BBC Proms 2009: Prom 4 - Tale of two Partenope's - CO Copenhagen/Mortensen

BBC Prom 4 - Handel: Partenope. Inge Dam-Jensen, Andreas Scholl, Tuva Semmingsen, Christophe Dumaux, Bo Kristian Jensen, Palle Knudsen, Concerto Copenhagen, Lars Ulrik Mortensen - Royal Albert Hall - July 19, 2009 (from Negrin production at Royal Danish Opera).

From context of what is apparently a somewhat abstract production of Handel’s Partenope has come for opening week of the BBC Proms this year a semi-staged reproduction of the same. Out of three times I have now heard Partenope, including a highly entertaining, provocative one led by Christopher Rousset from Queen Elisabeth Hall - production from Theater an der Wien - and the studio bound Chandos recording, this Royal Danish Opera visit has been the most effective.

In terms of edition used, pretty much in that regard alone (plus casting Kurt Streit in best voice as Emilio), the Chandos has still been the best – toward what satisfies composer’s intentions this way. Several arias were cut from both performances in London, including from Royal Danish Opera, the introduction aria “Se non ti sai spiegar” for Rosmira that makes a case for how she becomes convincing in presenting herself to others. “Sei mia gioia” for Partenope - the first time we musically get the sensuous side of the queen - and closing arias for both Arsace and Partenope were cut. The latter two of these got cut at Queen Elisabeth Hall as well. Curiously, Emilio’s speciously triumphant “La Gloria in nobil alma” got moved to the very start of Act 3 and sung by Ormonte instead. Replacing “Scherza, si” in the final scene was grafted in here an extended duet from another Handel opera – emphasis on ‘extended’ – for Partenope and Armindo. Given the nature of its text, it might have been more convincing to partner queen with Arsace instead.

Inge Dam-Jensen cut an imposing figure vocally and expressively as Partenope. Her voice, heavy in places, works less naturally for her in negotiating trills and the florid coloratura in her part. There was indeed some smudging here intermitently; high notes were often tense or strained. Her command of line though, as beautifully supported orchestrally at all times, was secure, starting from her first arioso and somewhat militant opening aria. In especially cutting out “Sei mia gioia” (type of aria that Mozart did not quite so overtly give Fiordiligi), the vanity of the queen came across over the air as understated, along with some of her allure.

Dam Jensen gave Partenope, the most confident - more so than of any of the men - of commanding an army the interpretation of “Io ti levo” to match such conception. It at least starting it kept such character to the fore more so than what amorous metaphor it can make out of entering combat. Dam-Jensen’s infusion of smoother legato as the aria progresses let in enough of the other side of the queen this piece presents - not for fear of it otherwise having bordered on going lopsided, two-dimensional on us. “Spera e godi” and “Un cor infedele” incisively conveyed moral indignation, without as with Christine Schafer for Rousset, being treated as ‘Come scoglio’ often is - with postmodernist irony. No doubt, the cleverness of it all - the take that Schafer gave it - was undeniable.

“Care mura”, in the absolutely complete shaping of this only almost two minute arioso, with separations in the line beautifully demarcated also by Mortensen and internal contrasts beautifully plumbed this way, confirmed that - if not textually complete - we were getting indeed otherwise a musically and psychologically (near-)complete portrayal of Partenope. Infusion of a degree of introspection for the da capo of both “Voglio amare” and “Qual farfalletta” - Dam-Jensen’s tone light for the former but heavier for opening of the latter – did verge on self-conscious, but such did not excessively detract from either impetus behind either aria or enjoyment thereof.

In what turned out here most convincingly a dramma giocoso for aristrocrats, Andreas Scholl’s air as Arsace was the most convincingly elite of three singers heard in this part; he was vocally the most even as well. He may not have plumbed the depths as much or with as much shading in “Ch’io la porta” in Act 3 as David Daniels did for Rousset. In so precise a manner, if a little too strict on avoiding use of vibrato here as he approached it, argument can be made for maintaining thus the simplicity of the line and expressive gesture as Scholl went about it. He very pleasingly framed the naivete or narcissism of Arsace with appropriately and flexibly stately presence and patrician air in his first two arias. Mortensen, instead of gilding or extra-vivifying the violins’ upward five note run-extensions, allowed Scholl more space than Rousset did Daniels to find the lack of masculinity about Arsace in his voice, interpretation of “Sento, amor” - wisely so as very colorful Daniels and Rousset together made this aria themselves.

Scholl and Mortensen beautifully observed appoggiaturi within the line for Arsace’s first lament, “Dimmi, pietoso” beautifully; Scholl especially uncovered its internal contrasts with great introspection and poise. With equal noble restraint and beautiful theorbo-enhanced accompaniment from Concerto Copenhagen, “Ma quai note” also became a highlight. Scholl, though finding the frequent excursions into the lower middle register for him a bit tricky, negotiated such into his furioso aria, “Furibondo” with the insight that there is more complexity to such a piece than just having to negotiate otherwise seemingly endless sequences of sextuplets, as paralleled by the strings. It was also only here that perhaps and with a little more courage a more direct musical and dramatic approach might be less self-conscious. Even through so much careful enveloping of what went on, the full thrust of Arsace’s plight and suffering was evident throughout.

Hardly any better than Scholl - given too that his assignment here was less demanding - was the Armindo of the other counter-tenor Christophe Dumaux. His voice has a fuller quality to it than does Scholl's, thus mildly more flexible to make more coloured nuance with it. Dumaux, wise to his task - more decisively than the character he plays - always held such in check, even during long extended duet from Sosarme he joined in with Dam-Jensen for this. With including this duet, Armindo practically became as important a character as any of the three leads. His voice, production thereof definitely sounded the most confident, even among three counter-tenors I have yet heard sing Armindo.

Dumaux characterized ‘Voglio dire” without having to rely upon or use vocal weakness to get Armindo's indecisiveness across, but on music and words alone - with so many of its pauses for simple turns in lower register. One then had no doubt that it was Handel’s music, not vocal issues. “Non chiedo, o luci vaghe” which so ingenuously almost imperceptibly started as growing out from recitative before was the height, musically and textually, of psychological subtlety. With equal vocal security and charm, Dumaux skipped lightly through “Nobil core”, which in this instance did not turn out being his final number in this.

Palle Knudsen, with two arias instead of one, made a stalwart, vocally sturdy Ormonte, baritonal in sound like Boesch for Rousset, but with better vocal security and depth. Bo Kirstian Jensen, pleasant in timbre, with his number of arias cut down from four to three, lacked vocal steadiness or anchor intonation wise for some of Emilio. He still managed to characterize the part well, greatly assisted by Mortensen in giving “Barbaro fato, si” shape of unusually high quality.

Saving the best for last from among an already strong cast was the Rosmira of Tuva Semmingsen. This is a good, sturdy voice without more than moderate variety of color at her disposal, but with great evenness covering a large range. The libretto for Handel’s Partenope is unusually strong, but should there be any singer who can make all so clearly vivid out of Handel recitative text within arias along with it, it is Semmingsen. She made a most subtle and pernicious villain of Rosmira, without failing to share with us this character's humanity - for character that does indeed deserve to get even. Under such circumstances, should they be real life, I most certainly would not want to be the Arsace - even with Semmingsen later on confiding Rosmira’s pangs of conscience. Could have Shakespeare made Iago a woman? If so, he might have sought out Tuva Semmingsen.

