Prima la musica

A Midsummer Night's Dream

I've now seen, to the best of my recollection, four musical adaptations of A Midsummer Night's Dream. The first was a really rather enjoyable musical my high school produced, called Dream on Royal Street, which sets the action in a New Orleans hotel during Mardi Gras. The second was Purcell's The Fairy-Queen, which perhaps only partially counts, seeing as its musical numbers have absolutely nothing to do with the Shakespeare. The third was Mendelssohn's, as staged by the Sydney Symphony in last year's delightful season opening gala. And the latest, of course, has been Britten's opera. 

The Britten is wonderful, of course, and yet I hesitate to name it as my favourite of the four. Not because it doesn't deserve to be, but simply because it's a very closely run race. I loved every one of these, even the musical; in fact, it was Dream on Royal Street which introduced me to the concept of liking a show enough go (gasp!) more than once. I think it's just the inherent wonderfulness of the play, which is one of my favourite in the whole world — treated with affection, and at least a modicum of talent, it's probably a difficult one to wreck.

Baz Luhrmann's production came with so much feverish hype attached that I couldn't help doubting it just a little. Thus it was as much a relief as a thrill to arrive in the theatre and be greeted by such an enchanted playground of a set. Pit paved over with astroturf, orchestra (in red uniforms!) warming up in the grand pavilion, birds chirping, incense burning. There's even a lake! I've never in my life felt so much like climbing onto the stage and just playing on the set. It's like Disneyland.

Nor does the enchantment end with first impressions. The whole show is a gorgeous fairyland fantasy. Catherine Martin and Bill Marron deserve multiple medals for their boundless and psychedelic imagination, and for their exquisite aesthetic instincts. Luhrmann's Raj update is a fun and clever concept, but I think it's the design which it makes it so genuinely magical. They've created a world where the absence of fairies would be far more surprising than their presence.

And on top of all of this, we get Britten! Lots and lots of Britten! The allure of this score is a touch more elusive than the vice-like grip of, say, Peter Grimes or Billy Budd, but that's entirely appropriate, given the subject. I just love the way in which each of the play's three worlds is so distinctly evoked — and the ways in which they intertwine. Those spooky, sliding strings which open the opera are so atmospheric, you wonder that the Titania/Oberon scene could ever be staged without them. Hermia's and Lysander's "I swear to thee" duet is adorable, the operatic pastiche of Pyramus and Thisbe is a riot, and "Now until the break of day" is, of course, just one of those time-stands-still moments. Rather than replace it, the magic of Britten preserves and enhances the magic of Shakespeare; this should be impossible, really, and yet it seems to be true. And I think Alexander Briger does a pretty sterling job of drawing those threads out, and drawing them together. This Dream sounds as magical as it looks: what more could you ask? 

I'm all conflicted about how to deal with the singers. The obvious hierarchy — Fairies, Athenians, Mechanicals — seems somehow slightly unfair, since it's such an ensemble opera. But since no other order makes any more sense, it will have to do — and really, why would I gripe about mentioning the excellent Tobias Cole first? I did find his Oberon rather tentative on opening night, but I suspect that was just nerves; by the second performance he was terrific: eerie, focused and quite otherworldly, with just enough edge in that soft, sweet tone to make him menacing as well as mystical. Besides, I do love those long blue claws. Rachelle Durkin is at her best as Tytania, shimmering her way through all the floridity and high notes with such ease that they sound like natural speech. Add her fiery presence and willowy beauty to the cauldron, and what you have is one very persuasive fairy queen.

One of the oddest aspects of the season so far as been my sudden, uncharacteristic soft spot for tenors. Lo and behold, Dream continues the trend, in the person of our Lysander, one James Egglestone, whom I've been waiting to hear in a proper role ever since he stole the show in the 2008 Christmas at the House. He  has absolutely lived up to my expectations, with a gorgeous, vibrantly sung and unbelievably energetic performance — I don't know how he manages to sing so beautifully while tearing up and down all those stairs, but he does, and I'm very happy about it. Lisa Harper-Brown is a different sort of revelation as Helena  — this long-awaited return to the company was my first encounter with her. I loved her immediately. She's such a tall, dashing figure on stage, she sings with polish and poise, and her gift for slapstick is considerable — and made all the funnier by the elegance which underpins it. Welcome back, Lisa, and please stick around. 

Sian Pendry is an adorable Hermia, sounding very warm and contralto-ish and doing her usual brilliant line in hilarious facial expressions — like Rachelle's legs, Sian's eyes really should be insured by the company. The fight with Helena is comedy gold. And I covet both of her dresses. Luke Gabbedy is perhaps the most likeable Demetrius I've ever seen — his rejection of Helena seems to be motivated as much by confusion as by arrogance. The dark refinement of his singing is a good contrast to the expansive Lysander, and he too does a nice job of the physical comedy — the spill he takes on his entrance is seriously impressive.

