WALTON: Troilus and Cressida. Judith Howarth, Yvonne Howard, Arthur Davies, Nigel Robson, Alan Opie, Clive Bayley et al.; Opera North Chorus, English Northern Philharmonia, Ricard Hickox conducting. Chandos CHAN-9370/1 (two CDs).
Its beginnings could hardly have been more auspicious. A decade earlier, English opera had experienced a dramatic rebirth by way of Benjamin Britten's "Peter Grimes." The Royal Opera House at Covent Garden had been reopened with the stated intention of serving as a showcase for contemporary English opera and ballet. And now one of that country's leading composers, Sir William Walton, had produced his first opera, on a classical subject previously treated by Chaucer and Shakespeare, the story of "Troilus and Cressida."
Nor, following its premiere in 1954, could the critical acclaim have been much more pronounced.
"With every hearing, `Troilus and Cressida' confirms itself as a great opera," declared the Times of London, praising Walton's score as "music of symphonic sweep and vocal splendor." Even the New Yorker reported that "the critics all confirmed what the cheering audience had delightfully said with their applause - that here, at last, was modern grand opera that was unashamedly grand and was not afraid of depicting noble tragedy instead of fashionable neuroses, or of providing a tremendous pouring out of ravishing, sensuous sounds to express those emotions."
An LP of highlights, conducted by Walton himself, was issued in 1955, followed by productions in New York, San Francisco, Milan and, in 1963, again at Covent Garden. By then, however, what had seemed modern a few years before was deemed old-fashioned, a verdict echoed in some quarters even at the time of the 1976 Covent Garden revival, for which Walton tightened the opera and reworked the lead soprano part to accommodate his favorite mezzo, Janet Baker.
Well, maybe after all these years of comparative neglect it is time for a reassessment of "Troilus and Cressida." And I can think of no better starting place than this new Chandos recording - the final installment in its complete Walton series - deriving from an actual production earlier this year in Leeds for which the more compact 1976 revision was used but with the part of Cressida restored for dramatic soprano.
Certainly conductor Richard Hickox has the measure of the score. He may be less incisive than Lawrence Foster on the 1976 Covent Garden recording (recently reissued in England on EMI). But he points the rhythms and the drama almost as well as Walton, while bringing out more of the beauty and richness of the writing. And in this he is aided materially by the atmospherically staged recording.
Nor is he let down by his cast. Judith Howarth may be a less imposing Cressida than Elisabeth Schwarzkopf (who, on the highlights disc, makes the opera sound like Richard Strauss) or Baker (whose womanly tones place it closer to Elgar). But that very girlishness and vulnerability serve her well in conveying a character whose prime motivation, in librettist Christopher Hassall's loose adaptation of Chaucer, is fear and a desire for protection amid the personal and political chaos of the Trojan War.
(Significantly Hassall allows her a more dignified end - in this case suicide - than his predecessors, through whom her name has become synonymous with sexual perfidy.)
Troilus is likewise in good voice in the person of tenor Arthur Davies. Less acidly Heldentenor-ish than Richard Cassily on the 1976 recording, his more Italianate delivery suits the frequently Puccinian quality of the solo writing. Like Richard Lewis on the highlights disc, this is Troilus the idealist of love, only younger and occasionally fresher in approach, especially in the softer music.
That certainly builds sympathy for the title characters, which was clearly the intent of both librettist and composer. However, their music only hints at the diversity of this score, something that can be savored only on the two complete recordings.
Take the opening chorus, very "Belshazzar"-like in its impact, albeit with the more bittersweet quality of Walton's middle years. Or the music for Pandarus, jazzily syncopated in his best open-air, "Henry V" style. By contrast, the storm interlude that accompanies the lovemaking in Act 2 is almost Grimesian in its tempestuous emotion (a conscious nod to Britten?), followed by the ceremony and "Antartica"-like coldness and strangeness of Act 3.
In short, this is a vibrant and full-blooded treatment of the story, in which even Cressida's music displays the rhythmic vitality for which the composer is famous. Yet as the tale itself has been brought into the 20th century - and despite Hassall's sometimes archaic diction, it has - so have the earlier models Walton himself so obviously admired.
Among supporting roles, I would single out Nigel Robson's witty Pandarus, his inflections recalling Peter Pears (for whom the role was written) but without his vocal limitations; Alan Opie's commanding Diomede, here a nobler figure than usual; and the strength of Clive Bayley's Calkas (whose defection to the Greeks sparks the action) and the semi-treacherous Evadne of mezzo Yvonne Howard.
Again, I would not want to be without the warmth Dame Janet brings to the music, especially in Act 3. But, as a totality, Chandos' is now the "Troilus" of choice, a team effort that, if it does not quite succeed in making it sound like a great opera, comes closer than any I have heard before.