“Un altra volta ancora”, with incisive separations in phrasing made by Mortensen and his strings, sounded as far from being what one might conjecture to be Vivaldi concerto transcription writing as one will ever find for this aria. The ‘gelosia’s’ and ‘furore’s’ in “Furie son bell’alma mia” cut to the very core of one’s being to hear them, with varying inflection as to how each of them fits into each phrase. Even Rosmira's lines in “Un cor infedele” had one hanging on them so much, it made the piece seem much more complete, even longer than at being so brief, it really is. Even in the ‘horns’ aria that closes Act One - with very forthright valveless playing from ranks of Concerto Copenhagen - Semmingsen made one take notice, amidst so many turns and inversions, of what text lies beneath the text. This was as subtle and dangerous a Rosmira, villain as any Arsace will ever face.

Stitching such a complex web of plot together, with so much musical subtlety from a fine cast alone was Lars Ulrik Mortensen, the other hero of this performance. “Per le porte del suo tormento” from Sosarme was a uniquely beautiful event - so evenly and sensitively sung by Dam-Jensen and Dumaux. However, I doubt the philological correctness of this decision. Without seeing the Negrin production, the dramatic impetus for having done so remains unclear.

The text has to do with Elmira tending to the wounds of the Median (Medo-Persian) king Sosarme (though Handel's original source had action take place in or near Portugal). It might, especially after a Semmingsen Rosmira has done all her damage, better fit Partenope and Arsace instead of queen and Armindo. It even sounded mildly ironic to include it, in that here was a cast, with so much excellent support, making something very complete of the frequently to almost always shorter da capo arias in this opera than show up in more full-fledged opera seria of Handel. At a little over nine minutes, this was the one number in Partenope lasting at all over seven minutes - as situated in the usually brief final scene of the opera. In perhaps anticipation of the new music, there was for good stretch of Act Three some lapse in vitality overall; even so, the quality of music-making and acting remained very high.

Mortensen has a knack, unusual for ‘period’ but without unduly romanticizing anything he does, for finding the internal shape to phrase structure in da capo arias and of leading his singers right into what he does. He does so not to show off the beauty of his craft, but towards bringing out the very best, helping flesh out the most character his singers and other participants can offer. He would even employ a little phrasing from behind to so ingenuously delineate what he needed for several arias. Accuracy of intonation and ensemble of Concerto Copenhagen – other than for perhaps openly rowdy concertato playing in the ‘horns’ aria – was spot on the entire way. As for the horns, attempting to make cuckold out of the Rosmira, how so when Tuva Semmingsen? Fat chance! The rhythmic definition and ensemble fullness for the overture that opened Partenope had one anticipate well even Mortensen's firm, eloquent, never glutinous accompaniment to ”Ma, quai note.”


Play with direct imitation (and other device), such as between separated phrasing in violins for the queen’s “Qual farfalletta” always strongly brought out character. Support from an undercurrent of gently firm pulsation in “Voglio amare”, again for the queen, was most insightful and complete – even as antithetical in a way to how the also fine Christopher Rousset conducted it for Schafer. Rubato for all of this and more was at Mortensen’s most supple and flexible command. Laughter from the hall at certain amount of antics occurring onstage never sounded achieved as anything cheap, but in harmony with all that transpired both musically and dramatically.

So much that Mortensen does matches up ‘period’ with always genuinely expressed Romantic values, as from a generation or two past, without denying the virtues of presenting Handel’s music at high level of purity of conception - and of grace. In addition to this joining their Giulio Cesare on the dvd market, there will have to be more – hopefully an Alcina in the not too distant future.

BBC Proms 2009: Proms 1 and 5 - Belohlavek/BBC SO Opening Night and Haitink/LSO Mahler 9

Prom 1 BBC Symphony Orchestra, Jiri Belohlavek. Alice Coote, Ailish Tynan, Stephen Hough, Katia amd Marielle Labeque - soloists. - Royal Albert Hall - July 17. 2009


Opening night.at the Proms this year proved a dullard overall. The BBC SO achieved good textures for 'Fireworks' but what rhythmic animation was in the playing did not occur from within. When the fireworks is in the music(-making), no visual enhancement is longer necessary. The Chabrier proved a charming, sweet, diaphanous treat, in a way sending up a little musical incense with which to consecrate so much that is to come, and capably sung by Ailish Tynan and women.

The piano concerti by Tchaikovsky and Poulenc that followed were performed in such a way to hardly be artistically or culturally distinguishable from one another. The grit where needed was almost altogether missing with the Tchaikovsky, and lush passages from both Stephen Hough and orchestra lacked complete definition. The Poulenc, in being French, almost stopped with there being the name Labeque. It as easily could have been Russian writing for piano as French - the slick, heavy, unyielding way the sister duo approached it Belohlavek was little better in engaging the wit and satirical touch, irony that infuses so much of this music beyond an intermittent flash about several times or so. There was little beyond approaching the bare minimum otherwise.

Elgar's In the South more proactively engaged the imagination and vitality of Belohlavek and his players. Some of the rousing quality of it was understated, but the rhapsodic quality of this music, its shifting colors and cross-rhythms came well to the fore. Belohlavek sufficiently, quite fully engaged shifts in light and atmosphere throughout. The sense of musicians enjoying what they were playing was back; Belohlavek's command of both line and gesture was strong. Alice Coote expertly gave the Brahms Alto Rhapsody an expected feeling of reserve and despondency, with clear, firm line, good diction. Coote made complete the sense of both rattled naiveté on the surface and burning passion tucked well underneath to further be calmed. Belohlavek, mens' chorus and orchestra supported Coote in supple manner, if just a bit shy of drawing out all the colors in this piece possible.

I am not confident that Brahms and Bruckner would have enjoyed such close comparison as the BBC emcee may have led us to believe. Bruckner's Psalm 150, in sounding a little more like Dvorak or Brahms in how the forces at hand performed came across as a little muddled, a little short on internal contrasts between its affirmative surface and dark underpinnings, and featured some unsteady engagement from both soloist (Ailish Tynan) and chorus of its more strenuous passages.

Prom 5 - London Symphony Orchestra, Bernard Haitink. Mahler: Symphony No. 9 in D Major - Royal Albert Hall - July 20, 2009.
Formal clarity (of which Haitink spoke in interview as being paramount here) with most flexibly expressive and secure playing than on this occasion was hallmark of the 1969 Mahler Ninth of his and Concertgebouw - still a hallmark in the ever expanding discography for this piece. Expectations naturally ran high for Haitink’s visit this year with the LSO, for the Mahler Ninth. For a considerably slower Andante comodo than previous - not exaggeratedly so - the LSO’s playing sounded on purpose drained of inner vitality and of color, with contrasts between episodes somewhat minimized between, starting out with dragging beat to “Lebewohl’ and so much brooding of the D minor subject (“Leidenschaftlich”).