Jud Arthur and Catherine Carby as Theseus and Hippolyta don't have a huge amount to sing, but when they finally materialise properly in Act Three (after their silent walk-on at the beginning, a concise substitute for Act One of the play, which the libretto omits) they're both in fine voice. Jud, after all, is OA's Captain of Swagger, so he's excellent as the authorative and gently sarcastic ruler; Catherine is radiant as his royal bride, and she manages the Royal Wave so convincingly that I'm sure she must be a secret Windsor.

As for the Rustics, well, they're really just a bunch of limelight hogs. In the best possible sense, of course. Yes, they're a bit over the top, but for this show, they have to be — understatement would seem out of place. As Bottom, Conal Coad has the most to do and the most to sing, and he certainly seems to be loving every minute of it, prancing about and generally acting like an ass, even before he has the ears to match. An ass, that is, with preternatural singing talent. The rest of the boys save their best party tricks for Pyramus & Thisbe, where Andrew Brundson (Snout) is a rather shocked looking Wall (with suggestively placed tap), Andrew Moran (Starveling) is fabulous as a mincing, silver-skirted Moon, Richard Alexander, a wonderfully slow-witted Cockney Snug, is irresistible as the Lion, and Richard Anderson's Swallow is just pompous enough to keep it all from going completely off the rails. But let's face it, the shameless thief of this scene is Stephen Smith as Flute. Or rather, Stephen as Flute as Thisbe. I don't entirely love Stephen's Urkel-esque take on Flute in Act I, but his Thisbe, pirouetting about in her frilly dress (and knickers), is a tour de force.  You'd never know he was the cover (for an indisposed Graeme Macfarlane) — he's made the role ridiculously and adorably his own. 

The boys of the chorus acquit themselves quite beautifully — I'm no great lover of boy sopranos, as we know, but this lot really do sound lovely, and their diction is remarkably good. The dancers — both Titania's pink entourage and Oberon's two blue henchmen — are wonderfully acrobatic, even if their clomping feet do occasionally interfere with the score's delicate moments. Anish Sanghvi is too cute for words as the tiny changeling boy. Alas, the most prominent non-singing role disappointed me. Tyler Coppin certainly looks magical as an elfin, Bollywood Puck, and his agility and energy are extraordinary, but I feel that his exaggerated, high-camp delivery tramples on the character's shadowy side — he provides the giggles, but not the goosebumps, of the role. 

Good lord, what a populous opera. Writing it all up has been a little exhausting, and not nearly as fun as watching it, which I plan to do for a third time next week. Three will probably suffice — I don't want the enchantment to fade through overexposure, and besides, once Bliss opens, I think it will command my undivided attention. This is such an adored and excitedly publicised show that I'm sure it doesn't need any plugs from me. If you want to see it, you've probably already booked; and if you haven't, well, you might want to hurry up. 

2009 in review: Opera Australia

This would usually be the post in which I handed out various laurels to the best of the past year's Opera Australia season. The problem is that this year, all of those laurels would just have to go to Peter Grimes, wouldn't they? It was truly the best of everything. So I'm opting instead for a more inclusive (and, typically, more longwinded) approach.

Here are Fifty-Two Things I Loved at Opera Australia in 2009.

1. The chance to see Moffat Oxenbould's exquisite production of Madama Butterfly live in the theatre, and with the soprano for whom it was created in the title role. I could see those petals fall a hundred times and the magic wouldn't fade.

2. The palpable electricity of Cheryl Barker's final Butterfly of the season, a stunning and maybe paradoxical combination of utter abandon and gorgeous refinement. 

3. Antoinette Halloran's short notice triumph in the same role when Cheryl cancelled what turned out to be the first of three performances. Her standing ovation came a little later in the run but she deserved it for that first performance.

4. The spontaneous (and unanimous) standing ovation for Cheryl's second Butterfly. Yes, it can probably be explained by the high proportion of tourists in the audience that night, but it was still a great thing to see. 

5. The last of Cheryl's January Butterflies, before she adjourned to Paris and Antoinette officially took over. She had cancelled three times, my poor nerves were shattered; but at last, she was back, and with the considerable bonus of Jacqui Dark, filling in for Catherine Carby as Suzuki. 

6. Jonathan Summers's two fabulous entrances in Cav/Pag, first as a Mafioso Alfio and then, even better, as a haunting and darkly comedic Tonio. I didn't exactly love this double bill, but I swear there's no production so dire it can't be immediately improved by the presence of Jonathan Summers.

