Frederick DELIUS (1862-1934)
A Village Romeo and Juliet - opera in six scenes
(1907) [121.22]
Helen Field (soprano) - Vreli; Arthur Davies (tenor) - Sali; Thomas Hampson
(baritone) - Dark Fiddler; Stafford Dean (bass) - Marti; Barry Mora (baritone)
- Manz; Elizabeth Dobie (soprano) - Gingerbread Woman; Pamela Mildenhall (soprano)
- Young Vreli; Samuel Linay (treble) - Young Sali; David McShane (baritone)
- 1st Bargeman; John Antoniou (bass) - 2nd Bargeman, Shooting-gallery man,
2nd Man; Vincent Pirillo (tenor) - 3rd Bargeman, Showman; Patricia Ann Caya
(mezzo) - Wild girl, Cheap jewellery woman, 2nd Woman; Maria Venuti (soprano)
- Slim girl; Sergio Lambana (tenor) - Hornplayer; Robert Lucien Demers (bass)
- Hunchback, Merry-go-round man, 1st Man; Kimberley Barber (contralto) - Wheel
of fortune woman, 3rd Woman
Arnold Schoenberg Choir; Austrian Radio Symphony Orchestra/Sir Charles Mackerras
rec. Grossersaal, Konzerthaus, Vienna, 1-13 February 1989
DECCA 4750442 PRESTO CD [69.08 + 42.13]
While the representation of Delius’s operas on disc
over the years has been patchy – and we badly need a reissue of the
BBC versions of the early operas at one time available on CD – there
have been four commercial recordings of A Village Romeo and Juliet to date,
plus a video and a couple of transcripts of radio broadcasts. The first of
these was the set
of 78s conducted by Sir Thomas Beecham for the Delius Society - transferred
at various times onto LP and CD - and this has been supplemented more recently
by a Somm CD transcript of the BBC
broadcast made with many of the same cast at around the same time. Although
these are fascinating documents featuring the composer’s favourite conductor,
the limited 1948 sound hardly begins to do justice to Delius’s scoring;
and there are some remarkable differences in tempo between the two versions,
which leads one to the conclusion that the 78rpm set was conditioned by the
need to fit the score onto the limited length of sides available. There was
at one time a pirated off-air broadcast available on LP conducted by Meredith
Davies with the cast from Sadler’s Wells Opera and taped at a live performance
given at the Alhambra Theatre, Bradford. This also was in mono, and it was
not until the conductor returned to the score in 1972 for EMI that we finally
received a stereo
recording which did justice to the opera. It is this recording, now reissued
on CD but seemingly currently only available as part of a Warner
Classics 18-disc collection issued to commemorate Delius’s 150th
anniversary, which provides the main competition to the Decca set under consideration
here. At one time the opera also featured in an EMI
Classics Beecham box. A later version in German, drawn from performances
at the enterprising Kiel Opera, seems to have fallen under the deletions axe
(CPO 999 328-2).
The set here was originally issued in two formats: as an Argo boxed set on
CD, complete with texts and translations, and as the soundtrack
of a film directed by Petr Weigl on Decca. Both are still currently shown
as available, and this Decca audio reissue commendably still includes both
a valuable essay by Christopher Palmer on the opera itself, and the sung text
(without translation). Those familiar with the work from the Meredith Davies
recording may be somewhat disconcerted by the latter, because for the EMI
set a new translation was commissioned to replace the jaded version by Jelka
Rosen (Delius’s long-suffering wife) which was used both for the Beecham
recording and for the one under consideration here. Deryck Cooke, a committed
supporter of Delius’s music, disliked the reworked libretto, commenting
in the Gramophone that it altered the rhythms of the words to an undesirable
degree. I am not so sure. Jelka Rosen’s version is hardly a literary
masterpiece, strongly redolent of what used to be called ‘Wardour Street
English’ and frequently perverting the meaning of the text; nor is Delius’s
handling of the English language persuasive, with words stretched out over
the existing melodic lines in a manner that seems designed to conceal rather
than to reveal meaning. It works better in the visual medium, and can perhaps
best be appreciated through the subtitles on the DVD which also includes a
substantial bonus in the form of an English-language documentary on the composer
and his music.