Sneaking in was a somewhat borrowed tendency to texturally verticalize this music, as such one sometimes associates with Horenstein – not so much true with Haitink before. As different a Mahler conductor as Abbado reminded from Berlin ten years ago of the 1953 Horenstein/Vienna SO Ninth. Here it was more late-career Horenstein. Deryk Barker could not have been more pleased. Trumpet fanfares right before well-limned chinoserie and recapitulation of ‘Lebewohl’ seemed devoid of good underlying rock of pulsation guiding them. Moments of open space, so sublime here in both what followed and other episodes, seemed, partly too with Royal Albert’s acoustics, a little constricted. Haitink’s view of this music remains clear – his good ear for where it is headed, and now more interestingly so at times.

The huge climax twenty minutes in, after buildup of understated defiance - thinking of what people heard at Royal Festival in 1967 with Klemperer – quickly catapulted its way in - then to be followed several minutes later with steep ascent for anguished shift to minor mode submediant and brief reprise of ‘Leidenschaftlich.” Solo work from flute, French horn, and concertmaster was exemplary and beautifully calibrated into the framework of closing pages of the Recaptiulation.

The depressed mood of this Ninth continued into the second movement with soggy attacks on some accents and heavier, though also improved more roughly bucolic approach than innocently so in Amsterdam. Suggestion of defiance has crept in here, but as suggested more than stated as for instance with Klemperer. Contrast between sections was minimized, but Haitink made, halfway through, the third (‘lebewohl’) laendler sag a bit much, making return of first laendler in duet of bassoons answered by acridly spaced woodwinds enter too lively by comparison. Otherwise mastery of structure was intact and spirit of this music well observed. Rondo-Buleske, at sluggish tempo and intermittently compromised ensemble, was weakest of four movements in this. Moments of deftly handled naivete, so in place before in Amsterdam (1969) seemed wonky here. Heavy parody of the ‘academic’ in the rondo-fugue – hallmark of controversially paced Klemperer - plus the aggressive defiance with which that one ends – was minimized here.

Whereas critics have commented before on the 1969 Haitink having given individual characterization of each movement of this, the goal in mind here from the get-go was the Adagio - as bathed in transfigured light - which after a minute to get into it, built up to being fully open and sublime. It was then that there could have been no doubt why any effort to have attended this or special effort to listen in. Pace was just a little slower here than in 1969, with contrast into the Adagissimo final page slightly minimized; Haitink beautifully captured the contrast forty years ago. The Adagio came as somewhat of a release of even unwanted tension, that is to an extent of being alive – the having any desire to continue with, enjoy life – curious because a great love for life infuses so much of what Mahler wrote here.

Haitink opened out beautifully for those quiet passages of the Adagio that let flood the soundscape with the light of transfiguration. Equally so, the darker quieter moments, with solos low in the bassoon part, sounded as withdrawn as they should. Tutti through five minutes before the end sounded forth firm in resolve.

I take less kindly to the Bernstein epicurean approach - but lately the glib, streamlined manner of Gergiev’s LSO Live Mahler cycle has been off-putting. The LSO’s show of mutual affection for Haitink at close of this, with affirmation from throughout Royal Albert Hall was moving. More affecting still would have been less rush to applaud after the last sounds of the Adagio as heard here had faded away.

ENO Peter Grimes: Alden and Britten's dark night of the soul

Long expected by now that perhaps the socially correct way to approach Britten’s Peter Grimes is to stress more the poetic side of both the character and work, with sea still forming the dark orchestral backdrop. Tragedy at hand should then just simply play itself out against so much. Some of us got to see wherever Jon Vickers do Grimes; within his very individual approach there still remained much poetry. The affectation of Grimes being sophisticated either socially or culturally went by the wayside – apart from poetic knack to respond as Grimes does to sea, sky above surrounding him. Lyric of Chicago almost ten years ago featured Ben Heppner as Peter. His interpretation halfway effectively emulated that of Vickers.

In the thirty-two years since Vickers did Grimes in Houston – not to discredit Pears – I do not recall running across a performance of this anywhere (more recent than that of Vickers at Convent Garden) quite like what transmitted last week from BBC. No other performance of Grimes has felt led so much by who played Peter Grimes, as happened with Vickers. Here it was instead as led by conductor, producer, excellent Grimes, and strong supporting cast all working very closely together – for English National Opera’s very new David Alden production, with Edward Gardner conducting and Stuart Skelton strongly leading a fine cast. If such could be achieved merely by much loud playing and singing - with wall close to prompter's box against which voices and orchestra can ping - the Met’s Peter Grimes (also in HD) last year represented a high standard. Had ENO settled for this though, you would read something different here.

Benjamin Britten, when he wrote Peter Grimes, had not yet made the advances in his musical language evident in his Cello Symphony, Owen Wingrave, and Death in Venice. While still in his thirties, he had yet to establish himself, while already a very socially controversial figure. Edward Gardner set out, in very close tandem with David Alden to take a fresh look at Peter Grimes, just partly from perspective of what would follow later on from Britten. In assessing Gardner, supported by excellent orchestral playing throughout, I had to rethink a few criticisms I wrote down during Act One. Whereas there may have been some extra pushing and underlining of things, Gardner had really indeed the full and genuine impetus to do so in most instances.

Gardner, instead of guaranteeing us the cleanest or smoothest interaction between solo or choral and orchestral lines, made sure instead to point out, even irritatingly, the incongruity of interacting or confronting lines, for instance during Grimes telling Balstrode of day his first apprentice died. Motion of the waves in play with the steady, oblivious slow sea shanty of village folk at dawn Gardner also clearly delineated as musically incongruious, musically, but also in essence depicting the fragmented, tense state of village affairs. Britten said that he saw the townspeople in Grimes, as to their character and lives, as not so much shaped by the sea openly in their midst; they would indeed be the same anywhere one might put them. There was a claustrophobic feel to this performance, but observing parameters within which this work can still live and breathe – to readily be able to open out for moments of real pause for reflection on either what is happening or even well beyond what we see onstage.

Has there ever been a keener ear for clash of tonal centers in Peter Grimes between those one associates with the vision of Grimes and manner of the Borough than this? There was constantly here a full sense of the overtones infusing much Britten, of those pitches not written out, almost crying out to have been anyway. Gardner used such insight to enhance both the visceral quality of the drama and of Britten's music, as opposed to taking instead a heavy breathing method of doing so, rendering Grimes product of much tired cliché. Gardner very adeptly maintained wax and wane, natural ebb and flow all the way through. As opposed however to moment of repose that Runnicles found for Act Two, Scene 1 at the Met last year, Gardner ratcheted up the musical, dramatic tension of what indeed is the central scene here dramatically; action during this scene strongly helps catapult this tragedy forward.

The six sea interludes took on a dignity, nobility most unaffectedly almost unsurpasssably. Where there was the second or third mile to take to secure this, Gardner went there. Harmonic semi-tone clash at very end of Act 2 - with traces of Passacaglia still lingering most prominently in solo viola - extended out music we heard fifteen minutes earlier to the very end of the last phrase - sound still hovering all about to end of Act Two. Duet of French horns starting Act Two was emulated precisely expected bells ringing forth on a Sunday morning. The passacaglia, even with hard push made through its second and/or third variations, maintained fine poise and dignity. Gardner sprung rhythms very tight during Storm; contrastingly, the very peaceful yet simultaneously and insinuatingly ominous ‘Midnight’ starting Act Three Gardner characterized very well – with simplicity of an unable to be spoken meditative quality. Gardner also gave the sixth, unnamed Grimes interlude -incidence of fragmentation therein - a searing intensity – entirely up until very moment ball the orchestra drops out for final scene Grimes opens alone.

