Isolde/Brunnhilde – Susan Bullock
Sieglinde – Giselle Allen
Wotan – James Rutherford
Die Walküre – Magdalen Ashman, Katherine Broderick, Jennifer Johnston, Maria Jones, Mariya Krywaniuk, Elaine McKrill, Miriam Sharrad, Antonia Sotgiu

Director – David Edwards
Lighting Designer – David Holmes

Philharmonia Orchestra
Conductor – Sir Andrew Davies

Sometimes a party can peak too early.

Perhaps the expectation is too high. Perhaps those assembled don’t quite gel. Perhaps the party plan is a little too ambitious.

Wagner 200 kicked off its London-wide celebration of the bicentenary of Richard Wagner’s birth with what should have been – on paper – a splendid concert.

Sadly it didn’t quite come together. At the end of the concert I was left with the overwhelming impression of a concert to mark an event rather than an evening of exemplary and memorable performance.

The opening piece, the overture to Die Meistersinger underlined why Sir Andrew Davies is one of the leading conductors on the podium today. Personally I would have preferred a sprightlier tempo but Davies demonstrated an innate sense of the piece and attention to the inner contrapuntal detail.

The Philharmonia responded with some elegant – if not grand gestured – playing and by the end of the concert, this overture stood alone in terms of the strongest performance of the evening.

The first half ended with the Prelude and Liebstod to Tristan und Isolde. Again it was a question of tempo. While maintaining a keen sense of transparency, Davies’ decision to take the Prelude at a marginally quicker pace that undermined the sensuality inbuilt in Wagner’s music.

Susan Bullock was his Isolde and I admit that she is a soprano who leaves me undecided. Her performance of the Liebstod was not overwhelming as it should be. There was a metallic edge – almost strain – to the voice in her upper register and I felt that she didn’t manage the long-spun vocal line with any ease. Phrases were often not sufficiently shaped and in some cases seemed clipped.

The final act of Die Walküre followed after the interval. I am not sure about performances of stand-alone acts. I wasn’t convinced by Runnicles’ experiment with Tristan und Isolde for example simply because any sense of unity and momentum is missing.

And perhaps that was the central problem with this performance. Coming in cold to the final act is difficult without the emotional and musical impact of the preceding music.

The introduction got off to a brisk start and again Davies’ attention to the detail within the inner voices was notable. However it has to be said that more often than not the dotted rhythm – which the gentleman behind me was tapping out on his programme – was more like lazy triplets in the brass.

And sadly the singing was – for the most part – lacklustre and there was a clear lack of an ensemble knitted together. Indeed at times it almost felt as if we were attending the final rehearsal sadly.

In the surtitles Wotan described his Walküre offspring as a “gaggle”. Vocally he was right. Casting the eight sisters is a challenge. It works when there is a sense of ensemble without undermining the individuality of each of the singers.

This wasn’t the case here. For the most part these Walküre bordered on the shrill and when they sang together were unfocused and even at times ragged. Indeed at some points their seemed to be a not-so-silent competition as to who could sing the loudest.

Giselle Allen’s Sieglinde hinted at a potentially excellent Sieglinde. She possesses a warm and darkly hued soprano and her short moment on stage lifted the sense of drama and musicianship on a somewhat otherwise cold stage. To be able to see her sing her final scene as part of a complete performance would be thrilling.

James Rutherford was a sensible Wotan. However, while he has a dark and almost burnished bass I personally think that he is not quite ready for Wotan. He definitely shows promise but not just yet.

And sadly his reliance on using a score for the majority of the act meant that he was tethered to one of two music stands. This demolished any sense of being part of the semi-staged action – more of that later – but until his final and famous monologue, he seemed simply to sing the notes but not the part.

Finally released from looking at his score, Rutherford finally showed some potential in his final farewell to Brunnhilde. Sadly however it was at exactly this point that Davies’ hurried tempo undermined any sense of the music’s breadth or grandeur to shine through.

So, to Susan Bullock. I have to say that I do not think Brunnhilde is an ideal role. Like Deborah Voigt, she inhabits the character and can sing the notes but something is lacking. I listened to her Brunnhilde most recently when she performed the entire role at Covent Garden and once again I found her – overall – vocally short. As I have already mentioned there is a metallic hardness and strain as she reaches above the stave that – as Brunnhilde – took on an almost harsh quality at times. But individual moments – such as the opening and unaccompanied plea to her father – did reveal themselves. But overall I remain to be convinced of Susan Bullock as Brunnhilde.

Davies once again drew some wonderful playing from the Philharmonia but at times he seemed to lose his place in the overarching architecture of the act. However the Philharmonia were on good form and produced a wonderful burnished sound although at time they did overwhelm the singers. Inevitable I suppose especially in a concert performance of Wagner but more often it just felt that a little more restraint would have been the best cure.

