Rossini - L'equivoco stravagante (Wexford, 2026)

Gioachino Rossini - L'equivoco stravagante

Wexford Festival Opera, 2026

Riccardo Bisatti, Max Hoehn, Maria Barakova, Stefan Astakhov, Gurgen Baveyan, Sebastian Mach, Kelli-Ann Masterson, Carlos Natale

O'Reilly Theatre, National Opera House, Wexford - 21st October 2026

This year's theme for the Wexford Festival Opera was determined by it being a celebration of the 75th anniversary of the first festival that took place there in 1951. The very first opera performed at the festival was Michael William Balfe's The Rose of Castille, chosen in part to celebrate a composer who was associated with the town, having been born in Ireland and having lived part of his childhood in Wexford. That first night set the tone for subsequent programmes which became noted for their selection of lost, forgotten and rarely performed operas that deserved another shot at recognition. And indeed, as well as resurrecting works by lesser known Irish composers, the festival was instrumental in the rediscovery of many of the 19th century bel canto operas of Donizetti, Bellini and Rossini - many known only by name and historical records of their success and failure - and they have also specialised in reviving forgotten works by the Italian verismo composers.

With so many lost works from notable composers to choose from, I don't think from looking over the 75 years that there has been any repetition in the programming - which is frustrating to look on if you were not old enough to see many of those fascinating works performed there and, more than likely, never performed again anywhere else. For the 75th Anniversary programme then, the festival programmers chose three works previously performed at the festival for their main stage productions that few would ever have had the opportunity to see the first time around: Iris by Pietro Mascagni (last seen in Wexford in 1995), The Gambler by Sergei Prokofiev (last seen in 1973), and L'equivoco stravagante by Rossini (last seen in 1968), the idea being to choose a selection that represented "one for the heart, one for the head and one for fun".

L'equivoco stravagante wouldn't have been my first choice as an opera for fun - and indeed it wasn't, since Wexford actually gave their audience a choice, putting it out to a vote between three (against Paisello and Donizetti choices). It wasn't my first choice only because I have actually seen L'equivoco stravagante staged before, as one of the first rare operas I found streamed on the internet at the Opéra Royal de Wallonie, Liège, 2012. Up until then, the only Rossini you would ever see fully staged would have been The Barber of Seville and La Cenerentola, so seeing the huge catalogue of around 40 Rossini operas listed in books was always fascinating and it marked the beginning of an exciting period of discovery of many wonderful forgotten works by this composer. Now of course the composer's rarer works are all well catered for in new critical editions at the Rossini Opera Festival and democratically shared with the world on DVD. L'equivoco stravagante - first performed in Wexford in 1968 - was always likely to be the popular audience choice and you suspect it's probably the better work from the choices given, so it's certainly worth another look.

On an initial look however, there is not a great deal to get excited about. It certainly fulfils the remit of "one for fun" and as such there is no real point in digging any deeper into it, or indeed attempting to impose any modern re-interpretation upon it, even as it must be tempting to revisit its gender fluidity and gender reassignment themes in the light of the present day. As an early Rossini opera, L'equivoco stravagante however is very much as opera of its time, with references to castrati, with its standard plotting of an arranged marriage for a bookish young woman (called Ernestina of course) to a rich suitor, while the adoring penniless young man in love with her has nothing to offer but his devotion. There is however quite a bit more to it than first appears, and of course it has that familiar Rossinian touch - even though the composer was only nineteen years old at the time - to elevate it further.

The first act offers little other than standard routines with not a great deal of promise of anything wonderful to come in the second act. It never seems to take off or give you anything to engage with, but there are some compensations. The libretto is littered with malapropisms, suggestive imagery, double entendres and outright nonsense that is amusing in itself. It's enough to make you laugh at the nerve of the composer to date put this saucy plot before the censor, enough to raise a giggle or a snort of disbelief. (It was quickly shut down after just three performances in 1811).

It's given a little extra boost here in the Wexford production by the singing and acting performances. Ernestina's father Gamberotto (Stefan Astakhov) and the rich suitor Buralicchio (Gurgen Baveyan) play the absurdity up for all its worth, full of blustering pomposity on the part of the father and his surreal pronouncements, and the preening self-importance and unctuousness of the suitor flabbergasted at being rejected. Those two are balanced by a superb and engaging central performance from Maria Barakova as Ernestina, a confident young woman who might have more wisdom about the nature of love and sex gained from her reading than she lets on.

The production is attractively staged, the set designs by Darko Petrovic keeping it in period - or at least a theatrical style period with colourful costumes and imaginative sets using old-fashioned cut out board scenery with pulley and lever operations. The director Max Hoehn keeps it moving, as of course does Rossini, giving them little choice in the matter really. With little to really engage with in the plot, Rossini enlivens every number with overlapping singing, quartets, with pacing that builds up to grand flourishes that demand applause without really having any great qualities to merit it. Which sounds ungracious and it probably is, as there is great skill involved. Rossini makes a standard routine lively and holds your attention enough to see whether the second half can live up to the promise of the curious misunderstanding of the title that hasn't even really been so much as hinted at after almost an hour and a half of the first act.

And to be fair, it's so well-composed, paced and directed that the production makes short work of that first act. And if the second half doesn't really live up to the extravagant promise of its title, it at least delivers the goods just as effectively as in the first. There are no great revelations here in the drama, the silliness/fun of the plot or the singing, except in the case of the other principal player, Ermanno. Coming across as a little bland as a character through the necessity of the drama and characterisation - having little to offer Ernestina as a penniless young man pretending to be a tutor - Sebastian Mach seems himself transformed in the second act when he gains the love of Ernestina, delivering some fine singing and proving himself - and ultimately the opera - worthy of all its machinations.

You really couldn't have asked for more from the performances and the production as a whole. The music was given a lively musical account under the direction of Riccardo Bisatti, the singing was first-rate and each delivered fun performances that captured the spirit of the work. The set designs and costumes were attractive, keeping it all visually interesting even when there is nothing specifically demanded from the plot or libretto, introducing random little elements and moving everyone around just enough to enhance the situations. The chorus were great at enlivening other moments and even the secondary roles - Kelli-Ann Masterson as Rosalia and Carlos Natale as Frontino - all had a part to play in contributing to the whole, as they often to in Rossini. L'equivoco stravagante is no great marvel but it's wholly Rossini, which ensures at the very least an enjoyable evening at the opera.

The Wexford production of L'equivoco stravagante can be currently be viewed from the RTE Lyric FM site.

