Concentration camp inmates must have had many wild fantasies, but few wilder than that of Viktor Ullmann and Peter Kien: that Death would go on strike, robbing the evil overlord of his power and reducing him to irrelevance. And rarely have such wild fantasies been turned into opera, which makes Der Kaiser von Atlantis (The Emperor of Atlantis) an extraordinary musical creation in itself, let alone the fact that it was actually composed and rehearsed in the camp at Terezin, aka Theresienstadt. But not performed there: the Nazi authorities eventually wised up to the bitterness of the satire with the omnipotent-turned-toothless Emperor Overall an obvious caricature of Hitler.
But Der Kaiser von Atlantis isn’t just interesting because of its history – the satire is coruscating and Ullmann’s eclectic music is superbly compelling. The work may have its flaws, but it stands completely on its own two feet, especially so when it is played as powerfully as it was last night at the Barbican, by a select group of players from the BBC Symphony Orchestra under the baton of Josep Pons.
In the course of an hour, Ullmann’s music spans many styles and moods. There’s plenty to remind one of the Berlin cabaret of 20s and 30s Kurt Weill, with its four-note harmonies and syncopation. There are escapist lyrical numbers of aching beauty, most notably the interlude when Oliver Johnston’s Soldier and Soraya Mafi’s Maiden turn from battlefield enemies to falling in love. But the most memorable of the music is simply of raw power, providing the opportunity for the voices to make the story bite. And last night’s cast certainly delivered bite. As the Emperor, who decrees a state of total enduring war, baritone Thomas Johannes Mayer was strong, cold, clinical. Since the ruler is in permanent self-isolation in his palace, his only contact with the outside world comes via “the Loudspeaker”, who voices the information arriving from various servants: bass-baritone Derrick Ballard delivered subtlety with a particularly acid touch. Most potent of all, however, was Henry Waddington’s Death, who makes it quite clear that the job of deciding when people die belongs to him and not to the Emperor. Waddington was hugely impressive at the low end of his range (the role goes very low indeed) and his apology aria, explaining his nature and why it is necessary that he exists, was one of the most compelling pieces of opera I’ve seen in a long time. He provided penetrating comedy also, complaining that war isn’t what it used to be in the days when he would rock up to battlefields filled with brightly coloured uniforms and gaily caparisoned horses.