In a concert performance any sense of staging an opera is a tricky business. Sometimes – as with Opera North’s current Ring cycle – it works well.

Here it did not. The Walküre’s use of beam light torches – when they weren’t blinding the audience seemed more reminiscent of miners than warrior maidens. And while it seemed like a good idea to utilise the seats being the orchestra, in reality it made for a difficult acoustic balance to get right and affect their ensemble.

And if the subtle use of smoke and the red lighting at the end was the only other contribution in terms of staging, then perhaps a traditional concert performance devoid of any distraction might have enabled a greater attention to the singing?

Ultimately this was a concert full of good intentions – an opportunity to mark London’s bicentennial Wagner celebrations but perhaps the programming was too ambitious. Tackling a complete act cold and in isolation is a brave choice. Perhaps it would have been more sensible to perform “bleeding chunks” of Wagner.

Perhaps Wagner 200 wanted to make a bold opening statement.

But in truth this concert got the party started with more of a whimper than a bang. However the rest of Wagner 200 – with its broad mix of performances and talks – remains incredibly promising.

And frankly it’s a shame.

I was introduced to her by a very good friend – who has sadly since passed away – at a time when I was singing the praises of the usual canon of sopranos. He let me finish and simply told me to “hunt out” Pilar Lorengar, simply saying that she was one of the few sopranos who “just got on with the job of singing”.

And I know exactly what he means. There is no sense of artifice with Pilar Lorengar. Whereas some singers – past and present – ‘demonstrate’ technique like something that can be turned on and off, Lorengar’s technique is firmly embedded in natural talent, incredible musicianship and an innate ability to capture the nuance of what she is singing. Not just the character and the emotion, but the nuance. Singers can often do the first two, but few can muster all three.

Pilar Lorengar can. And does it naturally.

And here in Vissi d’arte it’s evident from the opening phrase. That first note is not forced as it often it. It emerges effortlessly, almost like speech. And each subsequent note is carefully yet simply placed.

Indeed, Ms Lorengar makes simplicity the single most important effect in this aria. With telling effect.

By avoiding any tendency to weigh in on every note and phrase but rather singing right through to the final note, rarely has Vissi d’arte sounded more convincing.

Indeed of Pilar Lorengar you can honestly say ha vissuto per l’arte.

Reading Maria Miller’s most recent speech, culture is “at the very heart of what it means to be human”.

Culture not only educates and entertains, challenges and amuses but it also “enriches”.

It’s a “high mark” of civilization if culture has a ‘fundamental role’ in society; it underpins national identity.

The arts has intrinsic value and social benefits that are “numerous and beyond doubt”.

So clearly Maria Miller has the “best job in Government”.

So why is she so hell bent on destroying arts and culture in the UK?

Reading her speech I was reminded – rather chillingly – of Murdoch Junior’s speech given in Edinburgh some years back. She might have said that not “every sinew of effort and artistic endeavour needs to be strained to bring in turnover and profit” but she didn’t really mean it.

Profit – and lots of it – was what she was asking the artistic community to turn their hand to.

And not necessarily profit that would be returned to the artistic community to reinvest.

No. Not at all.

I have no problem with the fact that the arts needs to find both new ways to increase its revenue streams as well find new audiences. And some organisations are accepting that reality more readily that others. Take the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment for example with their new audience initiatives such as Night Shift and The Works. Some opera houses – but not English National Opera sadly – and theatres are embracing the potential of cinema. And all artistic organisations are not only hunting out new donors but are making cuts to the bone.

The mixed funding ecology of the UK is both its greatest strength and its greatest weakness. It is a shame that we can’t have the overt government funding that some of our Northern European neighbours currently enjoy. And I say ‘currently’ as there are signs that this largesse is itself being targetted.

And by the same token I do not think that cultural institutions in the UK will ever be able to survive on the US model.

Philanthropy is a great principle. But it exists in reduced – almost straitened – circumstances on these shores. Not because of the current economic climate – although that hasn’t not helped – but because on the whole we are not a generously philanthropic nation.

Additionally, the chase for funding and new audiences spurs greater creativity and risk taking. It can lead to works of incredible artistic merit and impact.

But public funding means that not every artistic endeavour has to be successful. Failure is not only possible but – if we are honest about it – acceptable. Because every failure leads to lessons learned.

Take away public funding and you reduce the appetite for risk.

Without risk, creativity stagnates and ideas don’t flourish.

Mediocre becomes acceptable. Complacency the norm. It becomes more about “bums on seats” than about artistic and creative value.

A society were battery-farm institutions churn out culture like cheap fodder.

Suddenly it isn’t educating, challenging or amusing. It ceases to underpin national identity and applies a veneer of ‘cultural beige’.