External links: Wexford Festival Opera, RTE Lyric FM Streaming

Wagner - Parsifal (London, 2026)

Richard Wagner - Parsifal

Royal Opera House, 2026

Jakub Hrůša, Evgeny Titov, Stanislas de Barbeyrac, Ekaterina Gubanova, Christian Gerhaher, Brindley Sherratt, Mark Stone, James Platt, Ryan Vaughan Davies, Jack Sandison, Elizabeth Karani, Lily Mo Browne, Giorgi Guliashvili, Emyr Lloyd Jones, Chelsea Zurflüh, Rhian Lois, Sarah Richmond, Sarah Brady, Marianna Hovanisyan, Ellen Pearson, Nikola Printz

Covent Garden, London - 11th October 2026

Like any great work of art - and this is one of the greatest - Parsifal is an experience that constantly renews itself and reveals new aspects about life in accordance with the times. The very nature of its composition and drama means it can also be a mystifying experience, but even if you can't quite grasp the intentions of which aspect of Wagner's expansive worldview a director will focus on, you can still gain everything you need to know from the music itself. The new Royal Opera House production at Covent Garden directed by Evgeny Titov covers all the relevant reference points, finding an interpretation that touches on some of today's concerns, remaining faithful to the solemnity and reverence it deserves, before seemingly attempting to throw that all away in the closing moments of the opera.

Without being overly radical, the production tellingly introduces technology as an aspect a little more than you typically find in Parsifal. Even productions set in the post-apocalyptic future tend to start at a place where we have already reached that point and we are left with a ruined society. That does seem to be partly the consideration here - we are plunged back into a dark world by the time we get to Act III - where if we haven't reached that point at the start of the opera, we are clearly heading in that direction. I'm going to drop the expected contemporary buzzwords 'Late-stage capitalism' and the acronym 'AI' at this point and not dwell on those concepts much further, as these issues are not over-emphasised and the focus is rightly on the recognition that the opera is more concerned with the human condition. It is certainly something that comes to mind however and relevant when viewing the opera's theme of striving for knowledge and how to use it wisely, and the devastating consequences of losing out human values and connections in the process.

That's not a bad theme to find within Parsifal's deeply felt meditation on the human condition, but without having to overstate the case, Act I initially just shows the Knights of the Grail monitoring the approaches to Montsalvat on CCTV cameras. Living isolated from the rest of the world in their retreat, the esquires reaction to Kundry shows no sense of true human understanding for her suffering or condition despite Gurnemanz's guidance. They are going to need someone with a deeper experience and understanding of what it means to be truly human, protect the Grail (a symbol of our humanity?) and thereby save the world from the dangers it faces. Their king Amfortas isn't able to continue to offer the sustenance that faith in the power of the Grail alone offers them. To do that they need a pure fool, someone who is a clean slate who can start to rebuild and redeem a society that has lost its way. That, of course, is Parsifal.

That's a very much encapsulated summary of the subject and theme of Parsifal, but necessarily so since the themes are developed much more meaningfully in the music than in the narrative, although obviously the libretto has considerable wisdom to impart on the journey to enlightenment and redemption. If that is indeed the purpose of the journey, and it seems to be the path taken in Evgeny Titov's production, at least up until the final moments of Act III. But leaving that aside for the moment, there was much to admire in this spellbinding and often breathtaking account of this new production at Covent Garden.

There were no major departures from characterisation and intent in Act I. The overture seemed a little too stop/start, but the pacing and moment of reflective pauses soon fed into the flow of Act I. That was matched by the set designs of Etienne Pluss, the stone pillars of the underground bunker slowly shifting with you scarcely being aware of it, not so much to reflect different parts of the castle as much as placing you within that mystical place where the music magically converts Time into Space. Taking the lead in this act, Brindley Sherratt was excellent as Gurnemanz, showing no sign of being his unwell until it caught up with him in Act III; Christian Gerhaher was a shuffling, bent over in agony Amfortas, his typically clear and resonant singing seeming to come from that painful place. Under the musical direction of Jakub Hrůša, it was simply a magnificent account in that flow and gradual build towards the unveiling of the Grail. In that long first Act, every moment counts and Hrůša let the music run its natural course.

The length of the first Act is necessary as it is also instructive - a consideration that applies to the opera as a whole - in how knowledge and enlightenment cannot be gained swiftly. Parsifal has experienced a revelation in Act I but is unable to understand what he has witnessed. There are no shortcuts to wisdom, and over-reliance on technology to gain it excludes and misses out on the processes of human development and progression, the accumulation of experience, of making mistakes and establishing connections, of receiving wisdom and learning, and its application to human existence and experience. The opera itself is testament that true art has a part to play in that.

It's something that Klingsor, in his striving to make himself pure, takes extreme measures - shortcuts (a physical cut in his case) that have ended up embittering and twisting his humanity. His striving to be pure is based here on an array of screens where the technology has semi-animated classic paintings and bible illustrations - one of which evidently is that of Adam tempted by Eve into biting into the apple from the Tree of Knowledge (one of the central religious themes woven into the work). His ability to bring life to these moments through technology is impressive, but it is no substitute or quick shortcut to understanding the deeper message within them.

Consequently Klingsor makes much more of an impression than usual in Act II. Perhaps the nature of the role is more often misunderstood or  misinterpreted so that - in my experience - it doesn't make as much of an impression as he perhaps should in this critical pivotal centre of the opera. Here however, in no small part down to an outstanding performance from Mark Stone, there is a more compassionate interpretation of Klingsor here. His initial good intentions and ideals have become twisted through his loss of humanity (represented physically in the reference to his auto-castration) and his flower maidens. Initially introduced as more innocent young children, they have grown up to become nothing more than automatons, their idea of love destructive rather than healing. Ekaterina Gubanova's Kundry also comes truly into force in this Act, as does Stanislas de Barbeyrac's Parsifal in his capturing the shock of enlightenment or at least of a direction found.

There is however still something missing in de Barbeyrac's earnest interpretation of Parsifal. It's true at this point that Parsifal has achieved understanding but is as yet unable to find a way of putting this to a meaningful purpose. That purpose, as suggested in this production, is to destroy the old ways - the Realm of the Grail and Klingor's both - to abandon the old rites and rituals, the world of men, technology and their order, and discover through love and compassion a way that the world can be healed and become a better place. Contrary to many interpretations of Parsifal that see the work as having a problem with women, or seeing women as a problem that prevents man from achieving a higher ideal, it's Kundry and a recognition of his mother's love that is the key to his transformation and his path to bring redemption to the world.

