David Alden’s dark re-telling of Donizetti’s tragic Lucia di Lammermoor was back last night for its first revival. Often musically spell-binding and dramatically enthralling, one can easily envisage that the English National Opera has a veritable hit on its hands. A few reservations aside (of which more later), this was perhaps an ideal opener for their 2010 schedule. It will be closely followed by yet more Donizetti, with his evergreen L’elisir d’amore (The Elixir of Love) premiering next week.

The come scritto obsession which grips so many conductors, directors and musicologists today, can at times be rather boring. Lucia is by no means a perfect work, but over successive generations a certain tradition has been established as to the best performing style, choice of keys and ornamentation. In the quest for what was originally written, the enthusiasts for “period” display ignore what was then the very real living traditions of musical invention and bravura performance, which were the prerogative of the singers. Donizetti composed, as did every other bel canto composer of any note, for star singers whose reputation was often based principally upon the prodigious qualities of their extraordinary larynxes. Some licence for ornamentation was allowed, and the results often proved to be musically considerably more satisfying than what was originally set down on paper.

Donizetti was perhaps a composer of the second rank, capable of occasionally writing first class material, but often resorting to music that was decidedly third class. Happily, Lucia di Lammermoor is a rare jewel in the bel canto crown, occupying a central place alongside Bellini’s Norma as a qualified masterpiece. But, and this is quite crucial, it is a vocal masterpiece dependent almost entirely on great singers to realise its true potential. Cast the wrong people and the results are unutterably turgid. Lucia is a star vehicle and little more besides, excise the intricate cadenzas and the elaborate ornamentation, and you anatomise the opera to such a point that it is rendered little more than a musical cadaver, or an academic exercise devoid of taste, flavour or excitement. To a certain extent (albeit a limited one), this is what has happened at the ENO, with some of the performance losing the sparkle and excitement we ordinarily ascribe to it. Even Donizetti can be improved upon, and indeed he has been, with 175 years of performance tradition proving this very fact, but should we therefore tinker for tinkering’s sake?

The re-instating of the original higher keys certainly makes for a very silvery, shimmering and youthful Lucia (as is the case with the remarkable Anna Christy), but ultimately the voice of the heroine is bound to lack enough colour to offer any relief from what is consequentially an all-purpose, unrelenting brightness of tone. The higher keys can also present problems for the diction of the soprano, who at times (through no fault of her own I might add) enters a purely wordless melisma, as the voice traverses through its vocal high-wire act. This is not of course consistently the case, but it is an inevitable side-effect. Where the trade-off does work however, is in providing a much more intense portrayal of fragility in the voice, re-affirming the heroine’s acute descent into insanity. Naturally cadenzas reflect Donizetti’s own wishes and so are somewhat sparser and less vocally athletic than what one is usually accustomed to hearing, although interpolated acuti are used throughout. This coincidentally is in flat contradiction to the aims of an “authentic” performance, as the highest note actually composed by Donizetti is the high C# in Lucia’s “Regnava nel silenzo”, and yet this performance is liberally sprinkled with Ds, Es, and even an F! Clearly the approach here is a musicological pick-n-mix, with some accretions removed (like the duet with the flute during the Mad Scene – probably composed for Dame Nellie Melba) and others (like singer's acuti) left in.

The other noticeable change in this Lucia, is the replacement of the flute in the Mad Scene with the absolutely ghastly glass harmonica, or “armonico” as it is properly known. I believe that some people seem to enjoy Benjamin Franklin’s hideously unmusical contraption, but to me it sounds more like wind chimes with a dash of pan pipes thrown in for bad measure. Its inclusion as representative of Donizetti’s wishes is highly questionable. Yes Donizetti composed with it in mind and specified its usage, but he replaced it with a flute in time for the operas premiere. One of the programme notes by Roger Parker bridges the gap between pure speculation and the absence of fact, by stating that Donizetti was probably told to not use the glass harmonica (or presumably made that decision himself), on the basis that Domenico Pezzi (the original player of this dreadful instrument) was in a legal dispute with the theatre over outstanding fees. It’s an interesting interpretation, a sort of musicological Miss Marple on a bad day, but it remains only that, an interpretation without any solid foundation to rely upon. I’m not entirely sure if Donizetti ever heard a glass harmonica, although as Parker points out his score indicates his familiarity with it. One suspects that he may well have heard the latest musical vogue and thought better of it, but that’s just as speculative as Parker’s suggestion, albeit one I personally prefer!

