The show was Gaspare Spontini's La Vestale. It was
our first ENO show since Lady Macbeth of
Mtsensk last June. A lot has happened since then.
The major task of the week was recovering Ross's garden plants from his former residence in London.
Before that, however, I took in a concert at the Phil which included Schubert's 5th Symphony, a couple of pieces for oboe and orchestra by Bellini and Ponchielli and Schumann's 4th Symphony.
As with the Brodsky Quartet last week, we were treated to Schubert's angst without the charm. The Bellini and Ponchielli were what had motivated me to attend the concert but they turned out to be terribly slight pieces that told me nothing about their composers' operatic works. The Schumann came out best with Christoph Eberle's hard-driven, rhythmic approach finally suiting the music he was conducting.
We drove down to London on a sunny Thursday and settled into Poplar for the evening. Friday, it rained. But there were enough dry patches to be able to get out into the garden and uproot Ross's plants. I've asked him for names but, aside from grasses, bushes, tulip bulbs and aquilegia, he's not been very forthcoming.
We trotted into town, bought some of our favourite lube from Clone Zone, tapes of BBC Radio Four serials of Poirot mysteries from Borders, CDs of a 1975 Covent Garden performance of Il Trovatore starring Montserrat Caballé, from the Coliseum shop and a programme for the evening's entertainment. Food was at All Bar One at Cambridge Circus. Coffee was at Aroma on St Martin's Lane.
The show was Gaspare Spontini's La Vestale. It was
our first ENO show since Lady Macbeth of
Mtsensk last June. A lot has happened since then.
Our reason for being there was Jane Eaglen, who I heard at the Phil
during March and was our
Turandot in 2001. She was in
good but not sovereign voice, eclipsing the chorus and orchestra when called
for, sweet and involved when necessary, the phrases long breathed and not chopped,
the emotive weight carried through the tone of the sung phrase not through
histrionic puppetry.
She was partnered by John Hudson who Ross and I heard in 1998 in La Traviata. Our comments then about his appealing voice and inflexible stage presence remain pertinent today. Paul Nilon was OK, we liked Gerard O'Connor's caverous but grainy bass (he was in the Lady Macbeth as Boris) and Andrew Tinkler's Soothsayer. Best singing of all came from Anne-Marie Owens as the Grand Vestal - a real, ripe, fruity mezzo.
The production by Francesca Zambello updated the action from Roman Italy to 1950s Italy (there is a current vogue to set everything in the 50s as a not too distant but still nostalgic past). The updating made no sense but didn't wreck the piece. Presumably, everyone thought it would look naff in togas. The big moments were carried off with aplomb and the chorus was moved about effectively.
The thing that dragged the evening down was David Parry. I don't find him an inspiring conductor and I rather think that the band felt the same. His performances are very well thought out and feel meticulous in their execution. However, to use and amend a quote about Georg Solti, it's as though he shows us how the music goes but not why.
The piece itself occupies a strange no man's land in operatic history. It was premiered in 1807 in Paris. Opera seria was already a thing of the past. Mozart's La Clemenza di Tito was about the last gasp of that style and, even there, the form is already breaking down into more Romantic modes of expression.
The Rossini of The Italian Girl in Algiers (1813), The Barber of Seville (1816) and La Cenerentola (1817) would shortly sweep all before him and pave the way for the Bellini of La sonnambula (1831), the Donizetti of The Elixir of Love (1832) and the Verdi of Nabucco (1842).
Spontini is heading there. You can hear it in some of the orchestral touches. But he still owes more to Gluck than to Berlioz. I was glad to have seen it. Ross would positively go again. I would need persuading.
I am aware that some of you missed out on the media moment of January which was Footballers' Wives. And so you missed Gary Lucy sans kit and in the shower. We are, therefore, exceptionally proud to offer you the buttock moment and the penis moment.
We are also exceptionally sad to note that Christopher Price has departed this earth.