7. José Carbo's beautiful (but of course, much too short) appearance as Pagliacci's Silvio. I tell you, if there's one thing this season needed, it was more José. 

8. And again, from Pagliacci, Stephen Smith's strong cameo as Beppe, the first of his many bit parts in this season and an auspicious introduction.

9. Fine, one from Cavalleria Rusticana. Dominica Matthews's surprisingly convincing Lola. I wouldn't have picked Dominica for verismo repertoire and yet she absolutely made it work.

10. Emma Pearson's suitably ferocious Queen of the Night. I tried to see her a second time but (sigh) she was indisposed. So please, please, Opera Australia, bring her back soon.

11. Two lovely Paminas in Emma Matthews and Hye Seoung Kwon, each of whom brought her own brand of prettiness to the role. Objectively, I'd give Emma the victory; subjectively speaking, I preferred Hye Seoung's voice in the role.

12. Andrew Moran as a very funny Aussie Papageno. Warwick Fyfe did a fine job in the role but somehow Andrew was even more hilarious, and I'm more enamoured of his voice every time I hear it.

13. The privilege of a true dramatic soprano in our midst, in the form of Susan Bullock, a sensational Katerina in Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk. 

14. All the seedy and confronting glory of aforementioned Lady M and of Francesca Zambello's excellent production. I'm still kicking myself for not making it to a second performance. 

15. Jacqui Dark's rather brave performance as Aksinya in the opera's infamous "barrel scene".

16. The overpowering sound of the AOBO as, under the leadership of Sir Richard Armstrong, it tore into Shostakovich's blazing score. Loudness of the best sort. 

17. And, of course, the very successful company début of my compatriot, heldentenor Simon O'Neill as a thoroughly slapworthy (but magnificently sung) Sergei.

18. The opportunity to finally express admiration for Elke Neidhardt. She and I have not had the best history, but I thought her work as revival director of the Moshinsky production of Werther was just superb. Loved the costumes, too. 

19. The eternally swoonworthy voice of Aldo Di Toro as the lovelorn Werther. 

20. The delightful surprise of Sarah Crane's sparkling Sophie. I adored her (and her character, who should have annoyed me) and I'm rather upset at her absence from the 2010 season. I hope she's back in 2011.

21. In a rather, shall we say, uneven production of Acis and Galatea, Shane Lowrencev's towering, raging and hilariously insatiable Polyphemus. His "O ruddier than the cherry" was my favourite part of the opera. 

22. Over the top though it may have been, Patrick Nolan's staging of Damon's "Shepherd, what art thou pursuing?" in said Acis, which piled in almost everything a director could do to outrage the easily outraged. 

23. The virtuosic grotesquerie of Kanen Breen's Sorceress in Dido and Aeneas, one of the best (and downright weirdest) performances I've seen from him.

24. Yvonne Kenny's devastating final Dido, which far outdid the other three I saw and included the most moving rendition of "When I am laid in earth" I've ever experienced. 

25. Tamara Wilson's sweet and finely wrought Aida, proof that you don't need to blast the roof off to be an idiomatic and effective Verdi soprano.

26. And speaking of idiomatic: Michael Lewis's excellent Amonasro. There's a man with Verdi in his blood. 

27. Graeme Murphy's staging of the final act of Aida. I wasn't very taken with the first half of this production, but the clearer the stage became, the better it worked, and the tomb scene was really very striking. 

28. David Parkin's return to the opera theatre stage, his first OA performance since he appeared as Sparafucile after winning Operatunity Oz. It's great to see that for once, the winner of a TV talent show has turned out to be absolutely the genuine article. 

29. The night when Cheryl Barker altered the staging of Manon Lescaut's "Sola, perduta, abbandonata", and then every subsequent performance she gave of it. Flawed opera, very flawed heroine, but that final scene had a raw truth to it which was heart stopping.

30. The delectable misbehaviour of Cheryl's Manon in her gilded second act: her playful trills, the spitefully held high note, eight gorgeous renditions of "In quelle trine morbide", the fabulous frock, eight different ways of enunciating "E il busto?", the look on her face when caught in the act of fleeing with her lover and the jewels. 

31. Just surrending to Cheryl's unparalleled ability to make me fall hopelessly in love with a character I thought I didn't like.

32. For good measure, two very fine tenors. Stephen Smith's Harlequin-esque Edmondo, and Jorge Lopez-Yanez's ardent Des Grieux. 

33. The total revelation that was Fidelio. Not that I was expecting to dislike it; but I never expected to love it so much. Opening night was one of the best nights I had in the opera theatre all year. 

34. Speaking of revelations and Fidelio, Peter Coleman-Wright's magnificently villainous Don Pizarro. I never knew he could be so evil, but he absolutely was, from his terrifying "Ha, welch' ein Augenblick" to the fabulous swirl of his cape when he took his final bow. 

