PROM 3 Wagner Siegfried: Soloists, The Orchestre de Paris: conducted by Christoph Eschenbach, Royal Albert Hall, London 16.07.2006 (JPr)

 

 

After Das Rheingold with Simon Rattle and Die Walküre from the Royal Opera, Christoph Eschenbach, The Orchestre de Paris and a cast mainly drawn from complete cycles he conducted in Paris earlier this year brought Siegfried to Prom 3 on 16 July.

 

In front of the orchestra was a performing area free from music stands, and this boded well for a concert performance of a work where there is in excess of 4 hours of music. There was even an upturned box and a small anvil … but more of that later. Christoph Eschenbach came on shaven headed and dressed in black, then Volker Vogel’s Mime came on … shaven headed and in black, later so did Evgeny Nikitin’s Wanderer and even Sergei Leiferkus in Act II looked somewhat similar. It all seemed like a convention of Eschenbach look-alikes. Only Jon Fredric West spoilt this a bit because although in black clothing he was a bit different … only two words are needed – ‘Wagner Tenor’. This is synonymous with short, balding and carrying too much weight and this is what Jon Fredric West is like.

 

More important than what he looks like is how well he committed himself into the role for which he has a growing reputation. It was a little incongruous for a middle-aged man to shake his fists and have a tantrum on stage or to be skipping around but in the end it did not matter as he has a wealth of experience in this role and it showed in the ease with which he commanded the stage dramatically, and more important, vocally. He had been so disappointing I recall as Tristan at Covent Garden so for me he was now a major discovery as a Heldentenor. He beat the anvil appropriately during the Forging scene, the top of his voice was secure and I almost believed he really made a sword.

 

I wish his two Act I colleagues had displayed similar all-round abilities – Volker Vogel sounded good as Mime but initially acted as though he didn’t know the character. He seems an experienced Schauspieler who should have done better than stand there with arms folded and a quizzical look on his face for most of the time. At one point though he did give a very good impression of Edvard Munch’s The Scream but that was about all at for this Act. If Evgeny Nikitin had been given a spear it would have probably been less wooden than his Wanderer demeanour but he had a wonderful bass voice. He has not (yet?) entirely mastered this role and phrases such as ‘der das Fürchten nicht gelernt!’ (who has not learnt how to fear) were sung word for word as though he was climbing musical stairs.

 

No stage director was to be credited as far as I could find out and so perhaps they made it all up amongst themselves: it remained atmospheric throughout Act II. The roster of Slavic voices was joined by the stolid veteran Sergei Leiferkus whose German as Alberich remained as idiomatic as ever, and the young Mikhail Petrenko as Fafner. All these rich and resonant voices seemed to intone rather than sing and as a result sounded rather similar. Fortunately Volker Vogel as Mime came into his own in his wheedling duplicity scene and when he was ‘killed’ he theatrically pirouetted and ran off stage as though he had a plane to catch. There was the welcome entry of a female voice with the suitably flute-like soprano of Natalie Karl’s Woodbird singing out from the organ loft.

 

Whether he was miming making his reed pipe (the only prop in this Act apart from a horn), challenging an imaginary Fafner, slaying Mime or racing back and forth across the platform before leaving for Brünnhilde’s rock, Jon Fredric West remained the star of the show. He was a lyrically ardent, ringing and jovial Siegfried the like of which has not been seen or heard since the days of Alberto Remedios.

 

After a suitably dappled start to the Forest Murmurs including a delightful solo violin from Philippe Aiche which was like shafts of light in a glade, a few cracks appeared in the otherwise previously impeccable glorious orchestral sound produced by the Orchestre de Paris. There were blemishes to Siegfried’s horn call and elsewhere in brass and woodwind but it could not distract from one of the most elegant and nature-inspired Siegfrieds I have heard.

 

We were in for more vocal surprises in the final Act when Qui Lin Zhang came on stage as Erda, looking suitably mysterious in a pale blue voluminous dress: her contralto voice seemed mined from the very bowels of the Earth. Evgeny Nikitin’s Wanderer still had all the gravitas necessary but failed to show any real commanding authority either through his singing or in his performance. One arm across his chest was his stock gesture. Jon Fredric West continued to bound around like an overgrown Andrex puppy, slicing supposed spears, ‘seeing’ sleeping horses and removing invisible armour. By the time he gabbled in the common usual way ‘Das ist kein Mann!’ Olga Sergeeva‘s Brünnhilde was there as a vision, over 6ft, in tight-fitting red evening gown, long curly blonde hair and … she could sing! Never has Siegfried’s phrase seemed more superfluous! By now Jon Fredric West was shouting just a little (who could blame him after about 3½ hours) but he still slugged it out with Miss Sergeeva. Her top voice was a little on the thin side and there was just the hint of a wobble that could develop over time but together they brought the evening to a rampant, ecstatic conclusion much appreciated by the audience.

 

Lastly I must acknowledge again how much Christoph Eschenbach’s mostly fleet-footed and unfussy conducting made this Scherzo of the Ring speed along with a natural flow. His experience of this work on the opera stage made him wary of its possible longueurs that were mostly negotiated artfully. Some conversational moments did drag but that was mainly due to the limitations of the singers and not the orchestral support they received. There were many more magical moments from the atmospheric opening bars to the shimmering textures of the ascent to Brünnhilde’s rocky summit and then through to the ecstatic final duet. Because of the fairly unremitting Russian voices employed it was not a complete triumph but it was as close as it could get.

 

After all this mostly good news what was the bad? Firstly that this should all have been performed in a hall only about half-full, and isn’t it about time – however reluctantly – the BBC and Royal Albert Hall were brought into the 21^st century with some use of surtitles on occasions like this? Every ten minutes or so there was rustling of text and translation booklets having their pages turned. Each time this was happening it sounded like a flight of birds taking wing and though this probably was not heard on Radio 3 it certainly distracted me in the hall. Final moan was about the one hour first interval to keep the restaurant and bars happy – in this country do audiences go to the opera for the music or to eat?

 

 

 

Jim Pritchard