And – in Maria Miller’s own words – the turnover and profit that it should be generating either directly – or indirectly through tourism for example – is diminished further.

And so the spiral continues. Funding is reduced further and further until ultimately culture isn’t so much stifled as snuffed out.

Funding for the arts might be less than one per cent but artistic institutions aren’t asking for the equivalent of Trident or a new rail system across the country. At best they are asking for a slight increase. At worst, for minimal cuts across the board.

Why is that so bad? The arts – as Miller points out – contributes beyond its own boundaries in a way that isn’t necessarily true of other sectors.

So the Secretary of State is right to say that it is time to hammer home the value of culture to the economy. Yet what she needs to realize is that the value of culture isn’t simply in pounds, shillings and pence.

And that’s why it is worth investing in properly.

On this occasion it was Christopher Purves’ disc of Handel arias for bass with the marvellous ensemble Arcangelo.

Sadly work and travel got in the way.

Again it’s nice when shuffle throws up something unexpected. And especially after a long day in the office and Fra l’ombre e gl’orrori from Handel’s Aci, Galatea e Polifemo was a perfect antidote to commuter-dom.

I have to admit that I prefer this, Handel’s earlier Italian version – by a decade – to the English version of 1718. As well as this aria there is the heart-stopping Verso gia l’alma col sangue and generally the music is beautifully original.

Fra l’ombre e gl’orrori shares the same sentiment and warm instrumental colouring of the aforementioned but there the similarity ends. This is possibly one of the bleakest simile arias ever written – the dying moth burnt from the lure of the flame drawing a parallel with a soul that will never know either hope nor pleasure of love.

And Handel writes an aria of great yet simple poignancy completely at odds – you would think – with the inhumanity of Polifemo. But personally, I prefer to think that Handel wished to make the giant less a monster and more a man as witnessed by the music written for the role over and above this aria.

With the distinct colouring of a flute – so often associated with death and tomb scenes in Handel’s operas and melancholy in general in Baroque music – the range required of the singer is vast. And married to this is the requirement for the singer to have absolute technical virtuosity and control to deliver and sustain the vocal line.

And Christopher Purves has it in spades. Of course I still have burned into my memory his incredible performance as The Protector in George Benjamin’s Written On Skin. Here his resonant and richly coloured bass effortlessly manages both the wide tessitura required but sung with complete mastery, never once letting the vocal line sag.

Purves’ performance in this aria – and the entire disc – only reaffirms him as a remarkable talent and one of the leading basses performing today.

And as ever, sympathetically supported by Arcangelo directed by Jonathan Cohen.

This aria would be reason enough to purchase this disc if it wasn’t for the fact that the entire disc is magnificent.

Se il mar promette calma from Handel’s Lotario is an example. It’s not an opera I know at all well and this aria – for bass – doesn’t even ring the most distant memory.

A shame as it’s a jaunty number for the remarkably named character Clodomiro and here sung by Vito Priante accompanied by Il Complesso Barocco and Alan Curtis.

From what I can understand it’s one of those typical simile arias about crossing a stormy sea, which in baroque terms is all about overcoming adversity. You can’t beat a good simile aria and I love Metastasio’s perfect model.

The aria itself is incredibly simple yet both elegant and effective. The string accompaniment and running bass in the continuo are clearly meant to refer to the sea and wind and the playing of Il Complesso is both exemplary and exhilarating.

The vocal line itself is surprisingly florid for a bass aria and from what I can gather for a secondary character but Priante delivers the aria with both gusto and incredible musicianship. Not only are the more florid passages managed with great skill and a beautiful legato line but also his voice is both mellifluous and resonant through his entire range. And the returning da capo is tastefully decorated.

This is an aria that shouldn’t be anything less than a recital item for bass singers.

As I said, I love it when something like this happens and now I am off to listen to the entire opera.

Marvellous.

Evangelist – James Preston
Simon Dyer – Christus
David Jones – Pilate

Sopranos – Alysha Paterson, Angela Hicks & Jilian Christie
Altos – Leah Blakelock & Gordon Waterson
Tenors -Thomas Drew, William Davies & Guy Elliott
Bass – James Newby, Ashley Mercer & Jonathan Smith

Old Royal Naval College Chapel Choir
Southern Sinfonia

Ralph Allwood (Conductor)

What I love most about concert going in London is the vast range available. I don’t only mean by genre but also in terms of the range of musicians – professional, semi-professional and amateur – who make the time and take the effort to perform.

And despite the meticulous planning that goes into booking concerts, opera and recitals at London’s major venues it’s also great to be able to walk past a venue, notice a poster and spontaneously book a ticket.

And that’s what happened when I was in Greenwich last week. I picked up a flyer for a performance of the St John Passion in Wren’s most beautiful Painted Chapel and bought a ticket.

