Review: L’Orfeo, Colston Hall

The last six weeks has placed Colston Hall at the centre of the classical music world. The culmination of the celebrations of Monteverdi’s 450th birthday saw the star-studded ensemble, who have blazed a trail through Bristol in recent months, return for their final performance: L’Orfeo.

Monteverdi’s first opera follows the myth of Orfeo and Euridice. The first act rejoices in the marriage of the couple: minutes later, Euridice is bitten by a poisonous snake and dies, leaving Orfeo to heartbreak and loneliness.

In his pain, Orfeo charms the ferryman to the underworld with music, and takes Euridice back to the living world on the condition that he does not look behind as she follows him. Orfeo is suspicious and turns around: he sees Euridice for a fleeting second before she is drawn back into the underworld. Despairing, he is consoled by his father, the god Apollo, who takes him up into heaven to live eternally with his wife.

It was the smaller roles that made the opera a living, breathing work. The opening scene was full of solos and introductions that were simply washed away by the wave of sound created by the ensemble singers – the mass of voices raised in stunning harmonies had a physicality that was all-consuming.

The duets between the tenors Francisco Fernández-Rueda and Gareth Treseder, as well as the exquisite and sadly brief quintet, added a sense of beauty and delicacy to the gloomy proceedings.

Krystian Adam and Hana Blazikova were a well-matched couple as Orfeo and Euridice: each possessing a beautiful voice, but lacking conviction in their character portrayal.

Blazikova did nothing to inspire the great love she had apparently stirred up; Adam painfully overacted both in joy and grief. His redeeming moment came as he entreated Caronte for entrance into the underworld, where he finally achieved the anguished stillness of a desperate man.

It was Lucile Richardot who carried the weight of the opera’s most poignant scene: Euridice’s death. For the third performance in a row, Richardot was captivating: her mournful voice sinking into the very bones of the audience, the tragedy evident in her every breath.

Giianluca Burratto put on a stellar performance – playing the part of a stooping, suspicious quasi-god did not detach anything from his mountain of a voice. Buratto’s strength and melodious resonance has brought a power to this operatic series, which, with its abundance of tenors and countertenors, has been a triumph. Alongside him, Francesca Boncompagni’s Prosperina was soulful and dignified, the strength of her pure voice finally put to good use after two operas confined to the ensemble.

From the blazing brass fanfares to the delicacy of the solo harp, the English Baroque Soloists quietly excelled with their impeccable precision and beautiful phrasing. Never have four hours of baroque music sounded so warm and natural.

Sir John Eliot Gardiner is completely right: Monteverdi was a pioneer and a genius: truly the father of modern opera. It was a privilege to hear so much of his music.

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