Met (NPR): Debussy's Pelleas - Miller production (revival) - through heavy naturalistic trudge under Simon Rattle (debut). New Year's Day.

With only so much experience in opera thus far, it seems that debut of Simon Rattle with the Metropolitan Opera has become long overdue. The Met granted him his choice of repertoire with which to make it; that choice is obvious. He had what on paper naturally would appear a good hand-picked cast with which to work, and among productions that originated during Volpe era at the Met, a good pick as well – by Jonathan Miller. Miller sets Pelleas during time it was written, the Belle Epoque era. Miller has gone further in making light of to abolishing altogether elements of mysticism that infuse Maeterlinck’s text, then some of Debussy too. Perhaps more controversially than anything else, Melisande is no longer the innocent waif, but even deliberately active forthright protagonist, perhaps driving it all, behind much action to take place,

One other irony is that wisest presence on Met stage for this appeared to be Golaud (Gerald Finley). Normally, we think of Golaud, as lone character in this abiding by classical reason or logic that in being trapped by all of what is phenomenal in his midst turns out at end of day to turn him into the most uncomprehending, least enlightened, basically most clueless among modest sized cast of characters populating Debussy’s opera. Simon Rattle, conducting a work he has conducted at Salzburg with the Berlin Philharmonic before, then two years later at Staatsoper with their own, Staatskapelle, instead – once same evening Barenboim conducted Schoenberg’s Pelleas with the Philharmonic. Stage direction at Staatsoper interestingly fell under aegis of being posthumous revival of ‘Grandma (Ruth Berghaus)’s’ production. At Salzburg however in 2006, the team that staged it there had initiates of Allemande in upright position, dressed as clowns, all facing front and failing to interact with one another. Rattle perhaps achieved the most responsive playing so far for Pelleas from Staatskapelle Berlin.

Rattle’s Met effort here sounded as though more of one piece than how has been described his outing with Pelleas at Salzburg five years ago. There by now certainly is some concept in mind, but what I would describe as still practically inscrutable. It is refreshing to hear Pelleas sometimes played unabashedly, unambiguously realistically direct, as one has already on disc in differing ways from Pierre Boulez and Claudio Abbado. Much in the way of wafting by, being least bit ambiguous or mysterious or implied to be in Debussy’s scoring goes mostly by the wayside here. Robert Wilson might be a more interesting choice of producer - with all its use of abstract lighting, graphics, slow choreographic gesture together with which for Rattle to work than Miller.

Rattle sought out of Debussy’s score its often full orchestral weight - development of musical argument along these lines. It was in this aspect of going about it that I fear Debussy’s score became something somewhat fleeting and elusive to Rattle – the more weighted down, the more elusive to maintain a strong grasp on it. Rattle continues most interested in bringing obvious darker undercurrents to Pelleas constantly to the fore; no doubt, on the other hand, doing Pelleas all svelte, misty, wispy, wafty is a distortion. This also proved the slowest Pelleas I have yet heard – clocking in at 171 or 172 minutes, not counting intermissions, applause, etc. Bernard Haitink, with Orchestre Nat’l de France, comes in, still quite slow, at 162. Here was a Pelleas almost along lines of late-career Knappertsbusch or Goodall - doubtful that either maestro ever conducted it.

Hi-Fidelity, reviewing the EMI Karajan Pelleas years ago, described it as more Maeterlinck, heavily allusive to Symbolism, than Debussy. It is likely the sveltest played Pelleas in modern sound - veering close to glutinous during this score’s most saturated writing, such as interlude almost midway through Act Four. Tempos are comparably very broad to on the still fairly recent Haitink (extending beyond it only by a minute).

Debussy however was, in adapting Maeterlinck, striving for realism, but defined along different parameters than the naturalism in vogue during his day. What more uninspiring can be turned into a libretto, in other words than a Theodore Dreiser novel? (And yet that has been, in terms of commission, been tried at the Met recently). I have also avoided on purpose listening to Nicholas Maw’s Sophie’s Choice - and have regretted time spent on Heggie’s Dead Man Walking I would rather admit accidentally stepping in than listening to again. For objectivity’s sake, it was worth one try.

When taking on Debussy’s Pelleas, to avoid giving it any slanted perspective, one has to judge for one’s self how subliminal or overt to reckon its dream-state. The Miller production has ditched this as just reckoning it further extension out of Romantic myth, cliché that in partly different way Debussy left behind too. With Pierre Boulez – preferable on his old Sony recording, not to demean the integrity of Peter Stein’s production on DGG – a crystalline percolated flow forthrightly conveys Pelleas’s realism.