For Easter wouldn’t be Easter without attending a performance of one of Bach’s Passions.

This particular performance was the Old Royal Naval College Chapel Choir and Southern Sinfonia, directed by Ralph Allwood.

And it was a valiant performance. It reminded me of my own participation in student performances many, many years ago. Indeed one of my first university performances was the St John Passion as principal oboist. Bach wrote beautifully for the oboe family. I still on occasion pull out my book of Bach studies and amble through the obbligato parts within.

And by valiant I mean that on the whole the quality of the music making was of a high standard if marred by a few flaws that could have been resolved in rehearsal.

Clearly with Allwood’s long career in choral music, the particularly memorable and impactful moments were the choruses – many dramatic interjections in the Evangelist’s narrative – within the Passion.

The two exceptions – sadly – were the first and penultimate choral movements. The opening chorus – so beautifully crafted by Bach to create an immediate impression of both tragedy and penitence – was taken at such a slow and laboured tempo that at times it threatened to unravel. Initially I thought it might be to compensate for the acoustic of the chapel but this was not the case. The Painted Chapel has a warm and immediate acoustic perfectly suited to Bach as subsequent choruses demonstrated. Clearly Allwood was seeking to create the necessary mood but it was a tempo-too-slow and simply dragged.

Indeed the opening bars fleetingly brought to mind the great Passion performances of the likes of Klemperer or Münchinger but also quickly the realisation that it lacked their finesse and innate ability to pick out the individual voices.

But more disappointing was what can only be described as a plodding Ruht Wohl. The programme referred to warnings made to Bach that he shouldn’t ‘secularise’ his religious music and that this movement – a minuet – was a subtle ‘cocking of his finger’. There was no sense of the lilt and lightness of touch – vocally and instrumentally – that Bach wrote into every line of this movement. A shame as it represents redemption and hope at the end of the Passion. It didn’t come close.

And similarly while the chorales were intelligently shaped, Allwood directed them with no real differentiation from each other.

The soloists were drawn from the Chapel choir. Made up of choral scholars as well as volunteers from the local community as an ensemble they made a wonderful sound. However the individual soloists were a mixed bunch. I think it’s a brave – and admirable – decision to draw soloists from the choir but I did wonder if perhaps a lack of rehearsal time or even bad casting resulted in a sliding scale in terms of the individual performances.

One thing that did strike me wasn’t so much a lack of interpretation and stylistic attention to detail but more that they all struggled with maintaining the vocal line, more often than not literally running out of breath. I wonder if this has more to do with the differences between singing as a member of the chorus and as a soloist.

Annoyingly the programme didn’t mention the soloists in any way that allowed clearer identification except by guess work but there were some stand-out singers.

For example the bass who sang the arioso Betrachte, meine Seel; Gordon Waterson who sang a most poignant Es Ist vollbracht! and the resonant bass of Simon Dyer’s's Christus.

And my reference to a valiant performance is particularly relevant to James Preston’s Evangelist. This is a role that requires both supreme stamina and the ability to communicate with conviction the unfolding narrative. This role was a stretch too far for Preston, whose voice became increasingly stressed, at times sounding like he was even struggling to reach the cadences.

The Southern Sinfonia supported the choir admirably and particular praise should go to the continuo players Steve Colisson and Matthew Burgess and the obbligati in Erwäge, wie sein blutgefärter Räcken. Sadly the wonderful aria Zerfließe, meine Herzen, in flutender Zähren was marred by the soprano’s intonation problems and messy obbligato playing from the oboist.

And yet despite these flaws Bach’s music won out. Having not attended a live performance of the St John Passion for some years, the concert in Wren’s Painted Chapel reminded me of the mastery, magnificence and devotion he wrote into every note.

Elin Manahan Thomas (Soprano)
William Purefoy (Countertenor)
Hannah Conway (Host)
Steven Devine (Director/Conductor)

A great concert is made up great musicians and singers, a perfect, or as near as perfect performance, that vital ingredient – enthusiasm – and for me personally, learning something new, often about a piece of music I thought I knew well.

The Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment’s new series The Works and the most recent concert featuring Pergolesi’s Stabat Mater was that perfect combination.

Without a doubt Pergolesi’s Stabat Mater is one of the finest pieces of church music. I first heard it – and sang it – as a choirboy in an organ loft and its sheer beauty has remained with me forever. It’s one of those pieces that I play when I am feeling like I need to turn the world off. And it always works.

Of course it is too easy to become wrapped up in the romanticism of his tragically short life and the fact that this piece was written in his final year.

Or you can take the OAE’s approach and cast a refreshing new light on this work.

Hosted, as it were, by Hannah Conway whose own enthusiasm was infectious, conductor Steven Devine not only simply but also clearly described the various devices and Baroque ‘affections’ that Pergolesi employed to such great effect. And he mentioned something that had simply not occurred to me in relation to Pergolesi before.

