The prince in Adriana Lecouvreur (1902) is the only character in opera – if not, someone will correct me – defined by his love of chemistry. It’s a minor but critical point, easily missed, like so many in Francesco Cilea’s grandiloquent, not to say wildly overblown work. This chemist-prince is in possession of a poison that, when sniffed, leads to delirium and death. Sprinkled on a bunch of violets, it works a treat.
This should be action enough for any opera. Adriana Lecouvreur, four acts long and awash with actors, tantrums, false identity, dangerous liaisons, an intercepted letter, a dropped bracelet and issues with a pawnbroker, offers rather more. Netflix could make a series out of it. The work is rarely staged. Why bother at all? It’s a showpiece for top singers if you can find them. Tebaldi, Caballé, Scotto, Sutherland, great sopranos of the past, all triumphed in the title role.
David McVicar’s production, returning to the Royal Opera House for its first revival, hardly makes the story crystal clear, but the staging is handsome. With designs by Charles Edwards, costumes by Brigitte Reiffenstuel and lighting by Adam Silverman, it looks sumptuous. Anyone yearning for opera with all five orders of periwigs and acres of velvet, silk and all the traditional kit, not a bobble hat in sight, will be in their element. Daniel Oren, conducting, and the Royal Opera orchestra made a good case for Cilea’s potholey score, pointing up instrumental detail in what can sound formulaic. The box-office draw is Angela Gheorghiu, reprising the role she sang when the production was new in 2010 and celebrating a quarter of a century since her ROH debut. She has her fans. They were there, shrieking “Angela!” at any given opportunity – and none too surreptitiously, in the case of the person in front of me – filming it on their phones.
The voice has grown threadbare and patchy, yet with sudden focus in the upper range that reminds you of the Romanian diva’s range and singularity. Occasionally she endowed Cilea’s score, full of tunes or, rather, a few that keep coming back, with a bit of microtonal exploration around the centre of the note. But she still has the power to excel. In the big duets she rose to the occasion, spurred on by her formidable co-stars. Gerald Finley was luxury casting as the elderly Michonnet, heartbroken and devoted – a role debut for the great baritone who last week gained added kudos for being featured on a postage stamp, one of five celebrating Canadian opera. Imagine that here.
There were further imperatives to be there. The Russian mezzo-soprano Ksenia Dudnikova made a stirring Royal Opera House debut as the jealous princess (wife, get it, of the chemist), with big, oaky low notes and stage presence, though her acting skills are as yet only incipient. One singer, however, unquestionably stole the show. The American tenor Brian Jagde made a terrific role debut as the hero Maurizio. He has a pliant tone, pinging accuracy, stamina, shading and an astounding ability to make the voice grow throughout a phrase. What a voice. In 2010 Jonas Kaufmann sang the role, and this month has his own residency at the Barbican. So keep your ears on Jagde.
The latest instalment of the Southbank’s year-long Belief and Beyond Belief festival, in partnership with the London Philharmonic Orchestra, had several highlights last week. One was the invigorating performance of Haydn’s The Creation, conducted by Roger Norrington, who coaxed sinewy, period-informed playing from the LPO and impressive drill from the London Philharmonic Choir. Lucy Crowe, Thomas Hobbs and Christopher Maltman were imaginative soloists. (Hear the performance on Radio 3 tomorrow.) The concert was labelled “In the Beginning”, though the series is now well under way. Insisting on giving concerts names is a current malaise. Everyone does it. It can get ridiculous. You cannot big up what is already big. The creation. From chaos to light, life, the galaxies, the universe, the heavens. That’s enough. I note, coming up soon, the BBC Concert Orchestra are performing “Music to Die For”. Hard to add to that, except maybe “with” or “to”.
Also in the Festival Hall and directed by Anthony Marwood, strings of the Aurora Orchestra gave a gripping performance of Richard Strauss’s Metamorphosen, part of its Orchestral Theatre series in memory of Claus Moser. The aim of this initiative is to refresh the conventional concert format, whether by introducing the spoken word or memorising the music (Aurora will play Brahms’s Symphony No 1 from memory on 3 and 4 June in London and Birmingham). The event began with excellent Aurora principals performing Ligeti’s String Quartet No 1, “Métamorphoses nocturnes” (1954). Written before the composer escaped Soviet Hungary (by train, concealed under postbags), the single-movement work haunts and torments with its urgent folk rhythms and ghost of Bartók, all built from a tiny, two-note cell.
Then Edmund de Waal, writer and artist, delivered an impassioned soliloquy on the elderly Strauss, nearing the end of his life, surveying the wreckage of war-torn Germany, full of emotional conflict and, in 1943, beginning work on Metamorphosen. Nicholas Collon, demonstrating at the piano and describing his own love of the piece, gave a virtuoso analysis of the work’s structure, its harmonic blossoming from seed to husk. Broadcaster Sara Mohr-Pietsch, as host, deftly held it all together. No one was patronised. Many were moved. It was an ideal preparation for a mesmerising performance.
Star ratings (out of 5)
Adriana Lecouvreur ★★★★
The Creation ★★★★
Metamorphosen ★★★★★
Comments (…)
Sign in or create your Guardian account to join the discussion