The gods may be cruel, but the Chelsea Opera Group is more cruel still. Admète, King of Thessaly, can be saved from mortal illness only by the sacrifice of his wife. The anguished Alceste, in Gluck’s eponymous opera, has been sung by the likes of Janet Baker, Jessye Norman, even Maria Callas. It takes a very special mezzo or soprano — beyond, alas, the casting capabilities of this company.
Not for the first time, Chelsea Opera Group have overreached themselves. The Dutch mezzo C?cile van de Sant had neither the lustrous lower range nor the flaring, burnished top of her register to convey more than a third of the distress that Gluck writes into her part, especially in this French version. It’s also a question of imagination: Alceste’s exclamations in Act II, when she knows the truth behind Admète’s rejoicing, must ache with the pain of dramatic irony. These did not.
The King himself, sung by the tenor Peter Bronder, certainly rose to the righteous rage of Admète, particularly on the way to the Underworld — even if he did tend to hurl his voice relentlessly to the far side of Sloane Square. Matthew Hargreaves was a rhythmically impressive if verbally oversyllabic High Priest; and David Stout, as Hercule, came to the rescue with the first real sense of dramatic presence in the evening.
The most engaging performers were all at the start of their careers: the baritone Jonathan Sells as an eloquent and idiomatic Herald and Apollo; Sophie Junker and Amy Payne as radiant Coryph?es; and the highly promising tenor Paul Curievici as Evandre. The last three are all still at the Guildhall School, and did credit to its opera programme. Young Nicholas Collon, conducting, could have urged both chorus and orchestra to more rigorously stylish singing and playing, though his sensitivity to Gluck’s musical language was never in doubt.