Pelleas et Melisande, review: Salonen and a brilliant solo line-up triumph with Debussy's opera

Philharmonia, Salonen, Royal Festival Hall, London

Michael Church
Wednesday 03 December 2014 10:01 EST
Comments

Your support helps us to tell the story

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.

The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.

Your support makes all the difference.

Esa-Pekka Salonen’s ideas are inexhaustible, and his latest, ‘City of Light: Paris 1900-1950’, has generated a very fruitful season. Taking Paris as a parallel universe to Vienna, he argues that while the Viennese cultural revolution was played out by the end of the Thirties, the Parisian one is still going strong, thanks to the enduring power of Debussy, Stravinsky, Ravel, and Messiaen.

And it was with Debussy’s Pelleas et Melisande that Salonen and his Philharmonia Orchestra began their Parisian journey, in a concert performance as dramatic as any fully-staged one: the opera’s symbolism turns on passion and pallor, darkness and light, and lighting contrasts (plus the occasional prop) were all that was needed to reflect the musical colour-shifts which conductor, players, and singers observed so exquisitely.

And what fabulous soloists: baritone Stephane Degout’s sublime lost-boy Pelleas countered by Sandrine Piau’s waif-like Melisande; soprano Chloe Briot’s vivid little Yniold and mezzo Felicity Palmer’s commanding Genevieve; and dominating all, Laurent Naouri’s terrifying Golaud: no other baritone alive can match this French singer’s dark power in this masochistic, murderous role. We also got a portentously Cocteauesque commentary, but these singers acted so well with their voices and bodies that the menace and pathos of this disturbingly Freudian tale needed no extraneous literary crutch.

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in