Be that as it may, we are concerned here with the relative merits of two rival
audio versions of the score; and comparisons are frustratingly a matter of
swings and roundabouts, with no one recording emerging as an outright winner.
In the first place, the Mackerras recording has more warmth and emotional
energy than Davies’, which is a considerable advantage in a work that
is so atmospherically redolent of summer days and nights. The sound of the
dream sequence where the lovers imagine their forthcoming wedding is ethereally
rapt in Mackerras’s hands, where Davies is more matter-of-fact. On the
other hand the beautiful closing scene, where the lovers hear the voices of
bargemen on the river, is handled much more successfully by Davies and his
engineers, the offstage voices properly distanced as opposed to the more materially
solid sound of the singers here.
Perhaps the relative merits of the cast may help to determine a preference.
As Sali, Arthur Davies is considerably more convincing than Davies’s
Robert Tear; he is clearly a golden-toned young man here, while the estimable
Tear is more clearly operatic in his forthright delivery. On the other hand,
Helen Field – marvellous as she is when considered in her own right
– must concede points to Elisabeth Harwood on EMI, who delivers her
sad little song as she sits alone in her cottage with a wistful thread of
sound that is absolutely enchanting. The only other substantial role in the
opera falls to the enigmatic Dark Fiddler, and here the balance is more even
between Thomas Hampson, handsome and forthright with just the right undertone
of sinister intent, and Davies’s John Shirley-Quirk, more obviously
noble in tone — the character may be a bastard, but he comes from wealthy
stock — but with a more obvious chip on his shoulder. The two quarrelling
fathers on EMI sound like Fasolt and Fafner arguing over the Ring in Rheingold,
with Davies conjuring up a positively Wagnerian storm in the orchestra; Barry
Mora and Stafford Dean here sound more within the Delian sound-world, less
aggressive and more petty at the same time. Samuel Linay as the boy Sali is
a positive asset for Mackerras; his opposite number on the Davies set is far
less personable. But at the same time Davies benefits from a myriad of familiar
British singers in the small character roles, including most notably a heavenly-sounding
Ian Partridge as the third Bargeman. By comparison Mackerras employs largely
Austrian-based singers — the recording, presumably to facilitate liaison
with the Czech filming, was made in Vienna — whose command of English
is fine and idiomatic but lacks the sense of ‘face’ that their
British counterparts find on EMI.
The perplexing result of all this, especially for someone who adores the score
as much as I do, is really to conclude that the committed Delian really needs
both recordings. Or it would be, if the Davies version were still available
as an independent item; in the bumper Delius box it still comes coupled with
Eric Fenby’s fascinating talk on his years spent as the composer’s
amanuensis. If it were separately available, or if a second-hand copy can
be procured, it could then be supplemented by this Mackerras version on the
soundtrack of the DVD. Petr Weigl’s production is really beautiful to
look at, one of the best of the series of opera films he made during the 1980s
and 1990s; the only drawback is the fact that most of the singers, except
Thomas Hampson, are miming to the voices of other artists – although,
given the brief scene of nudity as the two lovers consummate their passion
before drowning themselves, that might be a matter of aesthetic preference.
However, given the fact that Davies’s recording is now only readily
available as part of an 18-CD collection (text available online only) which
comprises a mixture of recordings made over a very wide span of years –
some dating back to the days of 78s – the only real audio choice for
most purchasers who wish to get to know a marvellous opera is this Mackerras
version. It is an excellent introduction to the work, as well. Whatever happens,
those who only know the Walk to the Paradise Garden from this opera should
take advantage of the opportunity to get to know the many other glories of
the score.
Paul Corfield Godfrey
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