The Week's Music...

New Zealand Listener, Volume 37, Issue 954, 22 November 1957, Page 34

The Week's Music...

by

SEBASTIAN

HEN Benjamin Britten set a fashion among British composers that might be summed up "Let’s Write An Opera," he may not have foreseen the rash of operas to come from British pens, differing widely in style and quite unlike the Continental models. Undoubtedly many of them derive some force from Britten’s own work, especially Peter Grimes, but most are original both in topic and treatment. In the series which we have lately heard (YC links) in BBC productions, the most gorgeous and probably the most successful was Walton’s Troilus and Cressida, which we also*heard some months ago. At his best with the primitive element in music, Walton welds it into operatic form in fine free melodies and poignant scenes which have immediate appeal. This music will grate on no reasoning ears, for every clash is illustrative, every unusual nuance illuminates the libretto: and it is a universal music, owing little to previous operatic influences. Alan Bush’s Wat Tyler, on the other hand, though having the advantage of a fresh subject, seemed to waste it on the desert air of much immobile sound that palled in quantity. This was fine drama, yet was broken up into un-

natural portions, nullifying much of the effect of strong tunes and interesting use of instruments; in fact, the instruments, rather than the voices, stole the show, but could not fully compensate for its slow stolid working-out-in character with the medieval peasants, no doubt, and equally revolting. Lennox Berkeley was represented by his third opera Ruth, which, though open to the charge of being static, still came across admirably. From the slow prelude to the finale the composer is in complete control; the choral dances are beguiling, and his slashing chords highlight the lovely vocal writing. Peter Pears was rather less than himself in this version, but otherwise I have nd complaint to make about a satisfying production. An earlier piece, but able to take its place with the more modern ones, was Vaughan Williams’s Sir John in Love, which really is to the Merry Wives as My Fair Lady is to Pygmalion: and bears out the truism that you can’t go wrong with Shakespeare. A little obscure in places perhaps, a little lumpish in others, and very English throughout -but a dependable recipe and a clear performance. I think the query "whither British opera?" can be answered "still upwards," at least on the basis of these examples.