Wagner treat

Götterdämmerung
Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

Don Carlos
Opera North

The South Korean Attila Jun got a fantastic reception for his Hagen, and there was no lack of baleful tone pouring from him, but I was never persuaded that he had more than an approximate idea of what he was singing, and his voice has a curious halo round it, a halo of woof — it almost sounded as if there were two of him, not singing quite simultaneously. The other Gibichungs were good, and so were the two teams of women, the Rhinemaidens in particular, the Norns better in reverse order of appearance. Andrew Shore made a lot of the strange scene of Alberich’s nocturnal visit. The three choirs — there can rarely have been so many Gibichungs — sang with fearsome lustiness. The performance would have benefited from some more production, i.e., just a little; people just walked on when they had to sing and walked off when they stopped, except for Dalayman after her ride into the pyre. That is carping, though. It was an experience that must have made an indelible impression on any receptive listener, and I can only repeat my hopes for its repetition and extension.

The evening before I had seen Verdi’s Don Carlos, Opera North at last returning to territory where it excels, after its prolonged leaden flirtation with levity. This was the four-act version, a wise decision given that the first half was almost two hours long, and we hadn’t got to most of the great music yet. That is the snag with this in many ways wonderful work: the last two acts are so much finer than the previous two (or three, if Fontainebleau is included). The conductor is the best Verdian of our time, Richard Farnes. He elicited noble sounds from the orchestra, and possibly the loudest chord I have ever heard in a theatre; and, crucially, he is a master of the grand line. The production of Tim Albery manages to combine non-atmospheric minimalism with vast pauses between scenes, after which the main difference is that the characters are moving around in a somewhat different set of large holes. The cast is good without being remarkable, though I’m sure that Janice Watson, who has the right kind of voice for Elisabeth, can and will put more into the role than she did. Julian Gavin puts his all into every note, and the effect is a bit wearing, but you have to be grateful. William Dazeley is a youthful, impetuous Rodrigo, and his long scene with the Philip of Brindley Sherratt came off better than it usually does. The English of Andrew Porter’s excellent translation came across with unusual clarity. I have a feeling that later performances of this demanding work will be a little more persuasive than I found this one to be.