Stuart Skelton, with the intensity he brought to the title role, reminded one of Jon Vickers. He played Grimes alternatively as servile, deferential to his community, and very frightened. One might have asked for just slightly more space between lines during the mad scene. All both from looking deep within and intently at Peter Grimes score throughout Skelton made clearly heard. His voice, like Vickers, might not be ideally lyrical, from composer’s point of view, but he held what rough edge inherent to it in check. He thus fully evoked reverie within ‘the Great Bear and the Pleiades’ and then ‘dreams aria’ in Act Two, without employing quite as elaborate a range of nuance Vickers had commanded before. A greater simplicity of attack and with delivering numerous lines here, keeping Grimes still the rough fisherman, was very affecting.

Moments of violence in front of Balstrode during Act One – Grimes’ insistence on staying outdoors - and to close Act Two scene with Ellen Orford became nearly as terrifying as had it been Vickers. Heavy voice such as that of Skelton became entirely at service of both music and drama at hand. Skelton saw, slightly more than Vickers, feeling of extra need, even desire to conform to borough expectations – need to abnormally obsess over practical matters - in how he infused numerous lines. His dragging the beat emulating a distracted mind during ‘Old Joe has gone fishing’ indicated how immersed Skelton had by then become.

Amanda Roocroft made a very affecting Ellen Orford, even if occasionally slightly tremulous up high. Brokenness over predominantly the plight of Peter Grimes and of the new boy became forefront. Roocroft also made entreaty to a stubborn and resistant Grimes most imploring right before tragedy would strike yet again. Her standing up early on to the borough conveyed equally strong resolve, indicating woman not yet unmoored from hope of fixing what is at hand.

Gerald Finley, at behest of David Alden, played Captain Balstrode somewhat unconventionally as a young man. Doing so paid off interesting dividends. Balstrode’s gravitas as such, but by now a cliché and often somewhat tired one at that, may have been diminished slightly, but Balstrode’s empathy for Grimes Finley made complete at about every juncture. Balstrode's sense of humor, light of the character having been through some real experience himself, Finley made vigorously emerge - as episodically that of Ned Keene. Keene’s dealing, as in good voice, with Mrs Sedley, Auntie and the Nieces, was a natural to Leigh Melrose and very witty indeed. Balstrode’s closing lines, while confronting situation well beyond what he can fully assess or comprehend - in the questioning tone and character Finley provided for moment to speak them - were torture to the listener. Balstrode ended up here near as much victim therein as anybody.

The whiney, androgynous sounding Bob Boles of Michael Colvin was very insipidly funny, whereas so easy to mistake for Mrs. Sedley. The hectoring, church style intoned Swallow of Matthew Best, alongside sonorous Hobson of Darren Jeffrey and banal friendly Rector of Stuart Kale, was equally humorous - with Swallow showing up in the first scene of Act 3 for barn dance in pink tutu over greasy suit. The two nieces, fine otherwise, became shrill during Act Two quartet with Ellen and Auntie. Rebecca dePont Davies, with great knack, took Auntie a little over the top, in sounding terribly inebriated while engaged in some pontificating. She then very adeptly took on the very experienced, incisive Mrs. Sedley of Felicity Palmer. Choral work was not quite ideal, but paragon of stability next to recent outings for Royal Opera choral forces.

Begging pardon for overlooking much fine work from ENO orchestral principals, there is one last musician to mention - David Alden. He was nearly as responsible for this having been the musical success this was as much as a dramatic one. He spoke interviewed, in manner however mildly misunderstood; I am sure David will not take umbrage. For David, Britten’s Peter Grimes speaks to the gay consciousness of the time; David then briefly related the difference between how things were while growing up and how they are now.

There should likely be no issue with how David speaks on this. I however find, fully acknowledging David, and his professionalism, something mildly disingenuous. One listened in vain on BBC for common mannerisms with choral outburst of ‘Home’ at the end of Act One and ‘Him who despises us’ in Act Three - instead all played straight. Alden could, by numerous means have insisted otherwise; so secure he is however in getting what he really wants, he did not. Alden also spoke in metaphor of Peter and the sea, as of tempest on boil within both. He helped choreograph ‘Old Joe’ during Act One abstractly along lines of what one might see from ‘Grandma’ (Ruth Berghaus) several decades ago - with healthy dose of American vernacularism thrown right in. It so effectively made something stiff, even geometric out of this, while maintaining very imaginatively much heightened musical and dramatic tension. Acoustical spacing of the apprentice boy’s scream right before Act Two ended also had to be very exact.

David Alden so successfully universalized the message of Peter Grimes, conforming well - clarified in Claire Seymour’s Britten’s operas survey - with what Peter Pears has notably said numerous times – of the supposed homosexuality of Grimes not being an issue; Pears said he did not consider it there in the first place. At issue here was not so much sexual preference per se, or oppression against such, but the issue of self-expression, the ability to see and live unencumbered in a visionary way. On the flip side, there is the compulsion to conform to equally codified, arbitrary standards in any society, including that of our very own.

Britten, as Seymour has also implied, in including a level of sexual overtone in his writing for the part of Grimes, may have behaved self-incriminatingly with including such into portrayal of originally the character out of George Crabbe. Take for instance even Grimes’s manic insistence on need to conform to Borough expectations and to be accepted. David fortunately in full intellectual acumen, great confidence and experience at his disposal, seems to have abstained somewhat. Not having yet seen this production, it is tricky to comment on the claustrophobia of the stage design as presented at ENO.

I may have come down a little hard on the Met’s new Doyle production last season. Difference between these two, from just hearing both, was that one settled for mere formula of stagecraft. David though was content only with being able to take all of Peter Grimes head-on - with strong yet subtle knack at it - much as he would have us face it. The failure, expressed here the best I have ever heard it in many years, of all ending in a combination of utter hopelessness, oblivion for, yes, deranged but simply noble a character as Grimes - with continuum to issue forth from following daybreak - was heartrending. The truth of what is still a problem, must rear its ugly head most likely numerous times again, before we may ever ‘get it.’

May we see this on dvd, also Jenufa from ENO, starring Roocroft, which may have first been presented by Houston Grand Opera. This goes down, as even taking one back a good thirty year, in still a new way a most meaningful encounter. Anything comparable recently may only include very recent revival of Messiaen's St. Francois - and Il Trittico last year from Milan.

Tale of two Partenope's - Part 1 - Rousset/Audi - Queen Elisabeth Hall - as beside mall at President & First Lady or LA Fitness

Handel’s Partenope at Queen Elisabeth Hall (production from Theater an der Wien) received a most provocative and well organized performance, if not vocally always the most suave. This is indeed a very interesting work, one somehow unjustly neglected over good number of years while other Handel operas started to get more frequently revived. It marked Handel’s second opera and first success during a five year stint called ‘Second Academy’ for which the Royal Opera authorities gave Handel and colleague Johan Heidegger free rein as to how to run business. Several years earlier, numerous Italian virtuosi had abandoned the islands to return home instead to work.

