Covent Garden Revs Up

0,0002785 The opening of the new season at Covent Garden has been an unusually quiet affair this year. Whilst never indulging in the black-tie galas or nationalistic fanfares of La Scala and the Met, the autumn period typically offers visitors a sprinkling of new productions as well as some fine revivals and the odd concert-performance. This year, by contrast, old productions predominated: Così Fan Tutte, Rigoletto, Don Pasquale and Roméo et Juliette, the first of which was staged as recently as June. With Antonio Pappano and much of the Royal Opera House team on tour in Japan, the only new show put on this autumn was Niobe, Regina di Thebe, a recently-discovered opera by Steffani which whilst intriguing, is hardly standard Covent-Garden fare; the team involved were almost entirely new to the house. Judging by the three revivals I managed to attend, the season is off to a sound start, a perception sweetened by the sense that the best of the year is still yet to come.

Jonathan Miller’s production of Don Pasquale is one of two of the director’s inventions staged this year (the other being Così) and together they make a safe bet for the start of the season: witty, accessible but directed with a theatrical flair that adds nuance to their mutual air of farce. His doll’s-house version of Don Pasquale is an instant crowd-pleaser with its exquisitely detailed model of a three-storey house and its careful delineation of the inhabitants’ inter-class tensions. Unfortunately, it has one major drawback which astonishingly has never been rectified. By placing the singers so far back from the front of the stage, their powers of projection are frustratingly diminished: whilst never exactly inaudible, the effect is of a performance with the volume turned down. Although the acoustic was sensitively judged by conductor Evelino Pido, this is a problem that really must be resolved before further revivals; surely Miller must have noticed these difficulties?

The cast assembled for this performance all gave suave, commendable interpretations which cemented the feeling of a carefully-prepared revival. In the title-role, Paolo Gavanelli once again displayed his sure-fire acting nous, his powerful timbre and unfailing musical ability. Pasquale is not a role that one listens to for beauty of tone or line and these days Gavanelli is probably not the man to supply it, but this was a classy performance, worthy of his reputation. Playing Malatesta, Jacques Imbraiglo offered a rich fund of glowing phrases and vocal warmth which confirmed his status as a rising star. It was strange, however, that nothing was made of his comparative youth - surely the advantage of a young man in this role would be to affirm the generational rivalry at the heart of the story.

As Norina, Costa-Rican soprano Iride Martinez made a sound house-debut: pert, technically assured and only lacking the quality of minx-like charm to place her in the first-rank of performers. An occasionally shrill quality to her singing was happily compensated for by some coloratura additions that were suitably in character. Performing one of his party-pieces, Barry Banks once again proved his credentials in this repertoire; his Ernesto was winsome and bright-toned, and he coped admirably with one of the least flattering costumes in Covent Garden’s wardrobe department. As a performer he doesn’t offer the excitement of a Floréz, but he’s a compelling singer nonetheless and as reliable as they come.

In the pit, Evelino Pido conducted a rendition which confirmed his reputation as a bel-canto stylist - almost too much of one, perhaps. His playful use of rubato in the overture initially delighted, but soon I grew irritated with his unwillingness to allow the music a more natural ebb-and-flow. Norina’s cavatina was a particular victim here, with every phrase subjected to such an exaggerated pull-up that it fractured and never achieved the sense of sparkle and playfulness that the aria evidently requires. The ensemble moments were less fussily directed but generally this was one occasion on which Pido’s drive for authenticity (marvellous elsewhere) somewhat got the better of him.

Italian fare of a more sombre variety was offered up in Rigoletto, the 8th revival of David McVicar’s classic production, his debut show in the house. Whereas Miller’s shows display evidence of the master’s hand at work, one striking feature of this revival was the absence of really detailed direction of the principals. With other performers, perhaps, this might have been less of a problem, but as the Duke of Mantua Wookyung Kim didn’t exactly ooze theatrical pedigree: his acting style is very much of the old-fashioned, stand-and-deliver style that feels faintly comical in an HD age. Fortunately, his glorious tone-quality and stylish musical phrasing compensated for any drawbacks and he once again proved what a dependable singer he is in the lyric Italian repertoire.

