Bela Bartok's Bluebeard’s Castle (1911) is a strangely alluring short opera – ostensibly static but driven by a musical palette that revels in revealing the kinaesthetic purpose of its narrative: the colours that lie behind the castle’s closed doors. In this parable, each new bride seeks to know the eternal Bluebeard’s innermost secrets. As he unlocks each door, he and his bride are bathed in colour and light – yet only he knows the true meaning of each unfolding secret.
Written by two men (Balazs and Bartok), this is a misogynistic work, in the sense that woman is always doomed to a perfect death - like a butterfly pinned on the wall - and brooding maleness continues to never find the perfect mate. That perfect mate is probably himself, without any of the probing questions that are the fulcrum of human relationships.
Hearing the fulsome Sydney Symphony Orchestra in this dramatic and descriptive music was a treat, as were the two soloists, Michelle DeYoung (mezzo) and John Relyea (bass). These rich voiced singers dug deep into their warring characters while mellifluously enacting the eternal joust between the knowing and unknowing ways of men and women.
The opening scene, as Judith strolls warily into the dark, dank castle with her new husband, often calls to mind the Browning poem, “My Last Duchess” (1842): there on the wall, painted, frozen in time, signifying both a warning and a memorial plaque. Thus, the fate of Bluebeard’s wives.
The probing vocal lines of Judith were delivered with cutting but sumptuous tones by DeYoung. They were richly embedded in the black, dark responsiveness that Relyea summoned. The music reflects, with great depth, the fear and foreboding that Judith experiences. In Bartok’s music, the castle seems to shudder and sigh: notated on the score as part of the dramatis personae. The arc of this work, from distilled darkness through bursts of colour and light to eternal darkness, was bound together tightly through the direction of David Robertson.
This performance was particularly apt in suggesting how the life is slowly sucked out of Judith. As the opera proceeds, her interventions decline – her probing line diminished. Her desire for his redemption is no match for the brutal isolation of his soul. Love’s illusions die, as forewarned. In this performance, the often-omitted Prologue of the Bard ws given in Hungarian by Don Hany and hinted at the darkness to come.
The staging of this concert performance employed lighting effects that mirrored the various colours that the music and scenario instantiate. The blood red light of the torture chamber was starkly linked with its shrieking music which drew graphically on xylophone, flute and piccolo. We also saw the yellow red light of the armoury, and the bluish green light of the fabulous garden that is ultimately doused in a bloody sunset.
Though this archetypal battle of the sexes might seem static and repetitive, the music that each of the doors unleashes, brings an explosion of colour and rhythm. The orchestral proclamation of Bluebeard’s majesty - organ timpani and brass - following the opening of door five was monumental in its impact.
The strangeness of this work is no more apparent when Judith insists on seeing the last two doors opened. The sixth door, with its lake of tears, is full of symbolist sighs on harp, flute and clarinet and waves its stark sense of impending doom.
The slow winding down of this imagined love is stealthily realised by the music, until the blinds, so to speak are finally drawn on the cycle of violence: woman is destroyed, but kept as a hidden icon. All is darkness once more. Now the castle seems to sigh very deeply.
This was a telling performance with sharp detail and a strong pulse that bound the various sections of action together. Its strangeness is somewhat akin to the satisfying strangeness of Debussy’s Pelleas et Melisande (1902). Its final moments are truly electric, but not in any uplifting sense. We have been allowed to wind our way through a masculine fantasy that edges its heart’s dissatisfaction with yearning, loss and death. The stage and auditorium remained darkened for an extended period – to allow us to digest the bitterness within this operatic tale.
Sydney Symphony Orchestra, Concert Hall, Sydney Opera House, 29th November 2017
Gar Jones
Written by two men (Balazs and Bartok), this is a misogynistic work, in the sense that woman is always doomed to a perfect death - like a butterfly pinned on the wall - and brooding maleness continues to never find the perfect mate. That perfect mate is probably himself, without any of the probing questions that are the fulcrum of human relationships.
Hearing the fulsome Sydney Symphony Orchestra in this dramatic and descriptive music was a treat, as were the two soloists, Michelle DeYoung (mezzo) and John Relyea (bass). These rich voiced singers dug deep into their warring characters while mellifluously enacting the eternal joust between the knowing and unknowing ways of men and women.
The opening scene, as Judith strolls warily into the dark, dank castle with her new husband, often calls to mind the Browning poem, “My Last Duchess” (1842): there on the wall, painted, frozen in time, signifying both a warning and a memorial plaque. Thus, the fate of Bluebeard’s wives.
The probing vocal lines of Judith were delivered with cutting but sumptuous tones by DeYoung. They were richly embedded in the black, dark responsiveness that Relyea summoned. The music reflects, with great depth, the fear and foreboding that Judith experiences. In Bartok’s music, the castle seems to shudder and sigh: notated on the score as part of the dramatis personae. The arc of this work, from distilled darkness through bursts of colour and light to eternal darkness, was bound together tightly through the direction of David Robertson.
This performance was particularly apt in suggesting how the life is slowly sucked out of Judith. As the opera proceeds, her interventions decline – her probing line diminished. Her desire for his redemption is no match for the brutal isolation of his soul. Love’s illusions die, as forewarned. In this performance, the often-omitted Prologue of the Bard ws given in Hungarian by Don Hany and hinted at the darkness to come.
The staging of this concert performance employed lighting effects that mirrored the various colours that the music and scenario instantiate. The blood red light of the torture chamber was starkly linked with its shrieking music which drew graphically on xylophone, flute and piccolo. We also saw the yellow red light of the armoury, and the bluish green light of the fabulous garden that is ultimately doused in a bloody sunset.
Though this archetypal battle of the sexes might seem static and repetitive, the music that each of the doors unleashes, brings an explosion of colour and rhythm. The orchestral proclamation of Bluebeard’s majesty - organ timpani and brass - following the opening of door five was monumental in its impact.
The strangeness of this work is no more apparent when Judith insists on seeing the last two doors opened. The sixth door, with its lake of tears, is full of symbolist sighs on harp, flute and clarinet and waves its stark sense of impending doom.
The slow winding down of this imagined love is stealthily realised by the music, until the blinds, so to speak are finally drawn on the cycle of violence: woman is destroyed, but kept as a hidden icon. All is darkness once more. Now the castle seems to sigh very deeply.
This was a telling performance with sharp detail and a strong pulse that bound the various sections of action together. Its strangeness is somewhat akin to the satisfying strangeness of Debussy’s Pelleas et Melisande (1902). Its final moments are truly electric, but not in any uplifting sense. We have been allowed to wind our way through a masculine fantasy that edges its heart’s dissatisfaction with yearning, loss and death. The stage and auditorium remained darkened for an extended period – to allow us to digest the bitterness within this operatic tale.
Sydney Symphony Orchestra, Concert Hall, Sydney Opera House, 29th November 2017
Gar Jones