Christmas Eve 1951, and the world’s first television opera,
Amahl and the Night Visitors, is aired in the US. NBC,
who commissioned the work, turned it into a festive tradition,
screening it every Christmas until 1966. Here in the UK the
BBC broadcast a live version in December 1955 and a filmed one
in 1959. A third production, directed by Francesca Zambello
and conducted by the late Richard Hickox, was aired in 2002.
The latter would be most welcome on DVD or Blu-ray, as Hickox
never got round to recording Amahl as part of his Menotti
cycle for Chandos. For now this all-American version from Naxos
has no rivals, with the exception of the original cast recording
– in mono – conducted by Thomas Schippers (RCA Gold Seal 6485).
Menotti’s opera has the usual iconography of Christmas – the
star ‘as large as a window and with a glorious tail’, the three
Kings bearing gifts and the shepherds – with the crippled boy
Amahl recalling Tiny Tim in Dickens’ Christmas Carol.
The opera’s narrative, direct and unencumbered, is conveyed
in music of great charm and simplicity; just listen to Amahl’s
artless pipe-playing at the outset and his wide-eyed wonderment
at the strange star in the night sky. Contrast that with the
declamatory – and dissonant – piano chords associated with his
exasperated mother. It’s a reassuring and familiar scene that
also speaks of another – more innocent – age.
The boy treble Ike Hawkersmith is a convincing Amahl, combining
good diction with a strong sense of character. Kirsten Gunlogson
also makes a good impression as his mother, her voice big but
not overwhelmingly so, her delivery clear and even. The recorded
sound is very immediate – for that read closely miked – and
some listeners may feel it’s a touch too bright. On the plus
side this performance never slides into sentimentality, even
when Amahl comforts his distraught mother in ‘Don’t cry, Mother
dear’ (tr. 5). Their voices blend reasonably well in the touching
‘good nights’ that follow, the orchestra modulating into a stately,
rather exotic, processional that heralds the arrival of the
three Kings (tr.6).
Kevin Short has a big, imperious voice that suits the role of
Balthazar, rather dwarfing his companions when they sing of
their arduous journey. There is more than a hint of the swaying
ox-cart of Mussorgsky’s Bydlo in the orchestral accompaniment
at this point, a vivid evocation of their long and burdensome
trek. The Nashville band’s playing under Alastair Willis is
alert and upfront throughout; sample those scurrying pizzicato
strings as Amahl tells his mother who is at the door, the Kings’
voices blending in sonorous unison (tr. 8). Their singing surely
suggests a distant, churchly chant entirely appropriate to these
holy men.
Indeed, Menotti’s score brings together so many different strands
and styles in a most original and refreshing way. There’s a
perky little march as the visitors enter the hut and simple
piano flourishes accompany them as they warm themselves by the
fire (tr. 9). The excitable Kaspar – who also happens to be
deaf – is well sung by Dean Anthony. Ditto Kevin Short as Balthazar,
who responds to Amahl’s cross-questioning with a mixture of
patience and weariness (tr. 10). The interaction between Kaspar’s
parrot and Amahl injects a note of humour, with King Melchior
(Todd Thomas) cranking it up a notch or three as he explains
that the mystery box contains all his worldly goods – and his
treasured supply of liquorice (tr.11).
The close recording is not a major problem here, although the
plucked basses that accompany Amahl’s mother, Melchior and Balthazar
in tr. 14 sound jumbo-sized and rather muffled. That said, this
trio certainly rises to a powerful climax, from which shepherds
– laden with food – take their cue. There’s some lusty a
cappella singing here, but the combined Nashville and Chicago
choruses are much too close for comfort. However, the sinuous
orchestral dance that follows – Boléro, anyone? – is
beautifully done, with some delectable playing from the Nashville
woodwinds (tr. 18). Balthazar’s thanks and the shepherds’ lyrical
farewell are amongst the lovely moments when lingering doubts
about this performance are dispelled and all caveats are forgotten.
Quite magical.
The mother’s turmoil in tr. 20, as she ponders the Kings’ gold
and what it could mean for her and Amahl, is sung with a Janácek-like
intensity that reminds me so much of the late – and much lamented
– Elisabeth Söderström in Sir Charles Mackerras’s Decca recording
of Jenufa. But then Amahl is such an eclectic
work, and I daresay most listeners will hear other echoes too.
For once the immediacy of this recording pays dividends, adding
real frisson to the mother’s anguish and the orchestral
set-to that follows when she is caught trying to steal the visitors’
gold (tr. 21). Hawkersmith is most affecting as he vigorously
– and physically – defends his mother, his repeated cries of
‘Don’t you dare’ (tr.22) a telling vocal counterpoint to his
struggle with the Page.
One of the opera’s most potent messages – that of forgiveness
– is brought home by Melchior, who tells Amahl’s mother that
she can keep the gold (tr. 23). It is an aria of tenderness
and compassion, radiantly scored. The other must surely be selflessness
through the act of giving, as epitomised by Amahl’s spontaneous
offer of his crutch as a gift to the Christ child. In doing
so he finds that he can walk, a moment greeted first with awe
and astonishment by the Kings and then with jubilation (tr.
24). The opera moves to a close as Amahl persuades his mother
to let him accompany the three Kings to Bethlehem. Gunlogson
sings with warmth and affection here, the parting duet accompanied
by some of the loveliest music on this disc (tr. 26). The choruses
return as the procession – Amahl in tow – resumes its momentous
journey.
The Nashville chorus is centre-stage in My Christmas,
which Menotti sets to his own texts in 1987. They sound remarkably
bold and full-bodied here, their singing interspersed with music
of chamber-like proportions. There is much to enjoy here, not
least the ecstatic climaxes and Menotti’s unusual orchestration.
Listen to the sudden instrumental fragments that recall Britten,
and to the rhythms that hint at the Bernstein of Chichester
Psalms. That said, the piece has a strong identity of its
own, and I can’t imagine why we don’t hear it more. Oh, and
a bottle of celebratory brandy for the Nashville horn player
who rounds off the work so eloquently.
This Amahl is a real cracker, deserving of its place
at the top of the tree. Texts aren’t supplied, but that hardly
matters when the diction is this clear. As for the recorded
sound it’s a little too bright and forward for my tastes, but
that’s easily overcome by tweaking the treble control on your
amp.
Dan Morgan
See also review
by Simon Thompson
*†Members
of the Nashville Symphony Chorus/George Mabry 