That is all beautifully enacted again in Act III within the shifting space of the realm of the Grail, now a shadow of its former self, which wasn't in great condition when Parsifal first arrived there, the remaining knights now tired shuffling figures worn out by their endeavours and failures. Sherratt’s struggle with a cold (announced before the start of the final Act) was starting to have an impact here. If you were inclined to be generous you could say it fitted with the declining conditions in Montsalvat, but no excuses were needed, as it was still a strong and authoritative performance. With everything musically and thematically in place, managing indeed to allow Wagner's masterwork to assert its own inner power, the production unforgivably falters in its final moments, playing out in a comic fashion with Amfortas becoming impatient with Parsifal's solemn orations and urgently pointing him in the direction of the wound in his side as if to say, get on with it, while Parsifal has to have a couple of goes before he gets there. It's almost as if they felt that it has all been too grave and solemn, and there is a need to lighten the mood a little. I can't imagine a more wrong headed idea, and I have seen some extreme turnarounds at the end of other productions Parsifal.

Perhaps not entirely convinced of Parsifal's role and Act III seeming to reduce Kundry to a background figure (it really doesn't), the director follows this misplaced moment by ending on a note of ambiguity rather than quiet triumphal release, having Parsifal clamber underneath the bier holding Titurel and Amfortas, now released from eternal pain in death. It's almost as if to say that if there is a need to wipe the slate clean and start again, Parsifal also needs to remove himself having fulfilled his role and purpose. Or alternatively, exhausted, overwhelmed by his long journey, he now in his enlightened state has to live with the knowledge of what has been wrought and the unknown that will take its place. What replaces it might not be ushering in of a brand new world of love, peace and redemption. It's perhaps not the end you would like to see for Parsifal, but it's right to end on an ambiguous note that invites you to think for yourself rather than falsely providing answers. We could have done without the comedy routine though.

External links: Royal Opera House
Production Photographs © Marc Brenner

Stockhausen - Mittwoch aus Licht (Berlin, 2026)

Karlheinz Stockhausen - Mittwoch aus Licht

Deutsche Oper, 2026

Musical Director: Maxime Pascal 
Concept: Susanne Kennedy, Markus Selg
Stage Direction: Susanne Kennedy 
Set Design: Markus Selg

WORLD PARLIAMENT / WELT-PARLAMENT: Chorus Chor der Deutschen Oper Berlin, President (singing conductor) Jeremy Bines, Deputy President (Coloratura Soprano) Rachel Pinevska, The Caretaker Jörg Schörner

ORCHESTRA FINALISTS / ORCHESTER-FINALISTEN: Orchestra Ensemble Le Balcon, Ye Chang Jung (Oboe), Clotilde Lacroix (Cello), Ghislain Roffat (Clarinet), Julien Abbes (Bassoon), Michelle Ross (Violin), Maxime Morel (Tuba), Charlotte Bletton (Flute), Mathieu Adam (Trombone), Grégoire Simon (Viola), Henri Deléger (Trumpet), Kévin Garçon (Double Bass), Joël Lasry (Horn), Dominic Santia (Percussion)

HELICOPTER STRING QUARTET / HELIKOPTER-STREICHQUARTETT: String Quartet Streichquartett des Orchesters der Deutschen Oper Berlin, Anna Matz (Violin I), Monia Rizkallah (Violin II), Kirsikka de Leval Jezierski (Viola), Arne-Christian Pelz (Cello)

MICHAELION: Chorus Ensemble Le Balcon, Robin Adams (Bass), Julie Brunet-Jailly (Flute), Mélanie Haas (Basset Horn), Henri Deléger (Trumpet), Mathieu Adam (Trombone), Alain Muller (Synthesizer)

Deutsche Oper, Berlin - 19th September 2026

Lacking any real compelling narrative drive, Mittwoch aus Licht ('Wednesday from Light') seems in most respects -  apart from one understandably famous section - the least interesting day of Stockhausen's grand Licht cycle of operas. Its purpose in the cycle might not seem obvious but I'm sure in the composer's mind at least it might even be the most essential element in the whole scheme. There is no question however that it has its own distinct qualities - as each of the operas do - moving ever more away from anything resembling a traditional opera structure or performance. It has to be said however that its relative simplicity ('relative' doing a lot of heavy lifting here) works in favour of its message. The essential quality the work strives to get across - or at least challenges the production team strive to match in his unique and creative vision - is to promote a sense of cosmic communion through music; music that lifts you up and, in its most famous scene, literally takes it airborne.

In keeping with the principal theme of the entire seven opera cycle, the communion is that of the work's three main protagonists Michael, Lucifer and Eve who come together in a spirit of reconciliation and alliance. Like all the operas in Licht, it operates on many levels, the idea of a libretto being perhaps the least important; Mittwoch's colour being Yellow, its metal is Mercury, its element is Air and its spiritual centre Art and Harmony. Composed between 1995-1997 and only being premiered on stage in full for the first time in 2012, Mittwoch actually has more of the 'hippy' character of an earlier generation, believing in Peace, Love and Harmony; things that definitely seem to have gone out of fashion in the present day. Accordingly, the production of this final day of the cycle as performed in its entirety by the Le Balcon contemporary music group who, under the direction of Maxime Pascal have now staged the whole Licht cycle over the last decade, tends to go for a much more psychedelic trip in this final installment performed at the Deutsche Oper in Berlin. 

As is traditional with the operas in the Licht cycle, the Gruss or Salute for Wednesday played out in the foyer of the Deutsche Oper 45-minutes before the start of the actual performance. It immediately invited a relaxed trance-like state to set up the mood for the evening, with synthesisers beaming electronic sounds that echoed around multiple speakers, the music floating around the assembled early arrivals in surround sound. The drones and bleeps continued inside the hall blending with the sounds of doves and other avian-like heavenly choral or cosmic sounds.

Appropriately then, we found ourselves rising high above the clouds in Scene 1 for the assembly of the World Parliament, the view from a tower showing vast deserts. A chorus of robed men lined up to the left, a chorus of robed women to the right while others moved into position in slow movements centre-stage to perform ceremonial actions. The President of the World Parliament set the agenda for proceedings, inviting the assembled to sing the praise of love in a debate to celebrate Wednesday from Light, promoting equality for women and praise for helicopter pilots. Like much of Licht, the ritualistic ceremonial character of the proceedings is made up of precisely defined gestures and sounds in addition to the vocal proclamations. And - trying to lighten the mood in his own peculiar way - there are a few self-referential remarks and some bad jokes in there. Here following an interruption to announce that a car is about to be towed away, the President ceases conducting the chorus and runs out of the room, leaving Coloratura Eve to be pronounced substitute president. All of this plays out in front of a background of colourful kaleidoscope of AI generated graphics 

The sense of hippy, psychedelic tripping is even more evident in Scene 2: Orchestra Finalists. On stage drama and movement is limited as each of the musicians take centre stage with corresponding images reflecting their character. We get everything from an airport runway in the sea, with trains rushing by, the image swirling, melting, dissolving, deforming and reforming. The composer's description for the scene imagines the musician floating, flying back and forth, but there was no attempt to do this in the production, which has more than enough going on with the projections and transitions. As the musicians play their instruments solo before bringing in the others, we see a goat appear atop the structure, swarms of birds turn into children with wings and really little that is conventional or comprehensible other than getting across the idea of flight. It's all encompassing, taking the whole world under its wings (literally).

