Salome, Royal Opera, Covent Garden, May 2012

With superb vocal power and control from Angela Denoke as Salome, and thrilling sound from the orchestra under the direction of Andris Nelsons, it doesn’t get any better than this.

The executioner with the head, all images ROH/ Clive Barda

This was the second revival of David McVicar’s production, first seen in 2008, and Angela Denoke’s second turn at the title role, since her earlier appearance in 2010. As the opera progressed she only got better, and after Herod has offered her everything … ending in desperation with the veil of the Tabernacle, the final repeat of her demand, “Gib mir den Kopf des Jokanaan” (Give me the head of Jokanaan) was hugely powerful. After she gets the head, her voice blended most beautifully with the orchestra. Beauty and horror combine, and following her final words that the mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death she lies down with the head. Duncan Meadows as Naaman the executioner sits with his back to the horror being played out, but finally he turns … slowly … in disgust, and when Herod gives the command he breaks her neck.

Herod, Herodias and others

There are some fine aspects to this production, and the blood is cleverly done. She first gets it on her dress by putting her arms round the executioner, but as she nurses the head there is more and more of it. And the moment when the prophet first comes out of the cistern, and is knocked over by one of the soldiers, is very well judged. But it is absurd the way one of the soldiers keeps aiming a rifle at him. He does this particularly when Jokanaan is trying to get away from Salome, yet no-one draws seems to care when she puts her head in his lap. Surely that is the moment of danger for the princess, if there is one. And should the gun go off when there is no immediate danger to Salome, the soldier is a dead man. Herod has given strict instructions the prophet is not to be harmed.

Salome and Herod, end of the dance

But the singing is glorious. Stig Andersen gave a wonderful portrayal of Herod, and he and Rosalind Plowright as Herodias were both excellent. Egils Silinš was a fine Jokanaan, his voice coming across very clearly when he’s in the cistern, though it seems to come from elsewhere. Will Hartman sang beautifully as Narraboth, but in this revival his death occurred quietly in the background, unlike the first revival, which was a pity. Scott Wilde and Alan Ewing both sang well as first and second soldier, Peter Bronder was superb as the first Jew, and Andrew Greenan came over well as the first Nazarene, describing the miracles of Jesus. It was a strong cast, working well as a team, and held together beautifully by Andris Nelsons, who drew enormous power and lyricism from the huge orchestra.

Diners upstairs invisible from the Amphi

The lighting was brighter in this revival, which was good, but from the front of the Amphitheatre only the legs of the upstairs diners can be seen, and the backdrops to the dance are barely visible. But go for the music and the singing — they’re terrific.

Performances continue until June 16 — for details click here.

Prom 66, with Simon Rattle and the Berlin Philharmonic, 4 September 2010

“Mahler’s 11^th Symphony”, Rattle called the second half of this concert as he introduced it, requesting the audience not to interrupt with applause until all three works were over. The three compositions he was uniting under Mahler’s banner were Schönberg’s Five Orchestral Pieces, Webern’s Six Pieces for Orchestra, and Berg’s Three Pieces for Orchestra. The original versions of these works were composed in 1909, 1909–10, and 1913–15 respectively, bringing us from the midst of one of the most artistically creative periods in the life of Vienna, or anywhere else for that matter, to the appalling destruction of the First World War. These three compositions are not works I know well, and hearing them together in this way was a revelation. As far as I know, Rattle recorded the first two items on a CD along with Berg’s Lulu suite, played by the CBSO, but has not recorded the three works in this concert as a unit. I hope he does.

The first half of the concert — the Parsifal Prelude and the Four Last Songs of Richard Strauss — was less interesting, at least for me. I bow to no one in my admiration for Rattle’s conducting, particularly of twentieth century music, but Wagner is not so much his métier and I found the prelude to Parsifal surprisingly dreary. This is music I’ve heard many times, and for me the performance lacked dramatic intensity. The Strauss was well sung by Karita Mattila, after a wobbly start, and I understand she’s giving a concert at the Wigmore Hall in a few days’ time. That venue is surely better for Lieder, but in the vast spaces of the Albert Hall her voice did not come through as well as I had hoped, though she sounded much better on the BBC recording.

Watching it on television later, I heard the announcer referring to the Berlina Philharmonica (sic). I wish the BBC would either use English pronunciation (Berlin Philharmonic) or say the German correctly (Berliner Philharmoniker), rather than falling between two stools.