The closest on disc to Rattle’s interpretation is likely Bernard Haitink (Naïve). What reticence, lumbering surfaces therein however occurs with overall line in perspective, and toward keeping all supple numerous openings out – acutely moving the rapt never motionless stillness (as informed by what surrounds the line) for Melisande’s gentle, fleeting oasis of ‘C’est que jet e regarde’ during love scene in Act Four - there being illusion of continuing motion underneath through overtones, memory – with all orchestral activity having ceased for one measure. Anne Sofie Von Otter, not lighter casting than Magadalena Kozena suggestively nuanced this; Kozena emitted a loud yawn through it.

What largely resulted for Rattle was in a still valid hybrid approach to interpreting Debussy’s Pelleas was more than the alert realism of the Boulez interpretation – not desirable that Rattle attempt himself – a stodgy naturalism even lopsided as such – more prose than poetry – perhaps mildly denigrating, demeaning what Jonathan Miller’s production, with expected meta-textual ironies all its own, might want most upfront to accomplish. In fact, for stretches of this under Rattle, all appeared to be prose. He best brought matters to life for more dramatic passages, such as the finale to Act Three – Act Three often better paced, granting also the Met orchestra opportunity to sink slightly more into what they were playing than earlier and/or elsewhere.

More glutionous in terms of weight than texture was Rattle’s approach. Dynamics tended to be generically loud, denying suggestive color contrast for such lines as Pelleas’s ‘Nous aurons un tempete’ along seaside near end of Act One and for Melisande’s ‘je ne suis pas heureuse’ ending central scene with Golaud during Act Two. Dramatically climactic moments at end of Act Three and during Act Four did not stand out as better than reticently violent from what had come before, for playing already having become too loud. Veering close to massaged solos by Nick Emmett for second interlude in Act One, and by Rafael Figueroa (cello) under sagging English horn right before pair of half-brothers entering caves in Act Three. Reticent poise inhibited making supple transitions during seaside closing scene to Act One and filling out Pelleas’s beautifully undulated ‘Je les nous’ – most relaxed moment during Tower scene opening Act Three – as though wary of compromising a more stolid stance having to prevail.

After making phlegmatic the subterranean portion of Act Three - of good cross-voicing among orchestral lower reached - Rattle made worked or pedantic re-emergence to daylight, then excessively scherzo-esque what animation to follow. Eventually the close to this scene, all slightly over a line to being stiffly detached, could have had one ask what Debussy might have plagiarized from Ferde Grofe’s Grand Canyon Suite – except for the Grofe having been composed later. Other seemingly contradictory gilding occurred elsewhere. Mystery was most curiously lacking for evocative interlude before grotto final scene to Act Two - from low bassoons’ iunison with cellos even through shimmering tremolo descent in divisi violins for effort within their playing showing.

Magdalena Kozena as coltish, but distraughtly restrained Melisande made nigh perfect devil’s advocate for keeping Rattle off his guard against his own lesser instincts – of stiffly, vaguely groping his way about Debussy’s Pelleas. Tone tended toward opaque, pressed near the break, compromising pitch and consistent with much getting placed back. Innocence of Melisande became gravely in doubt – if as free, driving agent through action of this Melisande can still make a good liar to Golaud – her pouted, grunted low D’s right after being queried while at Golaud’s bedside about issue Golaud thinks she might have regarding Pelleas. French pronunciation– occasionally with swallowed consonants, tended to be thick – except for welcome moments of relaxation vocally, mostly while in the company of Pelleas – and for Melisande’s chanson as well. Even several instances of ‘laissez-moi’’, similar therein resembled indicating hypothetical Monica Vitti take on Melisande instead of better, one plausibly halfway enamored of Pelleas. ‘Ouvrez la fenetre’s’ during Act Five got close to as heavily limned as good warnings earlier to Pelleas of Golaud approaching nearby.

