OPera
Beyond Bach
Rodney Milnes
Of the two operatic genres that, from the Performance point of view, remain virtually closed books—French opera of the Baroque and Revolution periods—the former is the more tricky for us to assimilate today. The opening performance of Una Lalandi's English Bach Festival pre sented three items, a cantata by Clerambault, a Pastorale by Lalande, and Ram
U'S Acte de Ballet Pygmalion. None of these are strictly speaking operas, though I cannot for the life of me think what else to call them. They were given simply staged Performances in appropriate costume and although the whole enterprise must have been mounted against all conceivable odds, starting with lack of money, they gave a far More persuasive idea of what French Musical-theatre was all about than any Other similar enterprise, and I can only Pray that this wholly joyful evening may inspire some other body to take up from Where Miss Lalandi has left off—though Whether it should be the Royal Opera, the Royal Ballet or the National Theatre I really don't know. Mind you, half the battle was won by the Choice of venue: Inigo Jones's Banqueting Hall, the setting for many similar entertainments. This helped solve two overriding problems: what should these pieces sound and look like? The acoustics may not have been clear enough to satisfy those stern musicologists in the audience, but the overall warmth and generous reverberance save the necessary patina of grandeur to the small band of baroque instruments _under the energetic direction of Jane Clover. But it was the sight of it all that entranced me. In a most absorbing pror,granime note, the choreographer Belinda ,s.ruireY outlined the problems surrounding any reconstruction of baroque dance; it is !s„though not a note of Bach had survived "uu we had to rely on contemporary written al‘e4Counts for all our knowledge of him. As iss,Quirey remarked, we tend to dismiss the i Style as 'just walking about', and this is, tonically a most important element. While icier ""ung and handsomely costumed uricers executed the simple steps with the c Most elegance, there was a certain lack of thonfident command in their posture when „eY were simply 7your. standing or 'walking But at least they did just that, and Inhere was no attempt to impose alien 0.rvernent on the music.
third problem is one of tone. We
tendhe h to
e get frightfully solemn about musical V 0 and it seems to me that there is
aru n very subtle, very Gallic humour ein ofth 'rung through the works of this period at can easily get lost in the process of disinterment. At least it didn't get lost in Nicholas Anderson's witty and informative programme notes (I liked his reference to Louis XIV as 'an able, if increasingly ponderous dancer'.) But I think there is more quiet fun to be mined from the Rameau, where Cephise roundly berates Pygmalion for his unnatural infatuation for 'eel objet'. (She gets nowhere—the objet awakes and is promptly taught how to dance properly by a passing troupe.) Similarly, there are some lines in Clerambault's title La muse de l'opera, ou les caracteres lyriques'—a sort of instruction manual of what opera can achieve—that must have been as funny then as they are now, but were delivered in a decidedly po-faced fashion. This piece, a pleasant mélange of gods, shepherds and various unpleasant natural phenomena, was receiving its first modern performance. 'Mais quels nouveaux accords dont l'horreur est extreme?' warbled the soloist, while the orchestra did its nut in a way that would not have disgraced Berlioz, and there may have been those present who harboured the unworthy suspicion that Dr Glover had run it up the day before as a fashionably ciphered attack on Stockhausen.
The Lalande is a pleasant little piece dealing with life and hard times in Arcadia, which was saved by the dancing; I cannot imagine it standing up on its own. The Rameau is another matter: a masterpiece however you look at it. The title role was taken by the Texan high tenor Bruce Brewer, who has made many records of music of this period. They have done Justice to his remarkable range and his feeling for the language, but not to the sweetness of his tone, which rang round the banqueting hall to fine effect. But for all Rameau's wonderfully eloquent setting of
French verse and his endlessly resourceful orchestration, it is his dance music that is simply overwhelming. There was no one to touch him before Tchaikovsky, and as far as I was concerned the final suite could have gone on all night. There was one doubtless highly accidental period touch when one of the dancers was a little too energetic for her period neckline and unwittingly exposed herself. I only wish Bernard Levin had been there, as this effect may not be repeated when the same programme is given under less lavish circumstances at the Sheldonian, Oxford, on 21 May.
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