It
was of course widely known that Britten was homosexual, but little
or no open reference was made to the fact in connection with his
work during his lifetime. Even after his death there was a certain
coyness about broaching it. Michael Wilcox’s book Benjamin
Britten’s Operas (Absolute Press, 1997) was probably the first
study, and is still perhaps the only one, where the composer’s
sexual orientation takes centre-stage.
Wilcox
is a playwright and his book about Britten looks at the operas
from a theatrical rather than a musical point of view. Each opera
is examined with particular attention to its homosexual subtext.
It’s a convincing survey, and brings to light all manner of signs
and clues to the way the composer was thinking, many of them no
doubt unconscious, others apparently very conscious indeed. Whether
or not we want to agree with this kind of interpretation – perhaps
the very subject makes us uneasy – it’s difficult to read the
libretto of Billy Budd, for example, written in part by
the homosexual E M Forster, without wondering if Claggart’s admiration
for Billy – "O beauty, o handsomeness, goodness!" –
is really quite so altruistic as all that. Quint’s interest in
Miles in The Turn of the Screw is hardly that of a loving
uncle, or even simply a possessive ghost, come to that. And then
there is the theme of the rejected outsider, the man apart, running
through so many of these works that we have to ask ourselves if
the composer’s status as a conscientious objector is sufficient
to explain them.
Wilcox
draws our attention to a number of aspects of Albert Herring
which seem to leave little doubt that its creators, librettist
Eric Crozier as much as Britten we assume, wanted to make plain
to those in the know that Albert is gay. The story of the opera
is a simple one, taken from a Maupassant short story transplanted
to a small town in Suffolk. It’s the time of the year when a Queen
of the May is needed, and like every year a suitable candidate
is hard to find. Where have all the good, reliable, and above
all, virtuous young girls gone? In desperation, and breaking with
tradition, the worthies decide this year to choose a boy, Albert,
whose mother runs the grocery shop. Albert is unwilling, but his
mother insists. She should have known better. The young lovers
Sid and Nancy spike his celebration drink, giving him the courage
he needs to rebel. He disappears, coming home only the following
morning having passed the night in a way which the selection committee
would surely have disapproved of. Just what he got up to is cleverly
elucidated by Wilcox who draws attention to jangling keys, or
in this case, the shop bell, whistling and Swan Vestas matches,
all used in wartime homosexual circles as part of the ritual of
making contact. Albert’s crown, we learn, has been found in a
sorry state on the road to Campsey Ash. I think we would agree
that this is not a very subtle place name even as it stands, and
barely have need of the aid of those crossword enthusiasts who
would spot straight away the anagram for "Yes, AH’s camp".
Of
course it’s possible to listen to and enjoy (or not) Albert
Herring without paying the slightest attention to all this,
just as it was possible to laugh at the BBC Home Service’s Round
the Horne and remain in ignorance of what the subject matter
really was. (You were bound to wonder, though, at Kenneth Horne’s
assertion in one show, when things had taken an even more daring
turn than usual, that "…it’s surprising what you can get
away with…") Albert Herring is a true comic opera
with a lightness of touch rarely found in Britten’s output. The
characters are deftly drawn both by their words and by the music
the composer puts to them. The story moves along swiftly and there
are numerous surprising turns arising both from the story and
the characters themselves. As with much of the best comedy we
can draw serious lessons from the work, and the truth of it brings
with it the power to move the audience. There is even a heterosexual
couple whose love is blissful – as it should be – and convincingly
drawn by Britten.
This
recording was originally issued in 1997 on the now defunct Collins
label as part of a planned series of Britten operas. Steuart Bedford
was one of the composer’s preferred interpreters who also conducted,
amongst others, the Decca recording of Death in Venice
under the composer’s supervision when Britten himself was too
ill to do so. Naxos, with typically sound commercial good sense,
have put collectors in their debt by reissuing this set. The
Turn of the Screw, also conducted by Bedford, has just appeared
and we look with interest on their release lists to see what other
reissued treasures are to come. Christopher Gillett makes a delightful
and totally convincing Albert, his passage from frustrated and
petulant boy to someone with, shall we say, rather more experience
of life, all the more convincing by his being demonstrably young.
There is not a weak link in the cast, but particular attention
should be drawn to the moving portrayal of the two lovers Nancy
and Sid, previously mentioned, with special praise for Gerald
Finley’s ardent and eloquent singing, lifting this part into a
higher plane than it usually attains.
If
Naxos do the collector a favour one wonders what effect it has
on the competition. It was particularly unfortunate timing that
this release almost coincided with the appearance of a completely
new recording of the opera from Chandos, especially when new opera
recordings are so thin on the ground and Chandos have committed
themselves to a major series of Britten operas. The Chandos cast
is uniformly excellent too, and Richard Hickox directs with a
delicacy and sense of scale I don’t always find in his work. There
is slightly more of the theatre about his reading and a marginally
better feel for the truly comic nature of the work. Britten’s
own reading is a superb performance and a classic of the gramophone.
Sylvia Fisher is particularly striking as Lady Billows, and the
playing of the English Chamber Orchestra is incomparable, fine
though the orchestral playing is on the other two versions. The
part of Albert was written of course with Peter Pears’ voice in
mind, but the idea of Pears as a teenager seems ludicrous when
measured against the other portrayals, though he is very convincing
in a leering kind of way once Albert has, after his own fashion,
come out.
If
you are to have just one reading of Albert Herring in your
collection there are arguments for each of the three versions.
Richard Hickox’s on Chandos is probably the finest overall. Britten’s
reading is an indispensable historical document and any serious
Britten enthusiast or student will want to have it. But the Naxos
reissue, especially at the price, is quite irresistible, particularly
when you take into account the excellent booklet containing an
interesting note by Sue Knussen and the complete libretto.
William
Hedley
see
also reviews by John
France and John
Leeman
Albert Herring - Christopher
Gillett