Britten's score is so often praised that we tend to neglect the distinction of Forster and Crozier's libretto. That thought came into my mind when listening to this new set, largely because its three principals sing the text with such unerring conviction. Keenlyside and Langridge deserve special mention in that regard, for their arresting sensitivity throughout the final scenes, when they make the utterances of Billy and Vere so poetic and moving, refined tone allied to so much eloquent phrasing, the epitome of English singing at its very best. They and Tomlinson took part in the much-praised Barbican concert that preceded this recording; Langridge and Tomlinson, a classic Claggart, were cast in their roles in the most convincing staged performance of the work I have ever seen, some 10 years ago at Scottish Opera.
Keenlyside is a Billy to set beside Theodor Uppman, the role's creator (VAI) and Thomas Allen on the wonderful ENO video, with a voice of just the right weight and an appreciation of how Billy must be at once sympathetic and manly. From first to last you realise the lad's personal magnetism in vocal terms alone, explaining the crew's admiration for his qualities, and Keenlyside's singing could hardly be more firm and lyrical. Langridge, who also features on the ENO version, is the complete Vere, suggesting the man's easy command of men, his poetic soul, his agony of mind at the awful decision placed in his hands to sacrifice Billy. At the opposite end of the human spectrum, Claggart's dark, twisted being and his depravity of thought are ideally realised by Tomlinson, give or take one or two moments of unsteadiness when his voice comes under pressure. These three surpass all but Uppman, Peter Pears and Frederick Dalberg at the original production in 1951 (VAl), though the Decca London trio run them close. Billy Budd undoubtedly inspires great performance.
In supporting roles there is also much to admire. Mark Padmore conveys all the Novice's terror in a very immediate, tortured manner. Clive Bayley's Dansker is full of canny wisdom. Alan Opie is a resolute Mr Redburn. I had some reservations about Matthew Best's (appropriately powerful) Sailing Master, Mr Flint: his large, gritty bass-baritone records uneasily.
Hickox conducts with all his old zest for marshalling large forces and searching out every cranny of this highly evocative score, and the London Symphony forces respond with real virtuosity, all recorded with Chandos's skill for catching the large-in-scale while not overlooking pertinent detail. My reservations concern matters of tempo, movement and theatricality. Speeds now and again sound a shade too deliberate, and there's not always quite that sense of an ongoing continuum you feel in both of Britten's readings, which are by and large tauter, especially in the account taken from the 1951 premiere on VAI.
The Nagano set, like the early Britten, employs the original four-act version. So the Chandos comes into most direct competition with the Decca. The latter still sounds well, though inevitably it hasn't the aural range of the new recording. Yet nobody will ever quite catch the creative tension the composer brings to his own work (although David Atherton comes close to that on the video version). For all that, I would not like to do without that trio of imaginative singers on this new set, and most newcomers will be satisfied with its appreciable achievement.
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