I had really looked forward to this, filled with fond memories of a Proms ex-Glyndebourne* performance two years ago that had enchanted and captivated from start to finish. One of Handel's most celebrated operas, written for the best singers of his day.
The orchestra was René Jacobs' Freiburg Baroque and - some flubbing horns aside - they were fine (I regard flubbing period horns as an occupational hazard of period performance: I'd rather they didn't but would prefer to have period instruments than have Handel played on full Wagnerian symphony orchestra). I noted that René Jacobs didn't use a podium, but the orchestra leader was slightly raised, and they seemed to be sharing responsibilities, including for gurning. She was very irritating as she gyrated in her seat and bobbed her head about allowing her hair to swing freely. I was happy with their sound and their tempi and would willingly hear them again and again.
But the singers, oh dear. Provincial. I'm sorry, but when something is marketed as 'Great Performers' in the Barbican, I expect more. This is London, arguably the place where there is the greatest concentration of superb classical performers/performances in the world and where the eyes of the world gaze enviously at the numerous different sumptuous Handel operas performed in a season (it's reckoned at 7 this season - and heavens know how many in the anniversary year of 2009!). These singers collectively were just not good enough.
The best were Malena Ernman (m-s) as Sesto and Kristina Hammarström (m-s) as Cornelia; indeed, their duet to close Act I was a thing of beauty, the highlight of the night. Even so, I felt that Kristina Hammarström lacked heft, often inaudible in the circle. Malena Ernman was one of only two performers who seemed aware that there was an audience.
Veronica Cangemi (s) was adequate, mainly as Cleopatra. Quite a sweet voice, but it got irritating when time after time she went through vocal gyrations in order to reach the higher notes, throwing out any sense of legato. I felt she had seen the Glyndebourne DVD and was half-heartedly unsuccessfully trying to emulate this. I wouldn't avoid her in future but she was nothing special.
I am afraid the Cesare, Marijana Mijanovic (c), was awful. She was often off-pitch, and her sound was unpleasant - it was as if she was trying to sound like a counter-tenor. Fortunately, I was too far from the stage to see the full impact of her gurning but even from where I was sitting, it wasn't pretty. She was approximate to the pitch on many occasions and didn't seem interested in conveying the meaning of what she was singing.
Nicolas Rivenq (b) as Achillo didn't help his mediocre performance with his awkward stance. A boring voice; I felt he was just singing the notes. I don't even remember Klemens Sander (b) as Curio. As for the counter-tenors, once a seagull always a seagull. Christophe Dumaux (c-t) was in the range of acceptable (which is high praise for a c-t). He was the only one who tried acting; I think he was following McVicar's directions from Glyndebourne. I expect he was a delight for c-t fans, but, I'm afraid for me, c-ts, along with flubby horns, are the downside of Baroque opera. A companion of mine described him as cute; quite why any sane woman would take a fancy to a c-t is quite beyond me, indeed why any man would wish to sing like that beggars belief. Another companion made reference to the castrati, I pointed out that it wouldn't be bad if they were castrati because we would hear gorgeous boy sopranos with the power of an adult male singer. I insist there are compelling reasons for reinstating the castrati. A companion suggested that a chat-up line for a counter-tenor would be "I would love to discover the truth of your legendary prowess in bed!" I pointed out that their prowess is probably a myth, simply that, being without balls, they are idea for an extramarital fling without the risk of pregnancy in the days before contraception. The other counter-tenor, David Hansen, as Nireno sounded ghastly. No doubt this caused the c-t freaks to cream their knickers but it made me wince with pain. Indeed, after a wince-inducing screech from Nireno (Seagull #2) and a wobble from Cleopatra, I decided "sod this for a game of soldiers, I really don't give a monkeys about any of these two-dimensional characters, who gives a fig who gets to rule Egypt, I'm off". This was 2/3 of the way through Act II, I decided not to stay for Act III. Oh, and I completely failed to distinguish any of the Italian that was being sung. There were English surtitles, but I do like to listen to the words as well.
During the first interval, a flock of seagulls flew over the Barbican lake, sounding more mellifluous than a bunch of counter-tenors and contralto wannabe counter-tenors.
And then I had the stupidest journey home. I walked to Liverpool Street with a friend; I decided eventually not to get the bus, deciding instead to go by Tube. As the Central Line set off from Liverpool Street, the driver announced "This will not be stopping at Bank". A woman in my carriage observed it would have been nice to have been told at Liverpool Street. So that scuppered my plan to switch to the Northern Line, and ended up going the tortuous route of Oxford Circus/Stockwell/Clapham Common. How I loathe that change at Oxford Circus.
Emerging from Clapham Common I had literally just missed a 137 - it had left the bus stop and was a few yards down the road, waiting at the lights. I lit a cigarette and crossed the road to go to the bus stop. Some bloke said "Excuse me" and kept saying it, and walked along the pavement parallel with me, blocking my access to the pavement in a manner which was at least inconsiderate and at quarter past eleven was arguably intimidating to a lone female. Eventually he said "You. Got a cigarette?". I just said "No," contemptuously, knowing full well he didn't want a cigarette, he wanted to rob me. No one calls me "You" and gets a favour, and no one obstructs me at night and gets a chance to rob me. Two unconnected men were watching the situation closely and giving me looks of "We're watching and we know he's up to no good." After my calm, contemptuous, business-like 'no' he wandered off, never to return, further proof of his intention to rob, and knowing he had been sussed. I then waited fifteen minutes for the bus and two came at once...
* Glyndebourne, now on DVD, had the stellar cast of Daniele de Niese**, Sarah Connolly, Patricia Bardon, Angelika Kirchschlager
** arguably, it made Daniele de Niese a star
