Baroque Masterpieces
I didn't mean to wait this long to write at length about Opera Australia's so-called Baroque Masterpieces, but as it turns out, I'm very pleased that I did. It means I'm able to do tonight's performance full justice, rather than relegate it to a paragraph or a Tweet. Not that it was earthshattering overall, or that there was any massive fundamental change to either opera. It's just nice, after expending so many words over opening night, to have even this slight change of subject, and besides, June 27th is in the far, far distant past by now, is it not? And there was one change, of sorts — but we'll come to that.
As far as Patrick Nolan's two productions go, I can do little more than attempt to summarise what I've already covered at length elsewhere (to the point that I'm sick of reading myself on the subject). The Acis & Galatea I think sounded more interesting in pre-show publicity than it turned out to be in practice. I did enjoy it, and it does have some nicely managed moments, but as a whole I think it doesn't quite scream triumph. The whole concept supposedly turns on the constant scrutiny that comes with modern celebrity, and yet to me, neither the people nor their surroundings evoke that kind of celebrity. They just seem a bit rich and bored, but otherwise unremarkable except for the stunning coincidence of their all preferring white. And if the sense of the celebrity falls down then so does the significance of the scrutiny, and you're just left with a party full of white dresses and people who happened to bring their digital cameras. Large scale projections on the scrim between the party and Galatea are effective but more as an appealing decoration than as insightful social commentary.
And for a production which manages to cram cocaine, heavy petting and simulated fellatio [oh, I hate to think of the search hits I'm going to start receiving now...] into one aria, there is a disheartening amount elsewhere of standing (or pacing) and singing at the front of the stage, especially by the two title characters. Da capo arias needn't seem interminable — just ask Sandrine Piau — but they will if they're sung as plotless concert pieces.
The Dido & Aeneas, as practically everyone has said by now, works much better. Maybe that's because Nolan was tweaking an existing production, one which has had a chance to marinate and to gain a bit more polish and depth than its brand new companion. He doesn't try and make this one reflect any part of Our Modern WorldTM, he just (with considerable help from Gabriela Tylesova's sets and costumes) creates an unreal Carthage, where some things are normal and most things are — or soon will be — strange and wrong. Dido's palace and the Sorceress's lair share a common set and, once they've stripped to their underwear, the same attendants, and the Sorceress herself is a like some horrible, malformed evil twin, her/his (she's sung by Kanen Breen, in every register his voice possesses) wig and attire styled in ugly mockery of Dido's own. Best of all, no silly or superfluous demands are made of Dido herself. She need only be regal, graceful and sincere, and the rest of the show sets her off like the jewel she is. (And I apply that to any Dido this production might have. We'll get to tonight's particular jewel in a moment.)
The singing in Acis is an uneven and mildly frustrating affair. I say mildly, because nobody sounds bad — in fact, everyone sounds fine, more or less — but this opera is full of music with the potential to make a person like me weak at the knees, and yet on this occasion, barely manages to do so. Taryn Fiebig is a puzzle to me. She seems caught in a war between her early music background and the musical theatre habits of her very extended season as Eliza Doolittle. When her voice is at its purest and best, it is absolutely lovely; but it is inconsistent, and is not helped by diction so strange that she almost sounds French. Henry Choo has the light, nimble touch a Handel tenor needs but alas, not the charisma; his freshness of tone is appealing, but it takes more than that to carry a da capo aria (let alone a whole role) to a satisfying conclusion. He's an amiable enough presence on stage but also a bit gormless and detached — nothing, except maybe his gory death — seems to affect him very deeply. Kanen Breen, on the other hand, is all personality, a true character tenor. Until the monster arrives, Breen's Damon is definitely the most interesting person on stage, even before all the sex and drugtaking.
The monster, however, conquers all. Shane Lowrencev's Polyphemus takes possession of this show from the moment of his first, silent appearance on the projection screen, and when he starts to sing, his ownership is total. His diction is crystal clear, his coloratura precise, his lowest notes wonderfully secure; but above all, he makes every word and every note live, and marries all of that to a witty and engaging characterisation. His appallingly (and indiscrimately) lecherous manner, his vivid facial expressions, and yes, even his extraordinary height (Lowrencev would tower over an average cast in his bare feet, but in this production he wears very high heels) all help to make him a curiously appealing sort of Cyclops. Not sympathetic — he's unremittingly awful, in fact— but so fascinating (and so splendidly sung) that, lo and behold, I've lavished a paragraph on the villain of the piece. I'd considered showing up to the next two performances only in time for Dido, but for Shane, I might just need to see two more Acis & Galateas as well.