Salome, Royal Opera, Covent Garden, July 2010

The evening belonged to Angela Denoke in the title role, and Hartmut Haenchen in the pit, who drew a mixture of gentle lyricism and immense power from the orchestra. When Salome sings of kissing the lips on the severed head of the Baptist, the orchestra roars forth, and Ms. Denoke shows a sense of triumphalism rather than necrophilia in her tone and body language. I think this works, though I do prefer more of the mystery of Salome’s intense yearnings, expressed so well in the words Wilde puts in her mouth, that the mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death.

A far cry from the first London performance, photo by Clive Barda

For those unfamiliar with the original 1891 play — very recently performed at several theatres in England — a reduced version of its text provides the libretto for the opera. Oscar Wilde wrote the play in French for Sarah Bernhardt, but during rehearsals in London the next year, the Lord Chamberlain’s office banned it, and it did not appear in Britain at a public performance until 1931. In the meantime the opera was performed, conducted by Thomas Beecham.  This was to be in a Bowdlerized version, with the action taking place in Greece rather than Judaea. Among various changes the silver platter containing the Baptist’s head was empty and covered in a cloth, and Salome’s claim of kissing his lips was converted to a desire to be his follower. Unfortunately for Beecham, the soprano forgot the changes and let rip with the original. I won’t repeat this well-known story, but refer to Beecham’s entertaining book A Mingled Chime.

photo by Clive Barda

In this 2008 production by David McVicar the action is set in twentieth century Germany between the wars, with the soldiers in Wehrmacht uniforms and Herod’s party in evening dress. The dance takes place through a series of moving doorways, and at one point when Salome puts on a long tutu, Herod dances with her. From the Amphitheatre the changing backdrops for the dance are only partly visible, which is unfortunate. One of these is a huge projection of a doll in a chair, matching the rag doll Salome plays with, and this is important because the doll imagery is recaptured at the end of the opera as the executioner breaks her body like a rag doll. He is there throughout the opera, but dressed in a cloak that he throws off when climbing down into the cistern to behead the Baptist, and once again Duncan Meadows performed this role to perfection, turning away in disgust during Salome’s performance with the head, while most of the cast simply stand and look on rather stupidly.

This revival was directed by Justin Way, and I particularly liked the way he made Narraboth, the captain of the guard, make desperate physical contact with Salome. His early suicide thus becomes more understandable than in other productions where he simply hangs in the background and kills himself. Here Andrew Staples plays him as a Shlemiel — I use the Yiddish term deliberately as the Jews are all dressed in kippahs and prayer shawls. There seems to me something rather unnatural about all this, and I dislike the gratuitous female nudity in a coldly lit basement. It does nothing to assist the warmth and obsessiveness of the music that speaks of a sultry night in the Middle East. Herod sings of the moon, yet the white light from above was very intense.

The Baptist grapples with Salome, photo by Clive Barda

The performance however was excellent. Johan Reuter sang the Baptist with emotional sincerity, grappling physically with Salome, and in this revival staying upright more than Michael Volle was permitted to do in the 2008 original. Gerhard Siegel was a fine Herod, showing impotence in the face of Salome, the same characteristic he showed as Mime in the face of Siegfried during his performances in the Ring three years ago. Irina Mishura looked gorgeous and sounded suitably imperious as Herodias, and I was particularly impressed by the bass power of Michael Courjal as the First Soldier. But it was Angela Denoke whose singing I found so strikingly good, and though I prefer a little more sexiness in the portrayal of Salome, particularly in the dance, this was a powerfully convincing performance. And then of course there was the huge orchestra, so brilliantly conducted by Hartmut Haenchen.

Performances continue until 16^th July.

Capriccio, Grange Park Opera, June 2010

When Richard Strauss’s collaborator and librettist Hugo von Hofmannsthal died, Strauss turned to Stefan Zweig, who provided him with the text for his next opera Die Schweigsame Frau. He also provided him with the idea for Capriccio, drafting an early version based on Prima la musica e poi le parole (First the music and then the words), an opera by Salieri with a libretto by Giambattista Casti.