35. Best of all, though, Lorina Gore's perfect (there's no other word!) Marzelline. I knew I liked Lorina, but it was this performance which turned me into a bona fide fan and raised my hopes for her future sky high. 

36. Still with Fidelio, Cathy Dadd's direction of this revival. It's a pretty traditional, straightforward production; a lesser talent might have fallen asleep at the wheel, but Dadd kept the show as vivid and compelling as could be. 

37. My Emma Matthews epiphany, which was sparked by her new CD but consolidated by her exquisite Giulietta in I Capuleti e i Montecchi. It turned out she'd been ill and apparently not at her best on opening night, but I must have had my diva goggles (or auditory equivalent) on because I loved her. 

38. Aldo Di Toro's return as Tebaldo, after missing opening night. A surprisingly three-dimensional characterisation and, of course, sublimely sung. Can't wait for his Elvino in Sonnambula. 

39. And yes, believe it or not, Orpha Phelan's rather bleak and jagged production of Capuleti. I might be in the minority but I liked it a lot. It might not have been visually beautiful, but in its own jagged way, it seemed to highlight the beauty of the score.

40. Anthony Warlow's Ko-Ko in The Mikado. Despite all my arms-folded resistance to the supposed charms of Gilbert and Sullivan, I couldn't help but warm to him. I know others thought much less of him, but ever contrary, I finally began to understand his appeal.

41. Warwick Fyfe's revelatory Poo-Bah. Hands down the most impressive thing I've seen him do, and I don't mean that as faint praise. He was completely ideal for the role, both vocally and temperamentally. I was terribly impressed. 

42. The high camp of Kanen Breen's Nanki-Poo. It's always fun seeing Kanen in a role where he gets to show off his gift for physical comedy.

43. Jim Sharman's delightful framing device for his production of Cosi fan tutte, the Japanese wedding. I especially liked the immaculately pair of wedding planners; having the newlyweds dance during "Soave sia il vento" was also a lovely touch. 

44. And, of course, the colour co-ordinated confetti.

45. Rachelle Durkin's simple, sincere and very touching "Per pietà". 

46. Tiffany Speight's show stealing striptease for Despina's "Una donna". I'm still keen to hear Tiffany in a less soubrettish role, but in the meantime, she's a pretty amazing maid. 

47. Neil Armfield's and Peter Carroll's extraordinary conception and expansion of the role of Dr Crabbe in Peter Grimes. 

48. David Corcoran's fantastically well sung Bob Boles. Another burgeoning star for whom I have very high hopes.

49. The succession of jaw-dropping moments which was opening night of Grimes. 

50. The unique spirit which developed among the audiences for Grimes, a sort of solidarity and fraternal feeling borne of an extraordinary shared experience. I've never felt anything like it and for all I know, I may never feel it again.

51. Similarly, the way in which we all responded to that experience, both in conversation and in writing; the speechlessness which turned into an inability to stop talking about it. Very few productions, after all, could produce a collective response quite like this. 

52. The darkened pit.

And now that that's all done and dusted, here are the Peter Grimes laurels. 

My soprano of the year is Susan Gritton. I've heard Susan in various repertoire over the years and generally quite liked her, but her Ellen Orford flicked a switch. She was shattering and sublime in that role, and now with every single piece of music I hear her sing, I fall in love all over again. There's no question that we have the late Richard Hickox to thank for her presence in Grimes, and she's truly one of the most precious gifts he left us. I hope and pray we'll see her back here one day.

My baritone of the year is of course Peter Coleman-Wright, and I also want to name him as my revelation of the year. Maybe that's a strange thing to say about a singer I've been listening to on a daily basis for a couple of years, but this was the year in which he won my devotion in his own right, and not just by association. Plus, his Balstrode was just astonishingly beautiful. I'll never forget the way he fidgeted with suppressed rage as the villagers closed in on Ellen, or the look he threw her as he joined the mob on their way to the hut, or the sublime way he sang in that third act scene. And so many more moments, but I should stop.

Naturally Mark Wigglesworth, Neil Armfield, Ralph Myers and Damien Cooper all take out their respective categories. I've never witnessed such a powerful and triumphant creative collaboration, and people who have been attending OA performances for decades longer than I have have said the same thing. Every facet of Grimes was just so right, from the pit to the stage to the morning sun coming through the skylights. I wish I could say more but, well, see #51 above — it's either astonished silence or endless praise.

