Intermezzo

Die tote Stadt dies a slow death at Covent Garden

Die tote Stadt - Royal Opera House, 27 January 2009

I'd been looking forward to this premiere. 90 years after it was written, 5 years after this particular production premiered in Salzburg (hay, even scenery-applauding San Francisco got there first), the Royal Opera House finally took the plunge and brought us Die tote Stadt for the very first time.

And though it wasn't a horrendous disaster - far from it - there were some major disappointments all round.

Firstly the production itself. Willy Decker's manic off-kilter dreamworld (rehearsal pics here) is immaculately realised. But  I saw this production in Vienna last year, and his bold surrealistic tableaux had far less impact the second time round. Once you know what to expect, the illusion of a waking dream where anything is possible starts to crumble. The images are still striking, but the whole is less convincing.

There were many good things about Ingo Metzmacher's conducting. The Royal Opera House orchestra were immaculately prepared, the sound light and translucent. The singers could be heard above the dense orchestration (not something that could be said about Philippe Auguin's Viennese efforts), details came across clearly, even quieter instruments like the celesta had room to breathe. Caesuras were brilliantly placed and literally breathtaking. The rare shards of modernism spiking the lush romanticism were shaped to shock.

But this music needs passion and abandon. It should teeter on the brink of over-the-topness. Without that, it sinks into slush with every tonal chord. And it seemed Ingo Metzmacher didn't believe in the music quite strongly enough to push that extra inch.

Not a charge you could level at Stephen Gould. Paul is on stage the whole time, mostly singing at the top of his range over a big orchestra. Not an easy part then, but he gave a committed and energetic performance, choppy at first, but vastly improved by the end.

And a big plus - he has an indefinable likeability that eludes most heldentenors. He's a big beefy guy with a voice to match - but  - it's big but time (heheh) - it's a voice that needs a sword in the hand to convince. For all its technical demands, Paul is a romantic role not a heroic one, and Stephen Gould never quite tugged on the heartstrings.

Nadja Michael, flinging her long limbs this way and that, certainly looked the glamorous part of Marie/Marietta, and in the comfortable centre of her range, her voice has the sort of steely power that removes limescale without scrubbing. But it's about as alluring as Harriet Harman however much her looks say otherwise - a less beguiling Glück, das mir verblieb is hard to imagine. Up top, where much of the role sits, she thins out and slips below the the note in a truly excruciating fashion, and for bonus ouch points, she has a couple of scarily blokey Amanda Lear notes at the bottom.

Step forward saviour of the evening, Gerald Finley, whose Frank/Fritz was quite perfect in every way. Noble as Frank, admirably deranged as Fritz, he provided a much-needed dose of humanity. And although Brigitta is not a large part, Kathleen Wilkinson made it her own with her endearingly fussy solicitude.

It was a surprise to see a near-full house - Covent Garden audiences are usually wary of anything new - but the muted applause said it all. An opportunity missed.

 

        

 

Salome at the Royal Opera House - pay half the price, watch half the show

Salome - Royal Opera House, 29 February 2008

The main problem I had with last week's premiere of Salome at Covent Garden (see here for more) wasn't so much the production itself - it was just that I couldn't see half the bleeding thing. From high up in the cheap amphitheatre seats, the top half of the split-level set was invisible. But thanks to a kindly benefactor I was able to give it another try, this time from centre stalls.

What a difference. Unfortunately for anyone in the cheap seats, those missing few feet of stage space really are critical. What's up there is simply a tableau, a lavish dinner party where sumptuously dressed guests slump drinking and idly passing round a barely-dressed woman to be fondled like a pet. But its casual debauchery emphasised the debasement in the basement, that the grimy bath house/kitchen on the lower level is an inevitable consequence of the decadence above.

The other difference was Thomas Moser. His first night absence due to illness meant that the part of Herod was taken over by Robin Leggate - a competent but by no means stunning performance. Back in the show and on form, Moser's imposing bulk and natural charisma gave Herod the regal presence so missed in Leggate's interpretation, while his sweaty unshaven leer hinted at depravity.