Not unexpectedly, as it is the most famous part of Mittwoch, Scene 3: Helicopter String Quartet proves to be the highlight of the evening and the maddest thing I've see in opera since, oh, probably since last night with Reimann's Lear in an aircraft hangar, or at least since Le Balcon’s production of Montag aus Licht in Paris last November. Recorded a few weeks previously at an air field in Berlin, it was still utterly exhilarating to hear the flying string quartet broadcast in the theatre as part of Mittwoch and as part of the momentous endeavour that is the whole Licht cycle. Emphasising air, flight and communication and collaboration, it involves a string quartet playing the highly rhythmic 25-minute piece along with the rotation of the helicopter blades as they ascend in separate helicopters that combine to thrilling effect. It must be the most extraordinary idea the composer had had up to that point and goodness knows he had plenty of original ideas for his music. In the theatre, in surround sound, the production did its best to make you feel up in the air with the musicians, but the rising and falling rhythms achieved that on its own. It still feels like something otherworldly in musical terms, and the audience were clearly thrilled by the ride.

If there wasn't actually a plot in Mittwoch, you would think Stockhausen has lost it by Scene 4; Michaelion, or had lost what remained of his sanity. Once again, he matches comedy with absurdity and self-referentiality without it ever quite achieving profundity in the message that the opera is aiming to reach. The scene is set around the election of a new President after the previous one absconded towards the end of Scene 1. There is a lot of competition, but also collaboration between the many star systems of the cosmos, as they strive towards a common agreement over whose candidate is best placed for the job. It seems like Cacacamel (described as Lucicamel in the composer's outline of the opera) is successfully elected based on his merits of being able to poop out coloured spheres that are treated like religious artifacts. He brings order to the universe by his translation of the secret messages broadcast on Short Wave radio. All this nonsense is played out against a background of more psychedelic flashing and rapidly changing images, The impact is best achieved however by the surround music and singing coming at you from every angle, wrapping you in the warm contentment of not really needing to make any rational sense of it.

And that's it. At the first performance of this production in Berlin, Le Balcon have now completed what is surely one of the greatest challenges and achievements in all of opera by staging the entirety of Stockhausen's Licht cycle. I've been to three productions in the theatre (Donnerstag, Montag and now Mittwoch), I've watched three on streaming platforms (Samstag, Dienstag, Freitag) and missed Sonntag, but I hope I might get to see that and complete the picture as they have all been filmed. It's an incredible achievement, and the scale of the challenge is all the more remarkable if you've even seen just one of Stockhausen's 'scores' and stage directions. One or two ignoramuses at the back of the hall booed loudly at the end. Imagine how sad your life must be to get a kick out of sitting through four-and-a-half hours of an experimental opera, even coming back after two intervals, just to bray like an imbecile at the production team at the end. No notice was taken, the applause from the rest of the full house was rapturous.

I must admit that Mittwoch is not my favourite of the cycle in terms of content, but I also thought that the production under the direction of Susanne Kennedy - Helicopter String Quartet aside - was unimaginative, too tied to ritualistic processional movements and gestures and it relied too heavily on AI generated graphics. As I noted above though, the challenge of staging a work like this and 'translating' Stockhausen’s stage directions shouldn't be underestimated, and he doesn't make it easy for the production team in this one with its absurd humour and no real plot to speak of. Musically however, Le Balcon ensemble, the musicians and the choruses were astonishing, and the opportunity to hear Stockhausen’s work so authoritatively presented is a marvel and, as intended, a true gift to mankind.

External links: Deutsche Oper Berlin, Le Balcon

Reimann - Lear (Berlin, 2026)

Aribert Reimann - Lear

Komische Oper Berlin, 2026

Nicholas Carter, Bar­rie Kos­ky, Scott Hendricks, Di­mi­try Iva­shchen­ko, Phi­lipp Mei­er­hö­fer, Jo­han­nes Dunz, Ivan Tur­šić, Gün­ter Pa­pen­dell, Ar­yeh Nuss­baum­ Co­hen, Brenton Ryan, Ro­sie Al­dri­dge, Ni­cole Che­va­lier, Pen­ny So­fro­nia­dou, Dag­mar Man­zel, Simon Wallfisch

Flughafen Templehof, Hangar 4 - 18th September 2026

Where else but in Germany and Berlin would you get to see two operas of such great extremes from one night to the next? This week at the Komische Oper you can see the full horror of madness, violence and the destruction of any basic human values in Aribert Reimann's Lear one night and the next evening at the Deutsche Oper experience the delirious eccentricities of Stockhausen's Mittwoch aus Licht that includes a flying Helicopter String Quartet and makes the case for music uniting the cosmos in peace, love and understanding. I think this is what you would call #Operamaxxing if opera ever were to become a modern trend, which is highly unlikely. Anyway I think Wagner did it 150 years ago, long before social media, when he created the Bayreuth Festival.

A new production of Aribert Reimann’s opera adaptation of Shakespeare's 'King Lear' in Berlin was always going to be an exceptional event but you couldn't help having a few minor misgivings in advance about some of the choices made for the staging. Those would definitely be minor misgivings though as, no matter what, Lear is one of the greatest operas ever written, or at least based on one of the greatest plays ever written and certainly one of the greatest adaptations of Shakespeare in opera. I'm prepared to stand over that first statement about it being one of the greatest operas ever written though, certainly based on how it eventually played out here in Barrie Kosky's new production for the Komische Oper. This turned out to be one of the most remarkable events I have ever experienced.

There was however initially just a flicker of doubt beforehand about whether Scott Hendricks would be able to carry off a major role like this. Hendricks has been variable in my experience: I don't think he is suited for the specific requirements and challenges of a Verdi or a Puccini baritone, but I have seen him give an exceptional performances in Prokofiev's The Fiery Angel, and more recently as Alberich in the Das Rheingold of Romeo Castellucci's aborted Ring Cycle at La Monnaie in Brussels. His committed performance there suggested that he could certainly give Reimann a go, even if you couldn't quite envision how it would pan out since Reimann really is a challenge on a whole other level. 