Pergolesi used operatic idioms in his Stabat Mater.

Now of course many of you may have already realized this. It wasn’t uncommon for composers from the baroque period onwards to ‘mix it up’. You hear it in Handel, Hasse, Mozart, Haydn and even JS Bach.

And yet it had never occurred to me that Pergolesi – who made his reputation mainly on the operatic stage – had done the same thing.

Pergolesi was as “cross-over” a composer as many of his contemporaries and those who followed them.

And this simple realization meant that I listened to the subsequent performance almost as it if was the first time.

And it was an excellent performance.

Both Elin Manahan Thomas and William Purefoy – himself somewhat of a joker who enlivened the proceedings even more with his observation about hormones and their effects on men and pregnant women – beautifully and sympathetically melded their voices in their duets and as soloists spun the vocal lines with both authority and sensitivity. Purefoy might not have the strongest lower register but the beauty of his tone and the way he coloured his voice was mesmerizing. And Manahan Thomas’s crystal clear and bright soprano was the perfect foil.

There is sometimes a tendency – perhaps to do with the romanticism more often associated with the piece – for tempos to be on the slower side but here Devine measured the pace and tempo of every movement brilliantly. Rhythms were sharp, phrasing was elegant and the music scoured for every effect which were intelligently done without being overplayed.

And in the same manner, in those movements with their newly revealed operatic bent, the singers didn’t shy away from emphasizing the more dramatic or lyrical aspects.

Each and every movement was beautifully performed but personally the standout moments were the sublime duets Quis est homo, qui non fleret and Quando corpus morietur as well as the dramatic brevity of the final Amen.

The Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment has created something really special with initiatives such as The Works and Night Shift. Of course they are mainly aimed at attracting new audiences but just as importantly I think they shed new light on music for those who think that they know them.

Whenever I now listen the Pergolesi’s Stabat Mater the sacred will forever be tinged with more than a little humanity.

And for me that makes it just that little bit more special.

The next concert is on November 7 and features Beethoven’s Eighth Symphony.

Definitely one to book. And take a friend.

And what Lord Tony Hall of Birkenhead inherits is an organisation that often seems outdated, out of touch and out of its depth.

Like a gambler with a faulty or marked deck of cards, ‘Call Me Tony’ has already shuffled his management team. He’s shifted some errant executives around, followed Patten’s cue and appointed at will and symbolically renamed divisions as if the digital age had never happened.

Over the next few days, weeks and no doubt months the media will write about Hall’s intray, his first one hundred days – and let’s hope he surpasses that target unlike his predecessor ‘Incurious George’ – and dissect every word and action he undertakes.

His is an unenviable task. He is being heralded by the BBC’s inadequate spin doctors to anyone who will listen as the ‘great bright hope’, a man who will pull the BBC out of its creative mire and tackle the management malaise.

And if rumours are true Hall hopes to put right many wrongs with a war chest of £100 million which he is having skimmed off divisions like a layer of cream in advance of his arrival.

But money can only go so far. For years the BBC has singly failed to come up with a creative strategy and stuck to it. Granted, trying to come up with a single aim and purpose for an organisation that is splitting at the seams with television and radio channels, a morass of mindless entertainment fodder and a website with a voracious appetite is always going to be a problem.

But perhaps it should simply look to define itself by the original principles established by Lord Reith?

Inform. Educate. Entertain.

So on that basis then the BBC’s commitment to arts and culture should be at the centre and benefit from Hall’s chest of gold? Surely?

Currently the BBC’s commitment to culture is haphazard. History, art and literature seem to do pretty well but classical music seems to have hit an all time low in terms of love.

I think Christmas was the last time opera made it to one of the main channels, the Proms have been relegated bar the token appearance and attempts by the BBC to popularise classical music with such ideas as Maestro At The Opera aren’t so much misintentioned and misguided as simply offensive.

Even the recent and most excellent Written On Skin – possibly one of the most exciting and significant new operas for many years – has been recorded for transmission on BBC 4 at a later date. Why it wasn’t broadcast live escapes me.

So, given a blank cheque what could Tony Hall do?

What I am about to suggest isn’t a strategy or a manifesto but simply a few ideas. But none of them, I believe, are too far-fetched to achieve.

Naturally anything he does has to be seen as impartial – a great BBC word when it suits them – and therefore can’t be seen to favour his old friends on Bow Street. But nonetheless here is an opportunity for Hall to cure the dry rot at the heart of the BBC’s commitment to the arts.

And let’s be clear, this commitment isn’t about ratings. It’s about saying that quality – another BBC buzzword – isn’t only about the millions that watch, or about an increase in that other BBC marketing tool its appreciation score, but about standing by a set of principles set down decades ago.

