Pappano’s mixed Tristan at the Barbican

This is surely Sir Antonio Pappano’s “Wagner period”: his recent Siegfried, the latest instrument of an ongoing Ring at RBO revealed, to my ears at least, his finest Wagner to date. He has, of course, recorded Tristan und Isolde with Domingo and Stemme (and a cast that includes Ian Bostridge, Olaf Bär and Villazón). Here, in a broadly concert performance at the Barbican, Pappano led a performance of mostly highs, and when it was good, it was very, very good.

The orchestral detail was incredible throughout, with laser-clear textures and some stellar playing (interesting that the horns changed principal for the central act, with no shift in quality). Leitmotifs rightly took on lives of their own, their characters shapeshifting through Wagner’s myriad, mostly tormented, emotional states. Pappano is not one to dawdle in Wagner, which allowed the piece definite momentum throughout; the downsides were that occasionally singers had to gabble somewhat – not to mention the challenges of vocal turns requiring virtuoso technique – and that the occasional moment of magic suffered (Isolde’s “Er sah’ mir in die Augen,” in particular, felt under-appreciated, if not plain neglected). Against that was Isolde’s moment of “Tod uns beiden,” the orchestral tutti chord visceral in its finality, like a sabre to the heart; and the fact that if there is one place momentum works, it is at the close of act 1 – and it did, crowned by the Gentlemen of the London Symphony Chorus.

Pappano did honour the differing “feels” to the three acts, too: the trajectory to the imbibing of the love potion in the first act and to the astonishing choral ending against which the lovers stand, confused and dazed; the sensually intoxicating lovefest of the second; the slow death, and then transcendence, of the third. And how the subtle highlighting of a timpani roll in act 2 could bring such a feeling of foreboding, how the deliberate heaviness of the opening of the final act created just the right leaden atmosphere. Just that little bit more space will allow Pappano’s reading to really cut deep.

There are some players fully deserving of mention: prime among them are Drake Gritton and his cor anglais solos, so vital in the establishment of melancholy and as prime generator of excitement at the arrival of Isolde’s ship in the final act, and bass clarinettist Ferran Garcerà Perelló’s phenomenally controlled playing.

The performance might be described as “semi-semi-staged,” with mostly non-concert garb, and generous use of spatial placement (Brangaene’s warning through the choir’s central door, the cor anglais way at the back of the hall at one point). The action, though, was in the music, and Pappano realises that the orchestra is so much more than the engine of the drama.

Three singers stood out, none of whose roles are in the music drama’s title. The Brangaene of Marina Prudenskaya was vocally stunning, a voice of incredible strength and projection, the singer completely inside her role, faultless, her act 2 Warning delivered with infinite potency. Then there was Hungarian baritone Gyula Orendt’s spectacular Kurwenal, of massive stage presence and granite-firm voice, every phrase carefully considered, its dramatic import ever honoured (he sings mid-run of Debussy’s Pelléas, taking the title role, at Berlin’s Staatsoper Unter den Linden, and they are lucky to have him). The third stand-out was experienced bass Franz-Josef Selig as King Marke, absolutely imperious in his long monologues, devastated at Tristan’s betrayal, and of infinite sadness via a simply staggering depth of sound at “Tod denn alles”.

But what of the two principals? This is Sara Jakubiak’s role debut as Isolde. It is always good to have an Isolde whose voice is well-differentiated from that of the Brangaene, as was the case here. This was a strong interpretation, if still in progress, Jakubiak’s voice capable of huge strength when required, not least in the final ‘Verklärung,’ which was rightly the transcendent climax of the evening: but there was the feeling that she was saving herself for this.