So I come to my tenor of the year and, more importantly, my singer of the year. Who else could it be but Stuart Skelton? I had started anticipating his Grimes before it was even announced. Then he sang it in London and the critics (and audiences) went crazy. And finally, here he was in Sydney and he exceeded every expectations. I've been over this before, and since there are only so many ways to put it, I won't repeat myself too much now. But Stuart's Grimes was a treasure, a terror and, I think, a life-altering experience. I shan't ever forget it, and I know for a fact I'm far from alone in that. 

Mad about ewe

So far I seem to be the only person I know who unreservedly loves Justin Way's new production of Orlando. It all turns on the sheep, you see. There are a lot of them in this production (not real ones — this isn't Francesca Zambello) and they get up to all kinds of increasingly surreal shenanigans. Orlando's personal madness is mirrored in a world turned upside down and multi-coloured, where a humble office lamp is the moon, nobody is capable of a normal relationship and barnyard creatures are unbound by such a paltry force as gravity. Last year's Alcina was pretty magical, but Orlando — by the same team, director Justin Way and designers Andrew Hays and Kimm Kovacs — leaves it in the dust. It opens in the normal world and then everything just goes to pieces and flamboyant havoc ensues, creating along the way several tableaux worthy of La Cieca's Regie quizzes.

The boundless imagination of the design team blew my mind. Even leaving the sheep aside, this is such a visually captivating production. The costumes are fabulous. I think almost everyone (including the singer herself) covets Orlando's red leather army uniform, and Dorinda seems to have stepped straight out of a storybook — actually she kept putting me in mind of Lauren Childs' Lola. Rachelle Durkin's Angelica makes one of the best operatic entrances I've ever seen; I'll say no more than that, although Opera Australia's website does its best to spoil the surprise. I'm mightily impressed by the attention to detail (musical as well as textual) that's evident in Way's direction. I'm thinking especially of the extraordinary trio in which Angelica and Medoro carelessly crush Dorinda's little heart by announcing their plan to run away together. I'm also thinking of the torn wallpaper, another little flash of genius I don't want to spoil by explaining. It won't appeal to everyone, but then I don't suppose any production of anything ever appeals to everyone, so that's fine. As for me, I love it. I don't know. Must be all that MTV I (don't) watch, eating away my attention span and cheapening my taste. Or not. 

Two singers in this show give what I think might just be the best performances I've yet seen from either of them. They're Richard Alexander (Zoroastro) and Hye Seoung Kwon (Dorinda). I've sort of grown accustomed to Richard Alexander as one of those reliable, always OK but never amazing singers, with a useful sort of voice and generalised stage presence, who never looks entirely convincing in his old man make-up. His Zoroastro is a real step up — his singing is far more nuanced and creative, and he seems to have a definite grasp on the character. I don't suppose anybody was listening very closely to his first aria, but that's hardly his fault, what with the Kylie Minogue homage happening behind him, and he sings it wonderfully regardless. Maybe now I can finally stop confusing him with Richard Anderson. Hye Seoung Kwon's Dorinda is madcap and adorable, a lovelorn shepherdess who channels all that unrequited love into compulsive sock-knitting for Our Boys Over There. Vocally you couldn't ask for a better fit — after hearing Hye Seoung as both Oberto and Alcina last year, this is precisely the kind of role I wanted to hear her in, somewhere in the middle between bit-part boy and raging temptress. It also makes me more bewildered than ever by Opera Australia's decision to cast her as Fiordiligi in the Melbourne season of Cosi next year.

Our Orlando is Sonia Prina, and I'm happy to report that up close and without a beard, she doesn't look a thing like Eddie Izzard or Prince. Roles like this one are the reason singers such as Sonia Prina exist, so it's no surprise that she's excellent. It's not a voice I have been able to warm to — even since I forgave her for not being Ewa Podles — but that's not a criticism, it's just a quirk of personal taste. But I did like Tobias Cole more and more as the performance progressed; I heard so many people raving about him after his Cesare in 2006, and he more or less lived up to the hype.

I'm so transparent, aren't I? Yes, I'm saving Rachelle Durkin for last. I know the opera is not called Angelica but it's probably not long until I start inadvertently referring to it as such — I call Rinaldo, "Armida" and Giulio Cesare, "Cleopatra" almost without exception. I have made my feelings about Rachelle more than clear. That said, even I have to concede that her Donna Anna was not quite right. In Angelica she's back to the sort of blistering triumph I expect, however. The most preposterously difficult Handelian coloratura is but child's play to Rachelle: she not only meets the challenge but seems positively to relish it. Not that it's all about the fireworks.  Her iridescent tone is just as striking in simple, lyrical music as in the fast'n'furious stuff and possibly even lovelier. I know Orlando's mad scene is the centrepiece, but my own personal showstopper was Rachelle's "Verdi piante", an aria I love but had totally forgotten came from this opera.