What has perhaps made Partenope somewhat less fully embraced than other Handel operas is an apparent elusiveness, withholding from being as fully engaged or believing in the full integrity of its characters, and yet as has been pointed out, this may be the best libretto Handel ever set to music. For those who read between the lines and dig it out to the right extent, it works quite well as a comedy. The heroism expected for two to three leading parts is understated; conventions of Italian opera, expected in London at the time to be treated with respect, got handled with degree of irreverence instead. As Winston Dean pointed out, the cross-dressing habits of one out of three leading characters here (constantly taking down the leading hero of this story a notch or two) and interaction that ensues from character on stage like this could have been very disconcerting to an audience of Protestant tastes. The da capo arias, two or three of which here succinctly allow the not so morally edifying hero of this tale, Arsace, to recognizably plumb the very depths of despair - such as happens in both Ariodante and other Handel opera seria - are on average shorter than previously has been the case.

Christine Schafer put to doubt notion that the title role of the queen, as described by Dean and others, is merely a simple, fun-loving character. Schafer, according to whatever agenda, brought out an inner agitation (already in the music) to this character not readily found in Rosemary Joshua’s conventional take on the part on disc (Chandos). In pushing for achieving desired dramatic effects, some obvious strain ensued. Her dramatic, also musical insights just almost made up for whatever lapses occurred vocally, lapses which just somewhat diminished as the evening wore on.

What pre-Cosi Fan Tutte aspects of this work there are, the more aesthetically pleasing way of singing this part does not always necessarily bring them out as well as did Schafer. Except for having to push it vocally, she certainly could be in a qualified way a natural at Fiordiligi. Partenope came across as though character similarly vulnerable. “Qual farfalletta”, as light-hearted and popular a piece from Partenope there is, had all the charm it needed. In spite of moments of strain, Schafer revealed, deftly pointed, a woman of experience, at both life and in affairs of the heart – with her being so ‘enlightened’ and free in taking so much on. Not too many pages apart from trio perhaps too short to get across all what Schafer reckoned it should – expressed moral outrage to extent did her cutting, incisive, syncopated “Spera e godi”. All three characters for the brief “Un cor infedele” were clearly differentiated, with support Rousset provided.

Christine Schafter started off tentatively with the bravura aria “L’Amor ed il destin” – tone hooty and insecurity at break and above. Schafer willed the cheerful, seductive aria “Sei mia gioia” with agile coloratura, making regal bearing of the queen palpable, but still only achieved good results with this. “Io ti levo” also sounded unsteady though with hearty D-Flat for Schafer to peal out right before the end of it. Schafer still spun out a beautifully connected line affirming the noble, imperious aspects of Partenope in this first of two very noble arias for her.

“Voglio amare” was perhaps most interesting of all, offering some of Schafer’s best singing of the evening. Christine Schafer made Partenope here, while singing a partly apologetic text, sound just reasonably tough - as to expose a character at pains to hide what vulnerabilities the queen indeed has. It could not have been easy for Schafer to have come up with all this – attention on how to sing Handel more than enough for many – but as determined as Schafer can be to make such happen, here it did. The brief arioso “Care mura”right before “Voglio amare” made evident what vocal warmth Schafer can still provide. Schafer’s ironic, mock-heroic take on the queen, including especially a trumpeted high A for her at the end of “Sei mia gioia” - was insightful, making for great diversion even in a work of more modest proportions such as this.

David Daniels was given the musically gratuitous, if dramatically thankless part of the shifty, weak-willed hero Arsace. Arsace’s opening aria with its stepwise continuo obbligato and haughtily charming “Sento amor” (the latter exposing hooty quality on top) came across as glibly insouciant, complacent - as though quite unaware of the traps being set for him. With urgent pacing from the pit, Daniels only almost lost focus during the almost endlessly spinning out vortices down from E(-Flat) of sextuplets in ‘Furibondo spira il vento" - stormy finale to Act Two. He still made an exciting challenge, showcase of it, of its furious emotions. The easier, somewhat inconsequential “Poterti dir vorrei” and closing bravura,“Fatto e amor”, with its taxing runs at vocal midrange, were cut.

With its proto-late-Mozartean qualities of extended appoggiaturas with beautifully prepared harmonic support, “Dimmi, pietoso ciel” opened what are three Lamentations of Arsace. Daniels sang this first one with beautiful legato in middle register, where much of it sits; nuance with such lines and fearlessness of being declamatory with several lines where called for (without pushing anything much) were notable. “Ch’io parta?” and “Ma quai note” were both big highlights of the evening. For Lawrence Zazzo, singing it at stately, regular pace with grief-stricken tone (on Curnyn set on Chandos) apparently was enough for both of these numbers. Daniels went the second mile, with seemingly limitless breath control, spinning out the line through the melismas of “Ch’io parta?” with genuine and expansive breadth of line and specific shape – all very deeply affecting. His trailing off the ends of phrases to a whisper, and with the discipline not to self-consciously dovetail doing so or layer on any other mannerism for “Ma quai note” was equally haunting. I have not ever heard better from David Daniels than his Arsace here.

Mezzo and pair of counter-tenors hardly seem distinguishable from each other on Chandos. Patricia Bardon here played Rosmira. Vocally, she suffered from some unsteadiness, but character and purpose in mind still had a little more than half of the clarity it needed. Her pointed ‘gelosia’s’ in “Furie son dell’alma mia” (a piece Charles Burney said he found rude and uncouth) - all of this aria practically choking with rage and risking considerable security vocally – made an impact. Rousset similarly took “Io seguo sol fiero” (‘horns aria’), finale to Act One ferociously, with Bardon reportedly tearing about the stage. Unsteadiness aside, Bardon’s voice had the greater flexibility and opportunity for color, subtle insinuation where necessary than Hillary Summers provided on disc. Bardon made Rosmira the more fully human and three-dimensional. Except for several weak low notes, Bardon started confident with “Se non ti sai spiegar” and found good introspection for pang of conscience in arioso form early on in Act 3.


Matthias Rexroth as the acutely indecisive Armindo provided deep sound in low register, prudently and approached high notes lightly, characterizing his part well, but lacked vocal distinction. He attended to overall shape to the line of “Nobil core”, with fine support from Rousset (eschewing the jerking about of its gigue rhythms) very well, making for both cheerful and successful close to his part – just having perhaps won in this staging two for the price of one, since here the queen’s captain has the hots for him as well. Florian Boesch was the light-voiced captain Ormonte - found to ham things up a bit during the finale to the opera. His only aria - with tune motivically similar to another aria nearby - helps make metaphor between lovemaking and campaigning in battle real.

Emilio is the part in Partenope to fill in whatever gaps in plot development whenever useful, and yet Handel fills out the part to extent this eventually becomes an interesting character in most respects. He is there to, alone among Partenope’s suitors, put up manly challenge to her disdain of his amorous advances and rival kingdom and to react with masculine despondency when he loses in battle. He is then later, in style of writing that previews Ferrando in Cosi Fan Tutte, the person to salve Arsace’s wounds at not so much the hand as rhetoric of Rosmira. Kurt Streit had Christopher Rousset’s complete help in delineating all aspects and most of all dramatic functions of Emilio. Vocal delivery is less smooth from Streit than six years ago when he joined Curnyn for Chandos, but in place of singing just musically, a full character emerged here. The victorious bravura aria that Emilio closes with sits quite low, bound to cause Streit trouble this way; he did not find it insurmountable.

