Intermezzo

Foul weather ahead

A mere eight years after its Covent Garden premiere, Thomas Ades's The Tempest opens at the Metropolitan Opera on Tuesday. The composer, who conducts, previously worked with director Robert Lepage on a disappointing 2008 The Rake's Progress at the Royal Opera House. 

For this show Lepage has a much bigger budget, and he comes up with something for everybody - acrobats, circus performers, an uncanny replica of La Scala and Simon Keenlyside with tattoos. Despite these lavish accoutrements, not everyone who saw the test run in Québec a couple of months ago was impressed.

The 10 November performance will be shown live in cinemas.

Gerald Barry's Importance of Being Earnest

The Importance of Being Earnest - Barbican Hall, 26 April 2012

If I could pick just one ENO opera to revive, it would have to be Gerald Barry' s The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant from 2005, an aural health hazard that taxed singers, orchestra and audience in equal measure and different ways. Detractors loathed the relentless volume and sonic density; fans identified a cogent sense of humour and a refreshing unwillingness to please wrapped up in a unique compositional voice.

Powder Her Face at the Royal Opera House

Powder Her Face - Linbury Studio, 26 April 2010

Thomas Adès's brilliant, precocious debut opera will I suspect be judged more kindly by posterity than by Barry Millington in the Evening Standard. Its originality lies not so much in its elements but in their juxtaposition. Hoary pastiche-jazz, faux-Stravinsky and blatant Strauss quotes take on a new life sandwiched between the rumbling brass monsters and careering strings which form both frame and critique of the plunder.

Carlos Wagner's superb production, revived from 2008, echoes this Surrealistic reappraisal of the familiar  - quite literally, in the case of a Daliesque jewelled lobster. A sweeping staircase dominates the stage. There's more Dali in the gigantic, furniture-sized cosmetics strewn across it. They emphasise the beauty, the vanity and the superficiality of the opera's subject, Margaret, Duchess of Argyll, who passed into the annals of history as protagonist in the sensational, scandalous 'headless man' divorce case in 1963.

Lepage's Rake Progresses to Covent Garden

The Rake's Progress - Royal Opera House, 7 July 2008 (first night)

Stravinsky may not have been the molten core of Hollywood's golden age - indeed he never even wrote for the movies - but he was at least resident in '50's Los Angeles when he composed The Rake's Progress. 

That's the jump-off for Robert Lepage's production, which makes Nick Shadow a diabolical director who lures Tom Rakewell down the movie star path, then demands his soul in payment. Each scene is modelled on an iconic movie image - the opener sees Rakewell as James Dean in the oilfields of Giant, Mother Goose's brothel is Destry Rides Again, the swimming pool of Sunset Boulevard is Rakewell's salon, and Bedlam becomes the mad house of The Snake Pit.

It's neat, it's fresh, it moulds readily to the plot and the production photos look terrific. The appropriation of classic visual imagery neatly mirrors the extensive musical borrowings in Stravinsky's score. Indeed the use of images is in itself a nod to the genesis of the opera in Hogarth's print series The Rake's Progress. How very clever. Aesthetes, intellectuals, popcorn munchers and jaded operagoers, there's something there for everyone. So why doesn't it work?

The main problem is that Lepage's vision is essentially photographic, not cinematic.

Each scene is visually splendid but painfully static.  It takes more than iconic images to make a great movie, and the same goes for opera.

Unlike Hogarth's Rake's Progress sketches, the images Lepage has selected are not exactly busting with narrative content. Translating two dimensions into three, the minimal scenery often leaves acres of stage bare, as crudely exposed by the prison camp lighting. It's no surprise that the most truthful and engaging scene, the one set in the mad house, is the busiest one.

And some of the most stunning ideas - a bed that sucked Tom and Mother Goose down into the floor, a full size inflatable trailer that burst forth from the ground - were just badly timed, and overwhelmed the music instead of supporting it. I don't mind a joke - but it's got to be in the right place.

Amidst all the unadulterated Americana, it was odd to hear everyone singing in a cultivated English accent, but the quaint anglicisms of Auden and Kallmann's libretto don't really permit anything else. (Kudos to the North American cast members for getting it spot-on though.) 

