Reviews

Opera, jazz dance musicand punk rock comes under the scrutiny of Irish Times reviewers.

Imeneo

Gaiety Theatre, Dublin

Opera Ireland's new production of Imeneo makes it easy to see why this particular late opera by Handel is likely to win friends whenever it is heard. Musically, there is much in it that is first-rate.

For Opera Ireland, Laurent Wagner drives the members of the RTÉ Concert Orchestra with verve and sometimes panache, though a slightly leaner sound (and fewer players, perhaps) would be to the benefit of both music and singers.

The cast is headed by the Dutch mezzo-soprano, Wilke te Brummelstroete, whose finely focused singing in the male role of Tirinto is expressively direct and unaffected. US baritone Daniel Belcher is vocally firm and physically graceful as Tirinto's rival, Imeneo.

The object of both their affections is the stylishly soubrettish Rosmene of German soprano Netta Or. Rosmene loves Tirinto but owes a debt to Imeneo, who rescued her from pirates and wants her hand in return.

"Must I be unfaithful," she moans, "not to be ungrateful?"

Swiss singer Susannah Haberfeld registers a fruity mezzo in the role of Clomiri (who does love Imeneo), and Polish bass Wojtek Gierlach is suitably imposing as her father, Argenio.

Imeneo, which Handel conceived in 1738 and managed to bring to the stage briefly in London in 1740, was performed as the serenata, Hymen, during his sojourn in Dublin in 1742. After more than two centuries of neglect, it achieved its first modern revival at Halle in 1960.

The plot has been euphemistically described as "domestic", meaning that not very much happens by operatic standards, although Rosmene does have a feigned mad scene.

Director David Bolger and designer Monica Frawley have set it in a modern backstage rehearsal space. Argenio marshals the other performers as director and there are silent roles for dancing extras and a wardrobe mistress to fill out some of the blank spaces.

In spite of a number of deft touches, the production mostly doesn't lie quite comfortably with either music or plot. It does, however, produce a genuine coup-de-thêatre in the transformation from backstage rehearsal to actual performance, turning the stage of the Gaiety into an intensely blue, layered evocation of 18th-century theatrical scenery.

Opera Ireland claims the production to be the first revival of the 1742 Dublin version. Interesting as that may be, the severe truncation Handel imposed on the role of Clomiri obviously unbalances the work. And Bolger's production is from too acute an angle to offer a clear view of the piece's theatrical potential. The production can, however, be recommended to anyone whose interest is mainly musical.

Performances tonight, Thur and Sat

Michael Dervan

Arild Andersen

O'Reilly Theatre, Dublin

Though some would say, with justification, that there has been too much here too quickly, for jazz fans it has been a privileged few days. Last Thursday brought Jon Balke's Magnetic North Orchestra; Friday produced, inter alia, trumpeter Arve Henriksen's solo concert; and Sunday climaxed a weekend of Norwegian jazz with bassist and composer Arild Andersen's five-piece group playing the magnificent music he wrote for an Athens production of the Greek tragedy, Electra.

If Henriksen's solo concert was a thing of beauty, akin to a spiritual experience, so in its way was the Electra concert. On a stage bare except for instruments and monitors, the music and the performers - Andersen, Henriksen, Eivind Aarset (guitar), Paolo Vinaccia (drums/percussion) and singer Berit Nordbakken Solset - indelibly evoked the blood feud at the core of Sophocles's tragedy in all its sorrow, rage, vengeful thirsts and lyrical laments.

The sheer universality and, unfortunately, timelessness of the elements of this 2,500-year-old play lent themselves to the extraordinarily sensitive yet utterly modern approach adopted by Andersen's heavily jazz-influenced music. The bassist has been clear in describing the results, rejigged for a CD and further for stage performance, as essentially a concert of music inspired by the play, and not a replaying of the music that accompanied the original theatrical performance of Electra.

To that end he re-ordered the musical sequence and stripped it down. As performed, this became Chorus 1 and 2, Clytemnestra's Entrance, Mourn, Chorus 3, Electra's Song, 7th Background, Whispers, Opening and Chorus 4. No matter - the music retained its suggestive power, evoking images and emotions in the mind of the listener in much the same way as, say, Dylan Thomas's vastly different play for voices, Under Milk Wood, did 50 years ago.

In what was essentially ensemble music, the mixture of written and improvised worked so well that, at times, it was difficult to be absolutely certain where the dividing lines lay. Most of what might be understood as improvised soloing was left to the gifted Henriksen (who, incidentally, also played percussion, used electronics and vocalised with Solset) and Andersen's plangently dramatic bass.

Andersen also employed electronics, as did Aarset, whose guitar served the demands of the music with the utmost sensitivity. In fact, one of the characteristics of the concert was the wonderfully musical and dramatic use of real-time electronics throughout. It constantly coloured the contexts for individual performers, unobtrusively supporting them, and Henriksen and Andersen in particular, as well as Aarset, knew how to make the most of it.