Stephane Degout as Pelleas, genuinely French casting at last, was very nearly as well cast as half-brother for Gerald Finley. He most often infused with warmth his naturally baritonal timbre for Pelleas , even conveying something of mystery that, for so much wariness of abandoning reason for cliché, Rattle became prone, pedantic to eschew. Pushed quality to Met orchestra’s playing in driving passages – missing slightly what eroticism compels them – abetted well Degout following suit – and even misguidedly attempting to match timbre with that of Kozena a few times. The strain in doing so was obviously felt. Acting, with natural feel for musical idiom and text, and also for Pelleas’s sensitive prudence in regards to threat about, was most realistic and believable. Degout cut an altogether handsome, likable figure as Pelleas - with much oppressively hardened all about overtaking the usually hazier gloom, hint, hint, cliché, of Debussy’s inspiration. Freely achieved top during Tower scene was most refreshing to hear.

Gerald Finley made highly credible a perplexed Golaud, making beautifully limned contrast between Golaud’s sensitive qualities, including befuddlement while interacting with Yniold in Act Three and guarded manner toward allowing jealous suspicions to overtake Golaud too early, and his aggression. Here was a definitively complete interpretation, not yet exceeded (or matched) by anything else this Met season thus far. The right snarl, incisive French and force for violent declamation came all forward, yet as compelled from within. Over slightly jerky accompanying from Rattle, Golaud’s imploring to Melisande for some reckoning, greater understanding as always to be beyond Golaud’s grasp, was deeply moving. Finley’s free top – for instance for ‘la joie’ toward end of scene in Act Two – revealed o youthful perspective to still be within Finley’s grasp- not lost yet starting in on heavier repertoire – toward as more easily Balstrode for English National Opera to win sympathy than Golaud. We have today, add Laurent Naouri, two Golaud’s sharing mantle belonging before to Jose Van Dam.

Veteran mezzo Felicity Palmer (Genevieve) with beautifully pointed, insinuated French, Paul Corona (Shepherd/Doctor) and after a throaty start Neel Ram Nagarajan (Yniold) hardly less, made for an altogether first-rate supporting cast – Rattle’s forceful not fortissimo marked but played pizzicato to open Yniold’s scene – yielding soon thereafter to better flexibility – not to unduly distract Nagarajan.

Former Golaud, even sounding intermittently like a second one on stage - long time colleague, close friend with Rattle - was Willard White to return to the Met (and Miller production) as Arkel. White fully conveyed fine dignity, wise forbearance, gravitas, and mystical lift to Arkel. Lack of mystery to Met brass underneath, for Rattle’s insistence on projecting forward Debussy’s sonorities, accompanying Arkel’s opening lines was enigmatic. Rattle’s sincerity could hardly be in doubt, especially at such a moment in this, so it was frustrating it was to figure out what it might be he wanted here.

White became taxed with some of Rattle’s slow pacing – as to sustain line, tone very well making awkwardly diphthongal some of his French. His easier lines to practically calmly bring Act Five to a close got drawn out to vocally relaxed Gurnemanz scaled proportions, practically making full epilogue out of all left to unfold, enlighten us once Melisande has mysteriously slipped away, then for remainder of long – the slowest Pelleas until now? - New Year’s afternoon quietly slipping away thereafter.

Comments dedicated to Dr. Jong-Wook Yu.

MET: Saturday afternoon dress rehearsal of Elektra oratorio by Strauss

Word traveled quickly that this was to be as detailed an Elektra in orchestral conception as we might ever run across today – since Giuseppe Sinopoli conducted the opera for DGG (and perhaps several other places as well) some years ago. Deborah Voigt was in considerably finer voice then than as heard today. Now, and after hearing Luisi brilliantly do Alpine Symphony with Staatskapelle Dresden from the Proms last summer, one could only surmise that such take on what was about to be heard today and probably throughout this run was something a publicity person may have picked up either first or second-hand from rehearsal sessions, limited as they most likely were. Dramatic intensity together with current of neuroticism that should infiltrate got cut off for most of the 106 minutes of this – with usual stage cuts taken.

One stage cut was most certainly necessary today - that during 'Was bluten muss?' - as Susan Bullock could have, like other sopranos attempting it, easily come to grief with it otherwise. Impetus from Fabio Luisi for unearthing so much that this score has to offer was clearly present - picked up well in the more obviously translucent passages of Elektra. A too easy tendency toward arched crescendos and hatchet downbeats on strong chords was a little more exaggerated than would normally indicate a well rehearsed performance of this. There were numerous lines in this Elektra, in the second Chrysothemis scene for instance that had the attentiveness, nuance, ease that would not make it into completely making connection with more forceful outbursts. Such sudden moments in this score break in at what can often seem at less than a moment's notice to many listeners.