Leaps, inversions of octaves and sevenths in “Anch’io pugnar sapro”, Streit's opening aria, had from Rousset as well just the right ironic touch, as opposed to sounding pedantic. “Barbaro, fato si” was incisively defiant.“La speme ti consoli”, one of my favorite arias in Partenope, such as Mozart could have heard or musically had written for Ferrando, had the flexibility to make sense of and emotionally fill out Emilio’s lines with lovely nuance. It was such that it was credible that Arsace could have found some comfort or balm from this. Streit, still in fine voice, proved himself still up to this challenge that Handel wrote for virtuoso tenor Annibale Pio Fabri.

Speaking of irony, the new Pierre Audi production seemed to have come with it in spades. The infusion of so much vital passion in Christine Schafer’s interpretation made the staging quite a foil to her singing of the title role. One from the look of it could have expected instead the frivolity of valley girl casual glibness or indifference – greatest concern how well the personal trainer for daily jog and massage vis-à-vis what traffic issues may factor in, makes it to the gym on time for scheduled appointments. It is reassuring to know that we still have val girl types out there who know and how to express what is more important in life. Could there be a sufficiently quiet treadmill, to put onstage, especially to match Rousset’s tempos for “Furibondo” and ‘horns aria?’

None of this would have worked, had it not been for the supreme flexibility and wonderful working musical knowledge of Christopher Rousset, leading Les Talents Lyriques – optimum in ensemble, tuning, rhythms and the spirit of this music. I felt quite taken aback by the theatricality of Rousset’s musical insights, for being instrumentalist-turned-conductor he is. I feared a little toward start of this some choppiness, clipping, what have you; those fears greatly diminished quite rapidly as time passed by. There was no contentment here expressed with merely having proper baroque stylization of everything down without turning other elements of Partenope as well into music.

As an aside, it is perhaps churlish to pick on a studio recording, such as that of Christian Curnyn. I just could not help being reminded of Christopher Hogwood live six years ago in Houston for Ariodante - how very content he was to stop right where it is apparent that Curnyn has also. Moreover, Hogwood openly admitted his complete, highly ungrateful disdain for the fine David Alden production that came with him for Ariodante.

There was no grand-standing from Rousset either – other than quite humorously so right before the end of this opera – how he boldly jumped in to begin the forty second sinfonia to start the final scene. Even taking several daring tempos, Rousset was always very mindful of turning every phrase to good extent it should. His work with his singers was very thorough. For example, he aided Bardon on flexibly effective contrast of emphasis and color between insistent repeat musically of figuration, runs, in her last aria “Qual volto mi piace,” then curiously moved “Nobil core” (in similar gigue rhythm) for Armindo to several numbers later in the act. Several arias (elsewhere) got cut, and some recitative - only some of which not missed.

Handel, as our familiarity with Messiah can fool us, does not spell out how to use the virtuosity of his writing to flesh out character, even quirks thereof. He relied instead on his interpreters. In Rousset and also in this cast having made such complete ensemble effort, Handel had very close to what he wanted here. We can only hope for soon an upcoming dvd release of this new production, even as hard on the heels of one from Copenhagen - to be played semi-staged at the BBC Proms.

ROH Lulu (new production) - as devoid of shape, essence, form

George Perle has written very well that debate over whether we should do the Friedrich Cerha completion of Lulu or stick with the two act version with Variations and Adagio tagged on at the end could still be alive and well. There was some agreement with the Alban Berg Stiftung that at least loosely sought out some guarantee that if the Cerha completion was to be played, that the two act version still get performed as often. At least the conjecture has been with Helene Berg and most prestigious of Berg’s composer colleagues, each of whom turned down writing the completion of Berg’s sketches, that there was intended some reworking by Alban Berg especially of what he had of a third act already - but also even of some material from Acts One and Two.

From my own observations, as an aside, that might especially have meant for several passages from Act Two. Franz Welser-Most and more authoritatively Ingo Metzmacher in Hamburg have each opted lately for doing Lulu much as it was before 1979 – year of Paris world premiere of the new three-act version (F. Cerha) conducted by Boulez.

Antonio Pappano, at the Royal Opera, negatively made the case, in doing the three-act Lulu, for doing it in two acts instead. The pains and thoroughness with which Alban Berg took in writing Lulu were at best vaguely audible in his interpretation - especially so during the first two acts. Andrew Davis, from Chicago, at least was clear with this music and showed experience with it, if not drawing out much of its impetus, conceptual or otherwise, or making much of any case for either its dramatic or musical formal elements. For a good ways, it was intermittent from Pappano that we even got this much. The staging, by Christof Loy, exaggeratedly abstract, may have been a further liability.

The title role was handed to still somewhat of a relative unknown – Agneta Eichenholz. Here was certainly, a good stretch of the way through, a fairly brave attempt at it, but it was difficult to hear how things have developed for her in this part much beyond that. In a studied posture, her interpretation of Lulu was quite cool, glib, and passive throughout.

Eichenholz has a good lyrical voice, certainly with some soundness to it, to even attempt Lulu as well as she did. However, when the music turns up the heat for what is required here, Eichenholz’s solutions could only be described as curious. There was not so much a tubular means of achieving the high-flying acuti in this part - for lack of better wording best to be described as pressurized. The straight tone on notes above the staff including a D she quite securely landed on C-sharp, could not only be strident at times, but piercing. Some warmth got through, especially together with Alwa on stage, but frustratingly so little invested in scenes together with Schigolch, some of the opera's truly most intimate. Schigolch understands Lulu in numerous ways more than do the other characters in this..

Once the voice was warmed up, for the second half of the opera, from a good “O freiheit” to the end, Eichenholz provided more consistent results. She did reveal too how to pack a punch or two for several incisive lines in the part. A low point from her was the scene with Dr. Schon to close Act One. Lyrical voices that take on Lulu tend to trace lightly over the music, but with clear emphasis on the words, and also certainly enough tone to at least affect well sustaining the line. Eichenholz, to save voice perhaps, instead opted to chirp her way through this scene, remaining part of (Schoen) sonata passage, for Schoen and her. It was hardly identifiable at this point what was going on, other than there perhaps being a nervous Pomeranian nipping at the heels of Dr. Schoen. Such notion has come up as simile before; Eichenholz made it here full metaphor. insistence to Dr Schoen for calling off marrying his fiancé came across as what could have been instead her reading simple instructions by rote over nearby telephone. She rushed Pappano through opening stanzas or lines of ‘Das Lied der Lulu’ in Act Two, before finally opening out freely therein to reveal what aspects of her vocal art might indeed be worthy for Bergb’s Lulu. She, however, especially for its three act version, is not ready yet for this.

Michael Volle (Dr Schoen) was the most effective of principals in this cast. I am surprised that, as good a voice as he has, that he takes on this part still relatively early on during his career. He cuts as menacing a Dr Scheon as possible in numerous ways, without ever having to resort to barking Schoen’s lines.. The manic, obsessive energy of this man came through in spades, and without a moment where anything felt exaggerated this way or had to be. As Jack the Ripper, he adopted a warmer sound, demeanor very convincingly. Regardless how in other ways the outcome might seem already for Lulu, it was more obvious than just his being replica of Schon how magnetic his appeal was.

