Michael Tanner

Götterdämmerung Bridgewater Hall, Manchester Don Carlos Opera North Manchester has a long and exalted history of service to Wagner, with Hans Richter, first conductor of the Ring, the chief conductor of the Hallé from 1899-1911, and Barbirolli a great Wagnerian, though there are lamentably few records of him in this repertoire. Mark Elder has for some time been showing that he is a fully worthy successor to them, and last weekend he conducted a concert performance of Götterdämmerung over two evenings which was in many respects a triumph, and was certainly received as such. The Hallé itself was the star of the show, playing unfamiliar music with passion, enormous variety of tone and colour, and almost always with precision.

Lohengrin Royal Opera House Nietzsche said of the prelude to Act I of Lohengrin that it was the first piece of hypnosis by music, and listening to the Royal Opera orchestra’s performance of it under Semyon Bychkov tended to confirm his claim, at any rate until the climax, where Bychkov pulled out a few stops too many, and made the piece sound almost vulgar. The opening, however, was exquisite, entrancing, the divided violins playing with such piercing sweetness that Wagner’s phenomenal feat of evoking the mystical by sensuous, even sensual means was as potent as I have ever heard it. This prelude, which has no predecessor in any work, retains its power to move and dazzle as much as any he wrote.

I Capuleti e i Montecchi; Dido and Aeneas; Acis and Galatea Royal Opera House There has been a three-week gap between the opening and closing sets of performances of the latest revival of Bellini’s I Capuleti e i Montecchi at the Royal Opera. Smitten by migraine on the first night, I had to leave in the interval. Returning this week for the whole work provided me with an evening of almost unmitigated pleasure, even jouissance. One can quibble with some of the production, and the secondary singers are not great, but overall it makes for as intense an experience of Bellini’s early masterpiece as one could ever expect to see.

Die Feen Châtelet, Paris Ernest Bloch’s Macbeth Bloomsbury Theatre Wagner wrote his first opera Die Feen (The Fairies) when he was 19 and 20. It was never staged or performed at all in his lifetime, and first performed in Munich in 1888, Richard Strauss having conducted the rehearsals. It was a big success, but has only been revived rarely, and the production which I saw at the Châtelet in Paris last week, of which there are five performances, was the first I have seen. It was rapturously received, and rightly so. Wagner thought little of it, gave the score to Ludwig II for Christmas in 1865 — the only score of it then in existence — and Cosima records the composer’s deprecatory remarks about it in her diary.

La fedeltà premiata Royal Academy of Music Jenùfa English National Opera Everyone agrees that Haydn’s operas are a disappointment, given what is now widely regarded as his supreme musical stature, but it’s hard to say just why. In the case of La fedeltà premiata (Fidelity rewarded), which the Royal Academy of Music staged brilliantly — my efforts to persuade soi-disant opera lovers to go to these productions of the music schools are, it seems, a total failure — one reason could be the insanely complicated plot, which I abandoned any attempt to follow. Richard Wigmore, in his Faber Guide to Haydn, quite rightly points out that the finale to Act I is as extended as any Mozart finale, and gathers an impressive momentum.

I Capuleti e i Montecchi Royal Opera Education Double Bill Glyndebourne Of all the painfully premature deaths of composers, there can’t be any doubt that Schubert’s is the least endurable. Shatteringly great as his finest works are, one can envisage him striking out on new paths and taking his place beside his adored Beethoven. Mozart is the other most obvious candidate in this macabre competition, but he composed so many supreme masterworks, and there is even a sense of completeness about his oeuvre which there isn’t about Schubert’s.

Fidelio Cadogan Hall Vita Nuova Royal Festival Hall Birtwistle and Benjamin Linbury Studio Fidelio is an opera which, in my recent experience, almost always overwhelms me in a concert performance and almost always leaves me embarrassed or indignant when staged. Embarrassed, because the transvestite necessities of the heroine would almost never convince anyone, as Cherubino or Octavian can, or Handel’s galaxy of emperors sung by mezzos. Indignant, because the naïve assumption of the plot, that there is a Providence which ensures that things will turn out well for those with courage and conviction, is simply false, and that is much more manifest when acted out than when only sung. The climactic dungeon quartet is thrilling to listen to, almost always absurd to look at.