One of the nice things about Handel at the House is the reconfigured orchestra. It's shrunk to period size, and the floor of the pit is raised closer to stage level, making for lovelier sound, greater intimacy and, I would imagine, something resembling humane working conditions for musicians used to playing in that horrible cavern. With Handel specialist Paul Goodwin at the helm they make a glorious noise, in better form even than they were for Alcina.

What a relief that I enjoyed this so much. Because, on the strength of Alcina, and the mania it induced in me, I've been stockpiling tickets for Orlando. Alright, so it wasn't that much of a risk, since it's the Rachelle/Handel combination which makes me do these things, and that much at least was a guarantee. But it's much better when the whole experience, and not just the prima donna, bears repeating.

Una voce

I think the usual etiquette is just to link; but this needs sharing, so I hope YouTube user Senjon111 won't be too upset with me for embedding these videos.
This is Australian soprano Rachelle Durkin (whom I may have mentioned once or twice) singing Rosina's "Una voce poco fa" in concert, followed by what I assume is an encore — and a slightly frightening, but justly enthusiastic, "brava!"

So now perhaps you can start to see what I was on about.

Rachellemania

It's my blog and she's a soprano so I'm allowed to obsess. I love —

That in four performances her "Di, cor mio" has gone from basically lovely to drop dead ravishing.
That she seems to treat it differently every time.
That she can give Alcina a sense of humour without losing any of her evil credibility.
Her shimmering vibrato and stardust timbre.
The simultaneous fluidity and absolute precision of her coloratura.
Her awesome agility and limitless capacity for ornamentation.
That every one of those ornaments is imaginative and musically and dramatically right.
The transformation, in my mind at least, of "Ah, mio cor" from calculated to genuine emotion.
That while she's singing she makes me forget everyone — and I mean everyone — who's come before her.
Her eyes, which on their own are more expressive than anyone else's entire performance, and which are always acting even when the technical requirements of singing are controlling the rest of her.
The low, low interpolated note in "Ah, mio cor" which she's not afraid to hold for all its worth.
That in addition to everything it can do, her voice itself is thoroughly beautiful and recognisably her.
That she doesn't make me worry like the others in cast do.
The way she sings "pieta" in the da capo of "Non è amor ne gelosia".
That she silently turns Oberto's Act Three aria into her own mad scene instead.
The hurtling pace at which she takes "Ombre pallide" — and that she succeeds utterly.
That she takes her curtain call resplendent in her aquamarine Act Two dress rather than the beige one she ends the opera in.
That she makes me feel unbelievably fortunate to have been able to experience such a miraculous performance.
The impression she gives of total physical and vocal abandon — but abandon underpinned by absolute assurance and control, though that's probably an oxymoron.
That when I try to think of who, if anyone she reminds me of, it's names like Patrizia Ciofi and Sandrine Piau that come to mind.
The impossibility of putting her into words.
Her red hair.
Everything. Every note and phrase, every brilliant decoration, every gesture, every movement and expression. Every choice she's made (and I'd swear she makes a fair portion of them on the spot). Everything. She's sublime.

And now you can relax, though I'll live in torment — this is the last I'll see or hear of her now until whenever she returns to Opera Australia next year. According to her website she's doing two new productions for them next season. Again, I pray for a Lucia.

Alta reina

Rachelle, Rachelle, Rachelle.

But perhaps it's dangerous to say her name three times — she is a witch, after all. A witch whose spell over me is stronger than ever tonight. And unlike Ruggiero, mine's not an involuntary state. I tried the ring on but there were no illusions to see through, it's all real. She's as outrageously brilliant as she seems so I'm staying put right here in her thrall.

She's back from the evil illness which kept her out of several performances, including, tragically, the one recorded for broadcast. I have missed her desperately. You'd think that such extravagant longing as mine might have swelled my expectations beyond reality, that when she finally returned I'd be perhaps a little disappointed. You'd be wrong. Her magic is strong; her reality exceeded my expectations, she was more magnificent even than I thought I remembered — a difficult feat, believe me.

Her Alcina is an enchantment and a privilege to experience. She's maybe the only true actress on that stage. There are convincing enough characterisations around her, yes, but they're rehearsed and unchanging. Rachelle's Alcina, on the other hand, seems a wholly spontaneous creation, different every time. So believable that she gives the impression she's the source of absolutely everything that happens around her — people move because she commands it, the set is changed because she's decided it should be, and even the music is her creation. By her reactions she turns other arias into her own — Oberto's "Barbara! Io ben lo so" isn't about Oberto's anguish at all any more, but about Alcina's desperate disintegration as she offers herself up as his victim. Back on opening night I suggested her Alcina was too essentially evil to be really sympathetic. I've changed my mind — the Alcina I saw tonight was shatteringly sympathetic. Even in her nastiest moments she's irresistible.

