Photo: Tristram Kenton/the Guardian
Every household has its routines, especially the cursed house of Atreus, the center of Greek tragedy. Every day at sunset, Electricity cries in sorrow for her father, Agamemnon, murdered years earlier by her mother, Clytämnestra. Bored maids look and grin. Richard Strauss's 1909 opera, with a libretto of exceptional richness by Hugo von Hofmannsthal, keeps the focus simple. Family niceties (from infanticide and the like) are swept away. This daughter has one goal: to kill her mother and avenge her father. Her daily pounding mourning - graceful, elegiac and intense as Nina Stemme, one of the great Elektras of her generation, portrays in the Royal Opera House's new production - is an unholy dance of death.
In his latest new production as music director of the Royal Opera House, Antonio Pappano has once again collaborated with Christof Loy, who wrote Strauss' Ariadne on Naxos in 2002, at the beginning of Pappano's long tenure. Designed by Johannes Leiacker, with lighting by Olaf Winter, the look is the secession of Vienna at the time Electricity 's composition: a sooty palace courtyard and stairs; a basement where simple staff live; illuminated upper windows where glamorous figures in dinner dresses glide aimlessly past. The sets provide a strong context for the world of Elektra as it was seen by the opera's creators in the early 20th century, when Sigmund Freud's theories were still fresh and the First World War was still out of the picture.
With its unique, indefinable power, Jenůfa leaves the listener changed - with every hearing
Even more inventive then Salome (1905) before, Electricity is an unyielding work. Unrelenting, noisy, laced with chromatic battles, the score flickers between dark and light, big and small, high drama and even greater extremes of emotion. Using all the tools in his arsenal - who knows what they are; no abracadabras but persuasiveness and a hard approach - Pappano drew playing of impeccable variety from the extensive ROH orchestra. The key to this opera are the musical polarities. Shadows, whispers and chamber-like delicacy provide depth and grace: short waltzes sweetening a landscape drenched in blood; yawns and low woodwind whines as Clytämnestra describes her night terrors; snatches of harp or solo strings as Elektra realizes her horrible, obsessive desire is about to be fulfilled. Every detail here was audible, lovingly etched and cared for.
The story continues
In this sonic arsenal, the voices of three women - Elektra, her sister Chrysothemis and Clytämnestra - are forged, almost hammered, woven into the texture. Vocal problems were clearly visible on the first night, but did not detract from the rewards of the whole. Karita Mattila's supremely imperious, bejeweled Clytämnestra lacked power, but so did this liverish, guilt-ridden self. Stemme had more specific difficulties, which she immediately recognized and negotiated with top professionalism. These two stars, each entering their seventh decade, bring class and experience to every stage. Sara Jakubiak made a striking Royal Opera debut, vocally triumphant, dramatically thoughtful as Chrysothemis, who dreams of motherhood and matricide in the same breath. Orest, the absent son, is unknowable in Strauss and Hofmannsthal's reading: Łukasz Goliński played him exactly as such. As if designed to perform a deed, he kills his mother and her lover, Ägisth, like a bloodied 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. For the second performance (Monday) Nina Stemme withdrew due to illness. Her replacement, an Elektra regular in the European houses, was Lithuanian Ausrine Stundyte, who made her house debut ahead of her intended first appearance next month as Tosca. Coincidentally, because of the experience of hearing Strauss's orchestration played again at this level, I had agreed to go again out of my own interest. Admiration is the only reaction when someone steps into a new production, with all the associated risks. Elektra is hardly off stage during the hundred minutes.
The ROH was prepared for such a possibility: Stundyte had rehearsal time with Loy before Christmas. Her voice is lighter, her performance feline (as befits the lyrics) than Stemme, whose interpretation is of a troubled woman carrying the weight of the world. Using every possible excuse, Stundyte came late in her vocal stride, especially after the recognition scene with Orest. I look forward to hearing her Tosca, in safer conditions.
Pappano was in the capacity of an audience member on his evening off Jenůfa (1904), in the second of two concert performances given by his new ensemble, the London Symphony Orchestra. Simon Rattle, now LSO conductor emeritus, led an excellent cast in the orchestra's ongoing Leoš Janáček cycle ( The cunning little Vixen is already available on LSO Live; Katya Kabanova will be published next month). From the opening xylophone reveille - depicting the rattling mill wheel - to the brassy, haunting volleys that end each act, the work unfolded with urgent momentum and intensity. In this story of Moravian village life, Jenůfa's illegitimate child brings shame to her pietistic stepmother, Kostelnička. Tragedy follows. The opera ends with fragile optimism and lessons in acceptance. Brimming with melodies, some of which emerge for a few bars never to return, this masterpiece, with its unique, indefinable power, leaves the listener changed - with every listen. Tomorrow marks exactly 120 years ago for any avid date-spotter Jenůfa 's premiere (January 21, 1904, Mahen theater, Brno).
The title role was also sung here, but with a longer notice period than before Electricity, by a substitute. Agneta Eichenholz, who brought a different balance to the ensemble, replaced the steely Asmik Grigorian. Eichenholz's crisp, clear tone, though not always the strongest in volume, conveyed the young mother's heartbreak and vulnerability. While Števa, who abandons her, Nicky Spence - well suited to this repertoire - was the only one who brought his acting skills to the stage (this was not a semi-staging), drunkenly propping himself up on music stands and shaking his shoulders with silly swagger tensed.
Aleš Briscein's Laca, first jealous and then loyal in forgiveness, made great use of his shrill, lustrous high notes. Katarina Karnéus' Kostelnička, dignified and pained, aroused unusual sympathy. Carole Wilson's grandmother and Claire Barnett-Jones' shepherd/Barena, both full of character, added spice to the drama. The LSO choir and orchestra gave everything, leader Benjamin Marquise Gilmore's violin was particularly convincing, but all the instrumental solos were excellently done. Strings were well drilled. Violas, who sat on the outside of the cellos, had their moments with excellent endurance.
Let's hear the continued intelligence and adaptability (not to mention the financial necessity) of Britain's complex musical life, which is worth recognizing in a week of this quality. Coincidentally, the guest leader of the LSO's viola section, Jane Atkins, had played solo viola at Kings Place the night before. The event was part of the opening weekend of the venue's year-long Scotland Unwrapped series. Five members of Scottish ensembleincluding Atkins, joined forces with Jasdeep Singh Degun (sitar) and Harkiret Singh Bahra (tabla) for a quixotic program from North Indian raga to Hildegard of Bingen. As Degun joked, he had misinterpreted the medieval nun's status of 'abbess' as 'abscess'. I've never been too sure about Hildegard's sense of humor, and she certainly wasn't Scottish, but she certainly would have found this combination of music quite heavenly.