by Robert Leeper
The music of Benjamin Britten focuses on the idea of the outsider, of men uncertain of their place in the world. He delves into the lives those rejected by the community to which they belong or find themselves in. Such is clearly the case in operas like Peter Grimes, but it is just as apparent in smaller works such as Curlew River, Britten's "Parable for Church Performance" first presented in 1964.
Curlew River was inspired by Britten’s 1956 tour in Japan with Peter Pears, in which the two men were immersed in traditional Japanese culture. Particularly inspired by the 15th century Noh play Sumidagawa, Britten was impressed by its extreme simplicity and the ability to have so much of the action occur internally. Though there is nothing explicitly Japanese in the music of Curlew River – it is firmly grounded in medieval plainchant – the slow unfolding of the drama and revelatory moments are clear references to Noh theater.
Last Thursday evening in the Synod House of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, Lincoln Center's White Light Festival presented the first of three performances of a 2013 London production of Curlew River. Director Netia Jones and lighting designer Ian Scott chose to take a theatrical and candidly Christian view of the story, which features a libretto by William Plomer.
The story is narrated by the Abbot, performed by the rich bass Jeremy White. A Madwoman, sung with startling intensity by the tenor by Ian Bostridge, appears at the bank of the river in search of her lost son along with another Traveler, sung by bass-baritone Neal Davies. An initially mocking Ferryman, given a bold stage presence by baritone Mark Stone, is eventually convinced to take her across. He tells of a young boy who had been abducted by a vicious master, and recounts the words the boy said just before he died. As it becomes clear that the boy is the Madwoman's lost son, she descends into an even deeper madness and depression.
The climax comes as the Madwoman kneels at the foot of her sons grave. The music builds, with small tuned bells ringing throughout. Suddenly, a boys voice is heard from offstage. Sung by the astounding Ian Osborne, a sixth grader at St. Thomas Choir school, it was a magisterial moment, almost as if I was present at the happening of a miracle.
The Britten Sinfonia, led by music director Martin Fitzpatrick from the chamber organ, gave a passionate, austere performance. The group of seven players performed at one end of a simple white stage that served as both ferry and river. Frayed ends of melodies often played by solo instruments created stark motifs, which became closely associated with a particular character. This method of writing left the musicians exposed, but also gave them a great deal of creative freedom to portray the internal struggles of those onstage.
After hearing the voice of her lost child, the Madwoman finds peace in the knowledge that she will see her son in the next life. The Abbot and monks hail it as a “sign of God’s grace,” a placid ending to an otherwise emotional performance.