RCS, 22/01/2018
Holst : Sāvitri
Ullmann : Der Kaiser von Atlantis
Students of the Alexander Gibson Opera School (RCS)
Instrumental students of the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland
Lionel Friend
Gustav Holst's interest in Indian literature and culture appears quite early in his output, and was sufficiently absorbing to induce him to learn Sanskrit, so he could make his own translations of the Rig Veda. The short, one-act opera, Sāvitri, to his own libretto, is one of the fruits of that interest, the plot being drawn from an episode in the great epic poem Māhabhārata. It's a remarkably spare piece, around 40 minutes in length, three soloists, twelve instrumentalists, and a small female chorus, with a good deal of unaccompanied singing requiring careful tuning from the performers. The plot is simple; Death claims the woodcutter Satyavān, but the goodness of spirit, and the profundity of grief of the widow, Sāvitri, moves him, so he grants her a boon. She chooses life, in all its plenitude, and then, when the boon is granted, points out that her life has no meaning without her husband. Death retires, defeated by her love, and Satyavān wakes.
The production was equally spare, a grassy knoll, four slim tree boles, restful turquoise and amber colours, and beautifully lit. There's not really a lot for a director to do with the piece, not without cluttering it intolerably, and Caroline Clegg let it speak for itself. She could, however, have asked Rebecca Godley to look a little less smug at certain times, which I found inappropriate and irritating. Thomas Kinch was a trifle strained vocally at moments, but came across well as an honest, straightforward Satyavān, while Mark Nathan's dark voice was well suited to Death. Godley also sang well, though the clarity of her projection was quite strongly affected by her position on stage - if she turned towards the rear of the stage, her sound became distinctly muffled. Also, more generally, it has to be noted that diction was not all it could have been.
However, the big problem with this performance was the female chorus, because there was none, but some sort of synthesised sound, which did not resemble a female chorus at all, and was a queer, completely misplaced sound in this context. The RCS possesses a very good all-female chorus (or at least they did fairly recently). Even if these ladies could not be assembled continuously long enough for the rehearsals and performance of this show (which is, of course, a distinct possibility) would it not have been an option to record the choral music, and use it in playback? Frankly, that synthesised wailing was weird!
Death was the linking figure between Sāvitri and The Emperor of Atlantis, the second item in tonight's bill. Victor Ullmann was a Silesian composer who, despite being baptised Catholic from birth, fell victim to the Nazi's "fourth generation" rule and was interned in 1942, in the so-called "model Jewish settlement" otherwise known as the Theresienstadt concentration camp. He was a student first of Schönberg, in Vienna, then of Zemlinsky in Prague, where he settled professionally in the mid-30s. Much of the music he had written prior to deportation disappeared, presumably when the Nazis occupied Prague, but in the remarkable cultural conditions grudgingly permitted by the authorities in Theresienstadt, Ullmann continued an active life as a composer, and much of his surviving output dates from those two years, including this short satirical opera. It was completed in 1944, and meant to be performed in the autumn. It reached rehearsals, but the premiere was cancelled, for unspecified reasons, apparently because the SS commander suspected that the satire was being aimed a little too close to home. Ullmann and his librettist were both shipped out to Auschwitz in September of that year, where they died in the gas chambers two days after arrival. Ullmann had entrusted his manuscripts to the Theresienstadt librarian, who survived the war, and so his scores too survived. Der Kaiser von Atlantis was first performed in Amsterdam in 1976.
This is a much more complicated affair than Sāvitri. The Emperor of Atlantis, a reclusive megalomaniac, appears to have decided to wipe mankind from the face of the planet, and has declared total war, every person to be armed, and to fight each other to complete obliteration. He names Death as his commander in chief - much to the anger of Death, who has not been consulted, and resents this attempt to supplant him in his duties. He therefore, to all intents and purposes, goes on strike, and no one dies anymore. The Emperor, shocked at the news, attempts to make the best of it, and proclaims that he has gifted eternal life to his faithful soldiers, but despite the best propaganda attempts of the Drummer, opposing combatants, unable to kill each other, choose love instead of death. Finally, utterly isolated save for the Drummer, the Emperor comes face-to-face with Death and asks him to resume his duties; Death agrees on condition that the Emperor be the first to experience the new Death. The Emperor agrees, and sings rapturously of resurrecting in a utopia where mankind has not destroyed the earth.
