La Clemenza di Tito, Barbican Hall | Opera reviews, news & interviews
La Clemenza di Tito, Barbican Hall
Stunning performance of Mozart's maligned final opera proves it is no dud
To Charles Rosen it was a work of "rarely redeemed dullness". The wife of Emperor Leopold called it "German rubbish". It's pretty obvious why so many have objected to Mozart's final opera La clemenza di Tito. Tunes (memorable ones) are by and large lacking, which is odd for Mozart. The overture is not something you'd want to hear on its own. And the work's great solo arias are unwieldy in form (though fascinatingly so) and tricky to sing and separated by the vast wastes of a notorious recitative. Yet for me what the work lacks, it more than makes up for in dramatic clarity and economy, musical variety and formal inventiveness.
The visiting Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie Bremen and their attendant singers made us completely forget the possible flaws in their Barbican Hall concert performance. A clarity of conception and expression flowed directly from the conductor Louis Langrée. He knew exactly what he wanted: clean lines, a driving momentum and drama. The overture, shifting its weight from strings to woodwind with well-articulated bounce and brightness, carried its perkiness straight through into the muggy court histrionics of the opening scene.
Alice Coote spun her long song outward from its still centre with thrilling centrifugal energy
What a beautifully cast lot the leads were. Not just vocally but also in terms of character. Each fitted their courtiers' psychologies like a glove. Malin Hartelius's troubled, scheming Vitellia delivered her Machiavellianism through both a fiery voice and bony, anxious gesturing. There was a particularly brilliant moment near the end of the first act where Vitellia finds out that her plotting has got out of hand and is about to bite her very nastily on the bum. At this dramatic turn, the vocal line reaches up beyond where Hartelius's voice will go. But instead of freezing and croaking, the soprano projected her vocal difficulties onto her character, hammed herself up - crossing her eyes and curling her lips - and made it all part of her end-of-act collapse.
Her accomplice, the conflicted courtier Sesto, was equally well assigned to a frighteningly male Alice Coote. Coote's voice - so rich and thick - was able both to wallow inactively like Hamlet and also to spring into Bin Laden-like acts of terror. Matching her musical flexibility in the celebrated aria Parto, parto, ma tu, ben mio was the balletic basset clarinet of Matthew Hunt. Coote spun her long, clarinet-stalked song outward from its still centre with thrilling centrifugal energy.
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