One had to wonder too during especially his second of two scenes alone with Lulu in Act One, how Volle could communicate effectively up against, what turned out to be so meager for resistance expected from Lulu. Synopsis wise, he was more likely having instead to resist her demands that in more ways than one appeared to be so miniscule in terms of being compelling - nothing hard to resist in the least.

Jennifer Larmore played a sensitive, dignified, cool, collected Geschwitz at about every step of the way through her part. Her voice, at times, betrayed some strain under pressure, but Larmore kept it quite understated the deep affection - not to mention on what grounds Geschwitz feels for Lulu. Willi Hartmann played lyrically the naïve, quite on purpose affected, and then tortured Painter well, without ever overstating the case. He caught as well the earthiness of the Negro (who slays Alwa during the final scene) very well.

Klaus Florian Vogt played a light voiced Alwa - as thus a good match to Eichenholz in the title role. Passage where Alwa reflects backstage on what it might be like to write an opera on story at hand near end of Act One went well, apart from clunky introduction to it by Pappano (regardless that it is the very start of Wozzeck one hears), as did some of the Rondo portion of Rondo-Hymn, split between both scenes of Act Two. He lapsed though into insipidly crooning “Ich liebe dich” through a high G at the end of his first full liaison with Lulu, but then however was hardly able to sustain anything at all over heavier orchestration by Berg at the end of Act Two for the Hymn portion of this passage

Peter Rose, as Animal Trainer, in selling story to follow, communicated proper authoritative sonority, necessary gusto and good lightness with the text simultaneously. He tended however, as the Athlete, to excessively ham up his lines – vulgar character that the Athlete is – and also clip notation and rhythms. Early in Act Two, he and Larmore seemed to reverse direction of Berg’s tempo markings from poco ritardando to accelerando, to clip what is written - in misguided interest of making it more incisive.

Apart from Volle and Hartmann, the most successful casting here was of Royal Opera veterans Philip Langridge (Prince/Manservant/Marquis) and Gywnne Howell (Schigolch). Lnagridge managed, in fine voice, to find the sinister charm of the Prince toward end of Act One, the begrudging fear and servility of the Manservant in Act Two and the wheedling nature of the Marquis during Act Three to very near perfection. Howell, while playing up a little much the comedic or accessible features of Schigolch, made something very human and involving of the character, with at his age, fine sonority, beautiful diction and reading of Schigolch’s lines. He made it a little further hard to understand why either the staging, Eichenholz or both did not allow much of any more than effective one-way communication with the Lulu on stage. At any rate, it is with perfect reason that Royal Opera keeps such veterans as Langridge and Howell around, for what they represent for the company. Experience does matter in this business.

Before things cohered very well for the final scene, Antonio Pappano gave us little reason why him instead of someone else to conduct this music. The BBC emcee reassured us at the end that in terms of clarity, Pappano’s approach to this music was effective. Texturally alone, things were unclear for near half the time. Except for some uncertain entrances, Pappano accommodated his singers well, including his excessively choppy conducting of Alwa’s hymn at the end of Act Two and making ‘chamber music’ out of at least one of the two big Lulu/Schoen scenes in Act One. Temperature was so low as if to resemble tuning into the noonday soaps instead, albeit with odd soundtrack for such.

The classical structures Berg superimposes on his dramatic layout or canvas were most of the time insufficiently clearly audible most of the way through such central passages - for much of the motivic/set row fiber out of which such is built. Rhythms for passage such as the exchange between Schon and the Painter, where Schon confronts the young man about Lulu’s past, sounded disorganized as to any sense of pulsation - even toward direction things should be headed. Cumulative impact of such a passage was greatly diminished. For rushing things too much, Pappano made almost a complete shambles out of lighter scene for Athlete, Schoolboy, and Schigolch early on in Act Two.

The pistol shot aimed at Schon came out ten minutes later at a rate one better associates with Minnie in Fanciulla del West than how quickly Lulu can pump the metal into Schon - as underpinned by clipped, smeared sixteenths from the ROH violin section. Subtleties in tempo directions were altogether ignored in this passage and two other places in this scene alone. The stillness at marking of ‘Grave’, right after Dr Schon has died, the pause or space needed for this moment, got sloughed off – with flaccid handling of slow stretto octaves right before. It became clear that Pappano, perhaps attempting to posture at being objective or clinically so, does not get it as of yet, when it comes to any of this music.

Pappano likely may have received good coaching for this - from Dohnanyi perhaps. He just has not taken time to thoroughly think this music through for himself – other than to achieve some diaphanous effects in context of music that then hardly ever appeared to go in any specific direction at all. Pappano tended from early on to gild, dovetail its lines. Within such an approach, his failure especially at first to shape the Schon theme in the big sonata passages of Act One meaningfully at all was bewildering.

To Pappano’s credit, at least the ragtime, English waltz, offstage band music during Act One, Scene 3, clearly sounded acoustically as though it was played offstage as marked. At least, to this pair of broadcast ears it did – and as though patrons at both Convent Garden and at Lyric heard things the same way I did, at least I imagine.

Before thinking the late Romantic era and jazz infusion of post-romanticism during Alban Berg’s own time in conducting his music, may I suggest that Pappano, plus anyone else doing this think instead of Mozart and his operas? It seems that big mistake here was in getting it wrong as to who should conduct the Korngold earlier in the season and then who should have conducted Lulu instead, even if it might have meant the two-act version (as it did in Hamburg) instead of the three-act one that got performed yet again. For alone how unprepared much of the first two acts of this sounded, this broadcast turned out to be the least persuasive of what I have yet come across in terms of doing Lulu in three acts.

ROH Bychkov Lohengrin - a magically led sense of wonder

Elijah Moshinsky’s production of Lohengrin for Royal Opera received notable revival this past spring, especially as conducted by Semyon Bychkov. This production has been reckoned a few times a bit stilted or two-dimensional, yet with occasionally good stage imagery for particular scenes.

Bychkov and Johan Botha as the swan knight, plus three other cast members of this recorded Lohengrin absolutely complete in Koln last year. Adrienne Pieczonka, the Elsa in Koln, will sing it for Houston Grand Opera this fall. She was replaced here by a new Italian lyric soprano by the name of Edith Haller.

Johan Botha was here a Lohengrin one hoped might possibly be a great interpreter of this part. It was just only with having such very high expectations that perhaps he disappointed us. Legato, musical sensitivity at his command, fine understanding of the part sounded all intact - evidently still there. He conveyed Lohengrin's selfless love for Elsa very convincingly.

Lohengrin's first entrance, without exaggerating, was sung at the level of a true piano, if perhaps less transfixing than might be perfectly ideal; we have not lately quite had any Sandor Konya in our midst; such is hard to come by anymore. Preparation by Bychkov orchestrally was the best heard for any moment in this thus far.

One anticipated with Botha some heroic ring to emanate following his entrance, but some clipping of rhythms and slight coasting through first ever heard warnings to Elsa ensued instead. In concerted ensemble leading up to duel with Telramund and declamation immediately following it, Botha commanded the line and revealed the metal he still has at his behest. Gentle entreaty to Elsa at “Der furchterliches Weib” in Act Two was endearing. Several soggy attacks and placing back however had Botha retreating from several challenges ensuing late in Act Two – for Elsa to possibly have had some basis for doubt after all.