Strauss’s collaboration with Zweig was cut short by the Nazis, who came to power a year before Die Schweigsame Frau reached the stage, and Strauss was badly discomforted by losing Zweig. He reluctantly turned to a Viennese professor of literature named Josef Gregor, who was unequal to the task of writing great librettos, and after three somewhat ineffective texts, using earlier ideas from Hofmannstahl, and contributions from Zweig, he tried his hand at Prima la musica. He failed, and the opera was eventually produced in 1942 to a text by Strauss himself along with the conductor Clemens Krauss. This production by Stephen Medcalf brilliantly captures the dichotomy between a story set in a French villa prior to the 1789 revolution, and the war that the Nazis fought and lost. At the start we see a rehearsal room in early 1940s Germany, with Rauchen Verboten painted on stage right, and Bühne Links on stage left. The decor is grim, and the actors and singers enter in street clothes, providing a dumb show while the orchestra plays the overture, a string sextet supposedly composed by Flamand, the composer in this witty conversation piece.

Olivier, La Roche, Flamand

The story turns on the competition between Flamand and the poet Olivier for the hand of the Countess. She is a woman who wants to select one man, while her brother the Count has a roving eye, and is attracted to the actress Clairon. Olivier’s poem is set to music by Flamand and then spoken by the count, who suddenly says it all in English, an unusual feature in this production, which is otherwise in the original language. There are some nice touches, such as when the theatre director La Roche talks of his grand new production “The Birth of Pallas Athene”. As he enthusiastically describes Zeus devouring Athene’s mother, the Italian singers, ostentatiously kitted out in dramatic costumes and make-up, devour food, swallowing it with gusto.

The Italian singers eat with gusto

Strauss’s music was played by the English Chamber Orchestra, very well conducted by Stephen Barlow, and the singing was delightful, with suitable energy from Roderick Williams as Olivier and Andrew Kennedy as Flamand, a sparkling performance by Quirijn de Lang as the Count, a gentle portrayal of La Roche by Matthew Best, and a forceful representation of Clairon by Sara Fulgoni. But what really made the evening was the superb singing of Susan Gritton as the Countess. Her soliloquy towards the end was mesmerising. I was bowled over.

Susan Gritton in her final solo

The performers’ interactions were very finely directed, and the appearance of Stuart Kale as the prompter was beautifully done, though I found the Star of David on his back to be unnecessary. The designs by Francis O’Connor provided ample indication of Germany in the Second World War, showing the ruins of Dresden as the Countess delivers her final monologue on love and the choice between the two lovers. As she says, in choosing the one you will lose the other. But as Flamand courteously says to Olivier towards the end, ‘First the words, then the music. The words take precedence’, while Olivier courteously responds ‘No, the music — but born out of the words’. This was oddly translated in the surtitles as ‘the music brings out the words’. But of course Strauss in his later life needed the words in order to compose his sublime music, and in this work he combines the two most brilliantly. As he himself said after the first performance, “I can do no better”.

This was my first time at Grange Park, and I cannot think of a better opera for a first visit. The setting is delightful, perfect for taking a picnic, and the opera house is engagingly small. I shall go again!

Salome, by Oscar Wilde, Richmond Theatre, May 2010

Oscar Wilde originally wrote this play in French, for the great actress Sarah Bernhardt. He translated it into English, but during rehearsals in London in 1892, with Sarah Bernhardt in the title role, the Lord Chamberlain’s office banned it. John the Baptist could not be portrayed on stage, and it was nearly forty years before the first public performance took place in Britain in 1931. In the meantime it was staged in Paris in 1896, and Richard Strauss turned it into an opera in 1905, using a reduced version of Wilde’s play. The opera, which cuts many of Herod’s lines and makes Salome the main character, is now much better known than Wilde’s play, so I was excited to see the original text performed.

Zawe Ashton as Salome

This production by Jamie Lloyd for the Headlong Theatre Company is vividly modern, with the music for Salome’s dance coming from a ghetto blaster. Everything is played at top intensity, but I would have preferred the introspective moments to be taken more calmly. For example at the end of her penultimate speech, Salome says, “I know that you would have loved me, and the mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death”. This was delivered far too rapidly by Zawe Ashton as if it were the mere recitation of a jingle repeated every day at school, which was presumably the director’s intention since her acting earlier in the play was admirable. Was the director going for a final scene of banality, and if so why did that not fit with the rest of the production?