All of which would be hard enough for me to cope with on its own — but she can also sing. Again, with every performance she changes, there are new discoveries, new colours, new sounds. Her facility for coloratura can only be the result of a deal with the devil — except it's pretty gorgeously clear she's retained her soul. But she tears fearlessly into the most impossible runs and does so with such rock solid security that I'm fearless as I'm listening, too. I don't worry that she'll get blurry, or run out of breath, or miss a note — I'm free to abandon myself to the hair raising thrill of her. We're straying into beyond words territory here; I'm sitting and typing, all the while intensely aware that I'm capturing at best about 4% of the truth of the experience... and that all I really want to do is hear her sing again. There's just one performance left in the run. If I go I'll have to miss the first act. There's not a chance I'm missing the rest.

I think I meant to write more and/or different praise here but it's all too hard, nothing will say what I mean anyway. So I'll just invoke the sorceress again and hope for the best.

Rachelle, Rachelle, Rachelle.

I hope Opera Australia brings her back as much as they possibly can. At this point I feel would pay anything to hear her in anything. I see Lucia on her repertoire list and wonder if it's due a revival in Sydney. To those in New York — promise me you'll go and see her in Satyagraha. I'm praying for a broadcast.

P.S. I've received my stamp of Rachelle Devotee authenticity — having just written this post, I discovered this.

Quasi Alcina

It had to happen to me one day, and at least it wasn't Montserrat Caballé. I arrived at my third Alcina — despite having been sold a seat which didn't exist — only to learn that Terrifying Rachelle, my Number One Witch, was indisposed. I didn't riot; but I confess I could understand why a person might in such circumstances. I was thankful for my own obsessive tendencies, which meant I knew what I was missing. Most of Thursday's audience, of course, didn't and likely never will, which is a shame.

All due credit to her replacement though, lovely Hye Seoung Kwon. Hye Seoung has been singing Oberto with, it has to be said, the kind of power and talent which screams for a bigger role. Maybe not Alcina though, or at least not just yet. But it would be monstrously unfair to subject her to the usual criticism when she's stepped in at such short notice. And in any case she actually did pretty damned well; not her A Chorus Line moment, no, but still a success.

But Rachelle, ti imploro — get well soon. Absence makes the grow fonder, it's true. With Rachelle gone, I missed her desperately and appreciated her myriad glories even more than before. All the things which come of a long rehearsal process and plenty of preparation time, which can't be expected of a last minute replacement, however talented — these I longed for. I don't think I'd fully realised how exquisitely detailed her performance is, the number of near-imperceptible (but vital) gestures, facial expressions and reactions. Even the position she assumes to summon her dark magic is uniquely hers, it turns out; and then there's the fabulously wicked moment where, as Oberto holds a glass of water from the enchanted fountain but doesn't drink it, Alcina, glowering and evil, mouths "Beviamo!" All this and more, I adore, and it all needs to return. So Rachelle, since I'm sure you're actually a witch, cast every necessary spell and come back immediately. Your realm and your subjects need you. 

Alcina

Let us now praise Rachelle Durkin. Forget the usual introductions, there's no question that this woman is absolutely the best thing about Opera Australia's new Alcina which opened last night — so naturally her tribute should precede all else. Having heard advance praise from several trustworthy quarters, my expectations here were very high. And initially, not realised. Though she was unquestionably fabulous, seductively evil in her black lace and with a voice which likewise exuded a quality of dark and dangerous beauty, still some little spark was lacking. I was, say, 80% fascinated. Her "Di', cor mio" seemed a little shaky, and her hard, calculating "Si, son quella", which I've always thought of as something more tender, Alcina's Marschallin moment, left me rather cold. Ma basta! That was Act One. Act Two came and I was convinced. And terrified. This was a woman possessed. Not a soprano or an actress but an actual sorceress on stage, in touch with some seriously dark and frightening forces. To watch her fall apart was beyond riveting, her ferocious energy on stage matched at every turn by a voice of coolly penetrating beauty and demonic agility. Her "Ah, mio cor" was unexpectedly raw, punctuated with rasping sobs and ornamented not just with glittering and decorative high notes but several ominously low ones as well. "Ombre pallide" was a fully-fledged  and electrifying mad scene — not so much an aria as an EXPERIENCE. To be repeated as often as humanly possible. The same can be said of her performance as a whole. Rachelle's Alcina is not a figure for whom, in even at her lowest point, one can really feel very much sympathy — she's a bit too intrinsically evil and threatening for that. Nevertheless it's impossible not to be drawn into her whirlwind of fury and desperate, clawing passion. You mightn't like her, but when she's miserable, when she's furious, when she's utterly ruined — you've no choice but feel it too.

