by All families have routines, especially the accusatory house of Atreus, the nucleus of Greek tragedy. At sunset every day, Electra crying in grief for her father, Agamemnon, who was murdered years before by her mother, Klytämnestra. Bored housewives watch and laugh. Richard Strauss’s 1909 opera, with a libretto of exceptional richness by Hugo von Hofmannsthal, keeps the focus simple. The nice family stuff (past infanticide and the like) is swept away. This daughter has one purpose: to kill her mother and avenge her father. Her daily weeping stump is an unholy dance of death – graceless, graceful and toothless as portrayed by Nina Stemme, one of the great Electras of her generation, in the Royal Opera House’s new production.
In his last new performance as music director of the Royal Opera House, Antonio Pappano has collaborated once again with Christof Loy, who conducted Strauss’s Ariadne auf Naxos in 2002 at the start of Pappano’s long tenure. Designed by Johannes Leiacker, with lighting by Olaf Winter, it looks like the separation of Vienna at the time Electracomposition: soot-dirty palace courtyard and steps; a basement inhabited by lowly staff; upper windows lit down through which glamorous figures in dinner dresses glide aimlessly. The sets give a strong context to the world of Elektra, as the creators of the musical saw it in the early 20th century, when Sigmund Freud’s theories were fresh and the first world war was still out of sight.
With the singular, indefinable power, Jenůfa leaves a change in the listener – on every listen
Even more inventive than Salome (1905) before, Electra it is fruitless labour. Without resentment, noisy, full of chromatic battles, the score shines between dark and light, big and small, high drama and extreme emotions even more. Using all methods in his armory – who knows what they are; not abracadabras but persuasion and hard graft – Pappano drew a flawless variety of playing from the expanded ROH orchestra. The clue to this musical is its musical polarities. Shadows, whispers and the sensitivity of a room allow for depth and tenderness: short waltzes that sweeten a blood-soaked landscape; low woodwind yawns and willows when Klytämnestra describes her night terrors; harp chords or solo strings as Elektra realizes that her insane, obsessive desire is about to be fulfilled. Every detail could be heard here, etched and lovingly nurtured.
In this sonic panoply, the voices of three women – Elektra, her sister Chrysothemis, and Klytämnestra – are forged, almost hammered, woven into the texture. Vocal problems were evident on the first night, but they did not leave the overall reward. Karita Mattila’s very imperious Klytämnestra was sorely missed, with grief, but so is this murderer herself who is both disgusted and guilt-ridden. Stemme had more specific difficulties, which she recognized immediately and negotiated with high professionalism. These two stars, each now in their seventh decade, bring class and experience to any degree. Sara Jakubiak made a brilliant debut at the Royal Opera, triumphantly, deeply perceptive as Chrysothemis, who dreams of motherhood and motherhood in the same breath. Orest, the absent son, does not know in Strauss and Hofmannsthal’s reading: Łukasz Goliński played him just like that. As if designed to do a deed, he kills his mother and her lover, Ägisth, like a bloody AI automaton.
The supporting cast had notable cameos: five maids, including Valentina Puskás; Lee Bisset as Supervisor; and, in the slim male roles, Michael Gibson, Michael Mofidian, Charles Workman and Jeremy White. Before the second performance (Monday), Nina Stemme withdrew, citing illness. Her replacement was Lithuania’s Ausrine Stundyte, an Elektra regular in European houses, making her first house appearance next month as Tosca. By chance, to experience hearing a Strauss orchestra play at this level again, I had decided to go again for my own interest. Admiration is the only response that anyone gives a step into, with all the risks that it entails, to a new production. Elektra is barely off the stage for 100 minutes.
The ROH was prepared for this: Stundyte had practice time with Loy before Christmas. Her voice is lighter, her performance more cat-like (as the text befits) than Stemme, whose interpretation of a ravaged woman carries the weight of the world. With all allowable excuses, Stundyte did not come into her speech late, especially after the scene of recognition with Orest. I look forward to hearing her reasons, in safer circumstances.
Pappano, on his night off, was in the audience Jenůfa (1904), in the second of two concert performances given by his new ensemble, the London Symphony Orchestra. Simon Rattle, now LSO conductor emeritus, leads a brilliant cast in the orchestra’s ongoing Leoš Janáček cycle (The Cunning Little Vixen which is already out on LSO Live; Katya Kabanova to be released next month). From the opening xylophone reveille – depicting a clattering mill wheel – to the startling brassy planes that end each act, the work progressed with urgent momentum and intensity. In this story of Moravian village life, Jenůfa’s illegitimate child brings shame to her pietistic stepmother, Kostelnička. Tragedy happens. The musical ends with fragile hope and lessons in acceptance. It is rich with melodies, some of which appear for a few bars that never return, this masterpiece, with its singular, inexplicable power, leaves the listener changed – on every listen. It will be exactly 120 years since tomorrow, for any keen date watcher Jenůfa‘s premiere (21 January 1904, Mahen theatre, Brno).
Here too, the title role was sung, but with a longer notice than usual Electra, by substitution. Agneta Eichenholz, who brought a different balance to the ensemble, stood in for Asmik Grigorian who had a great wave. Eichenholz’s clear, bright tone, if not always the strongest in volume, conveyed the young mother’s heartbreak and vulnerability. And Števa, who abandons her, Nicky Spence – who was well suited to this repertoire – was alone bringing his acting chops to the stage (this was not a semi-stage), supporting himself drunkenly on music stands and bending his shoulders with oars.
Laca Aleš Briscein, first jealous then faithful in forgiveness, made great use of his shrill, glistening high tones. Kostelnička related to Katarina Karnéus, with dignity and pain, unusual sympathy. Grandmother Carole Wilson and Mrs. Treada/Barena Claire Barnett-Jones, both characters, inspired the play. The LSO choir and orchestra gave their all, conductor Benjamin Marquise Gilmore’s violin was particularly persuasive, but all instrumental solos were superbly constructed. Strings were well drilled. Violas, sitting outside the cellos, took their moments of clarity with outstanding stamina.
We will hear it about a flexible intelligence and adaptability (not to mention any financial need) in the complex world of British music, which is worth acknowledging in a week of this quality. As it happened, the guest leader of the LSO’s viola section, Jane Atkins, had played a solo viola the night before at Kings Place. The event was part of the opening weekend in the centre’s annual Scotland Unwrapped series. Five members of it Scottish Ensembleincluding Atkins, in collaboration with Jasdeep Singh Degun (sitar) and Harkiret Singh Bahra (tabla) for a quixotic program that includes north Indian ragas to Hildegard of Bingen. As Degun joked, he despised the medieval nun’s “abbess” status as an “abscess”. I’ve never been too sure about Hildegard’s sense of humor, and she certainly wasn’t Scottish, but this musical union would surely be quite heavenly.
Star ratings (out of five)
Electra ★★★★
Jenůfa ★★★★
Scottish Ensemble by Jasdeep Singh Degun ★★★★