Con O’Neill portrayed Herod as a bisexually vicious ruler in red lipstick, high on drink and marginally out of control. When Salome dances he masturbates, as do several of the other cast members, but their excitement is a bit unconvincing. The person who really was convincing was Jaye Griffiths as Herodias. She showed a presence off the words, as well as on them, and made it entirely believable that she had married her husband’s brother and has a daughter whom he desires. Without Strauss’s music we need some indication that he really does desire Salome, but such desire was only noticeable by its absence. The appearance of Seun Shote as Iokanaan (John the Baptist) was striking, but could have been stronger if his voice had been clearer and more commanding, as I’m used to in Strauss’s operatic version. However the acting of the cast was very good, particularly since Herod’s guards had to double up as the Jews who argue about scriptural prophecy. Vyelle Croom as Naaman, who goes into the cistern to behead the Baptist, was particularly strong, with a physically threatening nature well suited to the unpleasantly dark surroundings of Herod’s court.

Cast featuring Herod and Herodias

The lighting by Jon Clark was darkly effective, the costumes by Soutra Gilmour were good, but oddly the stage was raised so that those in the first dozen rows could neither see the actors’ feet nor, more importantly, the hole from which John the Baptist emerged. The production was geared to showing visceral sexuality, with Salome putting her hand inside her knickers and pressing it towards Iokanaan’s mouth. This was when she first meets him, but I’d prefer a more cautious approach so that she has somewhere to go later, instead of relapsing into a banal repetition of lines. This play should build tension and sexuality gradually as the hot moonlit evening in the Middle East wears on, and the teenage Salome gradually heats up to boiling point. I’d rather it were that way than having everything at simmering intensity from the beginning, until falling short at the end.

This production started life at the Curve Theatre in Leicester, and after Richmond it tours to the following: Oxford Playhouse, June 1–5; Northern Stage, Newcastle, June 8–12; Theatre Royal Brighton, June 15–17; Hampstead Theatre, London, June 17–22. The powerful operatic version by Richard Strauss is playing at the Royal Opera House, July 3–16.

Elektra, in concert with Valery Gergiev and the LSO, Barbican, January 2010

This powerful Richard Strauss opera, scored for an orchestra of over 110 instruments, has a huge dynamic range and needs singers who can rise above the orchestra. This is where Angela Denoke as Chrysothemis did wonderfully well, and I very much look forward to her singing Salome at the Royal Opera in July. Felicity Palmer as Klytemnestra showed just the right mix of uncertainty and determination in her portrayal, and the voices of the three main protagonists — Elektra, Chrysothemis, and Klytemnestra — were very well contrasted. Jeanne-Michèle Charbonnet as Elektra showed herself fierce and anguished, but was clearly out-sung by Angela Denoke. For example, towards the end, after Klytemnestra has been murdered and her lover Aegisthus cries out for help, Elektra sings, “Agamemnon hört dich!” (Agamemnon hears you!), but it was weak, and as he is dragged away, Chrysothemis comes in with “Elektra! Schwester! .. .” The contrast could not have been greater — Ms. Charbonnet was no match for the orchestra, but Ms. Denoke rose effortlessly above it. Matthias Goerne sang Orestes, keeping up well with Ms. Charbonnet in their duet, and Ian Storey sang Aegisthus.

But what really made this a terrific evening was the conducting by Gergiev. He gave us wonderfully melodious quiet passages, yet turned on the power when it was needed. The London Symphony Orchestra respond well to his enigmatic hand gestures, and the orchestral playing was beautifully lyrical. The name Elektra means ‘shining’ — as in the alloy electrum — and Gergiev with the LSO gave us a shining performance.

Der Rosenkavalier, Royal Opera, a second view, December 2009.

This was my second view, on the last night of the run, and although Soile Isokoski was clearly better in Act I than she was on the first night, I found the whole performance underwhelming. Once again it was Lucy Crowe as Sophie who was the star of the evening, along with Peter Rose as a refreshingly young looking Baron Ochs, behaving like an ill-mannered frat-boy. I’m afraid I just wasn’t wowed by Ms. Isokoski as the Marschallin, nor by Sophie Koch as Octavian. In Act III it was Lucy Crowe who really pulled at the heart strings, showing how devastated her character Sophie felt by the evening’s charade. Yet it should be Octavian and the Marschallin’s moment. Octavian nearly tripped when stepping backwards, and his/her complete lack of reaction to this emphasised just how much the movements were unnatural and choreographed. However the trio at the end was gloriously sung, and well worth waiting for.