There is no doubting that Clay Hilley is a Heldentenor, although surely few singers if any alive can rival Andreas Schager for the true embodiment of that title (the latter’s Siegfried, seen recently at Covent Garden, was unforgettable). If Hilley is not the finest actor, his voice is tireless, his long stretches in the final act a convincing portrayal of a man determined to stay alive until his beloved arrives. He ‘died,’ motionless in a chair, exhausted. We, the audience, should be exhausted, too. If that was not quite achieved, in the manner of Melchior (try the Met performance of March 25, 1940) or Vickers (Böhm, Orange, 1973), for example, this was impressive nonetheless.

Together, Hilley and Jakubiak gave an impressive act 2 ‘O sink’ hernieder, Nacht der Liebe,’ finely prepared for in the orchestra (again, the level of detail everywhere apparent), and equally well supported and prolonged by Pappano – his awareness of Wagner’s timbral machinations, especially via double-bass tremolo, made the passages around “So sterben wir” and Brangaene’s “Gabet acht” buzz with foreboding and excitement.

As Melot, Neal Cooper seemed to find dramatic alignment with his colleagues as his contributions moved on; both Michael Gibson (Sailor/Shepherd) and James Emerson (Steersman) excelled in the smaller roles.

Tristan und Isolde can hardly fail to make an impression and its status as superhuman compositional achievement remains. The performance was almost there as a representation of Wagner’s genius, just not quite..

Colin Clarke | July 2026

Clay Hilley’s singing and acting was the highlight of Pappano’s excellent Tristan und Isolde with his LSO

The LSO’s chief conductor Sir Antonio Pappano (The Royal Opera’s first-ever conductor laureate) is not particularly remembered for conducting Tristan at Covent Garden – as we associate him more with Ring cycles past and present – though there was a very well-received recording with Plácido Domingo, Nina Stemme and his Royal Opera House orchestra in 2005. Returning to Tristan now, Pappano never allowed the pace to slacken and whilst there was often scrupulous attention to detail he occasionally tended to gloss over the more reflective episodes – in Isolde’s Act I narrative, the love duet in an unaccountably cut (for 2026) Act II, and Tristan’s third-act delirium – whilst prepared to give the moments of supreme drama everything he and the orchestra could offer. This was also true for Sara Jakubiak’s concluding ‘Verklärung’: she was making her role debut as Isolde and clearly this was the first part of the role she had studied – and it showed – and whilst undoubtedly compelling and sung with commendable radiance it did not have the emotional depth of this ‘transfiguration through love’ I have heard from others singing the role.

Also, Pappano sometimes let his musicians have their own way too much and so a shift in dynamics towards the singers would have been appreciated as they were sometimes challenged by the sheer volume of exquisitely burnished tone (especially from the strings) coming from the massed ranks behind them. This would not happen of course at the Bayreuth Festspielhaus which has given me – for good or ill – my abiding musical memories of Tristans under Christian Theilemann. Some individuals in the orchestra made significant solo contributions throughout the evening particularly from amongst the woodwinds.

Over the years there have been tirades from me against concert performances of operas with music stands and no interaction between artists. This has developed over recent years, but more often than not, these are often hybrid occasions with some singers secure with their parts, others singing ‘on the book’. Here devoid of costumes and props – and in an odd mix of semi-formal outfits the sold-out Barbican Hall only intermittently experienced the true drama of the Tristan story. In 2000, I saw René Kollo’s final Tristan at the Deutsche Oper Berlin (again conducted by Thielemann), his portrayal was the most dramatically convincing I had experienced – until now! Kollo had pushed his voice to the very edge of what was physically possible during the crazed, feverish outpourings in Act III.

