I should have blogged this last night, but I got home to find we had visitors, and as they had waited up for me to come home it would have been very rude to have gone straight onto the computer. When I got up this morning, I fired up the PC, then stood up to get something, and found that my place in the PC chair was taken by a succession of people.
I have more thoughts to write on Eugene Onegin the opera at a later stage - tomorrow? - but just for now, I need to record that Gerald Finley was not well last night. Before it began, Elaine Padmore appeared on stage to groans; when she said "Gerald Finley..." there were sighs. She explained that he had a bronchial infection but would sing.
It's a difficult one. Singers, just like ordinary mortals, are affected by whatever infections are flying around. Most of us survive by going into work and infecting our colleagues punctuating meetings with hacking and dashes for water. For singers, a cold-cough type illness is worse than an IT network crash is for an auditor. With auditors, the work can always be done tomorrow. For singers, the show must go on, with or without them. And always the debate rages - should they sing when under-the-weather. There is no simple answer.
Gerald chose to sing, and in retrospect it probably wasn't a wise decision. But if he had cancelled, people, including me, would have been disappointed, and questioned "Couldn't he have at least tried?" And he did at least try. However, whenever called onto sing out at length, he didn't sound good. He didn't sound bad - he has such a gorgeous voice that it would take more than a mere bronchial infection for that to happen. but at key times - after he had received Tatyana's letter and after the years-later encounter with Tatyana and her now husband Gremin - he sounded phlegmy and starined, and he cracked in that Act III arioso.
As we prepared for the final Scene I saw a stagehand bring something unfamiliar onto the stage and leave it at the very edge of the stage next to the wings. Through my binoculars it looked like a music stand and instinctively I knew what was happening. I did wonder that maybe it was the last performance in the run (it isn't) and there was going to be something (I don't know what, maybe a long-serving orchestra or chorus member retiring) afterwards, but I thought - they wouldn't let any post-performance shenanigans intrude into the actual procedings.
The Final Scene starts with Tatyana in Gremin's library. Eugene Onegin - Gerald Finley - walks on. And a man in dark mufti walks and places a score on the music stand. To cut a long story short, the mystery man, whoever he was, sang from the score in the wings whilst Gerald did the acting. And much as I love Gerald (and I do!) the stand-in sounded a lot better.
I don't know who the stand-in was. I don't think he was a Young Artist, because he doesn't look like any of them, and as far as I can gather from the ROH site, none of them is covering Eugene Onegin. And there is nothing on the ROH site to indicate who it was. He sounded bloody good though, even though he looked absolutely trembling with nerves through my binoculars.
I suspect from the fact that the understudy sang from the wings, from a score, that Gerald went on and performed in circumstances that if there had been a thoroughly rehearsed cover in the vicinity of the opera house (paging Mr Hvorostovsky, paging Mr Hvorostovsky), he wouldn't have done. I never criticise singers for being ill, anyway, and I certainly wouldn't criticise one for what seemed in retrospect to be a worng call when I don't fully know the circumstances. All I can say is that I am very pleased I saw it last Monday when Gerald was in stupendous vocal form. This evening he was still superb in his acting and character portrayal, but he was certainly not at his vocal peak. I am tempted to go and see it again. At the moment, there are tickets left at the end of the run, but I would wish to ensure that he is fully recovered - by which time they would have sold out!