As for the conducting, there was plenty of variety from Kirill Petrenko in the orchestra pit, and I liked the colouring of Act I, with the disharmonious noise in the levée scene contrasted with other parts of that act. But I felt that some of the high points in the opera went missing, particularly the entrance of the Marschallin in Act III. Admittedly, Soile Isokoski lacked the required stage presence, but this is where the orchestra should really raise our emotions, and it failed to do so.

This production of Rosenkavalier is a good one, and I look forward to seeing it again at Covent Garden. As Octavian they might consider hiring Daniela Sindram who was outstanding in February 2009 in the production I saw at the Deutsche Oper in Berlin. I would also love to see Kate Lindsey do the role if she adds Strauss to her repertoire, having just seen her as a very fine Nicklausse in the Met’s Hoffmann.

Review — Der Rosenkavalier, Royal Opera, December 2009

Wonderful period sets and costumes for this 1984 production by John Schlesinger, revived by Andrew Sinclair, are the background for an enchanting evening. With Russian conductor Kirill Petrenko giving Strauss’s music more colour than I ever remember hearing, this was a musical feast. The star of the show for me was Lucy Crowe as Sophie, the girl whose wealthy father wants to marry her off to the nobility in the form of the boorish Baron Ochs. He was very well sung by Peter Rose, who gave him just the right nuances, without going over the top. As the knight who rescues Sophie from this appalling mismatch we had Sophie Koch as a strong-voiced Octavian, but I would have preferred more masculinity in her portrayal. She compared unfavourably in this respect to Daniela Sindram, whom I saw doing the same part in Berlin earlier this year, but the presentation of the silver rose and the duet with Sophie in Act II was beautifully done. The Italian intriguers, Annina and Valzacchi, fed up with getting no payment from Ochs, turn to assist Octavian in taking him down a peg or two, and were very well played by Leah-Marian Jones and Graham Clark. In this production we see Octavian actually writing the letter to Ochs at the rear of the stage. This was all very well done, and I thought Act II came over brilliantly, helped of course by the simply wonderful set.

The audience seemed enthusiastic about Finnish soprano Soile Isokoski as the Marschallin, but the friends I know who liked her were seeing this opera for the first time. Having seen far better Marschallins, such as Anne Schwanewilms in Chicago in February 2006, I’m afraid I was underwhelmed. I found her voice too harsh in Act I and she lacked finesse and flirtatiousness with Octavian, though she certainly sang well in the trio at the end of Act III. Unfortunately, Lucy Crowe who had sung so well in the last two acts, seemed to tire right at the very end and lost her pitch, but this was the first night. The other disappointment was Thomas Allen as Faninal, Sophie’s wealthy father, who was surprisingly lacking in stage presence and vocal gravitas. But Wookyung Kim as the tenor in Act I  sang like a god.

Altogether this was a success, and it may be that some of the weaker points will be corrected in later performances. Watch this space two weeks hence.

Collaboration, and Taking Sides, Chichester, and the Duchess Theatre London, May 2009

These two plays by Ronald Harwood, dealing with how Germany’s Nazi regime affected the lives of two of the greatest musicians of the twentieth century, were performed on the same day, with the same actors, and the experience was riveting. The first play centred on the collaboration between Richard Strauss and Stefan Zweig, who took over the role of Strauss’s librettist when his previous collaborator, von Hofmannsthal died. The second play dealt with the aggressive questioning of conductor Wilhelm Furtwängler after the war when an American army Major was determined to find reasons for him to be prosecuted at the Nuremberg war crimes tribunal. Both plays are sympathetic to the musicians, but pass no moral judgements, and Taking Sides allows the audience to form its own conclusions and take sides. These two productions have now transferred from Chichester to the Duchess Theatre in London’s West End.