Do they wear socks with sandals in Hell? Probably. John Relyea's Nick Shadow paired these with a hideous baldy wig and glasses perched on top of his head, in a Stravinsky lookalike style that inevitably didn't quite come off  >>>>>

It was a crime against hawtness that combined with a physically understated performance left Relyea's blackstrap molasses voice to provide devilish seductiveness and charisma.

I couldn't fault Charles Castronovo's intelligently thought-out and well-sung Tom Rakewell. But I couldn't really warm to his portrayal either, at least until the touching vulnerability of his final mad house scene.

Sally Matthews as Anne Trulove had a radiance and charm that was sorely lacking elsewhere, and a tdf Grace Kelly wardrobe to boot.

She sang brightly, if not always quite in tune, and enunciated very clearly by soprano standards. It was still useful to have the surtitles though - the ROH chorus, usually so solid, were scrappy and weary-sounding, often drifting away from the score too.

Patricia Bardon's hysterical Baba the Turk and Kathleen Wilkinson's saucy Mother Goose were strongly characterised. They usefully raised the production's energy levels, compensating for the generally torpid conducting of Thomas Ades. 

He achieved something few conductors manage, in bringing a greater humanity and delicacy to this opera, so often seen as chilly and unyielding. Many passages appeared with an eye-opening clarity and transparency.

But in doing so he neutered its wit and bite, and apart from the graveyard scene, any real sense of drama. On balance, I'd have preferred cold and heartless - The Rake's Progress is after all the allegorical triumph of stupidity over evil, dressed up in a love story, not the other way round.

 

 

 

Looks like Robert Lepage really has reinvented The Rake's Progress.....

.....as a ballet. At least that's what the Royal Opera House website thinks. How long till they spot this one do you think?

(***UPDATE***  the eagle eyed ROH webmites have corrected it now)

Powder her Face - it's just one sucking thing after another

Powder her Face - Royal Opera House Linbury Studio, 13 June 2008

Powder her Face loosely documents the fall from grace of Margaret Duchess of Argyll (left, a Madame Yevonde pic), a Paris Hilton prototype who became notorious in the '60's when scandalous pix of her liaison with the so-called 'headless man'  (tsk, always frame before you shoot) surfaced in her very public divorce case.

The only time I'd seen it live before this was a rather unsatisfactory concert performance at the Barbican a couple of years back, where Thomas Ades, conducting his own work, turned the volume up so high he all but drowned out the singers for most of the evening. The DVD (Ades conducting again, David Alden directing) is altogether more successful, one of the few operatic DVDs I can watch over again. Perhaps reflecting its composer's generation, the opera seems made for the screen, and the chamber orchestration suffers little from the recording process.

The movie parallels must have chimed with Carlos Wagner, the director of this production, too. Set like an MGM musical on a broad sweeping staircase littered with gigantic cosmetics, it immediately evokes Hollywood glamour. The Duchess even makes her big entrance moviestar-style, rising from a giant powder compact like Botticelli's Venus. The concept resonates effectively with contemporary celebrity culture, but in the process loses some of the opera's innate Englishness. What price the Duchess's glorious snobbery in a society where divadom is not only the norm, but part of the job description? The many American inflections in the jazz and tango tinges of the score are misleading signposts: commentary rather than essence, and frequently ironic.

That said, it does look good, it's always clear which of their multiple parts each singer is playing, and a few clever gestures, like the Electrician's mimed blowjob at the start, proved Wagner's attentiveness to the score.

The only scene which didn't really come off (ha!) was the one Powder her Face is best known for. As the Duchess administers the notorious blowjob, a naked beefcake rises from between her prone partner's legs, and she turns her attention to the new arrival. But only as far up as the knee - this is after all the Royal Opera House. It's an arresting coup de théâtre, but what's it supposed to mean? That she's fantasising about someone more attractive? Big deal. It confuses and sensationalises and ultimately distracts. Any naked body on stage becomes the immediate focus of attention, but this scene more than any other is musically and dramatically all about the Duchess.

The musical side was more reliably handled. Timothy Redmond conducted with flair and a great deal of sensitivity towards the singers, and the crack Southbank Sinfonia tossed off the scarily testing score as if it was easy-peasy. Placing the orchestra well below the level of the singers (something that isn't always done in the Linbury) undoubtedly helped here.

Joan Rodgers resisted the temptation to judge her character and found the depth in the score to produce a sympathetic and moving portrayal of the Duchess, not a heartless nymphomaniac, but simply as a woman looking for love in the wrong places.