He brought some balance to a production otherwise dominated by Michael Volle's towering Jokanaan, and made a more credible partner for Michaela Schuster's blowsy Herodias than the trim Leggate did. And the detail in his performance hinted exquisitely at Herod's perversity, as he kissed the dead Narraboth, recollecting his handsomeness, or fed a servant boy with his fingers. Volle aside, there was something cold and disengaging about the first night's spectacle, and in retrospect, I think it was the absence of Moser. Not only because his own performance was superb, but because he allowed the other singers to respond in kind and give their best.

And musical standards generally were higher than they had been on the first night, with Phillipe Jordan taking a bolder view, and a lot more polish from the orchestra.

Just a shame that only those with £110 tickets could appreciate it in full.

Nadja Michael

Nadja Michael again

Philippe Jordan

Michael Volle

Thomas Moser

Michaela Schuster

Joseph Kaiser and Daniela Sindram

Adrian Thompson, Martyn Hill and Hubert Francis

Philippe Jordan

Covent Garden unveils new Salome

Salome - Royal Opera House, 21 February 2008

I feel short changed. The Royal Opera House promised 'scenes of nudity and violence'  in their new Salome. A couple of topless extras loll about at the start as if they're waiting for a bra fitting. And when the beefcake executioner emerges at the end with the head of John the Baptist, he's coated in the prophet's blood and absolutely nothing else, a gory birth/death. But that's it, secks'n'violence-wise. Not even a glimpse of Salome in the celebrated seven veils dance - when she drops her frock, it's only to reveal a sensible granny slip underneath.

There are shocks in this production alright, but not the sort that will necessarily gratify the 'topless opera' googlers (and believe me there are plenty around). With a nod to Pasolini's Salò, it's placed in a huge and grubby tiled basement, wine racks one end, urinals the other. Nice. The setting is '30's Italy or something similar. Herod and his guests are in tired looking evening wear, the ladies in jewelled satin gowns. It's an environment so decadent that anything goes, everything is acceptable. Uniformed soldiers loiter and grope barely-dressed women. Immaculate servants tend silently to all needs. No-one really notices or cares when Narraboth neatly kills himself. Salome is not so much the wilful slut as the pitiable product of a fatally corrupted society and (strongly implied) child abuse. Her dance for Herod is played as a series of sick fantasies/games - or maybe a dream sequence of hazily recollections, it's hard to tell. Fatalism is her guide, not sensuality. Her death is inevitable. 

OK, so that's the clever bit of this production. On the dumb side, David McVicar has given his set an upstairs level. The wicked geometry of viewing angles meant that those of us way up top in Covent Garden's cheapest seats couldn't actually see what was happening there. From the feet and table legs on view I would hazard that Herod's guests were enjoying dinner. Possibly it was constructed that way as a blindingly ironic comment - the poor gazing upon the rich etc - but I suspect it's more likely to have been a simple design cock up. It would be more forgivable if this was some imported show designed for a different theatre, but at the premiere of an in-house production there's really no excuse.

Musically, Michael Volle (Jokanaan) was the unquestionable star of the night. Huge, wild and hairy, with a voice to match, he filled the stage and, perhaps intentionally, was the only character to project any real warmth. Everyone else had a less than human quality that just left me cold, indifferent either way to their fate.

Nadja Michael was otherwise a better Salome than I'd expected. A fine actress not afraid to throw herself around physically, she writhed gamefully on the floor for much of the night. She got most of the notes and kept her vibrato under control, but her delivery lacked refinement. I know this is a hellish role to cast with all its acting, dancing and visual requirements on top of the singing, but I would simply rather hear a purer, more youthful voice.

Robin Leggate was a last minute replacement for the sick Thomas Moser as Herod, and in the circumstances did a creditable job. The singing was all there, but the presence was neither regal nor imposing, and he faded away when he should have been terrifying. Michaela Schuster didn't have a great deal of sensuality, but the wheedling manipulative side of Herodias came across strongly. Joseph Kaiser's Narraboth was another that didn't make a huge impression, despite there being nothing particularly wrong with his performance. I just felt 'so what' as he stabbed himself.

I imagine if conductor Philippe Jordan could have any heads on a plate, he'd probably pick the horn section. Not his fault there were so many scrappy entrances and bum notes from that quarter. He generally did a competent if somewhat unadventurous job, lacking that sweeping opulence the score demands, though he managed to gather up some steam towards the end.

I'd like to go back and try this again - all the right ingredients are there even if it didn't quite come off tonight. Annoyingly, it looks like a near sell-out already though.

**Update*** - more (including photos) here