Inform. Educate. Entertain.

First. A simple reversal. If rumours I have heard are true, this year the Proms will not feature at all on either BBC 1 or BBC 2 but be tucked away on BBC 4. I hope my friends in the BBC have got that wrong. I mean no disrespect to Richard Klein. I’ve met him plenty of times. I’ve enjoyed talking with him and hearing both his views and ideas as well as his frustrations, and admired his passion in the face of ever more harrowing adversity and cuts to his budget. But putting everything on his channel doesn’t make it a destination but rather an apology.

So first of all, put the Proms back on the main channels. Again I hear that there are some stupendous proms planned – not least Barenboim and the Berliners performing the Ring cycle – therefore the Proms needs to be actively celebrated for everyone to watch as well as listen.

The BBC might be surprised by the results. Music is one of the oldest forms of entertainment. If done correctly, classical music on television can be just as gripping and entertaining – yes entertaining – as a night at Glastonbury and far more dramatic than that manufactured and mind-numbing pap The Voice which cost the BBC £22 million.

Secondly take a more active role in live broadcast. I hugely admired Bayerische Oper’s live broadcast of Kriegenberg’s Götterdämmerung last year. While that was commercially sponsored, it’s a crying shame that the BBC has retreated from taking any part in the screens that are set up in major cities. I can’t believe the outlay was that much compared to a single episode of Strictly Come Dancing but wouldn’t it be marvellous to revisit that decision and again perhaps use them for the Proms – and not just the Last Night – but also strike deals with other arts organisations and help share the financial burden in some way?

And with the Proms adequately provided for perhaps the BBC could make a bold decision regarding opera? I believe the TV term for them is output deals so could the BBC sign an output deal – possibly the first of its kind ever – with all the major UK opera companies – ROH, ENO, ETO, WNO, Scottish Opera, Glyndebourne etc – and commit to broadcast one or even two of their operas in every season? It’s a bold idea and would take some planning but why not? As well as signalling a very concrete commitment to classical music on a par with the Proms, I am sure the companies in question wouldn’t balk at this new revenue stream. And it needn’t conflict with their existing commercial deals with cinemas as there are plenty of operas to go around. Additionally I’m pretty sure Parliament would like it too and in a concession to those poor schedulers they could be broadcast on BBC 2 and we could have some respite from more ‘bake offs’.

And what about The Space? It’s a smart idea and is being brilliantly championed by the likes of Susannah Simons – the only BBC executive it seems that has a real passion for classical music – but it needs more and longer-term investment. Originally a hurried afterthought for the London Olympics when the BBC realised it’s own cultural contribution was almost zero, The Space could and should play a greater role in supporting the arts – big and small – across the UK. And at the same time be a way to get to young people, that ever elusive audience.

Perhaps a deal with the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment and their excellent Night Shift and The Works series?

And finally how about prime time programmes that don’t patronise and aren’t presented by idiots? Get rid of ideas such as Maestro At The Opera and follow real musicians – players, singers, conductors – as they try and make a real career based on talent and passion. I like Simon Russell Beale on stage but I don’t want to be subjected to him – or others – pontificating about classical music. If the BBC can secure the ever wonderful Mary Beard then why can’t it make programmes about classical music presented by experts in the field? People who actually know what they are talking about without resorting to a script potentially not even written by someone with specialist knowledge themselves?

I admit this is – as I have said – my wish list. I’d like to come home and switch on my TV and have the opportunity to watch something that isn’t either a half-starved idea created as tick-box television or tucked away in the television equivalent of a gulag for the culturally inclined.

It will be interesting to see what Tony Hall does upon arrival at Broadcasting House.

I’m hoping that his ten or so years outside the BBC – and at Covent Garden – have removed any old loyalties that might lie dormant in his grey suited breast.

I’m hoping he has some bold ideas about the BBC’s future creative purpose and direction.

And most of all I’m hoping he will put the arts – and in particular oft-neglected classical music – back at the heart of what the BBC does.

Inform. Educate. Entertain.

The Protector – Christopher Purves
Agnès – Barbara Hannigan
Angel 1/The Boy – Bejun Mehta
Angel 2/Marie – Victoria Simmonds
Angel 3/John – Allan Clayton

Director – Katie Mitchell
Designs – Vicki Mortimer
Lighting Design – Jon Clark

Composer/Conductor – George Benjamin

It isn’t very often that a performance is so brilliant – the music, the singing and the production – that it feels like a privilege to have been present.

Written On Skin by George Benjamin at the Royal Opera House felt precisely like that.

A privilege.

I am often wary of going to see new opera, as often they are a miserable marriage of indistinct music and uninspired production. Mark-Anthony Turnage’s Anna Nicole was as brash musically as it was directorially and didn’t leave any impression except of being pummeled in your seat. ENO’s production of Gerald Barry’s The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant was – and I probably think this is heresy to say so – the last new opera that I enjoyed. Barry has an interesting musical language and the production by Richard Jones and Ultz was both visually smart and emotionally intelligent.

