Erica Jeal 

LPO/Elder

Royal Festival Hall, London.
  
  


Berlioz's La Damnation de Faust is a work that can't be done by halves. This "dramatic legend", basically an opera that was never intended to be staged (though several have tried), demands unstinting commitment from a huge chorus and orchestra, and not a little effort from audiences, too, as we have to supply the visual side of this fantastical story in our own heads. Not every performance makes this easy; but this one was probably as obliging as they get.

Even Mark Elder's pacy conducting couldn't disguise the occasional longueur - Berlioz rarely resisted the temptation to write 20 bars when two would do. Nor was this the LPO at its most consistently polished. Yet some passages of ragged string intonation and slightly sluggish wind were eclipsed by the dynamic, vivid playing that characterised most of the performance. The Hungarian March had a light-footed swagger, two tubas stomping on one side, the triangle jangling on the other. There were itchy, jumpy violins to illustrate Mephistopheles's sinister little ditty about a flea, and there was no missing any of the horrible visions flashing past Faust on his headlong gallop into hell.

The soloists could hardly have been better cast. Framed by languid cor anglais passages, Alice Coote made Marguerite's Romance the evening's highlight, wringing out every bit of emotion, her mezzo soft edged but with a diamond-bright core. The orchestra made few concessions to Paul Groves's Faust, but they didn't need to, as his ardent yet relaxed tenor was able to ring out over all but the strongest instrumental surges, right up to some impossibly high but crystal clear top notes. Alastair Miles revealed a dangerous and aggressively devilish Mephistopheles hidden behind a seemingly harmless exterior, and Donald Maxwell, a late substitute, bellowed Brander's drinking song out generously. Yet if any one element really made this performance it was the singing of the London Philharmonic Chorus, who, as peasants, drunkards, demons or angels, rose magnificently to every challenge Berlioz could throw at them.

 

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