It's an odd, satirical fable, a black comedy with an ambiguous message, and Ullmann's musical idiom is just as unsettling, ranging from Weimar cabaret style, with undertones of Kurt Weill, to all-out Straussian lyricism, with seven singers, and a chamber ensemble which comprises several unusual instruments, such as alto sax, banjo or harpsichord. This is characteristic of many of the Theresienstadt compositions, where one made do with whatever was available. The production here was set on the stage of an abandoned theatre - at first, the performers appear from underneath the curtain, with torches, 'discovering' the auditorium with apparent delight. The decor and props were wooden cases, trestles, empty frames, prop boxes and such like. Clegg's direction was excellent in this piece, with a smoothly functioning ensemble of singers, funny and disquieting at the same time.
Sung in English, diction was not a problem this time, save for Joanna Harries's Drummer, who could have been clearer. However, the performances all round were excellent, with special mention for Jerome Knox's Death, David Lynn's sprightly Harlekin, and Pedro Ometto's multi-faceted Loudspeaker. Also, the instrumental ensemble this time was outstanding, crisp and sharp, yet rhapsodic when needed.
Sāvitri I had already seen, and it was perhaps a little unfair on these RCS students, even though I was hardly expecting the same level of performance, but it's difficult to forget Janet Baker, John Shirley-Quirk and Philip Langridge, not to mention Mackerras conducting. This was a fair reading, but not particularly memorable. Kaiser, on the other hand, was a revelation, bright and bitter, funny and ferocious, absolutely worth the ticket price all by itself.
[Next : 2nd February]
Ullmann : Der Kaiser von Atlantis
Students of the Alexander Gibson Opera School (RCS)
Instrumental students of the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland
Lionel Friend
Gustav Holst's interest in Indian literature and culture appears quite early in his output, and was sufficiently absorbing to induce him to learn Sanskrit, so he could make his own translations of the Rig Veda. The short, one-act opera, Sāvitri, to his own libretto, is one of the fruits of that interest, the plot being drawn from an episode in the great epic poem Māhabhārata. It's a remarkably spare piece, around 40 minutes in length, three soloists, twelve instrumentalists, and a small female chorus, with a good deal of unaccompanied singing requiring careful tuning from the performers. The plot is simple; Death claims the woodcutter Satyavān, but the goodness of spirit, and the profundity of grief of the widow, Sāvitri, moves him, so he grants her a boon. She chooses life, in all its plenitude, and then, when the boon is granted, points out that her life has no meaning without her husband. Death retires, defeated by her love, and Satyavān wakes.
The production was equally spare, a grassy knoll, four slim tree boles, restful turquoise and amber colours, and beautifully lit. There's not really a lot for a director to do with the piece, not without cluttering it intolerably, and Caroline Clegg let it speak for itself. She could, however, have asked Rebecca Godley to look a little less smug at certain times, which I found inappropriate and irritating. Thomas Kinch was a trifle strained vocally at moments, but came across well as an honest, straightforward Satyavān, while Mark Nathan's dark voice was well suited to Death. Godley also sang well, though the clarity of her projection was quite strongly affected by her position on stage - if she turned towards the rear of the stage, her sound became distinctly muffled. Also, more generally, it has to be noted that diction was not all it could have been.
However, the big problem with this performance was the female chorus, because there was none, but some sort of synthesised sound, which did not resemble a female chorus at all, and was a queer, completely misplaced sound in this context. The RCS possesses a very good all-female chorus (or at least they did fairly recently). Even if these ladies could not be assembled continuously long enough for the rehearsals and performance of this show (which is, of course, a distinct possibility) would it not have been an option to record the choral music, and use it in playback? Frankly, that synthesised wailing was weird!
