A Village Romeo and Juliet, Queen Elizabeth Hall, QEH, South Bank Centre, 25 September 2012

This lyric drama in six scenes by Frederick Delius is based on a novel by Gottfried Keller, inspired by a report in the Swiss newspaper Zürcher Freitagszeitung from 3 September 1847. A young man of 19 and girl of 17 had fallen in love despite the enmity of their peasant families. One evening the young couple danced together at a local inn; the next day they were found dead in a nearby meadow.

Keller’s novel elaborated these essentials by including an itinerant fiddler who has land between the two families, but could not legally inherit it because he is illegitimate. He is happy for the young people to use it, and the drama starts with them, Sali (Romeo) and Vreli (Juliet), as children. With the family quarrel leading to lawsuits that eventually bring ruin to both, they are forbidden to play together.

By Scene 2, six years later, they meet again and fall in love. Their clandestine encounters are on the Fiddler’s land, but her father Marti catches them and Sali strikes him to the ground. Marti later loses his reason and leaves the house, which is put up for sale. After his departure, Sali enters and the young couple settle by the fire to sleep. Both dream the same dream, of being married in the old church at Seldwyla, and we hear organ and bells. A lovely crescendo starting on the harp and strings brings morning, and thus ends Scene 4 and the first half.

The singing got off to a terrific start with Christopher Maltman as Sali’s father Manz singing powerfully. Andrew Shore sang Marti, and though I thought the pitch was rather too low for him in parts he came into his own at the end of Scene 3 when he catches the two lovers together. This great singing actor showed sudden intense anger, giving this moment huge dramatic impact.

As the young lovers, Anna Devin gave a gentle and sweetly sung portrayal of Vreli, and Joshua Ellicott endowed Sali with a strongly lyrical tone. Together their duets were excellent, soaring to wonderful heights in Scenes 4 and 6, though it was hard to hear the words despite the English text. David Wilson-Johnson did well in this respect, singing very clearly as the fiddler.

In scene 5 six soloists joined the lovers and fiddler at front stage, and with the chorus at the rear we are at the local fair, the lady soloists singing with great vivacity. But Sali and Vreli feel out of place and walk together to the paradise garden. This famous piece of music was so beautifully conducted that I found myself carried through time to another world. Finally in Scene 6 the rumpus of the common world returns, and the lovers re-enter. The fiddler suggests they join him in the vagabond life, but a bargeman is heard on the river and they decide to leave together. Taking a barge they cast off, and drift to the middle of the river where Sali removes the plug from the hull. They fall into each others arms and the barge begins to sink

A wonderful performance all round, with Ronald Corp’s conducting of the New London Orchestra producing glowing crescendos. The Walk to the Paradise Garden was beautifully played and this concert performance of Delius’s fourth opera was a treat, though sadly a one-off.

Tristan und Isolde, with Esa-Pekka Salonen and the Philharmonia Orchestra, Festival Hall, September 2010

This concert performance has intriguing extra features: lighting that can illuminate singers or plunge them into darkness, appearances of performers from off-stage positions, and remarkable video projections by Bill Viola. In the overture all was dark . . . until the voice of the young sailor emerged from the side of the auditorium, and the lights shone on Isolde and Brangäne on stage. Then the video projections started, showing water, fire, earth and sky.

Anyone who has seen David Lean’s film Lawrence of Arabia will know that wonderful moment at the beginning when a distant figure appears shimmering on the horizon. I was reminded of it in Act I when, after scenes of the sea, the video projections showed two windows through which we see two dots on the horizon. These two separate vanishing points turn into tiny figures walking towards us — a man and a woman. Act III later produces an even closer approximation to Lawrence of Arabia when Tristan lies dying. As he sings “Isolde lebt” a shimmering figure appears as if in a mirage, clothed in a long blue robe with a red headscarf covering her face. She vanishes and then reappears when he asks Kurwenal whether he can’t see the ship, “Kurwenal, siehst du es nicht?”, only to vanish and reappear again with “Das Schiff? Sähst du’s noch nicht?”. This vision, as if from the Arabian Nights, is never quite real, until the off-stage trumpet sounds, the trombones play, the tuba rumbles, and the screen is a mass of flames almost silhouetting the robed figure, before she falls into water. Isolde’s ship has arrived.

When staging this opera it is difficult to do anything that remotely assists Wagner’s extraordinary music, so in a sense one might as well have a concert performance, but I thought the video projections added to it in many places. In Act II we see a dark wood in which lamps move around searching for the lovers, and then we are looking straight up at the sky to see a full moon shining on the trees. A full moon is at its zenith at midnight. “Rette dich, Tristan!” is sung from a side balcony, and Melot calmly walks on stage. As Marke appears the lights go out on Melot, and during Marke’s monologue we see dawn slowly emerge, reminding me of Giselle when dawn breaks and the wilis’ power vanishes, just as the union of Tristan and Isolde disappears in the daylight. This opera is about the lovers’ desire for permanent night, well captured by Isolde when she sings, “dem Licht des Tages wollt’ ich entfliehn, dorthin in die Nacht dich mit mir ziehn”, showing her desire to flee from daylight to night with Tristan, but it is not yet to be.

In the early part of Act III the video projections show clouds looking almost extra-terrestrial, reminding me of Homer’s Odyssey where Odysseus journeys to mysterious islands in the back of beyond. This was somehow an enchanted island removed from the normal world of daylight. But I have said nothing yet of the main feature — the music.

Esa-Pekka Salonen produced glorious sounds from the Philharmonia, giving us moments of explosive tension and of gentle lyricism. Gary Lehman sang a wonderful Tristan — what a marvellous find he is — and Jukka Rasilainen was a superb Kurwenal, recalling his excellent performance of the same role at Bayreuth last year. Matthew Best was a warm and strong King Marke, as I expected having heard his superb La Roche in Capriccio this summer, to say nothing of his excellent Ramfis in Aida two years ago. As Isolde, Violeta Urmana sang strongly, rising well above the orchestra when necessary, and Anne Sophie von Otter was arguably the best Brangäne I have ever seen. Her face and body language was superb, and her singing was warmly lyrical and perfectly suited to this Wagnerian mezzo role. The whole cast did a wonderful job, with Stephen Gadd as Melot and Joshua Ellicott brilliant as both the shepherd in Act III and the young sailor in Act I.

The conception for this staging is due to Peter Sellars who produced a more elaborate version for the Bastille Opera in Paris, collaborating with Bill Viola on the video projections. At the Festival Hall this was a dress rehearsal, and although the main performance on 26^th September is already sold out you can still find a few seats available in Dortmund, Luzern, and Birmingham. It’s worth booking immediately and then finding a train or plane to get you there — the dates are: Luzern on September 10, Dortmund on September 17, Birmingham on September 22, and finally London on September 26.