The other minor concern - or maybe rather call it an unknown - was the choice of the Komische Oper to stage the work in Hangar 4 of the now disused Templehof airport. Certainly the first of impression entering the venue was that it was going to be hard to fill that vast stage. Not so much a concern with the music filling the cavernous hall, it being more of a necessity as Lear has an orchestral volume level that few can match, not least with a whole battery of drummers and percussionists at the opposite end of the stage from the orchestra. 'Blow wind, blow' was certainly always going to blow you away.

Also not ideal was recognition that the singers would all be wearing microphones to effectively project to the audience in the round but in practice, with the volume this needs to be sung at, you could hear most of the performers acoustically - at least from where I was sitting - and be able to locate their voice directionally. Either that or someone (that would be Holger Schwark) was doing an incredible job on the sound design. One thing I had no concerns about whatsoever, aside from the unquestionable quality of the work itself, was the direction of Barrie Kosky. This I believe was the first time out of his many productions that I have seen where I have actually been present at the live performance. His recent work in particular has been outstanding (Die Frau ohne Schatten) and there a good reason why he was chief director at the Komische for ten years and clearly still has a good relationship with the Berlin opera house.

With Kosky at the helm, any minor misgivings soon came to nothing once the performance, the drama, the music and the extraordinary stage production pulled you in for a two hour and twenty minutes performance with no interval and no respite. And it didn't take long to reach a point of total immersion in the drama partly because Shakespeare's introduction of the characters is so immediate and partly since Reimann's focussed concentration of the work retains the full essence of the power of that opening scene between Lear and his three daughters (and across the whole opera, it has to be said) in as full an adherence to Shakespeare's words in intent and translation as it's possible to achieve. Scott Hendricks rose to the challenges, impressing immediately, his interpretation superb and committed. He was helped somewhat by the fact that the role is mostly Sprechtgesang, but that's not to say that it doesn't still have considerable challenges.

Considerable challenges for everyone, in fact. It soon became obvious to me - although having seen and reviewed two different previous productions of the work (Munich, 2021 and Hamburg, 2014) I already knew this - that Reimann's vocal writing for this work is one of the most impressive in all opera. Bel canto it is not, Wagnerian not so much either, but perhaps the difference is that it's one where the voice is used to its fullest expression across every single role, across every single note in the opera. Every voice approaches a controlled scream, as if on the edge of hysteria and madness, but it's also completely musical within the range that the composer pitches it. The orchestra is similarly charged and pitched, expressive but filling in all those nuances that might otherwise be lost in the condensing of the work, instead only making it even more dark and disturbing.

Dark and disturbing. I wish I had the ability or space to analyse just what Shakespeare achieves here in 'King Lear', but it's not really pertinent to the opera. In opera performance - modernised here only in so far as contemporary formal costumes and suits for businessmen/royalty and modern combat gear and guns for the troops - it's about how much the work can connect to the world we see around us, a work that speaks of the kind of people in power where madmen lead the blind. It's all there in Shakespeare and a director has all they need there without having to add a great deal more. Reimann himself had experience of a madman leading the blind. It's said that the thunderous noise that the percussionists and orchestra make during the 'Blow wind, blow' storm scene that sounds like the end of the world was inspired by the composer's memory of the air raid bombing and destruction of Berlin at the end of the war. It really does sound like it.

Barrie Kosky doesn't have the luxury of a lot of props and sets in this venue where the performance is essentially in the round, but he has a stage, he has brilliant singers and, as if they don't have enough to contend with, he makes sure they cover every inch of the vast platform with constant movement. Brenton Ryan as Edmund relishes the wide space, casting his arrogantly evil 'who's-going-to-take-me-on’ challenge to the audience as he strides from end to end, from corner to corner, but the same applies to everyone in the cast. It's not just choreography to make sure that they reach everyone in the round - which is essential nonetheless - but it applies to the pace of the opera, to the intensity of their mad designs and their headlong rush into self-destruction.

Minimalist through necessity, this was not however anything like a static performance, and if the venue ensured that this couldn't be a traditional proscenium arch, park-and-bark opera performance, it's all the better for it. A raised platform sweeping across the stage is well used for declamation, for running lengths, for Lear's men to gather around and carouse. Blocks of tiles are lifted from the stage to create holes, pits and graves, there is superb use of spot lighting, smoke fills the stage at the scene of utter madness - madder than any mad scene in bel canto - and there are thunderous thuds of the boots of troops piling onto the stage as the whole play and opera collapses under the weight of its characters violent excesses, or under Reimann's merciless score maybe. It's an incredible performance of an incredible work of opera, viscerally experienced in an overpowering account conducted by Nicholas Carter in this unusual but suitable venue.

I'm not sure there is any value in enumerating and listing the qualities of each of the performers individually. Every one of them, without exception, gave an impressive performance. Goneril (Ro­sie Al­dri­dge), Regan (Ni­cole Che­va­lier, who has also sung Reimann's Medea at the Komische) and Cordelia (Pen­ny So­fro­nia­dou) are a formidable trio as Lear's daughters, a force unlike any other in opera. Scott Hendricks was authoritative as their father, unquestionably putting in the best performance I've ever seen from him, this opera (and Kosky's direction I would say) undoubtedly bringing the best out of him. 

Since I've started then, the other family trio of Gloucester, Edgar and Edmund are less elaborated upon than in Shakespeare, but this subplot remains an important element that spawns even greater acts of atrocity. All the performances were notable for making this count, with Gün­ter Pa­pen­dell as Gloucester; the extraordinary Ar­yeh Nuss­baum­ Co­hen's Edgar challenging the patriarchal order in his queered transformation as Poor Tom; and Brenton Ryan as Edmund bringing full dramatic force that pushes the work to greater levels of horror and inhumanity, resulting in Regan chewing and spitting out Gloucester's eyeball. Chevalier's Regan was already showing twitchy signs of madness in first scene, and it's clear that power only intensifies it, which is indeed part of the premise of the play. Maybe not chewing eyeballs, but we have all heard of similar abuses and worse atrocities taking place in the modern world. This Lear offers us no comfortable assurances - and I can't say Stockhausen's vision of the communion of those opposing forces of good and evil made a convincing counter-argument the following evening in Berlin.

