The Times
Published at 12:01AM, October 28 2015
The jangling
of tambourine and castanets that inaugurates Das Liebesverbot tells us that we are not in Richard Wagner’s
usual territory. The Ban on
Love was his second
opera, written when the composer was 23, and its two earliest performances were
fiascos: the singers didn’t know the music or words, there were fist-fights
backstage and on the second night the audience was just three people: Wagner’s
landlady, her husband and a Chasidic Jew (perhaps the grudge began here).
Wagner
washed his hands of the opera and it is one of his three early works that are
not permitted at Bayreuth. You can at least look to Liebesverbot for the ingredients that would later bubble away
in Wagner’s philosophical stews. The ban on love, as it is decreed by
Friedrich, the German governor of Palermo (the opera is based onMeasure for Measure, but the Bard has been
bastardised) is really a ban on sex. At least that’s how the line was delivered
by Friedrich’s fulminating chief of police, Brighella
(Nicholas Folwell) in this Chelsea Opera Group (COG)
exhumation.
So in one
sense we are already in the land of Meistersinger or Tannhäuser,
where sacred love, as expressed by the reluctant nun Isabella, runs up against
the profane kind practised by Lucio, who loves
Isabella, and by Isabella’s brother Claudio, condemned for impregnating his
lover. Palermo’s proscribed carnival becomes both a symbol of necessary freedom
and of passion in excess.
Musically,
however, Wagner is some way off working out how to be Wagner. He was having his
bel-canto moment, attempting elaborate, lyrical
arias, formal set-piece duets and boisterously Mediterranean ensembles.
Yet while
aiming for Bellini’s poise, he created a baggy dramedy
with thick, ungainly scoring. Having simplified Shakespeare, Wagner’s plotting
gets bogged down in a rambling first half, only to fill in all the plot holes
rather perfunctorily in the skittish finale.
COG’s
performance was best when it aimed for drama rather than the comedy. Anthony
Negus drew muscular playing from the orchestra. As heroic Isabella Helena Dix
took everything the music threw at her and provided valiantly shining tone
throughout, matched for power by Kirstin Sharpin’s
Marianne.
David Soar’s
moody Friedrich had clout, and of the two Palermo gentlemen unable to zip it
up, Peter Hoare’s Claudio coped better with his high-lying music than Paul Curievici’s likeable but strained Luzio.
The Royal Opera, reportedly planning a 2017 staging, has a stiff challenge
ahead.