The Academy of Ancient Music under Laurence Cummings for Handel’s Samson – so far, so promising. But full symphony chorus and the cavernous Royal Albert Hall? It shouldn’t have worked, but the Philharmonia Chorus’ performance was totally convincing. Delivering a majestic sound in big numbers like “Then round about the starry throne” and “Let their celestial concerts all unite”, their touch was also light when required. Cummings’ energetic attention helped, almost stabbing out their “Samson” entries in “Weep Israel”, holding them to a dramatic pause after “strength” before they declare the hero slain.
Handel picks up Samson’s story after the notorious hair incident. Blinded and imprisoned, he brings the temple crashing down on himself and the Philistines. Plenty of emotional drama precedes this: Samson (Allan Clayton) contemplates his lost sight; friend Micah (Jess Dandy) and father Manoa (Jonathan Lemalu) offer support and shared anger; and Dalila (Jacquelyn Stucker) tries to atone for her actions. Yet the final act is all over pretty quickly, with noises off from the “Symphony of Horror and Confusion”: “Heaven, What Noise!” exclaims Manoa. A Messenger is left to explain – delivered with impressive confidence by chorus member Will Pate.
Clayton’s Samson was unflinching in rejecting Dalila’s pleas, but showed vulnerability too, never afraid to sing incredibly quietly, lamenting the “Total eclipse” of his sight with heartbreaking pianissimo control on the words “no moon”. Yet he was defiantly angry in “Why does the God of Israel sleep?”, and nimble on rapid turns of “round”. Stucker’s Dalila was bright-toned and full of self-righteousness, her “plaintive notes” more wheedling than sensuous, but beautiful nevertheless. Her final duet with Samson was full of defeated anger, and her sweep off stage past Micah was suitably dramatic.
Jess Dandy’s Micah was a powerful presence. From woeful support for Samson, via anger at Dalila, to lamenting Samson’s loss, there is a lot of emotion to capture, and Dandy’s rich contralto certainly had the range. Occasionally her lower depths were overshadowed by the band, but when Cummings kept the players back, her rich tone was allowed to shine through, with particular expression of pain in her long-held “griefs” in “Return, oh God of hosts”.
Brindley Sherratt was in danger of stealing the show as Harapha, his arresting presence dominating the stage as he strode on, delivering his first recit from memory. His “Honour and arms scorn” was scary, and Micah looked genuinely afraid as he approached Samson for their blistering duelling duet. Yo-yoing on and off stage, each turn brought drama, particularly his ominously angular “Samson, to thee our Lords”, with its dark low notes.
Manoa has less to do, and so is a hard role to establish a presence with. With significant vibrato from Lemalu, there was less precision here, although his one brief aria, “How willing my paternal love” had suitably tender expression. Joélle Harvey had two roles, as both Philistine and Israelite women. As the former, “Ye men of Gaza” had a brightly pure tone, with delicate ornamentation, and her duet with Dalila was beautifully judged, their voices perfectly blended. And of course, she got the showstopper at the end, giving us a joyous “Let the bright Seraphim”, with majestic support from David Blackadder on trumpet.
It wasn’t the horns’ night (possibly challenged by the humidity), but otherwise, the band were on fine form, with especially lithe strings. Cummings controlled their dynamics skillfully, switching deftly between fuller support for the chorus, and a lighter touch for the soloists. A consistently energetic presence, he commanded the combined forces with enthusiasm, making for a memorably magnificent performance.