And meanwhile, the band plays on. Antony Walker and the Orchestra of the Antipodes are robust, bright and, well, just as stylish as they always are. What a bonus to have the annual Christmas joy of Pinchgut recreated in July, albeit in a less friendly acoustic. Tonight, perched at the front point of Loge X, I was in an especially good spot to hear them and they provided some of the most beautiful sounds of the evening. As did the chorus, with whom I am now, as ever, quite musically besotted. The choruses in Acis, especially towards the end, are just sublime, and their rather more energetic work in Dido is just as impressive. I especially like "Destruction's our delight", which Walker takes at a blistering pace and the chorus delivers with suitably menacing gusto.
Dido & Aeneas also contains Taryn Fiebig, suddenly (both on opening night and tonight) in far clearer and more consistent voice: maybe Purcell just agrees with her better than Handel, or maybe she responds better to the simplicity of a seconda donna role. She's just right as Belinda: sweet and supportive to her queen, with just enough guts to push Dido in the right (well, okay, wrong) direction. Kanen Breen also makes a reappearance, in performance whose brilliance it's really taken me two performancs to appreciate. He's a Sorceress of indeterminate gender, writhing about the place and exploiting every bit of his voice to genuinely spooky effect. His skills as a puppeteer are also on display as he plays grotesquely with a pair of horrible little baby dolls, their movements mirrored by a pair of dancers costumed to match. When this production premiered in 2004, Breen's Sorceress was a sort of bright green frog-man, but I think I like this new Gothic version better.
Luke Gabbedy's smooth baritone blooms beautifully in this role: a bit dull to start, but becoming richer and richer so that by the time he reaches "How, Royal Fair, shall I impart the God's decree" he's really quite compelling. He's definitely too young to be cast Aeneas to Yvonne's Dido, but there's nothing to be done about that now, and in the circumstances he does a very dignified job. Among the bit parts, my favourite remains Margaret Plummer as the Spirit, and in fact she sounded even prettier tonight — I hope this is a token of more solo roles to come. Of the two witches I think I prefer Teresa La Rocca ever so slightly to Rachael Cunningham, mostly just because I'm drawn to singing witches who sound evil without impersonating Margaret Hamilton — but that's just personal taste, a Wicked Witch accent in this opera is a totally valid choice.
Thus we come to the change of the evening. It was wrought in our star. If I'd thought about it, I would have expected this, but having missed the last two performances, it wasn't until she started singing that I remembered. This was my second Dido, but it was her fourth — which, by my experience, meant it was highly probably that this would be that performance. The one in which her voice shines with more than its accustomed beauty; the one in which she shakes off the traces of a decades-long career and her singing takes on a special sheen and focus not previously attained, whose brilliance is taken up in turn by every aspect of her performance. It's happened in every full or partial season of hers I've seen, and it happened in tonight's Dido.
Of course, the role is already made for her. Dignity mingled with loving vulnerability is exactly what she does best. Royalty suits her beautifully and so does baroque repertoire. The role sits nicely in what is now (and in fact, if you ask me, always was) the best and most interesting part of her voice. She moves gracefully (the dance with Aeneas is just perfect) and sings with all the mastery of style one would expect from a singer who is, after all, among the greatest this country has ever produced. And that's the point, really. Her limitations are what they are. I'm not going to deny them, but I'm not going to itemise them here either. But there is a reason Yvonne Kenny is Yvonne Kenny, and her Dido is proof of it. This is what true artistry at the highest professional standard looks and sounds like.
And then sometimes you get the thrill of a performance like tonight's: an extra special blaze burning across the surface of fundamental greatness. Striking enough to begin with, tonight the glow and humanity of her Dido, from the tender caution of her first confession to the raw emotion of her barely contained breakdown, were somehow intensified. Add the particular deliciousness of her voice as it sounded tonight, et voilà, a night to remember.