Incidentally, the (uncredited) hair and makeup staff at the ROH did an incredible job in transforming Joan Rodgers (below left) into first the '30's beauty (below right) and then the bouffanted dragon of the '60's. We don't usually get close enough to the action to see what an amazing job they can do, but here their attention to detail was evident and stunning.

In support, Rebecca Bottone's limber Baccarat-crystal soprano graced the several parts she played, all with great gusto and a keen eye for the comic. Alan Ewing and Iain Paton, though a little less consistent, were equally effective. Some of the first night reviewers complained of difficulty hearing the words, but it wasn't a problem on this third performance. That nobody fell down the steps in all the manic movement is a small miracle too.

Thomas Ades creates the world

London Sinfonietta/Ades - Royal Festival Hall, 28 April 2008

This (^) spectacularly apocalyptic sunset ceilinged wet and miserable London as the premiere of Thomas Ades's new piano concerto, In Seven Days, drew to a close in the Royal Festival Hall. EMI marketing couldn't have invented a better backdrop for the intermission. It echoed not just the new work's subject matter, the Creation story, but also the specially commissioned video which accompanied it, an assemblage of abstracted images drawn from nature and architecture.

Here's what the stage looked like at the start, showing the six video screens and part of the orchestra. A few more musicians were tucked away behind the piano :

Ades conducted, standing (hiding?) behind the piano and sporting a pair of enormous cans. It wasn't clear if these were just for the video synchronisation or whether the speakers at each side of the stage added any subtle pre-recording to the London Sinfonietta's amplified performance.

For the first few moments, I wondered if someone had popped the wrong DVD into the puter. The dark lapping waves which filled the screens were so similar to the ones used in Birtwistle's Minotaur it was uncanny. As the images slowly changed and became more complex, I have to confess brain overload. I had no choice - I had to stop looking. I glanced up now and again to see leafless trees, strange bubbly things and dancing sticks, but I simply couldn't watch and listen properly simultaneously. Although it's described as a 'video-ballet', the music is just too rich and complex to be listened to with anything less than 100% attention. Ades's music is more demanding than it appears, and soft focus reveals only the pastel prettiness of the surfaces.

Although it's nominally a piano concerto, the piano is silent or woven into the orchestra most of the time. Only towards the end of the work does it break free for a couple of brief and dazzling virtuoso explosions.

It's structured in seven sections, corresponding to the seven days of creation. A tiny string figure repeats and mutates organically into ever more complex and lushly orchestrated forms. There are nods to Reich in the relentless figurations, Elgar in moments of dreamy pastoralism, Mahler in the tapestry textures and the big bang that closes the first movement. A sunny glow radiates pervasively - this is the story of birth and life, and the prickling irony of some of Ades's earlier work has been laid aside. It's melodic, memorable and overwhelmingly accessible. Even now I can (superficially) recall large chunks - this is where the 'ballet' description really hits home. I was entranced throughout.

The audience, filled out with bussed-in student groups, but younger than the usual anyway, was excitable and enthusiastic. The ovation was massive and I should also point out the few seconds of rapt silence before it started - lending weight to my theory that it's the older and supposedly more 'experienced' audience members who display the worst concert manners.

A chunk of the audience didn't return after the interval, so they missed a blasting performance of Steve Reich's Music for 18 Musicians by the London Sinfonietta and Synergy Vocals. To be picky, the sound scattered a little in the Royal Festival Hall's still-difficult acoustic, and the London Sinfonietta don't have quite the telepathic polish of Steve Reich's own band of sneakered grandads, but the magic vitality of the performance swept petty criticisms aside.

Bartok raises the standard, Ades raises a laugh

Prom 49: Philharmonia Orchestra/Dohnányi, Royal Albert Hall, 20 August 2007

J S Bach, orch. Webern Ricercar from 'Musical Offering'
Thomas Adès Overture, Waltz and Finale from 'Powder Her Face'
Bartók Duke Bluebeard's Castle

Charlotte Hellekant

Duke Bluebeard's Castle is such an elegantly concise opera, its sumptuous orchestration so perfectly aligned to the geometry of its spare text. Everything is there in the music, so it loses almost nothing in a concert staging of the type it received tonight.

