Maybe you’ve sometimes found yourself in the opera house hearing 
                  an all-time favourite such as “Traviata” or “Bohème”. In the 
                  seat next to you is a dear old lady – I’ll give her the benefit 
                  of the doubt about being “dear” when she’s not doing what I’m 
                  describing. As the best-loved tunes come up one by one she hums 
                  them, quietly, unmelodiously and above all insidiously. Whether 
                  she’s so caught up by it all she doesn’t realize what she’s 
                  doing, or whether she just thinks no one will notice, when she’s 
                  so obviously moved, do you have the heart to tell her to shut 
                  up? 
                  
                  If you’d been attending the opera house in England or Ireland 
                  any time up to about 1930, the opera beloved of your humming 
                  neighbour might still have been “Traviata” or “Bohème”, but 
                  it could just as easily have been “Maritana”. Even today, as 
                  damn good tunes come up one after another, in all the right 
                  places, you can imagine what an added value it would have if 
                  we still had the thrill of recognition that our great-grandparents 
                  had. 
                  
                  It didn’t happen. “Scenes that are brightest” will strike a 
                  bell with some, perhaps also “There is a flow’r that bloometh” 
                  and the rollicking “Yes! Let me like a soldier fall”. Younger 
                  listeners will probably not know even these. In order to enjoy 
                  this opera like a well-tried old friend, as we do “Traviata” 
                  and “Bohème”, we’d have to start all over again. It’s been silent 
                  too long. That is, we would if we thought it worth our while. 
                  
                  
                  After listening to this recording my one-man jury is still out. 
                  In many ways it’s a lot better than I imagined it would be. 
                  Right from the overture you can be reassured that it is orchestrally 
                  highly competent. The imaginative, often piquant scoring means 
                  that there is far more atmosphere and colour than you would 
                  suppose by just looking at the vocal score. Particularly ear-catching 
                  is the violin obbligato to the King’s aria “Hear me, gentle 
                  Maritana”. The melodies are not only memorable, all the set 
                  pieces are well shaped, and in a few places – tracks 5, 9 and 
                  10 on CD 2 and Maritana’s recitative preceding “Scenes that 
                  are brightest” – Wallace also shows that he can write scenas 
                  and concerted pieces with a properly theatrical build up. 
                  
                  But that’s rare. The reason my jury is still out is that this 
                  is an opera with spoken dialogue rather than recitatives, and 
                  the spoken dialogue isn’t recorded here. To be sure, to judge 
                  from the literary quality of the verses, it could well be embarrassing 
                  to listen to. On the other hand, all the things that happen, 
                  happen during the dialogue. You can read the synopsis as well 
                  as following the libretto – you can download this from the Naxos 
                  site, and you can download the entire vocal score from the IMSLP-Petrucci 
                  Library if you wish. But none of this will involve you in a 
                  theatrical experience, you won’t feel the story building up 
                  with the musical numbers slotted into it. Indeed, unless you’ve 
                  actually attended a performance – I haven’t – you simply won’t 
                  be able to judge whether it works as a theatrical experience, 
                  as opposed to a series of highly enjoyable arias and ensembles. 
                  
                  
                  Maybe it doesn’t. There is also the issue that modern audiences 
                  tend to be uneasy with serious opera that has spoken dialogue 
                  in place of recitatives. This led to the curious experiment 
                  in Dublin, in the 1970s, described in the notes by John Allen, 
                  of resuscitating recitatives written by one Severio Mattei for 
                  a performance in Italian, back-translated into English. This 
                  version quickly sank from view once more. On CD a solution might 
                  be a narration between the musical numbers. But no, if the opera 
                  is to live again it will have to be accepted and loved in the 
                  form in which it was written. A recording with sufficient dialogue 
                  to maintain the story-line would at least give as un idea if 
                  this could happen. 
                  
                  Perhaps we are muddling our genres. If this mish-mash of improbable 
                  situations with a happy ending is a serious opera, then so are 
                  “The Merry Widow” and “South Pacific”. If we can get to accept 
                  “Maritana” and other British/Irish works from the 19th 
                  century as a genre of their own, as close to operetta or the 
                  musical as to grand opera, and serious only insofar as they 
                  are not (intentionally) funny, perhaps we can enjoy them again. 
                  If my jury is still out on “Maritana” as theatre, it’s come 
                  in with a strong majority verdict in favour of its music. 
                  
                  On the performance, by and large … There’s some fine conducting 
                  from the RTÉ Concert Orchestra’s long-serving Principal Conductor 
                  – now Conductor Laureate – Proinnsías Ó Duinn. Well-chosen, 
                  highly singable tempi, infectious rhythms, relish of orchestral 
                  colour and warm but not over-indulgent handling of the ballad 
                  numbers. The singing comes up against the problem that, given 
                  the international repertoire and operatic globalization, anyone 
                  who could sing this music supremely well, wouldn’t sing it at 
                  all. 
                  
                  Best are the ladies. Majella Cullagh actually has a very beautiful 
                  voice, a slightly reedy timbre reminiscent of the young Gwyneth 
                  Jones. She certainly has agility in the odd moments where it’s 
                  called for and her top notes are easy – right up to a high E 
                  flat at the end that might be envied by, well, certain Violettas. 
                  But there are also some ungainly corners. “Scenes that are brightest” 
                  is a good stab, but lacks the lovely, even, long liquid line 
                  that the young Montserrat Caballé might have brought to it. 
                  But here we go again, the young Montserrat Caballé didn’t sing 
                  it and on the whole Cullagh will do quite nicely. 
                  
                  The breeches role of Lazarillo is less demanding since her one 
                  aria and her duet with Maritana are in slow tempi. Lynda Lee 
                  certainly displays a rich, evenly controlled timbre and a good 
                  sense of line. 
                  
                  Of the men, one can say that they are the sort of stalwart singers 
                  that can be appreciated in a provincial theatre. They know how 
                  to put the music over, though the baritones are a bit croaky 
                  in their lower notes, the tenor more husky than ringing in his 
                  top ones. But, at the risk of labouring a point already made, 
                  whatever bright young tenor is currently being touted as the 
                  heir to Pavarotti, he won’t be singing the part of Don Caesar 
                  de Bazan. So let us be thankful for an honest professional job, 
                  as we can for the splendid recording and informative notes by 
                  John Allen for a set originally issued in 1996 on Marco Polo 
                  8.223406-07. 
                  
                  The customary judgement on the only recording of a work like 
                  this is that “at last listeners can make up their own minds 
                  about it”. For the reasons I’ve stated above, I don’t think 
                  this recording leaves us any the wiser over “Maritana” as a 
                  theatrically effective opera. If a string of excellent musical 
                  numbers guarantees an excellent opera (I don’t think it does), 
                  then this is an excellent opera. Musical enjoyment in the home 
                  seems guaranteed. 
                  
                  Christopher Howell