When I saw this at the Barbican in February, the Israeli bombardment of the Gaza Ghetto was fresh in our memories, or maybe even current, although it's now slipped away and doesn't figure in mainstream news or bloggage. But I suspect that for as long as I live this work of Handel will remind me. And it was only when I listened to Today that I remembered that I shall be attending Daniel Barenboim's East West Divan's Fidelio tomorrow night.
Before I get down to details, I need to get my fan-grrrrl raving out of the way. Iestyn Davies! Oh dear, I already liked him so much I have a special category for him on this blog; after his amazing performance of Micah, my adoration has increased even more. It's almost like I'm wanting all men to sing like girls.
I came away from Samson with a very strong sense of it being a very strong work. The programme notes made reference to its length and acknowledged that cuts were being made. It was slightly confusing at one point that the printed libretto included lines of recitative that were cut in performance. As far as I could tell, and given my lack of a score, many of the arias were fully performed, with da capos, often with delightful embellishments.
The performance was an interesting mix of traditional and modern, but I am not sure which aspects fit into which category. The orchestra was strictly period, with all that that entails - Harry Bickett conducting from the harpsichord, and another keyboard player, on second harpsichord (although switching to Handelian organ for the Death March). Other period instruments included a theorbo, on which I am really quite fixated, and valveless brass. I like the tone of valveless brass but recognise there was a reason why valves were invented; on this occasion it was the trumpets who were pretending to be French Horns.
The chorus was larger than I would expect normally for a period Baroque performance; I expect that was influenced by the size of the Albert Hall. I was surprised by the very static nature of the performance. I accept it was written as an oratorio, in deference to the laws forbidding opera performances during Lent. And I certainly didn't expect lots of mad stage work. I was just surprised at the lack of interaction between the singers. As I have previously found several of them to be at least adequate (if not much much better) actors, I assume this was deliberate.
There was plenty of life and spirit in the performance. In the interval I composed a text to Twitter, but amusingly it didn't go through (perhaps I forgot to press send!). I described the performance as 'pleasant and sedate' which I realise in retrospect to be a big mistake. It was necessary to be restrained at first in order to build up to the climax. The climax was dignified, not thunderous or dramatic, and was all the better for being so. Mark Padmore encapsulated this dignity in his final aria, Thus when the sun from's wat'ry bed, before slipping away off stage.
There were numerous musical highlights. I could be flippant and say 'all the arias and all the choruses' which would indicate that the recitatives are boring. In away they are, especially in a static performance such as this, and I find the English to be really quite impenetrable, but it wouldn't make any sense without it. I did enjoy the choruses, which were beautifully delivered, but I don't think there are any that really stand out.
I think that the singers generally acquitted themselves well. Ben Johnson, last year's Kathleen Ferrier award winner (so, young and inexperienced) didn't do much for me, but I am sure he will grow and one day will return to a major role at the Albert Hall. Christopher Purves was fine in the relatively small role of Harapha (I was amused to read that he is a former member of Harvey and the Wallbangers).
I hadn't realised that Dalila was such a small role, only appearing in Act II, because when I saw it previously it had been with the other soprano roles. But for a short role it gets one hell of an aria, With plaintive notes and am'rous moan and Susan Gritton was fabulous, splendid trilling and a real feeling for the emotion.
Neal Davies was effective as Manoa, Samson's father, without really grabbing me, until when he was lamenting his son's death, and suddenly, I just welled up with tears.
I thought Lucy Crowe sounded lovely, but I guess with a basket of roles called Israelite Woman, Philistine Woman, and Virgin, she doesn't get much opportunity to project any character. But she does get the most famous aria that just about wraps the evening up, Let the Bright Seraphim, and I was happy with her performance.
Samson was sung by Mark Padmore, who sang it at the Barbican, and, I think, sang it a lot better. He gets a lot of good arias; as I said above, I loved the reserved poignancy of his final aria. Total Eclipse is the show-stopper, and I thought it was a heart-rending evocation of blindness. I also enjoyed Your charms to ruin led the way.
There was plenty worthwhile from the orchestra, not just the Dead March and the wonderfully named A Symphony of horror and confusion, but snatches, phrases and passages elsewhere. There was an aria (I think it was With plaintive notes) where the Leader Nadja Zwiener accompanied the singer; that was gorgeous.
But for me, the highlight was undoubtedly Iestyn Davies, and the highlight of his performance was Return, O God of hosts! But throughout he was just wonderful. Such a beauty of tone, amazing breath control, such expression, dramatic insight. And loud. I'm not someone who judges a singer solely on their volume, and I would far rather listen to a good quiet singer than a loud one with an absence of musicality. But Iestyn has it all, so the loudness is just icing on the cake. And I think it is worth noting in a counter-tenor because there are often complaints that they get drowned out by the orchestra especially in large halls. It probably isn't actually loudness as such, but an ability to place the voice which is difficult to describe but you know it when you hear it.