It is the business of the Met orchestra not to sound as though unawares at all on such an essential staple of the repertoire as this. Numerous places, such as for howling, barking dogs, heaves, groans, flute untethered tremolo hallucinatory flourishes in central scene with Klytaemnestra Luisi attempted to bring out, but got anywhere from emerging halfway to mostly smothered instead. One need not even lightly italicize to the extent that Sinopoli does with the VPO on DGG to make such places count, at from Sinopoli only mild threat of breaking up the line. Numerous orchestras however, including the Met itself seven years ago under Levine with orchestra in top form if still an Elektra not cast especially well (except Voigt and Pape as Orest and partly Hanna Schwarz as the queen) have done better. They have certainly more meaningfully, with company under Joe Volpe’s oversight previous Saturday Elektra aired considerably more naturally brought so much more nuance out as well – all due to better rehearsal standards.

Even moments of incisive dialogue such as concerning Orest keeping company with dogs in Atrean stables and of demeaning the manhood of Aegisth by Elektra got halfway blown off. One heard the pitches, the text, but the meaning of it all just rather glibly sauntered by. Elektra’s digging for the axe in anticipation of Orest's arrival just almost sounded jackhammer enough that one could have assumed a woman at it with the biceps of George Forman or Mike Tyson; rushing up and down of cellos and basses anticipating the murder of Klytaemnestra was competently played but still unsubtle, and also broke tension by starting too loud. David Chan’s hallucinatory concertmaster solos in scene with Klytaemnestra were at first covered up, then unsubtly projected over orchestra playing still slightly too loudly not to cover them up otherwise. This was largest indication thus far that Luisi did not get the significant time he needed with his forces.

Luisi indicated numerous times his grasp of the elaborate harmonic scheme behind Elektra, a good if broad sweep to the line, very likely broader and less specific than he would have preferred. The opera he was to originally conduct at the Met this season was Frau ohne schatten. There was often specific shape to the line so much so that one could imagine how much better and ornately adorned it all could have been, if given the time - such as was heard from the Proms last summer for Alpine Symphony – ‘Alpine’ that alludes to both Elektra and Frau at once in a few places.

The best quasi-indication of under-rehearsed conditions was a tendency to underline places somewhat too conspicuously, such as during the first scene with Chrysothemis. With the very thorough time that Luisi has justifiably spent in Richard Strauss, one should hope to hear him do Elektra again, but under more favorable conditions than provided here. This was not so much badly played as just so often a tentatively, phlegmatically engaged account of Elektra – not good enough for what is deemed by Meg and Ira and also many others too to be the best opera orchestra in the world. Luisi and Dresden proved last summer, by comparison to this, how much better an opera orchestra it often is – with Alpine Symphony – some of the Orest music from Elektra intoned so beautifully today by the Met brass, to which it alludes.

The cast today proved very routiniere. Susan Bullock, had I tuned in unawares of who was in this today, could have had me imagine I was hearing Deborah Voigt as Elektra from ten or fifteen years ago, except for an aging Debbie as Chrysothemis standing right next to her, probably looking at the conductor like the Elektra too could have so much of the time. From comment I picked up from across room where I was listening to this, they each could have been trained out of the same school of Banshees as well. As much as I would hope against Voigt attempting Elektra so long ago or at any time really, same must also go for Bullock. Here is a voice for sure too light for this from singer willing to mostly coast through it, drawing with obvious effort upon what limited resources she has available to get through this.

Mid-register sounded hollow, low notes slightly choked, often weak, and a conspicuous spread almost always emitted through the passaggio. Passage such as the fleeting seduction of Aegisth, which calls on the Elektra to relax vocally emerged with good irony and revealed late in the day some acting ability on Bullock’s part, opposite an unpleasant Wolfgang Schmidt, barking off pitch at times - hardly more unpleasant than perhaps should be expected of Aegisth. Otherwise, singing and acting on Bullock's part made an overall bland impression. As opposed to what others have written - as opposed also to what Schmidt has given us before as Siegfried - Schmidt was not the problem today – certainly no more than any of the rest of this.