Handel Wigmore Hall Die tote Stadt Royal Opera House The Wigmore Hall last Saturday afternoon and evening was a scene of sheer delight, with Handel’s Aci, Galatea e Polifemo being performed before tea, and Acis and Galatea in the evening. It was all masterminded by Paul McCreesh, with his Gabrieli Consort and Players, and a uniformly fine set of soloists, who also constituted the chorus. The Gabrieli Consort, which I unfortunately very rarely have cause to encounter in the pursuit of duty, is a wonderful early-instrument group, characterised by extraordinary sweetness of tone, and by an expressiveness which would be regarded as quaint if it didn’t emerge from the right kind of instruments.

La Bohème English National Opera The Demon Barbican Of all the most popular operas of Puccini, La Bohème is the one that has attracted least critical fire, and that, even during the long period when highbrows were required to despise him, was exempted from the general interdict. Even though the heroine dies a harrowing death, at least it is from natural causes, she is surrounded by people who love her, and her brief happiness earlier in the opera is set to the most gorgeous, and two of the lengthiest, arias that Puccini ever wrote. So the element of sadism that is so disturbing in several of the other operas is wholly absent here, and for all the cold and hunger and illness the drama and the music conjure a prelapsarian world.

Die tote Stadt Royal Opera House The Queen of Spades Barbican At last, after 88 years, Erich Korngold’s almost impressive opera Die tote Stadt has reached the UK in a handsome production, and in every respect the Royal Opera does it proud. If it isn’t quite a major work that’s because it vertiginously occupies a tiny gap between being incredibly derivative from the Strauss of Ariadne auf Naxos, and the sheer sickening over-ripeness and pretentiousness of Korngold’s next operatic effort Das Wunder der Heliane.

Skin Deep Opera North Verdi’s Requiem Barbican It takes a brave person, or more likely couple, to attempt an operetta which effectively satirises contemporary fads, and the more obvious the target the more difficult to pull off the satire with the requisite degree of scathingness. David Sawer and Armando Iannucci have taken cosmetic surgery, and while they are about it have intelligently enlarged the matter to prolonging rejuvenated lives (this is a co-commission of Opera North, the Bregenz Festival and the Royal Danish Opera).

Cecilia Bartoli Barbican Turandot Royal Opera House For this year’s appearance at the Barbican, Cecilia Bartoli, ever exploratory in her repertoire, chose an evening of canzone, songs by composers and a few by singers of the bel canto repertoire. She was accompanied by the hyper-reticent Sergio Ciomei at the piano. Admittedly, the accompaniments to these pieces are not in the least interesting, but they do need to be heard. A recital by Bartoli is in all senses an occasion. It is very much a matter of seeing what this performer is like now, just as it was with Schwarzkopf.

Tristan und Isolde Royal Festival Hall Hänsel und Gretel second cast Royal Opera House There have been few treats for lovers of Wagner in London in the past few years, but handsome amends were made in a concert at the Royal Festival Hall, with Vladimir Jurowski conducting the London Philharmonic Orchestra and adequate soloists in an incandescent account of Act II of Tristan und Isolde. That was preceded by the Adagio from Mahler’s Tenth Symphony, an acutely expressive performance, mainly chamber-like in texture, apart from the apocalypse near the conclusion. But it was a downer, as, alone, it is bound to be. Wonderful to return after the interval and to be launched, with the greatest possible impulse, into the central act of Tristan.

Hänsel und Gretel Royal Opera House Mörder, Hoffnung der Frauen Ardente Opera The Royal Opera’s new production of Humperdinck’s Hänsel und Gretel, has two completely different casts and two conductors. For that matter, it has two producers, too, but they are both involved in the same production: Patrice Caurier and Moshe Leiser, with their usual attendant designers, etc. As usual, too, the production this pair has come up with is in most respects unremarkable, until Act III. Act I is set in the children’s bedroom, a diagonal affair with a two-dimensional forest surrounding it. Act II is the two dimensional forest itself, with a recess where one sees more trees; but there isn’t much atmosphere. Act III can wait.

Riders to the Sea Coliseum Ascanio in Alba King’s Place Vaughan Williams’s short opera Riders to the Sea was to have been conducted by Richard Hickox, but in the sad event it was played as a tribute to him, and conducted by Edward Gardner. It had a kind of appropriateness, but my own abiding memory of Hickox will be his wonderful, inspired conducting of the same composer’s The Pilgrim’s Progress at Sadler’s Wells a few months ago, which was revelatory for many of us. This setting of Synge’s grim little play is austere to a degree, but not as austere as it became at ENO. I came home rather bored by it, unlike, it seems, anyone else, and listened to the Meredith Davies recording of it, which is fiercely dramatic.