A major fixture of London's musical calendar, the Lufthansa Baroque Festival this year celebrates its twenty-five year Anniversary with a characteristically varied programme of recitals, concerts and events celebrating all things baroque. Performances of music by Purcell, Eccles and Lawes promise to delight in the coming weeks, but in this anniversary year who but Handel could have provided the focus of the festival's opening concert?
Originally performed in 1733 to an audience of a staggering 3,700 people, Athalia was the composer's first purpose-written oratorio. Both Esther and Deborah – Handel's earliest oratorios – were mere assembly-jobs, refashioned and pieced together from earlier operatic works on motivation more pragmatic than artistic; Athalia, composed at the invitation of Oxford University, was an altogether more important and lucrative prospect. It is here that we see Handel for the first time exploring the dramatic and stylistic possibilities of the new genre. With only five of the oratorio's eighteen arias falling into da capo form, the operatic focus on virtuoso skill is replaced with a new interest in dramatic coherence and pacing, with chorus and solo parts interacting in more integrated fashion. The result is by no means the polished equal of Theodora or Jeptha, but it makes for an interesting study in experimentation – the performance equivalent of a glance (albeit a rather extended one) into a composer's sketch book.
When we learn that the titular Queen Athalia is the daughter of Jezebel it is immediately evident that all cannot end well. The oratorio centres on the conflict between a virtuous god-fearing faction – led by high-priest Joad and his conveniently alliterative wife Josabeth and son Joas – and the pagan Queen Athalia and her advisors, who have abandoned Jehovah in favour of pleasure-loving Baal. It's a plot driven by discussion rather than action, and the result is a little ponderous, especially when rendered by Samuel Humphreys' text which at its poetic heights rises to verse such as: 'He hung the radiant orbs on high/And pour'd the sunbeams through the sky./ The plains with verdant charms array'd,/ And beautify'd with green the glade'.
Musically it was an evening of conflicting extremes: what was good was truly excellent, and what was bad was jarringly so. Chief among the high points was Ivor Bolton's exuberant and stylish conducting, which powered the musical forces through the weaker numbers and showcased the work's drama with well-balanced direction of soloists and chorus. Concerto Koln however proved distinctly heavy-footed, interpreting Bolton's direction with strangely literal emphasis and a lack of elegance. The bizarre set-up of the orchestra itself – with cellos and second violins sandwiched between first violins and violas, and split double basses across the stage – didn't help matters, failing to bring out the many antiphonal exchanges between the violins, and giving unnecessary precedence to the purely harmonic viola section.
Vocally things were rather better, with a line-up of truly first-rate Handel singers. Iestyn Davies as Joad proved himself as silky-toned as ever. He gave a smoothly controlled performance that judged both the mood of the work and the comparatively intimate space of St John's well. His impressive technique made light of the filigree coloratura of 'Gloomy tyrants', and brought a delicate plangency to the lyrical 'Jerusalem, thou shalt no more', its rippling arpeggios a prefiguration of the much-beloved 'Waft her angels' from Jeptha. Sarah Fox as Josabeth grew in tone and command as the evening progressed, and the tighter upper registers of the opening gave way to smoothly rounded clarity, peaking in the slow-burning epic 'Through the land so lovely blooming', a lovely Handelian pastoral set-piece with obbligato recorder duet.
It is a shame that we had no stage actions or dances as specified in the scores. Of course, space is limited in St John's but I have seen semi-staged and even staged performances there in the past. Opera or masque without stage business is a contradiction in terms (but it is not unusual in the concert hall). It is also a pity that the cast list was different from what appeared to be the reality: why were there no announcements?
It was James Gilchrist however who all but stole the show in the bit-part of Mathan, the oily Uriah Heep-esque advisor to Athalia. With just two arias – a caressing aria of consolation, 'Gentle airs, melodious strains', and a blood-and-thunder vengeance number, 'Hark! His thunders round me roll' – he brought his character to hand-rubbingly ingratiating life, and produced some of the most caressingly smooth legato you'd be likely to find. Fellow Handel veteran Neal Davies was Gilchrist's opposite number as virtuous advisor Abner, a role that showcased his habitual controlled power and not-inconsiderable acting skills.
The semi-staged approach in either opera or oratorio brings with it much potential for awkwardness, as performers must judge the precise stress of that all important 'semi'. It was a failure to gauge this particular tonal nuance that proved the undoing of Simone Kermes as Athalia. The character is admittedly an awkward one, her histrionics and dramatic extremes recalling Alcina, but with none of the developed musical characterisation that Handel would give that heroine just two years later. In Kermes' hands she was reduced to a cross between a pantomime witch and the Red Queen from Alice In Wonderland – excessive to an eye-rolling, hair-tearing degree. Unfortunately the dramatic extremes of Kermes' acting were by no means matched in her vocal performance, which lacked both control and any sense of line. Her rather extraordinary rhythmic bopping during the dramatic 'My vengeance awakes me' demonstrated her complete understanding of the concept of syncopation – understanding which sadly did not seem to extend to the concepts of phrasing or tone control.
In general I'm not an advocate of the Classic FM bleeding-chunks approach to music performance, but Athalia is a work that might well benefit from this surgical approach if it is to survive in the performing canon. With a handful of truly memorable arias and some colourful orchestral writing it would be a shame to lose it to the archives for another generation, but when diluted over almost three hours such delights seem arguably too heavy a price to pay.
Photos: Ivor Bolton and James Gilchrist
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