It was a shame the Albert Hall was half-empty, because the Philharmonia gave a thrilling performance from start to finish. The slow, haunting buildup to the ecstatic central climax, the decline to the inevitable and terrifying ending, all was boldly coloured. Dohnányi wisely held a little in reserve, so that when the big moments came up, they truly exploded.

Charlotte Hellekant as Judith, the woman who can't stop asking questions, threw herself totally into her role. There's an intriguing smoky cast to her clean, secure tones. She's one of the few singers I've heard so far this year who's truly suited to the difficult Albert Hall, projecting clearly across the vast cavern seemingly without effort.

Tonight's Bluebeard, Falk Struckmann, has a warm, burnished tone that's a pleasure to listen to. But from time to time it felt as if he was just going through the motions. Although he has the ability to make a huge sound, at times he simply failed to up the gear and lift his voice over the orchestra. And, buried deep in his score, he often played the inscrutability of Bluebeard to the point of impenetrability.

But it was a fine performance overall, definitely worth listening to again, though the recording process has bestowed a little screechiness on Hellekant and upped the volume on Struckmann.

In earlier part of the programme, a leaden and entirely misconceived Bach Ricercar was followed by the London premiere of a suite Thomas Ades has based on his opera Powder Her Face. This suite redraws parts of the original compact and idiosyncratic arrangement using larger and more conventional forces, losing nothing of its novelty in the process. Like the original, a deceptively light and sugary surface masks a minutely detailed and meticulously constructed heart.

A couple of hours before the concert, I went to watch Ades being interviewed for Radio 3 in the Albert Hall. He made himself distinctly hard work for the interviewer, responding scrupulously in kind to some lame, under-researched questions. But it was great fun for those of us watching (Q - what do you like about Couperin? A - his wig). The silent physical responses (a shoulder shrug doesn't go a long way on radio) were equally treasurable. The process was interlaced with live performances of some shorter works by a student chamber ensemble, rather mixed in quality. I'm not sure that I came away particularly illuminated, but it was hugely entertaining.

Thomas Ades does le French thang in Edinburgh

Chamber Orchestra of Europe/Thomas Ades/Toby Spence - Usher Hall, Edinburgh, 14 August 2007
Edinburgh International Festival

Tonight's frenchy programme covered 300 years of music from fabuleux to fromage, though in the event it became hard to tell which was which.

The venerable Rameau was the starter. I've always found it hard to muster up the same enthusiasm for Rameau as I have for Couperin, and I couldn't help wondering if Thomas Ades and the COE felt the same. They exhumed the corpse of the overture from Les Indes Galantes but failed to breathe any life into it. It was as English as steamed pudding and just as soggy.

Ades's own Three Studies from Couperin surprisingly failed to pick up the pace, lacking the sparkle and drive of the UK premiere (Ades with the COE again) just four months ago. The scoring is intriguing, but was obscured by an odd dynamic balance, perhaps intentional. Whatever, it failed to dazzle in the way his other work has.

The shift into top gear finally came with Berlioz's Les Nuits d'Été and Toby Spence. Spence began tentatively and selected a different tempo from the orchestra for the opening Villanelle. This was something Ades failed to control, and a problem that re-occured in the final L'Île Inconnue.

However in the second song, Le Spectre de la Rose, both singer and orchestra finally blossomed. Toby Spence has all the basics and more - a fine ringing tone, secure notes, immaculate breath control and terrific projection. When he put it all together, the results were impressive. Although nerves crept in a couple more times, most noticeably at the start of Sur les Lagunes, there were more moments of pure gorgeousness. L'Absence in particular, pickily steered by Ades, was perfect in every way.

The animation that the orchestra gathered for the Berlioz returned after the interval for Ravel's Le Tombeau de Couperin. Ravel's arrangement is characteristically full of colour and detail, every inch of his canvas filled. Although this is at heart a memorial piece, it's also full of grace, wit and optimism, and the COE brought it exuberantly to life.

The closer, Bizet's Symphony in C, continued in this vein. Written when he was just 17, it has all the naive optimism of youth. This adorable froth is derivative, but Bizet pinched so many different ideas (mostly from Gounod) it's never boring. The COE made it crisp and light as a mille-feuille, but never over-sugared, a surprisingly satisfying ending to the evening. It came as a surprise that Ades could pull more out of Bizet (Bizet!) than his own work but sometimes these things just happen, who knows why.

(No photos tonight - I was personally and firmly informed that this means me:)

Orfeo and more in Edinburgh

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.