External links: Komische Oper

Wilson - Necromancer (Farpoint CD, 2026)

Ian Wilson - Necromancer

Farpoint Recordings, 2026

Dario Calderone, Lina Andonovska, Cathal Roche, Alex Petcu

CD and Digital Download

As I mentioned in my review of a recent performance of a new composition Adam's Rib, the voice has been an intriguing and multifaceted variable in several of Ian Wilson's recent works, most obviously in Lost Voices but also even in the 'lost voice' of Orpheus in Orpheus Down. What is interesting about Ian Wilson's 'voice' in the music of Necromancer is that it operates on different levels that reveal and illuminate different aspects of what might otherwise be a challenging work. Even the instruments and the musicians chosen to play the piece all bring a unique voice that determines the narrative drive, colouring the imagery and the inspiration behind it.

As a Belfast born composer, or indeed as anyone born in Northern Ireland who has lived through the height of Troubles, how you process that unquestionably formative experience is different for everyone. For many it's something that you can only acknowledge much later in life - the Troubles having ended over 30 years ago (supposedly) - and often it seems from a safer more distanced perspective. In my case I’ve found some of the most powerful reflections on those times not dating from the period, but from a reflective view written many years after the events by creative new Northern Irish writers of fiction like Anna Burns, Olivia Fitzsimons and Liadan Ní Chuinn, some of whom would have been too young or even yet born to experience the worst days of the Troubles. For Ian Wilson, it is a book of photographs "The memories of others" taken back in the day by Japanese photojournalist Akihiko Okamura that inspired a response, a "musical exorcism" reflecting on these images from the past viewed in the context of memory from the distance of today.

Analysing or providing a critical response to a piece of music from such a personal space can be difficult and probably not instructive. It's clearly a genuine artistic response that combines experience with the ability to express that musically, which is something that is clearly never in doubt when it comes to this composer’s work. The choice of these four remarkable musicians to play it ensures that the work stands on its own terms and its underlying 'narrative' is expressed to its fullness. Each musician and instrument has a significant role to play in not just creating a musical soundtrack for the photographs that inspire each of the pieces or merely echo them, but independent of them they come together to evoke the sensibility, a mood, a memory that lies behind the images, even contributing some controlled improvisation to the notated score, essential to the unpredictable explosive nature of the subject.

Percussionist Alex Petcu you would imagine plays an important role in that, and it's not just for clattering sounds of marching bands, burning bonfires or rioting mobs. There is a delicacy to the opening prelude (Still life with milk bottles), the familiar (to those of us of a certain age) tinkle of milk bottles on a doorstep that nonetheless carries the ominous edge that they may well be used later for Molotov cocktails. There is a narrative line then in the subsequent pieces, not strictly linear, but expanding to carry subtle hints at deeper motivations, sentiments and context. That is achieved precisely through the use of instruments, the subsequent percussive explosion of Bonfire settling into an urgent stirring of emotions in the double bass of Dario Calderone; the breathiness of Lina Andonovska's contrabass flute and Cathal Roche's bass clarinet could be wind blowing on the embers or they could allude to the human element and emotive impact blending with the sparks and crackling.

It is incredible that there is so much expressed in that short piece alone, but it also has its own qualities as a striking piece of music. The whistle of flight and crash of those Milk bottle molotovs in the subsequent section is a little more musically descriptive but again, it has a rich blend of musical elements, space and silence to allow the listener to consider the impact of the destruction they caused to people and the vehicles and homes they were usually aimed at. (Although I am too young to remember the specific event, I do remember the terror of those days when we once had a petrol filled milk bottle thrown into our backyard back at the start of the Troubles in 1969. Fortunately it failed to ignite). An Interlude reflecting on those put out of her homes gives you room to consider a worse eventuality. Again, having been pulled out of a bombed building on another occasion (virtually unscathed), it's something that I can personally relate to.

I have to admit that even on a first listen, I found that I didn't need the titles to follow the sequence, the music independently telling their own story divorced from the images that inspired them (I have a copy of the photos inspired the music, but they aren't reproduced in the CD edition for copyright reasons), and my reflections took on their own direction inspired by the music. That is surely an equally valid response, as is just simply letting the music speak to you in whatever way feels right, but there is little doubt that it is intrinsically tied up with the settings suggested by the images and it's immensely rewarding to try to connect with them, but even the titles of the pieces tell you everything you need to know.

Mopping up the Blood, for example, sounds like it could be harrowing - and indeed there is what sounds like a frenzied panic of rubbed strings, hyperventilated breathing on the wind instruments and the percussive echo of the impact of an explosion still ringing in the ears at start of the piece but it is actually develops into a deep, reflective and sorrowful piece. The ever varying nature of the experience and the response to it continues after another Interlude to two richly musical pieces that are lighter and easy to engage and identify with. Street Altar and Children with bunting and police landrover both again have that layered quality, children from both sides of the community making the most of play from found materials in rundown working class streets where scenes of atrocities have taken place. The innocence of the situations - the music not suggesting any sense of irony in the juxtaposition - reflect an outlook oblivious to any notion that there is anything unusual here or that the world could be any different. That is a vital part of the 'story' here.

Necromancer is undoubtedly a piece that you may find you have a closer connection with if you have lived in the place and times that inspired it. Even if you have not experienced the Northern Ireland Troubles however, the musical qualities of Ian Wilson’s compositions and the intense but sensitive playing of the musicians have a character and a flow that takes the listener on a journey that has deeper resonances. Necromancer reawakens the dead not only to have them speak of the past as a form of exorcism, but as the Epilogue reminds us, while also taking into account the high human cost in a world were there is still no shortage of war and conflict, peace is the only effective way of exorcising those demons.

