One’s own vernacular is the language of common sense, and Il trovatore is not of that realm. The extremes of passion and unreason flare amid confusion and night. Personally, being English, I prefer to enter this melodious hellscape with an ‘All’erta!’ (and, by the same principle, if Italian, would probably prefer ‘Wake up there!’). In old days it was ‘Arouse ye!’, and at the end Azucena would cry ‘Then hast thou slain thy brother!’ and Di Luna answer ‘Oh day of horror’. Of course in one way it’s progress to have sensible modern English instead, but I’m not sure that that way is Il trovatore’s.
Never mind. Whatever the language, it’s an inspired score. Over the years, the tunes that once seemed so banal (the di-di-dum tune that brings down the curtain at the end of the Azucena-Manrico duet, for instance) have lost their music-hall associations, and though one still smiles at their appearance it is much more likely to be with affection and not a little wonder at the potency of their survival. David Parry’s handling of the score and the LPO’s playing bring out its full vigour and brilliance together with a large measure of the work’s underlying depth – the tense and fateful passions at its heart. The scene of Azucena’s capture in Act 3 is one which tests whether the performance is working: the very essence of the opera is there in the progression of the ‘Giorni poveri’ solo (‘Though my life was poor’) and the excited chromatics of the ensemble that follows. The sudden change to violence is most effectively achieved here, and the whole opera turns on this moment.
Its fate also depends on the singers. As a team, the cast is strong, though individually they have limitations. Sharon Sweet is a Leonora who sings her notes well (and in this opera that counts for much) but establishes surprisingly little vocal character. This is a nice girl but not a noble woman: her tone lacks the majesty and sumptuous quality the part needs, and her manner, though sympathetic, remains ordinary, not reflecting (except perhaps in the ‘Miserere’) the tense dramatic life of the opera. Anne Mason as Azucena sounds young, and her voice, a mezzo-soprano of quite beautiful quality, wants the contralto element which it is important for this part to have. She is, however, a constant pleasure to hear. Dennis O’Neill’s Manrico commands respect. A veteran now, without the youthful thrill in his voice, he sings with fine fullness of tone in the heroic passages and with skill and scrupulous care in the gentler lyrical music: his ‘Ah! si, ben mio’ (somewhat surprisingly Englished to start ‘When holy church’) would repay a singer’s study. But the most completely satisfying performances come from the baritone and bass. The latter, Clive Bayley, calls to mind singers of earlier times such as Peter Dawson, Howell Glynne and more recently Stafford Dean: the vocal production has a kind of solidity we don’t hear too often nowadays. Alan Opie is totally admirable, making a real character out of what can be a pasteboard villain and singing his highly demanding music in the best traditions of the Verdi baritone.
The Geoffrey Mitchell Choir sing almost too well. The Count’s retainers in Act 1 sound like eager, intelligent students of history; the gypsies at the anvil and the soldiers looking forward to blood and plunder are models of refinement. The production also errs, if anything, on the side of reticence: the finale of Act 2 for instance (the rescue scene) needs, in a studio recording, to convey some sense of the clash of mighty opposites and general shimozzle on stage. Off-stage voices and instruments are all well handled, and for the most part we are successfully drawn in. ‘This is the story/Of Il trovatore’ began the old rhyme: if we don’t make sense of it this time round, we probably never will.'