I'm undecided about the production. Some aspects I like very much. After the relatively safe and traditional Traviata and Figaro I've been wanting something a little less conventional, and this one certainly provides it. There's a definite atmosphere of magic, a Gothic other-worldliness. Alcina's attendants have little white devil horns, the statues on stage alternate between flesh and stone, and Alcina herself is certainly a sight to behold in (and out of) her various costumes. Her realm is not so much an island as a decadent underworld in which Ruggiero is quite willingly trapped. All this I'm happy with, and the obligatory half-naked people are no problem either — though their flesh-coloured underwear does give them the slightly unfortunate appearance of being built like Barbie dolls. I have reservations, though, about the immense mirror. This hangs at the back of the stage and seems like it should reflect the stage itself, but in fact reflects all sorts of other things. So when Morgana sings "Tornami a vagheggiar", for instance, her "reflection" dances out her sentiments in slightly more explicit and physical fashion. Sometimes it's effective; sometimes a distracting excess. Then there's the enchanted ring, which looks like it came from a cereal box and causes its wearers to act as if they're in a bad science fiction film. And do we really need quite so much aimless writhing about? Never mind. Distractions and infelicities aside, the overall effect is of enchantment, illusion and lurking evil, which is in the end is probably just what's required.

Among the rest of the cast, I think it's only right that I first of all single out Sally-Anne Russell. I was not kind to her Cherubino. My feelings there haven't changed, and so I was not wild with excitement at the prospect of her Bradamante. Well, shame on me. Bradamante's lower tessitura suits her infinitely better — it's still not a hugely fascinating voice but she still sang superbly, with warmth, dignity and some of the most impressively precise and secure coloratura on show all evening. The acting was a bit cartoonish, yes, but gained in credibility when she shed her "Ricciardo" disguise and traded her silver Hvorostovsky hairpiece for something a bit more Harlow. I suppose with the voice she has, she'll always sing a lot of male roles, but I hope for her sake that she gets her fair share of heroines as well — she's much more engaging as a woman than as a man.

As her betrothed, New Zealand's Own™ Sarah Castle was a mostly excellent Ruggiero. Until now my only experience of Sarah Castle was as the effusive host of TV coverage of the 2002 Mobil Song Quest. I far prefer her (no surprise) as a singer. From her first mute appearance during the overture (yes, they staged it — sigh) she was a committed and persuasive Ruggiero. I have to confess I liked her best in Act One, when she was still under the spell and being brilliantly vile to "Ricciardo" and Melisso. Vocally she was her most appealing in Ruggiero's slower, middle-of-the-voice kinds of arias. "Mi lusinga" and "Mio bel tesoro" were particular highlights for me, "Verdi prati" not quite so impressive. I could have wished for a bit more adventurousness in terms of ornamentation, but then that was true of almost everyone; the voice is any case quite beautiful and nicely suited to this repertoire.

Another of the evening's surprises came from Hye Seoung Kwon as Oberto. After her pretty and ethereal Nannetta in Falstaff  last year, I couldn't quite imagine how she was going to pull off a Handelian travesti role. But pull it off she did, with impressive power and technical facility, and unexpectedly persuasive boyishness. No surprises from Richard Alexander as her tutor, just reliably solid and attractive singing — and really, you don't need anything else from a Melisso, do you? Morgana was Natalie Jones, whose Gilda I got so terribly excited about. I have to confess she disappointed me here a little, though I chalk that up more to my own inflated expectations than anything else. I still think the voice is gorgeous but it's perhaps not blissfully happy in Handel. The best of her arias was probably "Credete al mio dolore", whose lilting lines suit her sweetly rounded sound; faced with arias requiring greater agility, such as "Tornami a vagheggiar" (which ought to be Morgana's moment in the sun) that sweetness was sacrificed to the technical demands of the music and the result was just a bit too dry and effortful for me. Rounding out the cast as Oronte was the always delightful Henry Choo, whose natural nobility of phrasing and bearing belied his grubby, thuggish appearance; he's to be congratulated also for singing one of his arias ("E un folle, e un vil affetto" I think) so impeccably while shaving off his stage stubble. Very impressive.

This fix of Handel has been a long time coming for me. The last — and first — Handel opera I saw on stage was Xerxes at the New York City Opera, all the way back in 2004. Sweetening things even further is the joy of having Richard Hickox at the helm. Richard Hickox just happens to be responsible for, among other things, one of my very favourite baroque opera recordings — Vivaldi's Ottone in Villa on Chandos' Chaconne label. I trust him with Handel and my trust was repaid on Friday night by the myriad glorious sounds coming from the (raised) orchestra pit, reminding me over and over again why I love Handel, and this opera, so very much.