WORLD PREMIERE RECORDING

Necromancer (2025) for double bass, flute(s), clarinet(s), and percussion
Created with funds from the Arts Council of Ireland
Music composed by Ian Wilson and published by United Music Publishing Ltd. (UMP)
Performed by double bassist Dario Calderone, flautist Lina Andonovska, 
clarinettist Cathal Roche and percussionist Alex Petcu

Recorded at The Meadow, Delgany, County Wicklow on 11th October 2025
Recorded, edited and mixed by David Stalling
Produced by Ian Wilson and David Stalling
Images: Justine Cooper

Design: Doreen Kennedy

Digital release co-ordinated by Anthony Kelly and David Stalling

External links: Necromancer, Akihiko Okamura

Strauss - Ariadne auf Naxos (Salzburg, 2026)

Richard Strauss - Ariadne auf Naxos

Salzburger Festspiele, 2026

Manfred Honeck, Ersan Mondtag, Kate Lindsey, Christina Nilsson, Eric Cutler, Ziyi Dai, Johannes Silberschneider, Christoph Pohl, Jonas Hacker, Blaž Stajnko, Fabian-Jakob Balkhausen, Leon Košavić, Michael Porter, Lukas Enoch Lemcke, Theodore Browne, Jasmin Delfs, Anja Mittermüller, Marlene Metzger, Fabio Dorizzi

3SAT broadcast - 15th August 2026

Almost 100 years to the day that this revised version of the Ariadne auf Naxos, was the first Richard Strauss opera performed at the Salzburg Festival, the festival itself co-founded by the composer who conducted the performance on 21st August 1926. If there is a case of history repeating itself at the festival after 100 years, you could also see some parallels between in the state of the world and the direction it is headed now, and the great changes happening in Vienna in the same period of the 20th century. That is certainly something that the current Salzburg production directed by Ersan Mondtag sets out to remind us ...in his own particular way, of course.

The thing you have to remember about Ariadne auf Naxos is that it is a comic opera (partly) and a satire on the arts and commerce (partly), on the preciousness of the artistic genius and the challenges they face in bringing their creation into the world, but it's also about the value of art and culture, how it reaches out and touches people. It's also much more than that thanks to the genius of Hofmannsthal and Strauss (and considerable rethinking about the work along the way after its initial first version failure as an accompaniment to Molière's comédie-ballet Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme), so it shouldn't come as any surprise when a contemporary director attempts to put their own spin on the uneasy relationship between art and commerce, particularly when it is being performed in Salzburg for a predominantly wealthy audience.

I'm not sure any of them could afford to build a mansion on Mars, but there might be a few who already have their names down for the first commercial flights to the planet when SpaceX have those operational in a few years' time. Elon Musk, the world's first trillionaire, could certainly afford it and you would have to think he is just the kind of person lampooned in the prologue of the opera as 'The Richest Man in Vienna' (it couldn’t be anyone else) - the kind of person with enough money to sway and distort cultural work to suit his own agenda or dinner party. But the work is also an observation on how the artist can thrive when confronted with adversity (something the creators here knew all about in the genesis of this opera), how they even need challenges to prevent art from navel gazing pretension. It must simply find a way to communicate and touch an audience.

Ersan Mondtag is not known for satire or political commentary in his stage productions, instead just making them as colourful and surreally grotesque as possible. It's his vision of opera and it has to be said that it always looks stunning. As a one-act opera the set design succeeds in both parts of the opera, the Prologue well-handled with few of the director's usual eccentricities, but it has Kate Lindsay at the centre as the Composer and she is not going to be overshadowed. The combines opera seria/opera buffa is where all the stops are pulled out, a visual fantasy feast with an elaborate set, models of monstrous beasts, Eco floating up into the heavens and all the usual characters in body suits and extravagant costumes, all in an explosion of colour and whirling dancers.

The dancers are used mainly to visually represent Ariadne's desolation, in the process bringing rather more movement to this part of the opera than you would traditionally see and avoiding (although for the sake of satire, I'm not sure it should be avoided) any static operatic delivery. Indeed rather than contrast the two very different opera styles, Mondtag shows their unity as art and their relationship to the artist, Zerbinetta singing her advice on affairs of the heart to the lonely Composer rather than Ariadne (taking advantage of the fact that the Composer is a trouser role). It's a celebration of art as life, not pure and noble but one that comes from living, loving and feeling pain, needing the experience of genuine human feelings in order to be a greater artist. Aridane's redemption would not otherwise be as moving as it is in this opera.

Elina Garanča was meant to play the role of Ariadne but withdrew as she didn't feel prepared for the role. Christina Nilsson stepping in does wonderfully, but perhaps due to the directorial choices comes over a little on the cool side. Ziyi Dai is a warm-hearted and mature Zerbinetta, superb in the role (I believe Mondtag wished to turn things around and bring out the serious side of Zerbinetta and the comic side of Ariadne, although I don't think this comes across entirely). Eric Cutler sounded a little stretched in places but was suitably human and heroic as Bacchus. And how good is Kate Lindsey? The role of the composer is one she has sung before of course, most notably in the fine Glyndebourne production, but she just seems to find greater depth and power in her vocal expressiveness every time I hear her (most recently in Maria Stuarda at Salzburg last year). There may have been a little over-acting.

Some (many?) may think setting Ariadne auf Naxos on Mars is taking it a little too far (literally), but it's unimportant really and no more fantastical than Naxos being an enchanted island of mythology. No different either from Glyndebourne setting the opera in Glyndebourne, or Claus Guth setting it in the Kronenhalle restaurant in Zurich. It's a satirical work that can often be site specific in order to speak directly to the local audience. What matters is whether the opera makes its points and whether it succeeds in touching on the beauty of the human sentiments at the heart of it as well as entertaining, both playing out simultaneously. It's about finding what is needed in the remains of the present to look to and believe in a future. Will art save us? Perhaps not, but there is some comfort to be found that all the troubles and suffering ("Lass meine Schmerzen nicht verloren sein") resulted in the creation of this beautiful unique creation.

Perhaps not totally unique, as Strauss was drawing heavily from Mozart for his latest creations, and we already had Donizetti's brilliant satire of the theatre and opera seria in Le convenienze ed inconvenienze teatrali. All showing that the more things change, the more they stay the same. Undoubtedly they will remain the same in Elon's mansion on Mars in our new era of decadence to rival the decadence at the turn of 20th century Vienna and Mondtag, it has to be said, is good at doing decadence in his productions. Even on Mars however, Strauss and Hofmannsthal's work endures as "die heilige unter den Künsten", Manfred Honeck conducting the Vienna Philharmonic with delicacy right through to that searingly beautiful ending; the wealthy patrons of the festival got the spectacle for their money, and those who loathe modern productions got plenty to moan about. Something for everyone then, even if overall I personally found life on Mars a little on the cold side.

External links: Salzburg Festspiele

Bizet - Carmen (Salzburg, 2026)

Georges Bizet - Carmen

Salzburger Festspiele, 2026

Teodor Currentzis, Gabriela Carrizo, Asmik Grigorian, Jonathan Tetelman, Kristina Mkhitaryan, Davide Luciano, Iveta Simonyan, Anita Monserrat, Matthias Winckhler, Liviu Holender, Michael Arivony, Mingjie Lei

ARTE Concert - 8th August 2026 

If Carmen can't speak of the world around you today, what is the point of it? That must be the challenge for any director, opera house or festival choosing to present it on the modern stage. Much as some might like to live in the past, there is no room surely for the glamorising of violence and bloodshed, for the murder of gypsy girls, for valiant toreadors or any of the stock cliches that present the work as nothing more than an operatic entertainment. Carmen can be and should be more than this. Any opera worth its salt should be able to continue to resonate and tell us something about love, life, death and humanity. Salzburg, it has to be said, go out on a limb by handing it over to first time opera director and dance choreographer Gabriela Carrizo (Peeping Tom), but there is no question that it results in a viscerally striking and visually arresting account with not even the suggestion of any old-fashioned operatic mannerisms. There is still life, love and humanity in Carmen, and plenty of death too of course.