Clay Hilley – confined by a concert performance – gave an equally visceral performance in my opinion and one I will long remember. Hilley is not a heroic tenor (thankfully) in the mould of Andreas Schager (often heard shouting on pitch); Hilley is considerably more lyrical and in the mould of the much-missed Alberto Remedios whose open-faced onstage persona Hilley also shared many qualities with. Hilley conjured up a most effecting ‘Isolde!’ before expiring or rather retiring back down to his chair from which he had earlier risen to perform this mammoth role from memory and commanding our attention all the better for it. Though Hilley (in a silvery tuxedo jacket) was keen on acting his role, the others often did not (apart from vocally); in Act I Hilley mimed drinking his death potion and proffered it to Isolde who did not react; in Act II he showed Tristan prepared for Melot’s sword while Gyula Orendt’s Melot did not react either; and in Act III he was ‘slumbering’ on his chair until roused, and that was reflected in the audience by one of the country’s senior music critics who was spotted catching up with his sleep.

Dressed in green Sara Jakubiak looked that she was born to be Wagner’s flame-haired ‘wild Irish maid’ and most of the time she sounded it too. Jakubiak could often sustain a beautiful vocal line whilst tracing her character’s physiological arc from vengeful fury to ecstatic transcendence. Her soprano had suitable – as appropriate – cutting edge top notes, flexibility, weightlessness or feeling and her interpretation can only go from strength to strength.

Whilst I was happy Marina Prudenskaya’s Brangäne was – almost for once these days – totally distinct vocally from Jakubiak’s Isolde I was left rather ambivalent about her dark, resonant sound and scooping up to the note. For me Brangäne didn’t seem a natural fit for her even though there was a ‘fitting’ haunting quality to her offstage ‘Einsam Wachend’ in Act II.

There was a very solid ‘supporting cast’, with Gyula Orendt as a mellifluous Kurwenal, perhaps too mellifluous when he approached some of his Act III singing as if it was Lieder. Orendt’s Kurwenal was clearly loyal to his master but had little of the old retainer about him. The sonorous Franz-Josef Selig was the personification of a noble, dignified, deeply hurt, ultimately regretful King Marke and the expressivity and clarity of diction of his singing was immense. Making the most of the vignettes Wagner allots them were Neal Cooper’s Melot, Michael Gibson Sailor/Shepherd and James Emerson’s Steersman. Finally, for me, the contribution of an over-manned selection of tenors and basses from the London Symphony Chorus was more stentorian than atmospheric as the Wagner’s Act I sailors, knights and squires.

Jim Pritchard | 13/07/2026

Wagner in concert performance sees Pappano and the LSO at their finest

The London Symphony Orchestra’s regular concert performances of complete operas have become something of an institution. Janáček’s The Makropulos Affair and Strauss’s Salome had critics raving about high-definition orchestral textures and brutally streamlined drama. But few operas are more obviously made for the concert hall than Wagner’s Tristan and Isolde. The composer designated it a Handlung (act or plot), yet Tristan stands out even among his narration-heavy works for its sheer absence of onstage action. No other more closely encapsulates his notion that operas should be “deeds of music made visible”. Tristan’s ultimate drama is rooted in the orchestra.

Using the soft gestures with which you might stroke a cat (no baton here), Antonio Pappano teased the opening into being – unhurried, impossibly delicate, exquisitely in tune. Over the next almost-four hours of music, numerous details came to the fore that are more often muddied or lost when the orchestra is sunk beneath a staging. There were harsh twangs of double bass and an oboe trill that cut straight through the thick symphonic texture. There was a horn lick I’d never previously heard and a troubled, circling bassline allowed more prominence than usual. The strings were instantly responsive, their articulation immediately hard-edged or cashmere-soft, their sound effortfully excavated or as light as silk in the breeze. Drake Gritton’s cor anglais solos from the back of the balcony and the front of the stage were beautifully shaped, his tone beguiling.