Deborah Voigt, in place of succeeding at a more aggressive, frontal approach towards Chrysothemis, emerged with just mostly harsh and unfocused tone instead. The middle voice, pushed so, immediately turned vinegary and strident. Whereas the voice freed up nicely to spin off a few high B’s and B-flats, especially toward the end of the opera, numerous of them could have easily come off differently. Low notes - scary to reckon for Susan Bullock - for Voigt came off no differently than for Bullock herself - dry, hollow, cracked - even almost choked at times. Voigt, as heard in Four Last Songs with DSO Berlin last summer, can still sound good, when not being compelled to press down – so hard at times here as though trying to compete dramatically with Bullock. Releases off notes were often unreliable from both women. Evgeny Nikitin (Orest) slightly reminded of Tom Krause on the deemed classic forty-three year old (though slightly over-rated) Solti recording. One could appreciate well Nikitin’s dark tone for Orest, but diction was mildly questionable and legato just cut or two above patchwork at times. Still, he won sympathy for the very ominously destined brother - in anticipation of brutal task before him.

Of the supporting cast, all three men were fine, John Easterlin and Kevin Burdette as Young and Old Servants over glibly, heavily italicized trounce through it orchestrally, and especially Oren Gradus again as Tutor to Orest from also the 2002 Levine broadcast. Rehearsed well right beforehand was the start of the ‘Orest ist tot’ introduction to the same scene, but like with so much else, follow-through was conspicuously weak. Maria Zifchak and Wendy Bryn Harmer as Third and Fourth Maids emerged the best of their lot, with a fine Overseer in, conspicuously enough, Susan Neves. Jennifer Check, as Fifth Maid, sounded outside of her element today – in comparison with her participation in Il Trittico two weeks ago.

Just listening to this, set design for the long central scene with Klytaemenestra could have just as well moved onto the floor of Chippendale’s with the rattled queen of Felicity Palmer - by now somewhat of an institution unto herself. Seen recently on disc as so fussed over, italicized to death her Zita in Gianni Schicchi under Annabel Arden and Valdimir Jurowski was, this is not surprising. No doubt, Palmer has walked the boards of the rattled queen numerous times by now. Opposite what was promised by Meg and Ira during very gratefully an abbreviated edition of the Meg and Ira show, Palmer this time gave us a Klytaemenestra from, colloquially speaking, exaggeratedly the Regina Resnik school of singing it. There was here considerably less solidity tonally - less of a solid core altogether - and less subtlety with words for sure than with either Brigitte Fassbaender for Abbado or Resnik in the part. She lightened up to attempt winning sympathy for the queen in moments of tender reminiscence of long departed happier times; much of the rest of this came close to being barked.

‘Ich habe keine gute Nachte’ ended for an entire line down in C Minor a quarter-tone flat. Having admired Palmer well for so much in the past, her Klytaemnestra included, I reckon today that other than for cameo parts and Countess in Pique-Dame, it may be getting close to time for Palmer to hang it up. For old time's sake, let us save such a Klytaemnestra for camp on PBS British sitcom or something even slightly more debauched.

Meg, alongside Ira, rewrote history in indicating Elektra as having been written nearly a hundred years ago, which if it had been done so, would have put it after Rosenkavalier. Anton Webern no less found Rosenkavalier highly admirable but recidivist after Elektra. And then there had to be the ‘back stories’, except in the case of the Oresteia, these are not really such back stories at all. For tragedies that have been out in the open to cool and dry off in the sun drenched air (with taint of olive oil) over ruins for two millennia now – add on a few centuries as well - one expects a little more or at least should.. For acting subtlety purposes, perhaps even Felicity Palmer, even with estimable knowledge of her part could have used a little consultation by Susan Flannery on how to get it right.

For acting that ranged from broad to glibly passed over (as so inconsistent to have made this conceivable as heard as merely a concert performance), much of Elektra today could have passed as some bizarre, past life episode of something or other around 12 Noon weekdays. At this point should Flannery, certainly with many back stories of her own and for her character too to offer, be at all a fan of opera, I would welcome her on any Saturday afternoon in the place of slap-happy eager Margaret Juntwait. I certainly would hope then she might take up the offer. Fine to hear from you, Susan, just as long as you read the libretto, plus some pages of historical background, commentary before coming on the air.

- Comments dedicated to Lai Tzi-Huei at Cambridge - who attended a near-definitive Stk Dresden Alpine at the Proms last summer - and especially to Edo De Waart, who gave Jones Hall (in Houston) an immaculately rehearsed and absolutely complete Rosenkavalier for HGO in co-production with Netherlands thirty-five years ago here.

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.