Solset, in what was her first public appearance with the group, turned in an astonishing performance. Blessed with a beautiful voice, innate musicality and a sure sense of the dramatic, she was simply memorable. Her duo dialogues with Henriksen were among the more remarkable events of a remarkable evening, whose impact was perhaps best summed up by the beauty and pain of Electra's Song.

Introduced by bass over a guitar wash, a brief trumpet spot was a prelude to the voice, with Solset sounding both ethereal and sensual. Gradually, the music and the performance rose to a crescendo before being taken down, with exquisite dynamics, for the vocal return. It was, like the concert, spellbinding and arresting.

Ray Comiskey

The Prodigy

The Point, Dublin

Dance music is not dead, but it's definitely hitting middle age. It used to be the cheeky new kid on the block, but these days it's gone a bit thin on top and rather bloated in the middle. The jilted generation is all grown up, and the tunes they used to get mashed to have become as musty as old Status Quo B-sides. Who still wants to listen to farty old Keith Flint croaking out Firestarter like your dad at a fancy dress party? Quite a lot of people, it would seem. The Dublin date of The Prodigy's greatest hits tour was sold out and, judging by the age profile at the Point, Liam Howlett's band have gone beyond nostalgia and into classic techno territory. There was no sign of ageing Prodge fans - they were probably all at home chilling out to Royksopp. This crowd must have been aged about 10 when Smack My Bitch Up shocked the PC world.

For the band members, tonight is a bit of an old-skool reunion. The Prodigy's last album, Always Outnumbered, Never Outgunned, was notable only for the absence of shouty stalwarts Keith and Maxim. For fans who have been waiting since 1997's Fat of the Land for more lager-lout anthems, this was like getting served an apple juice when you were expecting a Bulmer's. For this tour, though, Howlett has brought the gang back together to milk it one more time, and the crowd is eager to lap it up.

Howlett, poised behind his array of machinery like a cyborg Brian Wilson, blasted the crowd with sonic beams, sub-woofing beats and searing lights. Keith and Maxim patrolled the stage, Maxim jigging the crowd up and Keith trying his best to look scary. If Billy Idol crossed with Keith Allen sounds scary, then he succeeded. A drummer and guitarist added a punk edge, but they were just surfing along on Howlett's sine waves. When you strip down the electronic components, The Prodigy's music is just good old-fashioned rock'n'roll - with bells and whistles.

But the crowd wasn't there to marvel at the diversity and inventiveness of Howlett's electro stylings; they were there to go crazy and have a good time, though it's disappointing to see Keith doing little more than gurn like a bored old panto queen, and to hear Howlett pressing all the same buttons without really pushing for something new. After a while, a familiar sound begins to emerge among all the bleeps and blings - the sound of a cash register jingling.

Kevin Courtney

The Damned

Temple Bar Music Centre, Dublin

The Sex Pistols might have got all the headlines and The Clash might have got all the acclaim, but their punk contemporaries, The Damned, seem to have all the fun. Thirty years after forming, guitarist Captain Sensible and singer Dave Vanian are still going, and still enjoying every minute of it.

"Hello, we're the Clash," joked Sensible as he and his trademark red beret bounced on stage, setting the tone for a performance marked by the enthusiasm and energy of both band and audience. Frontman Vanian should have patented his mock-goth persona long ago, so frequently has it been aped over the decades. Indeed, Steve Martin was practically playing him in The Little Shop of Horrors. The vampish Patricia Morrison has been replaced on bass, though, with the disappointingly anonymous Stu. When your bandmates are called things like Monty Oxy Moron and Pinch, Stu just doesn't quite cut it.

It only took a few seconds of mid-1980s B-side Nasty to get the crowd pogoing, and the early energy was maintained with tracks from the band's great albums, Machine Gun Etiquette, Strawberries and Phantasmagoria.

Indeed, up to their pounding version of Love's Alone Again Or and Eloise, they barely took a break to breathe, with keyboard player Monty Oxy Moron, perched behind an empty aquarium, manically pounding away at his keys.

But that early momentum was lost slightly as Sensible and Vanian engaged in some banter. Hearing stories about Marc Bolan, Rory Gallagher and Phil Lynott, we realised we were truly in the presence of rock survivors. The pace picked up again with Smash It and Machine Gun Etiquette, and a rousing History of the World, Part 1 ensured that the night ended on a vigorous high.

It was hard not to think that if you were to close your eyes and ignore the fact that so many of these songs are already familiar, you could easily believe you were listening to some up-and-coming next big thing, for the musical terrain that punk created 30 years ago is still the template for so many of today's bands.

As this performance reminded us, The Damned are far more than a mere nostalgia act.

Davin O'Dwyer