres amongst the ensemble. Each part is vibrantly characterised; it's hard to find it dull.
Unfortunately in tonight's performance one of the sopranos was rather too individual. Out of tune and far too loud (I am charitably assuming a cold here), she trampled over the more refined efforts of the rest of the ensemble. Trapped mid-pew, I suffered this ear-rape for almost an hour until they finally wound up. The perfect excuse for hitting Gerry's of Grassmaket to seek consolation in a quarter of Soor Plums and Horehound Rock:
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Monteverdi's L'Orfeo - Edinburgh Festival Theatre, 13 August 2007
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Jordi Savall - Queen's Hall, Edinburgh, 13 August 2007
Edinburgh International Festival
One of the reasons I suspect Monteverdi's L'Orfeo has lasted 400 years is its resilience to interpretation. It's musically strong, dramatically simple, and many approaches can work. What Jordi Savall and Gilbert Deflo did with this one was to make it as close to the original 17th century experience as possible. (Fugly Edwardian theatre, surtitles, billion watt spotlights, etc aside of course.)
The small orchestra, Le Concert des Nations, was packed with period instruments. The musicians, in a shallow pit, were dressed in period costume right down to their shoes. Most impressive of all was conductor Jordi Savall himself, tall, grave and bearded. When the orchestra's on display, why not make it part of the show?
The staging itself, intentionally old-fashioned, framed the action in simple flat board sets and a minimum of gesture and movement. The costumes were simple and beautiful, fortuny-pleated gowns in Botticelli shades all round, the carefully selected colours denoting each character.
It was closer to Robert Wilson's spare mannered style more than a typical 'period' production. Especially as it wasn't in slavish thrall to the past - a couple of effective anachronisms were the lavish dry ice that formed the fires of Hades and the silvery mirrored balloon-skin panels that served as opening and closing curtain. You can't really see it in this pic, but the panels rippled and trembled like a pool of water, v.21st C:
The musical side of the performance was more of a mixed bag. Furio Zanasi was a commanding and dignified Orfeo who could have slotted into any production of this opera. Others had problems of intonation, projection and tone here and there. And the period instruments used, by their very nature, render a variety of timbres rather than an immaculate monolithic sound. But although enthusiasm was more to the fore than clipped precision, it was by no means a disaster, and in some ways seemed an appropriate effect for this rather intimate production.
Earlier in the day I saw more Jordi Savall, this time his solo viola da gamba recital at the Queen's Hall.
When Jordi Savall wanted to learn the viola da gamba in the 1960's, it was so obscure he initially had to teach himself. The fact that it's no longer a novelty is largely down to his efforts. In this programme, as much as showcase for the instrument itself as for the performer, he showed just how many different ways the viola da gamba can be played.
A Bach cello Bourée re-arranged for pizzicato viola da gamba by Savall himself displayed the instrument's resonant, guitar-like tone. In Tobias Hume's Musicall Humours he reproduced a drum sound with left hand pizzicato. Needless to say the virtuosity required to pull all this off was staggering.
The recital ended with a suite of pieces in 'bagpipe' tuning, where the middle two strings are tuned an octave apart and act like bagpipe drones. Savall explained that these pieces had come down to us only in tablature, so it wasn't really clear how they'd been played originally. He'd reconstructed them after studying traditional music from places like Ireland and Norway. Again, a stunning display of virtuosity, and yet another completely different range of sounds pulled from this one seemingly simple instrument.
Afterwards I felt like rushing out to buy a viola da gamba, but instead I ducked out of the rain into Fabhatrix in Grassmarket, birthplace of some loud but functional crafty-style felt hats, perfect for the unpredictable Edinburgh weather, and what's more, made of eco-friendly recycled fabrics.
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Tomorrow I'm off to Edinburgh, where this year's international festival is loosely themed around Monteverdi's L'Orfeo, celebrating its 400th birthday. I'll be hitting the Jordi Savall-produced opera itself and some of Concerto Italiano's Monteverdi Madrigals. Not to mention Jordi Savall's solo viola da gamba recital (if I can get up in time). Savall sidesteps slavish reproduction in favour of spontaneity, so I'm looking forward to these.
Tuesday's soirée française offers a rare tenor rendition of Berlioz's Les nuits d’été from Toby Spence, plus a chance to re-evaluate the Three Studies after Couperin by Thomas Adès premiered earlier this year in London.
Sadly I'm not staying around for long enough to catch the Tiger Lillies Monteverdi tribute concert on 25 August. No news yet on exactly what they're going to do, but armed with their habitual countertenor, musical saw and toy drumkit I'm guessing they won't be drafting in Nikolaus Harnoncourt to conduct.
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