The sung element was a more mixed affair. In his 20th outing as Tristan, tenor Clay Hilley was blistering – unbelievably loud at times, but also capable of delicacy. Where Hilley acted throughout, his Isolde, Sara Jakubiak, was making her role debut and kept a close eye on her score, while Marina Prudenskaya’s muscular, covered Brangaene moved constantly but not per se in character. Jakubiak’s marmoreal soprano nevertheless persuasively communicated Isolde’s deep fury in act one and held its own in the decibel game: this is a role she will surely make her own. Franz-Josef Selig provided exquisite German diction and richly upholstered tone as King Marke; Gyula Orendt was a flexible, sympathetic Kurwenal. Perhaps inevitably the tenors and basses of the London Symphony Chorus were less lusty than usual from the back of the stage. But the inevitable star of this performance was the LSO itself, blended by the final chords into a single, minutely balanced instrument played by one of our finest Wagner conductors today.

Flora Willson | 2 July 2026

Un Wagner transparente

Decía Sir Antonio Pappano que la primera vez que dirigió Tristán e Isolda en su vida cayó enfermo, debido al esfuerzo físico y psicológico que supuso ese reto. Sus declaraciones resultan algo llamativas teniendo en cuenta la relación que el maestro había mantenido con ese repertorio en el pasado. Durante la década de los ochenta, el británico de ascendencia italiana se familiarizó con las óperas y dramas musicales de Richard Wagner de una forma privilegiada: trabajando como asistente de Daniel Barenboim en el Festival de Bayreuth. Aquellos seis años de formación junto a uno de los mayores intérpretes wagnerianos de la historia, participando en las producciones de Tristán, Parsifal y la tetralogía completa, fueron una suerte para Pappano. No solo perdió el miedo a ese Everest musical (como suele referirse el maestro al Tristán). Gracias a ello, volvería al Festspielhaus tiempo después, donde dirigiría Lohengrin en tres ocasiones.

Valga decir que sus lecturas musicales de las obras del compositor sajón suelen dividir considerablemente a sus oyentes. Desde que se adentró en el citado catálogo germánico a finales de la década de los noventa ha sido objeto de numerosas críticas. En buena medida se debe a que muchos seguidores wagnerianos esperaban encontrar una prolongación del gesto de Barenboim en el suyo. Pero lejos de adoptar un estilo parecido al del argentino-israelí, Pappano fue perfilando una personalidad única, centrada en el desarrollo dramático y el canto por encima de la monumentalidad arquitectónica sonora.

El británico es consciente de su escisión respecto a las tradiciones interpretativas de Furtwängler, Goodall, o Knappertsbusch, por mencionar algunas. De hecho, en numerosas entrevistas hace hincapié en este aspecto al señalar que su visión nunca ha estado, ni busca estar, en esas líneas. Su dirección aporta una ligereza, viveza y transparencia a la masa orquestal que se aleja de la corriente hermenéutica de mayor consenso. Esa claridad y premura, que el propio director ha relacionado con la necesidad de escuchar y sostener a los cantantes, no implica una lectura menos rigurosa o demasiado apasionada, sino una forma distinta de administrar la carga emocional de la partitura. Este proceder se aprecia especialmente en las interpretaciones de Tristán que ha realizado desde el foso de la Monnaie, o del Covent Garden (de donde saldría su mítica grabación de EMI Classics con Plácido Domingo y Nina Stemme).

Casi se cumplía una década desde que el maestro no escalaba su Everest personal de forma íntegra. Pues en los últimos años solo había interpretado algunos pasajes de la composición. El actual director de la London Symphony Orchestra corrigió este paréntesis ofreciendo una versión en concierto de Tristan e Isolda con su orquesta titular en la sala Barbican. Tal y como se preveía, su característica transparencia permitió que el público londinense percibiera cada matiz del exuberante tejido orquestal. Del célebre preludio en el que Wagner alteró para siempre las convenciones armónicas destacó el acusado cromatismo de la cuerda, aunque esa virtud no se reprodujo en el dúo de amor del segundo acto. Faltó lirismo en la representación de la atmósfera nocturna debido a los tempi agitados. Es preciso señalar que el encadenamiento de las frases nunca fue impulsivo, ni inestable. Pero esa urgencia no permitió que se creara el clima de ensoñación que exige el segundo acto.