Written on Skin, from the opening bars to the drop of the final curtain, was simply gripping and packed an emotional punch that has stayed with me and I would guess quite a few others who attended.

George Benjamin studied with Olivier Messiaen and his influence is keenly felt as the basis of the timbre and sound world that Benjamin creates. But at the same time, in the vocal writing is very much heard the influence of his other teacher, Alexander Goehr. At times there were distinct echoes of Arianna and Promised End, not only in the crafting of the vocal lines but also in the use of rhythm and the structure of the vocal lines.

But Benjamin’s musical language has taken these influences and melded them with his own style. Written on Skin represents a direct evolution from his chamber opera Into The Little Hill in the finesse of the vocal writing, the orchestration and the relationship between the two. And Benjamin is a skillful orchestrator, at times almost Dutilleaux-esque in his delicacy but capable being unleashed in a frenzy when required. Indeed those moments were all the more effective for the suddenness of their arrival and his ability to retreat from them as suddenly.

And the collage of sound created by Benjamin propels the music forward through every scene. From The Protector’s opening boastful scene, as lyrical as his wealth is bountiful to the acceleration from sensuality to sexual release in the music between Agnès and The Boy to the suffocating tension of the closing scene, Benjamin’s tight control of orchestral timbre and the mesh of rhythm is incredible.

And his sensitivity in terms of the vocal lines is brilliant. Each phrase is so carefully crafted to ensure that the words are clear with the alternation from almost Sprechstimme to lyricism seamlessly effective.

And if the music is remarkable then Benjamin was fortunate enough to be able to write for a highly distinguished cast of singers.

I cannot believe that this is Barbara Hannigan’s debut at Covent Garden. A leading interpreter of contemporary classical music – listen for example to her performance of De Vincent à Theo – it was a surprise to read that she had not performed on stage before. I hope that this is the start of a long and successful relationship with the company. As Agnès her bright soprano glided through the music effortlessly – not only rapt and ethereal but also dark and sonorous, capturing the wife’s need for freedom from a lifeless and loveless marriage. I don’t think it was love that she wanted – as witnessed by the brutal nature of her sexual clinch with The Boy – but rather escape. The scene with The Protector at the beginning of the Part Two when she attempted to seduce him demonstrated the wide range of colours that Hannigan could bring to her singing. From the almost ‘dead’ timbre as The Protector awakes to her increasing attempts to provoke a reaction from him was exhilarating. And her final scene was simply incredible.

And as The Protector, Christopher Purves was superb. I have already noted his vocal lyricism but it was also his ability to cast his voice from whisper to full-throated bellowing that was amazing and indeed it was with a whisper that he was most threatening. His diction was – as with the rest of the ensemble – crystal clear and again he was able to bend and colour his voice with great skill.

I haven’t seen Bejun Mehta sing live since Orlando at Covent Garden a good many years ago and I hope to rectify that when he tours shortly. Casting The Angel as a countertenor was inspired. The other-worldly, crystalline timbre of his voice was in sharp relief to the other main protagonists, creating a real sense of tension in the vocal colouring and timbre of the music.

And both Victoria Simmonds and Allan Clayton – the latter an excellent Castor in ENO’s production last year – were outstanding throughout.

The orchestra, conducted by George Benjamin himself, acquitted themselves with great distinction. Unusually for a new opera, there was no sense at any time that they were not completely and confidently immersed in the music written by Benjamin.

Martin Crimp’s libretto was eloquent with no word extraneous to plot or music. The language was taut yet had a musicality to it that rendered it perfectly to the music.

And if the standard of the music making was incredibly high, the direction and production itself was its match.

I admire Katie Mitchell’s work – her Jephtha is one of the strongest interpretations of any Handel that I have seen – but I was not convinced by her After Dido for ENO. That production was a distraction from the music and the twentieth century reinterpretation added a layer upon Purcell’s music that was not needed.

But for Written on Skin – again working with Vicki Mortimer – Mitchell developed the same idea but with greater clarity and narrative intent. The interaction between past and present was so fluidly done that it was never distracting except when it needed to be an intervention as part of the unfolding drama. The upper laboratory, for example – where the assistants unwrapped the items from the past for use in the story – was gracefully done and at no point was there any sense that something was being done for the sake of it. Considering the amount of activity and movement in the opera, there was an incredible sense of stillness and simplicity about the entire production. Again the closing scene’s use of slow motion – so often a miscalculation in stage productions – was achingly tense in its delivery.

It’s rare to leave a performance and not think of something that didn’t quite gel. But on this occasion, even sleeping on it, hasn’t changed my initial impression.