You may have been wondering at this point, what did I actually enjoy about this performance?! Well in truth, an awful lot. Despite my reservations about the higher keys, removals of “traditional” cadenzas and the use of the glass harmonica, this was still quite a musical feast. If I am going to hear Lucia this way, then somehow I doubt if I will hear it better anywhere else. Anna Christy's performance was a real tour-de-force, melding a liquid silver voice with real dramatic resonance. In Alden’s production she is a fourteen year old girl, utterly at the mercy of her unscrupulous, desperate and somewhat incestuous brother. It is an isolated existence bereft of familial love and tenderness. But in Edgardo (sworn enemy of Lucia’s brother Enrico) she has found an all encompassing passion, which becomes her raison d’être in a world where as a woman, she is merely a chattel, a tool to be bargained with in dynastic Scotland. Marriage begets alliance, and Lucia is merely a means to an end for Enrico, to restore the fortunes of his once proud family in their crumbling and decaying pile (a Victorian re-setting of hinterland baronial glamour), and to provide them with powerful friends in a new political settlement.

Christy’s interpretation is pure perfection. Fragile like a china doll, there is no need to suspend disbelief, as to all intents and purposes she is indeed a fourteen year old girl, who is slowly being destroyed by the demands of others. Whether this is the incestuous brother desperate for an alliance, the complicit chaplain assuaging his guilt by taking surreptitious gulps of whisky from a small hip-flask, the husband-to-be Arturo, flaunting his wealth and status like a strutting nouveau riche peacock out to achieve his desires (and in this case getting far more than he bargained for), or her lover Edgardo - a numb-skull cretin who reacts first and reasons later.

Vocally, Anna Christy met the role’s rather considerable demands with remarkable ease. Although it is a small voice in terms of sheer size, it has fantastic projective qualities. Never once did you think will I hear that, will that high note reach me? The timbre is also rather attractive, if perhaps a little on the bright side, but the higher keys are entirely responsible for this. She in fact sounds rather like Madeline Khan, which comes as a great surprise when you make the connection. Her “Regnava nel silenzo” was suitably haunting, whilst the stratospheric “Quando, rapito in estasi” was pure coloratura manna. In her duet with Enrico “Soffriva nel pianto...Se tradirmi tu potrai”, she launched a razor-blade high E, just as her brother decides to (alarmingly I might add) put his hand up her skirt. But it is the Mad Scene which ultimately defines the success of all Lucias, and Christy did not disappoint. Although I would have preferred it in the E-Flat Major key, her mental unravelling left me utterly transfixed. The revelation of her dead husband on the micro-stage was an inspired directorial gambit, as ordinarily we never get to see the outcome of the murder, being left instead to look at the bloodied dress and imagine the dread deed. Listless and virtually lifeless she sang her way through the melodramatic scena accompanied by the disembodied warbling of Franklin’s contraption, until at the very end of “Spargi d’amaro pianto” she crowned her performance with a high F that was more of an exclamation mark than a mere opportunity for showing off (not that’s there is anything wrong with showing off if you’ve got the goods to do it well).