While the familiar strains of the overture and first scene of this production of Carmen are playing however, instead of humming along and tapping your foot, you're more likely to be focussed on identifying where this adaptation of the opera is taking place. The uniforms of the officers are fairly generic, the landscape is one of smooth rises of angular grey stone, the setting dark, very dark. We are far from the colour and sun of Andalucía. One thing that is clear is that it's a brutal world, for women particularly, so we are at least on familiar ground there. The first scene shows two men dumping a body over the edge of the hill, the next, beating up a vagabond thief in their midst. One of the guards teaches a young boy to use his gun and have some fun shooting his school friends.

The other thing you might note as characteristic of the setting is that they no longer appear to have soap or detergents. Everyone is covered in grime and dust, the uniforms filthy, the children are all grubby and unwashed. Sadly, it looks like they might have recently been putting out wildfires that have devastated the Andalusian landscape in these months; that sunset glow when the workers are leaving the factory might also be the approach of the continuing fires. I'm not sure Carmen is the place for eco awareness and climate change warnings - and that doesn't turn out to be the theme of this production - but at least it isn't mired in the usual cliches. Well, not the usual colourful seductive Carmen scene-setting ones anyway, which I suppose is what is really being avoided here.

Not that 'post-apocalypse' is any more original at the moment, but the aim of this one doesn't appear to be concerned with alerting us to climate change devastation, more 'post morality' maybe, which is certainly another worrying direction humanity seems to be heading in. The people here seem to be living on the edge of a volcano or one where another outbreak of smouldering ash could reignite at any moment. You could certainly apply that description to Bizet's music anyway, and Teodor Currentzis doesn't hold back from the full-on dynamic of the score here at Salzburg, stripping it of any romanticised account of gypsy melodies. This Carmen is loud, fast, aggressive and muscularly masculine, any notion of tenderness is quickly quashed. An almost frenzied seguidilla had some of the well-heeled Salzburg audience audibly booing. I'm guessing this isn't a world they recognise, or are well protected from it. Get over yourselves.

(An aside. Seriously, anyone who boos during an opera performance should be ejected from the theatre for loud disruptive behaviour and spoiling the enjoyment for others more appreciative of the efforts of the creative team. There is no excuse for it in an age where you can spill out your rage on social media now anyway. You wouldn't get away with this at any other theatrical performance or artistic presentation. Would they stand in front of a painting in an art gallery and boo an artist they didn't like? Open a book and boo out loud if wasn't to their liking? It's the height of boorish behaviour and completely unproductive. What specifically did you not like? (Boo!). Did you not like the singing (Boo!). Was there something about the production you found offensive or just not to your particular taste? (Boo!). Did you feel that the orchestration or the stage directions did not confirm sufficiently to the creators' intentions and are you protesting on their behalf? (Boo!). Hmmm. Since we don't seem to be able to clarify your objections from you monosyllabic grunting perhaps we can assume that the problem here is that you feel your fragile masculinity feels threatened by the representation of a strong woman on the stage).

We don't expect it from Carmen, but even Micaëla’s message from Don José’s sweet mother appears to be a mere fantasy or dream, presaged by harsh electronic drone sounds inserted between the scenes. Extemporised scenes and electronic sounds are not the only changes or additions; there are harsh ringing alarm bell sounds, castanets but even flamenco singing interludes that don't conform to the traditional image we have of Carmen. Every effort in fact is made to move away from the idealised romanticised depiction presented in Bizet's opera and in the music. I'm not sure that it even wants to solely focus on the now commonplace reinterpretation of Carmen as a condemnation of violence against women and femicide: or at least a balance is struck between that and Don José yielding to temptation, to his own violent nature in conflict with the dangerous attraction of the wild side of Carmen where he will throw away his dwindling sense of morality and join in the bacchanal at the end of the world, a world of toxic 'anti-woke' masculinity. And custard pie throwing. A cue for more booing there surely?

Inevitably, the third and fourth acts move even further in a dark direction, as Carmen’s ultimate fate - if it wasn’t already preordained - is announced here not in the cards or the hand of fate but by far more ominous imagery and movement. And sounds, echoed voices, rumbles, drones. It's not a gypsy camp that Micaëla wanders onto, but something truly out of a nightmare; a dark, deepest dark and truly savage place. The contrast of the defenceless young woman and a naked mother just heightens the nature of the masculine world that women venture into: a place where innocence dies. This is something that if you are present in the theatre you must surely feel viscerally, as Currentzis and Kristina Mkhitaryan bring out the gentleness in her soul in contrast to the ugliness of the world around them.

There is definitely something to be said for fresh interpretations, more so here for Asmik Grigorian singing the role of Carmen as a full rich soprano. While you can argue over whether Currentzis going overboard on aggressiveness and volume is suitable or not, Carmen benefits from the intensity of the human expression in the music and the voice. There is a mighty performance here from Jonathan Tetelman as Don José, and Grigorian an outstanding Carmen, both fully invested in their characters, the depth of feeling obvious, as it should be in this most violently passionate of love affairs. Humanising it all is essential, and the production tries to support this, eliminating the glamour, seeking to create or establish an atmosphere more grounded in realism through sound, and the dislocated movements of the Peeping Tom dancers, all of which contribute to heightening this.

By the end I genuinely wondered whether I had missed some of the classic set pieces of the opera and whether new scenes and music weren't added, so radical a shift from the traditional Carmen did this new version feel, but no, I don't think so. Yes, there are some interpolations and reinterpretations, but it is wholly Carmen, re-envisioned for the regression and degeneration we see around us in some many aspects of society today. I don't think the opera was ever meant to carry this kind of extra weight, but we are in different times, the world has changed, and how we view it has changed. In that light, you have to consider that Carmen, the strong independent woman, has played some part in the journey to the small gains that have been made for women today, while this production of the opera shows us the danger of what can happen when those hard won freedoms are allowed to be gradually eroded.

External links: ARTE Concert, Salzburger Festspiele