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