Covent Garden
THE revival of Otello at Covent Garden last week was the first production this season in which the performance has risen—on the first nights at any rateabove a rather dull routine. Since this had two guest principals, the critics of English singers might seem to have a case. I have certainly heard no English performance of outstanding distinction this season, will the possible exception of Joan Sutherland s 'Ach, ich fiihl's' in The Magic Flute, Those who have been clamouring for louder voices had all they could ask in Amy Shuard's Amelia in The Masked Ball, as in her Lisa in The Queen of Spades last year, but half the voico twice as sweet would be ample, and much more pleasing and affecting. For the singers it must be said that they have not had much to inspire them in the conducting. The Verdi under Argeo Quadri lacked all style, elegance and dramatic feeling, and was far inferior to the excellent 1953 performances. And both ' the Mozart operas (Figaro was the second), under Kubelik and Pritchard respectively, were lifeless. Nor were the resident singers put in the shade by the guests, except by Mimi Engela-Coer.tse as the Queen of the Night in The Magic Flute, who was superb. Eberhard Wachter's Count in Figaro was rough, and over- emphatic, and the importation of Sciutti and Ilosvay for Oscar and the fortune-teller in The Masked Ball brought no advantage.
Obviously much more enthusiasm, as well as work, has gone into Otello than into any of these. Kubelik gives a stunningly dramatic per- formance that redeems his reputation as a con- ductor if not yet as a musical director. Even in this capacity he has the right ideas here. Otello's is a part for a Wagnerian as much as a Verdian heroic tenor, and Vinay, with some- thing of the quality of both, is undoubtedly its finest exponent today. Ideally Iago needs a singer of equal calibre. Here Kubelik, robbed of Gobbi by his own handling of an unenviable situation, uses a resident singer, Otakar Kraus, whose performance, however, fine artist as he Is, still falls short of the necessary stature and power. The part that Covent Garden might be able to cast from its own resources is Desdemona's, which I believe one or two of our sopranos could sing very affectingly. But Kubelik is right to engage Brouwenstijn, who since her first guest appearance here as Aida some years ago has developed into one of the great dramatic sopranos of today. Here she gives a wonderfully moving and beautiful per- formance, flawless in tone and style, which no one could willingly sacrifice for the encourage- ment of a resident singer, however deserving. Of the company's own singers John Lanigan as Cassio must be mentioned for the sweetness and purity of his singing.
Any performance of Otello, as of Tristan or Pidelio, elsewhere no less than here, must be something of a special event. This is particu- larly true of this one, which is a landmark in Covent Garden's postwar history, and makes an unfair standard of comparison for the ordinary repertory productions. Some of these, all the same, ought now to try to catch some
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