This, like other installments in the "Glyndebourne"
G&S series, concentrates, refreshingly, on doing justice to
the musical side of the performance. It mostly succeeds, though
it falls short of the highest expectations.
In big chorus-and-orchestra works, the choral singing would frequently
be the special glory of Sir Malcolm Sargent's performances. Even
though someone else - Peter Gellhorn, in this case - did the actual
nitty-gritty choral training, Sargent had a knack for eliciting
trim, rhythmically alert singing from both professional ensembles
and amateur choral societies. Much of the time, it is so here:
the men's and women's choruses, separately and together, are beautifully
blended, balanced, and "present", save for the bashful
altos in
Strephon's a Member of Parliament. But I was surprised
to hear both groups swallowing, even neglecting, final plosive
consonants in Act I - they're not
essential to intelligibility,
but would make a cleaner effect - and to hear doubling principals
over-holding notes in the last section of Finale I. Assorted flaws
of this sort, including a clearly sharp entry by the Mountararat
in Act I, and the odd word slip from one or another of the principals
in Act II, suggest that the sessions were completed under some
time pressure.
No, this time it's Sir Malcolm's work with the orchestra that
comes off best. He projects the overture - one of the few that
Sir Arthur composed himself, rather than handing off the task
to an assistant, Broadway-style - in a long, arching line, smoothly
eliding sections, making the aural seams between sections disappear.
The Act II opening and the start of Mountararat's aria suggest
the right pomp and splendor though the introduction to the March
of the Peers strains at it and that to the Trio,
If you go
in, has a lively music-hall energy. Atmosphere, on the other
hand, wasn't one of Sargent's strengths; he misses the nocturnal
colors latent in the Act I opening and
O foolish fay and
there's a few poky, stolid tempi.
The principals are capable - certainly stronger than your average
D'Oyly Carte line-up - even if some of them opt for an affected
articulation that I call "oratorio English". If you're
already familiar with this series, you'll find George Baker's
rendering of the Lord Chancellor very George Bakerish. He actually
sings the music more than D'Oyly Carte comic baritones generally
did, without sacrificing the sense of a comic performance in the
process. Here and there in the notorious "Nightmare Song",
he trips on a syllable or two; but the piece
is ferociously
difficult, and since Baker, to my knowledge, never performed these
roles on stage, I'm inclined to cut him some slack.
John Cameron is a good Strephon. His habit of pulling away from
the voice "expressively" sounds merely precious; otherwise,
he voices legato lines with firm, virile tone, and sings all the
printed notes, including the high G and the low G (!). His first
duet with Elsie Morison's Phyllis,
None shall part us,
proves one of the first act's highlights. The soprano, by the
way, gives one of her most appealing performances of this series.
Phyllis lies low for a G&S heroine, and Morison, not having
to fight the role's tessitura, spins phrases with a welcome freshness
and ease.
Lord Tolloller is one of the rare Savoy tenors who's a character
man, but the energy with which Alexander Young launches the Act
II Quartet,
Though p'rhaps I may incur your blame, would
suit a romantic hero admirably - and he's a good singer. Ian Wallace,
as his baritone counterpart, Mountararat, is serviceable, but
his oratorio English is a busy distraction. Owen Brannigan is
a flavorful Private Willis who clearly wants the refrain of his
song to go faster than Sargent does, and gets his way.
On the distaff side, Monica Sinclair is solid and verbally alert,
and she avoids turning the Fairy Queen into another contralto
battle-ax, which she isn't, really. Marjorie Thomas's lighter
instrument aptly suits the title role -- what Savoyards call a
"soubrette" - but her phrasing can be static. The two
chorus leads are assumed by sopranos, April Cantelo and Heather
Harper, who later became prominent; their assumptions, however,
aren't anything special.
The filler is an Overture
di Ballo that, at least Stateside,
used to pop in and out of the catalogues. Sargent's leadership
here isn't exactly galvanic - Sir Charles Groves's later account
(EMI, originally with the
Irish Symphony) is more smartly
disciplined but he really
gets the piece. I've never heard
a performance that so consistently realizes the dance spirit evoked
by the title. Even the big brass entry at 6:32 maintains a balletic
lightness.
Although this series made a point of omitting the dialogue, this
production does include the Fairy Queen's spoken imprecations
in the first finale - and the Peers' exclamations - without which
the sequence of tremolos would make little sense. Digital tweaking
has focused the originally hazy sonics, though the brasses in
the March of the Peers hint at a hollow, blasting quality.
Stephen Francis Vasta
see also review by Jonathan
Woolf
George Baker (baritone) - The Lord Chancellor 
