A bite of the Big Apple: Yannick Nézet-Séguin brings the Met Orchestra to London

In a cost of living crisis, the number of Britons who can cheerfully jet off to attend a performance at the Metropolitan Opera has diminished. How fortuitous, therefore, that its Music Director, Yannick Nézet-Séguin, was good enough to bring the Met Orchestra to us in its first appearance here in some 20 years for an evening of Shakespearean high drama.

As would be expected from the house band of America’s most prestigious opera house, the playing was of a high standard. Nézet-Séguin kicked things off with a vivid, punchy reading of Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet. Nézet-Séguin drew glossy, cinematic sound from his Met players, a snarl to the cellos and double basses early on, pellucid playing from the woodwinds, particularly by the clarinets, and a real sense of ebb and flow. The brass was impeccable with beefy, resonant tubas towards the end. Precision of attack and unity of approach meant that even in the loudest parts of the “Strife” theme, all sections were entirely audible before they burst into soaring reading of the “Love” theme: pure romance. It was a convincing reading and an impressive start that displayed the orchestra’s talents: a flair for the dramatic and a velvety texture, full-bodied and rich.

A new piece by American composer Matthew Aucoin was one of the most rewarding parts of the evening. His Heath (King Lear Sketches) leaves Lear, Cordelia etc and explores the heath itself, a barren place where the boundary between sanity and madness begins to blur. Aucoin’s soundscape is cold, but immediately accessible. Despite the complexity of his writing, the composition has a lyricism and intense drama that captivates the ear. There’s a huge amount to enjoy: devilish writing for the woodwinds – anxious and heaving in the first section and almost virtuosic in the second section (The Fool) in the way it insidiously slips across the stage, goading and taunting, setting teeth on edge. The percussion is no less accomplished, virtually spitting in The Divided Kingdom before concluding the piece in the fourth section in an uncomfortable, jarring way. It’s a work that could be heard on repeat without boredom, despite the madness that might ensue. 

Nézet-Séguin, joined by Joyce DiDonato, then took us across the seas to North Africa in extracts from Berlioz’ sprawling Les Troyens. DiDonato, looking utterly regal, completely embodied Dido. Her “Chers Tyriens” was sung with grace and pride, the sense of power giving way to moments of introspection beautifully articulated by DiDonato’s grasp on the text. “Adieu, fière cité” was a masterclass in acting, her feelings raw, veering from savage, frenzied fury to a rending agony. This was the downfall of both queen and woman in real time. The breath stopped, was briefly regained, and then stopped again for her encore, Strauss’ Morgen!, beautifully embellished with co-concertmaster Benjamin Bowman’s lush playing. 

After the interval, a full performance of Act 4 of Otello. Unstaged mature Verdi can be a tricky thing to pull off, but Angel Blue’s Desdemona was so convincing that the whole thing worked. Purity of tone, warmth of expression and a creamy higher register which sparkles at the top made the vocal part of her performance a success, but her stage presence and characterisation left the audience reeling. Russell Thomas’ forceful, declamatory tenor didn’t quite bring a complete characterisation of Otello, inevitably difficult when performing the final chunk of an opera. An honourable mention to Deborah Nansteel who sang Emilia in a mezzo that had a real bite. Behind it all, Nézet-Séguin whipped the orchestra up, the playing rip-roaringly dramatic at times, but he knew when to put the brakes on. The sense that he was enjoying himself was constant and the orchestra seemed to respond to that. It’s a relationship that, from the audience, seems strong and it delivered an evening of riveting music. Don’t leave it so long next time, please!