Tampoco ayudó el famoso y polémico corte de diez minutos sobre la partitura que suele hacerse a veces, y que corresponde al momento en que los amantes intercambian sus bellas reflexiones schopenhauerianas sobre el mundo del día y de la noche. La entrada del Rey Marke, acompañada de una perfecta textura oscura en las cuerdas y maderas, devolvió el tempo a su cauce natural, como si este personaje destinado a encarnar la mesura en el plano dramático ayudara a restituirla en el discurso musical. El preludio del tercer acto supuso la culminación de esa riqueza cromática escuchada tres horas antes, repitiéndose en el monólogo de Tristán y el esperado Liebestod.

El principal punto fuerte de la dirección de Pappano es el ya mencionado acompañamiento de los solistas. El británico moldeó la arquitectura orquestal con gran flexibilidad, dejándola a merced del canto. Este fenómeno propició un espléndido lucimiento de todo el reparto, siendo Sara Jakubiak la gran favorecida, ya que ello le permitió afrontar su debut de Isolda con mayor seguridad. Esta soprano estadounidense que inició su carrera en el repertorio lírico mozartiano ha evolucionado hacia papeles de mayor peso dramático, hasta llegar a la princesa irlandesa wagneriana que nos ocupa. En el primer acto, Jakubiak encarnó una Isolda de gran furia, que daría paso al refinamiento expresivo en el segundo. Su voz amplia, bien proyectada, de centro carnoso y espectacular resistencia en el registro agudo ofreció uno de los mejores Liebestod que se han escuchado en esta temporada. Jakubiak reúne todas las condiciones para convertirse en una Isolda emblemática.

El éxito de la soprano no se explica sin la presencia y respaldo de uno de los heldentenöre de referencia en el panorama actual. Su compatriota Clay Hilley fue el partenaire perfecto, ya que afrontaba el rol de Tristán por vigésima vez en su carrera. Tras haberlo interpretado junto a Lise Davidsen en el Gran Teatre del Liceu seis meses atrás, Hilley demostró una solidez vocal superior a la ya acreditada en Barcelona. Fue sorprendente la frescura con la que llegó al monólogo del tercer acto, pasando de la suavidad a la bravura sin quebrar ninguna nota.

La intervención de la mezzosoprano rusa Marina Prudenskaya también rayó la perfección. La actual Ficka de la nueva producción de la tetralogía de Covent Garden (que también está dirigiendo Pappano) dio vida a una exquisita Brangäne de timbre oscuro, denso, con agudos firmes, pero no demasiado brillantes. Su emisión envolvente brindó uno de los momentos más memorables de la velada: los dos avisos que dio a los amantes desde detrás del escenario se propagaron por todo el Barbican, a la altura de las olas sonoras que desplegaría Jakubiak en su Liebestod. Por su parte, el veterano bajo alemán Franz-Josef Selig ofreció un Rey Marke muy sereno, de timbre noble y cálido. La incorporación del barítono húngaro Gyula Orendt debutando el personaje de Kurnewal fue uno de los mayores aciertos del elenco, por la belleza y flexibilidad de su instrumento, sumado a un fraseo cuidadosamente trabajado.

Menos satisfactorio fue el Melot en manos del tenor británico Neal Cooper. Pese a su consolidada trayectoria en el repertorio wagneriano, su emisión resultó demasiado forzada esa noche. Cerraron el resto del elenco el tenor lírico ligero escocés Michael Gibson asumiendo los roles de Marinero y de Pastor, seguido del barítono australiano James Emerson como Timonel. Finalmente cabe señalar el poco impacto sonoro que tuvo al conjunto amateur London Symphony Choros. La intervención de los treinta y nuevo miembros del coro resultó muy plana y poco incisiva, sin la fuerza, ni el empaste que exige una obra de tal envergadura.

Carlota Moseguí | 04 Julio 2026