Collaboration starts with Strauss’s desperate need to find a new librettist after von Hofmannsthal’s death. He hasn’t the confidence to ask the great writer, Stefan Zweig, but his wife Pauline, irritated by his indecisive insecurity, takes matters into her own hands. Zweig is only too delighted to assist a man he regards as the greatest composer on earth, and the two of them hit it off brilliantly, and form a close relationship. Strauss is enamoured of one of Zweig’s suggestions, namely Ben Johnson’s 17^th century play The Silent Woman, which they turn into the opera Die Schweigsame Frau. The story of its luckless premiere in 1934 is well-known, with the Nazi authorities deleting Zweig’s name from the playbill, because he is Jewish, and Strauss insisting they reinstate it. Zweig’s later insistence that he can no longer be Strauss’s librettist, though he will help whomever Strauss chooses, is followed by his subsequent departure from Austria, and later suicide in Brazil. These events are well portrayed, as are the Nazis, represented by ministerial official Hans Hinkel. He puts pressure on Strauss by making threats against his Jewish daughter-in-law, to say nothing of his half-Jewish grandchildren, compelling him to remain silent and simply get on with his work. When faced with Allied soldiers at the end of the war, and questioned about possible collaboration with the Nazis, he repeats his distress at Zweig’s suicide, which could itself be seen as a kind of collaboration. The use of music from Strauss’s Four Last Songs at the end left the audience with a powerful feeling for this remarkable genius who wrote sublime music, even if he was unable to manipulate the Nazis as they manipulated him. Despite these well-known facts, and his despair at losing Stefan Zweig, there are still people — I’ve met them — who condemn Strauss as a Nazi. This play, and the next, should show even the dimmest of bigots that life is not so simple.

Taking Sides is a highly charged encounter between American army major Steve Arnold and Wilhelm Furtwängler. Major Arnold was an insurance assessor good at detecting fraud, and was charged with the job of uncovering Nazi collaboration by Furtwängler. Arnold has no appreciation for classical music, though his two assistants certainly do and resent his insolent treatment of the great conductor, or ‘band leader’ as he refers to him. Clearly Furtwängler helped numerous Jews, but Arnold is sincere in seeking motives as to why he remained in Germany. Arnold has nightmares and mentions the smell of burning flesh, yet Furtwängler comes through it all with dignity and integrity. Eventually Arnold’s secretarial assistant Emmi, whose father was executed after the failed plot to kill Hitler, lets out a piercing scream. She has had enough of this bigoted interrogation, and yells at the Major that her father only tried to kill Hitler after it became clear they would lose the war if they carried on this way. The other assistant puts on a record of Beethoven’s 9^th conducted by Furtwängler, and refuses to take it off. The major gets on the phone saying he knows a journalist who will tell them what they need, but this and his earlier use of a Nazi informer in Furtwängler’s Berlin Philharmonic, who makes some unsubstantiated claims about his earlier master, undermine Arnold’s investigative techniques. You cannot use bigotry to condemn bigotry, yet retain the moral high ground.

The direction of both plays by Philip Franks, with designs by Simon Higlett, was excellent, and the use of music was superbly done. The acting was extremely good. Michael Pennington as Strauss in the first play and Furtwängler in the second, was emotionally and visually convincing in both roles. David Horovitz as Zweig in the first and Major Arnold in the second was equally convincing, a calm and controlled European in one and a brash American from Minnesota in the other. They were ably assisted by Martin Hutson as the awful Nazi official Hinkel in the first play, and Arnold’s junior officer in the second; by Sophie Roberts as Zweig’s secretary and later girlfriend in the first, and Arnold’s assistant Emmi in the second; and by Isla Blair as Strauss’s wife Pauline. The performers in both plays, particularly Pennington and Horovitz, showed how a good actor can portray different emotions in different roles, though it must have made for an exhausting day. I applaud them and the rest of the cast for their interpretations, and Harwood for creating such excellent and thought provoking theatre.

Der Rosenkavalier, Deutsche Oper Berlin, Feb 2009

This production by Götz Friedrich sets the opera in the early twentieth century, and it works very convincingly. Daniela Sindram was the best Octavian I’ve ever seen, singing and acting the part of a young man to perfection. Her body movement was entirely masculine, and when she pretended to be the little maid Mariandel, she managed to do the young man being a young woman brilliantly. Kurt Rydl’s portrayal of Baron Ochs was superbly natural, without over-acting or stepping over the line into farce, as sometimes happens with this part, and his singing was thoroughly engaging. Michaela Kaune as the Marschallin also sang well, and while she did not portray the knowing sexiness and air of quiet command that some of the great Marschallins have, she evinced a lovely vulnerability, and her voice in the solo passages at the end was sublime. These three cast members carried the opera, and were very well supported by Burkhard Ulrich and Ulrike Helzel as the scheming Valzacchi and Anina, and by Ofelia Sala as a rather frumpy young Sophie, who had a little more vibrato than I would like. The orchestra played in a restrained and lyrical way under the baton of Peter Schneider, and this was a fitting finale to a great week of Richard Strauss.