Benjamin’s Written on Skin and this production is one of the best productions – modern or otherwise – that I have seen in a long time. This production is part of Covent Garden’s ambitious plans to stage fifteen new works between now and 2020 and it bodes well for the future.

The music, the singing and the production came together like a veritable medieval (holy) trinity. Indeed I didn’t have the appetite to listen to anything upon leaving the performance. A rare occurrence for me.

It might now be sold out for the final two performances but BBC Four and Opus Arté were in on Saturday night to film it.

Written on Skin is not something to be missed.

Tito -
 Paul Nilon
Vitellia -
Annemarie Kremer
Servilia
 – Fflur Wyn
Sesto – 
Helen Lepalaan
Annio – 
Kathryn Rudge
Publio – 
Henry Waddington

Director 
- John Fulljames
Movement Director – 
Tim Claydon
Set and Costume Designer 
- Conor Murphy
Lighting Designer 
- Bruno Poet
Projection Designer 
- Finn Ross

Orchestra & Chorus Opera North
Conductor
 – Douglas Boyd

Almost but not quite.

Perhaps a motto that Opera North could adopt more often than not based on some of their most recent productions and sadly also true of their new production of Mozart’s La Clemenza di Tito.

This is often Mozart’s most misjudged opera when in fact it contains music of great depth and emotional intensity and a dramatic sweep that blows cobwebs off what was by then a dying art form. As well as the arias it contains some beautifully crafted duets as well as – in my view – one of Mozart’s most dramatically written trios and act closers.

While Opera North’s production came close so many times, it never seemed to quite get into its stride either musically or dramatically.

The main surprises of the evening were the magnificent Annio of Kathryn Rudge and the promising Servilia of Fflur Wyn. Ms Rudge displayed a full-bodied, warm soprano and some impeccable singing even if at times she didn’t quite seem to have the breath for some of Mozart’s longer phrases. However her arias – and in particular her arias Torna a Tito a lato and Tu Fosti tradito – were beautifully and stylishly sung and the duet with the bright voiced Fflur Wyn was beautifully and sympathetically blended. And the poignancy of Ms Wyn’s S’altro che lagrime was touching. I see that Kathryn Rudge is soon to perform a lunchtime recital at Wigmore Hall and if there was any a reason to take a longer break – or to put a fictitious meeting in the diary – hearing her sing again is very tempting.

Henry Waddington’s Publio was also well executed. He sung with confidence and authority and was particularly fine in the ensembles.

Sadly the rest of the cast – the principles – fared less well. Paul Nilon was an incredible Tito in McVicar’s production for ENO but in this production the role always sounded slightly beyond his grasp. But what he lacked in terms of vocal flexibility and colour he made for in terms of dramatic delivery even if reaching for the higher notes seemed more of a physical effort than seemed comfortable.

However both the Vitellia of Annemarie Kremer and Helen Lepalaan’s Sesto were strangely underpowered both vocally and dramatically. Clearly they sung all the notes although Ms Kremer seemed to spend most of the evening either distractingly ahead of or behind the beat but having seen her as Norma and not being convinced I was not totally convinced by her Empress-in-Waiting. Vocally she seemed uncomfortable and stretched, her coloratura often laboured or messy and sometimes both. She also had a distracting dramatic tic of raising her hand to the side of her face almost as if she was attempting to block out the other singers. Non piu di fiori was the closest she came to realizing the dramatic nature of the role but this was marred by Fulljames suddenly decision to ratchet up – for no clear reason – the violence. Similarly Helen Lepalaan never really got into the meat of her character. Vocally bland throughout even the majesty of the closing scenes of the First act and the magnificence of Deh per queste istante solo failed to rouse her from her sleepy performance.

Douglas Boyd conducted the orchestra with confidence and spirit even if the somewhat hurried tempi at time made the players scramble and crash through the notes and the recitatives seemed incredibly leaden.

The production – John Fulljames’ first for Opera North – was focused around a rotating glass wall and computer-generated graphics that seemed to place the drama in and around a corporate boardroom or a future inspired by Kurt Wimmer’s film Equilibrium. Personally I found it an effective compromise between a more traditional approach and the war-zone-cum-bombed-out-building that more often than not seems to be standard fashion for modern productions. Granted it does need some tightening up and could do without the projection of Tito’s face on the back wall. The end of the First Act for example could perhaps do with less or no confetti and Vitellia’s sudden and bloody mental collapse seemed over dramatic. And it’s a shame – although perhaps this was simple a space issue with the Lowry stage – that the chorus were relegated to the pit.

So while the production was not the most disappointing I have seen from Opera North it could do with a rethink. With the right attention to casting and some – but not much – tightening of the narrative, this production could more justly do honour to Mozart’s opera seria swansong.