Death was the linking figure between Sāvitri and The Emperor of Atlantis, the second item in tonight's bill. Victor Ullmann was a Silesian composer who, despite being baptised Catholic from birth, fell victim to the Nazi's "fourth generation" rule and was interned in 1942, in the so-called "model Jewish settlement" otherwise known as the Theresienstadt concentration camp. He was a student first of Schönberg, in Vienna, then of Zemlinsky in Prague, where he settled professionally in the mid-30s. Much of the music he had written prior to deportation disappeared, presumably when the Nazis occupied Prague, but in the remarkable cultural conditions grudgingly permitted by the authorities in Theresienstadt, Ullmann continued an active life as a composer, and much of his surviving output dates from those two years, including this short satirical opera. It was completed in 1944, and meant to be performed in the autumn. It reached rehearsals, but the premiere was cancelled, for unspecified reasons, apparently because the SS commander suspected that the satire was being aimed a little too close to home. Ullmann and his librettist were both shipped out to Auschwitz in September of that year, where they died in the gas chambers two days after arrival. Ullmann had entrusted his manuscripts to the Theresienstadt librarian, who survived the war, and so his scores too survived. Der Kaiser von Atlantis was first performed in Amsterdam in 1976.
This is a much more complicated affair than Sāvitri. The Emperor of Atlantis, a reclusive megalomaniac, appears to have decided to wipe mankind from the face of the planet, and has declared total war, every person to be armed, and to fight each other to complete obliteration. He names Death as his commander in chief - much to the anger of Death, who has not been consulted, and resents this attempt to supplant him in his duties. He therefore, to all intents and purposes, goes on strike, and no one dies anymore. The Emperor, shocked at the news, attempts to make the best of it, and proclaims that he has gifted eternal life to his faithful soldiers, but despite the best propaganda attempts of the Drummer, opposing combatants, unable to kill each other, choose love instead of death. Finally, utterly isolated save for the Drummer, the Emperor comes face-to-face with Death and asks him to resume his duties; Death agrees on condition that the Emperor be the first to experience the new Death. The Emperor agrees, and sings rapturously of resurrecting in a utopia where mankind has not destroyed the earth.
It's an odd, satirical fable, a black comedy with an ambiguous message, and Ullmann's musical idiom is just as unsettling, ranging from Weimar cabaret style, with undertones of Kurt Weill, to all-out Straussian lyricism, with seven singers, and a chamber ensemble which comprises several unusual instruments, such as alto sax, banjo or harpsichord. This is characteristic of many of the Theresienstadt compositions, where one made do with whatever was available. The production here was set on the stage of an abandoned theatre - at first, the performers appear from underneath the curtain, with torches, 'discovering' the auditorium with apparent delight. The decor and props were wooden cases, trestles, empty frames, prop boxes and such like. Clegg's direction was excellent in this piece, with a smoothly functioning ensemble of singers, funny and disquieting at the same time.
Sung in English, diction was not a problem this time, save for Joanna Harries's Drummer, who could have been clearer. However, the performances all round were excellent, with special mention for Jerome Knox's Death, David Lynn's sprightly Harlekin, and Pedro Ometto's multi-faceted Loudspeaker. Also, the instrumental ensemble this time was outstanding, crisp and sharp, yet rhapsodic when needed.
Sāvitri I had already seen, and it was perhaps a little unfair on these RCS students, even though I was hardly expecting the same level of performance, but it's difficult to forget Janet Baker, John Shirley-Quirk and Philip Langridge, not to mention Mackerras conducting. This was a fair reading, but not particularly memorable. Kaiser, on the other hand, was a revelation, bright and bitter, funny and ferocious, absolutely worth the ticket price all by itself.
[Next : 2nd February]