Kim was the fixed point in an otherwise rotating cast of principals, most of whom had appeared in the show in earlier revivals. Double-cast with Dmitri Hrovostovsky, Paolo Gavanelli repeated his success as Rigoletto and oozed mean-spiritedness, irony, tenderness and heart-on-sleeve pathos as required. ‘Cortigiani’ had all the impact one could ask for. Playing his daughter, Ekaterina Sadovnikova made a solid debut as Gilda, without ever really impressing herself on one’s memory. She has the technical equipment to sing this tricky role and shaped her lines with care, but one craved a more individual touch in sections such as the duet with her father. Still, it was a respectable turn, and she had the arguable misfortune to be cast alongside Patrizia Ciofi - surely the finest Gilda of our time.

The minor roles were all competently taken and in the pit Dan Ettinger provided some suitably energized accompaniment - sometimes too energised, such as at the beginning of ‘Addio, addio’ when it took Kim and Sadovnikova nearly half a page to catch up with his furious pace. Elsewhere, he sometimes adopted tempi so spacious that the singers were struggling to finish phrases, suggesting that despite his undoubted experience he is perhaps less attuned to the prosaic realities of singing than might be desirable. That said, he offered novel insights into voicing, phrasing and dynamics, and always made the score seem like one with fresh creative potential. A conductor for re-invitation, in other words.

The final revival of the autumn was also the best. Roméo et Juliette hasn’t been seen at Covent Garden in over a decade, and here it made a fine vehicle for its two Slavic titular stars. Fresh from their appearance in Salzburg this summer, Piotr Beczala and Nino Machaidze offered a well-matched and glossily attractive pair as the star-crossed lovers, exuding an easy romantic chemistry which attested to their earlier experience. As Roméo, Beczala once again confirmed that he’s this generation’s closest equivalent to Nicolai Gedda: with his clarion tone, stylistic versatility and nice-guy demeanour, he won all hearts and offered gleaming high notes and sensitive phrasing to spare. Newly-svelte, he’s also a confident stage actor and the only flaw in his armoury appears to be an unwillingness to modulate his basic timbre - less of a problem than it might be when he shapes his lines so beautifully. With Roméo now added to his list of triumphs alongside Faust, Rodolfo and Lensky, I hope he soon treats London audiences to more of his celebrated roles.

As Juliette, Machaidze made an auspicious house debut. Only 27 and already a prima donna in several major opera houses, she seems certain to be a major fixture in the operatic world over the new few years and DVD and audio recordings are already beginning to proliferate. She possesses a powerful lyric voice not obviously suited to the bel canto roles in which she specialises and when she began her entrance aria ‘Je veux vivre’ my heart sank; her saggy coloratura and wild vibrato seemed to foretell a long night. However, in the more dramatic passages she was absolutely in her element and she delivered ‘Amour, ranime mon courage’ with exciting determination, as well as an impassioned death-scene. Machaidze evidently has the potential to be quite something, so I hope she resists the temptation to sacrifice the bloom of youth for an over-inflated schedule.

As Mercutio and Tybalt, Stéphane Degout and Alfie Boe offered assured support and a special mention must go to Ketevan Lemoklidze for her charming ‘Turtle Dove’ aria. In this opera, though, the musical material allotted to the secondary roles is rarely inspired; this is one drama that is all about the two stars. Nicholas Jöel’s production looks twice its age and offers no especial insights (it is in fact very similar to Pizzi’s version of Capuleti) but it offers a perfectly efficient vehicle for a work unlikely to be staged for another few years. Far more effective in conveying mood and drama was Daniel Oren, who offered wonderfully fluid, supple conducting: in his hands, the orchestral interludes felt like luscious symphonic overtures rather than mere filler and he elicited rich strong tone and woodwind solos to savour. He set the seal on a fine Autumn at Covent Garden; impressive work all-round, which whets the appetite for hopefully greater treats to come.