Botha’s expressive bel canto in the bridal chamber scene and Grail narrative were highly convincing. He though felt he had to prove slightly more on a couple of (tubular produced) high A’s in passage toward end of scene with Elsa than necessary - in making final heartfelt pleas to Elsa to give her fateful question a rest. Proof however of a real artist here came with the great sadness, sense of loss with which Botha infused “Weh! Nun ist all unser Gluck dahin” and grace with which to articulate his decision to concede to Elsa - while before the King. “Zu lohnen” had fully appropriate solemnity - with the import of what “In fernem Land” reveals to us. With caressed tone, sense of wonder, just about all to remain came off scintillatingly. This was very certainly a swan knight made of flesh and blood - with full throttled, passionate “O Elsa! Nur eine Jahr” to make mention of for considerable time to come.

Edith Haller is an Elsa, not far from along lines of perhaps Eleanor Steber, of warm, lovely voice, good legato, but guarded reserve, coolness in reacting to all on Elsa's plate. Here was an Elsa at times not afraid to show some vulnerability, such as right after Lohengrin's Second Act entrance. There is argument too for Elsa from the get-go being slightly less the completely enraptured heroine than for instance Senta or Elisabeth. One still might seek more rapture with "Einsam in truben Tagen” than what some swallowed consonants and low notes betrayed instead. Intonation was problematic only with occasionally pushing the voice at the break and above.

A tentatively phrased “Euch luften” in Act Two similarly lacked something. Haller seemed slow to engage completely with Petra Lang’s Ortrud after they meet, but once re-entering to conclude their encounter, rose well to the challenge of singing alongside Lang, histrionically appoaching being a great Ortrud. Haller then acted very well the bridal chamber scene, subtly hinting at its agitation from its outset, but also eschewing development of excessive hysteria, as has been mistake of several other excessively lyric Elsa’s out there.

Falk Struckmann sounded still vocally intact toward presenting a definitive Telramund. His going through the paces at several venues as Wotan has taken its toll. The voice sounds hollowed out and slightly rough at the edges; steadier voice emerged here than necessarily expected. Struckmann benefited much from wonderful support Bychkov provided him almost the entire way through. One’s attention, listening to him, was on the words of Telramund, thus strongly conveying all the villain’s bitterness, guile, and malice. Vocally he is in better shape eleven years ago under Barenboim on disc, but he certainly held out promise that he has more years left to help occupy the world’s opera stages, perhaps heretofore as a fine Alberich. Such has been the case before with Theo Adam. Struckmann is still a welcome artist - recalling his fine Met Wozzeck, then Wanderer for La Scala during the late 1990’s.

Petra Lang (Ortrud) proved Struckmann’s wonderful partner in crime. One could not ask for an Ortrud more subtly acted than encountered here - quite a challenge to both the Telramund and Elsa on stage, especially so. “Entweihte Gotter” became too pushed, but intonation still remained mostly sound; thrill of her giving it her all though was most convincing.

Expectations have become too low toward hoping to praise two current singers as the two baddies in this. Who else has there been around to raise them lately? Ortrud to Lang is not so consciously evil as much as just out to defend what she observes being seized, encroached upon by medieval Christendom to which she and her world still hold exclusive rights. Lang gave big moment for Ortrud helping conclude Act Three practically enough to raise all the hair on one’s spine. Not quite Margarethe Klose perhaps or even Astrid Varnay at peak of her powers, but still something. Petra Lang has yet to sound more distinctive than how she did for this.

Kwangchul Youn was the warm toned Heinrich, authoritative in terms of always full cognizance of dramatic situation, if not a vocally formidable presence as such. He can not quite fade memories of Greindl or Frick at their formidable best, but with firm line and beautifully molded legato, he conveyed full concern for and well-husbanded authority over his fellow Brabantians. His lieder like sensitivity for text, gentle manner - recalling his palpable reaction to Lohengrin’s lowered countenance in making his final entrance - makes Youn still welcome for any Wagner.

Boaz Daniel – in place of Eike Wilm Schulte in Koln, was fine as the King’s Herald, including in marshaling forces for excitingly led choral work to follow his statements. It was only around middle C that one sensed mild uncertainty – just when pressing down near end of range in question.

As is still quite common, the second half of “In fernem Land” was cut, as also was minute for Lohengrin starting with “O, Elsa! Was hast du mir angethan?” and ensemble to follow. Bychkov conveyed sense of such passages being essential by how he conducted what then little remained - as opposed to leaving so much sounding clunky - usually the case when these cuts are taken. Two considerations however remain. How does Johan Botha plan on sustaining Tannhauser, as announced, when this signature role is never abridged toward relieving strain of having to sing it? On the upside, however, Bychkov revealed the impetus behind the dark side of Lohengrin very well, while even having to make undesirable cuts, but also still maintaining sense of Lohengrin being a ‘zauberoper’ - written in close advent of starting work on the Ring.

There could longer no doubt by end of this how much Bychkov loves this music; his interview comments for BBC were alternatively witty and very sincere. Here is a musician I have always found enigmatic, but still with definitely some fine qualities for working in opera. The opening chords of the Prelude to Act One made one case in point - the sense of not quite being an entirely clear beat for the chords to come in quite one hundred percent together; once same music recurred later in the opera, there was little mistaking how together everything was. A little wearing the heart on the sleeve led to some clotting of textures in ensembles during finales to both the first two acts, but ensemble therein was still sufficiently cohesive to convey fine, fully engaging sense of excitement.

Bychkov’s support for singers, his ear for color and balances from the Royal Opera orchestra was definitely remarkable, especially through practically entire stretch of Act Three. Exchange between Herald and knights in scene that often drags things was visceral, with fantastic entries achieved for the Royal Opera chorus - with it still ringing in my ears the racket this group made under Albrecht for Dutchman a month ago. There was though still something about choral work that sounded beyond what any visitor can fix – wobbly sopranos during bridal chorus and unsteady tenors as well. Time presses then to call for some housecleaning and perhaps for change of leadership for the ROH chorus. This company, after all, has been led before by Colin Davis, Haitink, Solti; it at least should want to continue its strong international reputation.

Orchestral work here further evinced Bychkov in control of his forces – to a very nearly full extent. Pacing was consistently excellent, moving forward, with space provided to for beautifully shape lyrical lines that infuse so very much of Lohengrin. Contrast between sound worlds was also very clear – between that representing the ancient paganism of Ortrud and Telramund and that of still nascent flowering medieval spirit of the time of action. Coloring to a highly chromatic sequence of harmonies – hushed choral reaction to what the two pagans have stirred up – momentarily had one think ahead to Parsifal, even to Scriabin.

The sense of words being best guide to pacing Wagner, as Bychkov stated in interview, was constantly present, and within such sense of a leap to through-composed means being made that much of Lohengrin conveys. With strings down to double pianissimo at one place in the Grail narrative, line still electrically persisted through them. Solo clarinet reminiscence of the joy of the initial moments of marital bliss, according to all both logic and feeling invested therein, was heart-rending, devastating. Should we hear more from Bychkov at Royal Opera? While probably the finest work I have yet heard from him anywhere, the answer should be clear.