Miss Christy is no mere canary; every note has its purpose. How different her high F ending is to those of Mesple, Serra and Welting, who all interpolated for vocal glory alone. In this sense, Christy builds on the lessons of Sutherland, Callas and Sills, who taught us that Lucia is more than just an empty headed triller, the province of mindless mechanical nightingales. I may be sticking my head above the parapet somewhat, but Christy must surely be one of today’s leading interpreters of the role? She is certainly preferable to the battery-acid coloratura of what remains of Dessay’s voice, or the woeful bel canto approximation of Netrebko’s. It would be interesting to hear her sing the role in the traditional keys, so as to assess how her vocal interpretation compares with say Massis, Damrau or the age-defying Devia.

In Barry Banks the ENO has found a superlative interpreter of Edgardo. Vocally he is very much the equal of the role, constantly fielding perfect legato, fearless high notes, and declamatory passages with vigour and unfailing beauty of tone. One curious aspect of his singing is the habit of inserting an “o” vowel into the first few letters of any high note, so that a word transforms in the first syllable into one which has a noticeable rounded quality. It’s not intrinsically bad, as the sound produced is never less than beautiful, but once spotted you can’t really help but look for it. Banks is also as impressive an actor as he is a singer, but he was let down appallingly by what is for me the only real directorial flaw in the production. Following the famous sextet “Chi mi frena in tal momento?”, Edgardo learns that Lucia is now married to Arturo. Distraught from this news he proceeds to wrap himself in a very long white table cloth, falls off the table with a thud, then nose-dives through a window with the table cloth billowing behind him, which being on the rather lengthy side has to then be pulled through the window with a few tugs. Cue giggling all over the auditorium! I remember this calamity from last time and am aghast that after almost eighty minutes of dramatic tension and careful build-up, the tension is dissipated in two minutes of farcical Carry On lunacy, more befitting cheap vaudeville than serious drama. Surely someone must have told Alden that cheap laughs are not what you need in this opera. Clearly that was not his intention, but it was nevertheless the result, and it ought to be rectified in time for the third revival.

The Enrico of Brian Mulligan is beefy and seedy, with the baritone looking like a young Bryn Terfel, whilst roaring through his role with pleasurable heft and security of tone. Vocally he provided a wonderful contrast to the fragility of Christy’s ethereal tones, whilst dramatically he delivered his crucial letter-reading scene with great purpose and dark undercurrents of intent. You knew that sooner or later this Lucia would have to submit to his intentions. She would be married or ....else! If only the Raimondo of Clive Bayley was quite so impressive. Whilst his bass was certainly of generous proportions, it tended to veer towards being flat as the evening progressed. But the real problem was his Butlins inspired Calvinist chaplain, ever more hammy and egregious, I couldn’t wait for him to stop singing. The Alisa of Sarah Pring was a tad blowsy, upsetting the vocal balance of the sextet by hammering home her small contributions with just a bit too much enthusiasm. And the Arturo of Dwayne Jones needs more work vocally, so as to control a slightly glassy tenor.

I wish I could report that the conducting debut of Anthony Walker was a complete success, but it was in truth more of a succès d'estime. The first half generally suffered from some very flabby and flaccid tempi, which occasionally left some parts of the orchestra sounding rather laboured and unsure. Things improved in Act III enormously, but one was always left with the impression that Walker is not a conductor of bel canto by nature. The rhythm, energy and passion of Donizetti’s score seemed to elude him more often or not. The orchestra were consequently on intermittently fine form only. The same could be said for the usually excellent chorus, who experienced a couple of less than fine moments, but who were on the whole more than acceptable.

The precision by which Alden’s production dissects and examines the origins of madness in a single case, makes this a disturbing and bewitching experience. Despite a few flaws, one should experience Lucia in this often harrowing and disturbing setting.

Antony Lias
Opera Britannia

Ed: To read an interview with Anna Christy, where I discuss her interpretation of Lucia, then please click here.

Photographic Credit: Robert Workman

Photograph 1: Anna Christy and Dwayne Jones
Photograph 2: Anna Christy and Brian Mulligan
Photograph 3: Anna Christy in scene
Photograph 4: Barry Banks
Photograph 5: Barry Banks and Brian Mulligan