Irish Times writers review The Marriage of Figaro, Scoil Cheoil an Earraigh, Anthony Byrne, and Téada.
The Marriage of Figaro, National Concert Hall
Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro is a penetrating lyrical study of humanity that delves into the hearts of the flesh and blood characters portrayed. It is also a work of adroit musical construction that calls for firm performing discipline.
The score is rich in vocal ensembles, and it was here that Lyric Opera's production was strongest. In various permutations from duet up to septet and beyond, the voices blended admirably, while always maintaining their characters' individuality.
And conductor David Brophy, who used Tony Burke's reduced orchestrations, ensured that there was always a good balance between pit and stage.
Brophy's speeds were mostly in keeping with the spirit of the action, but his lack of expansiveness in the countess's two arias appeared to unnerve Colette Delahunt, who was perfectly assured elsewhere. In contrast, he allowed Sandra Oman to dwell lovingly on her phrases in a poised account of Susanna's garden aria.
Everybody in the cast of 11 acted his or her role convincingly in Vivian Coates' occasionally over-fussy but generally lucid staging.
But, in an evening dominated by good ensemble work, only some of the solo singing impressed. Alongside the Susanna, Imelda Drumm's ardent Cherubino and, especially, John Molloy's strongly projected Bartolo were the vocal stars. Indeed, Molloy's focused bass might have been better deployed in the title role.
Roland Davitt, who sang Figaro, is a lyric baritone who was uncomfortable in the lower register where so much of the role lies.
Owen Gilhooly's count suffered likewise. With few opportunities to exploit his rich upper notes, he resorted frequently to bluster for dramatic effect.
The opera was given in Amanda Holden's racy English translation, but not many of the words came across, even in the recitatives. If anything, it was the lighter voices of the excellent supporting singers that offered the clearest diction. - John Allen
Scoil Cheoil an Earraigh, Ballyferriter, Co Kerry
In west Kerry, songs are 10 a penny, tunes 90 to the dozen. So when it comes to honouring their musicians, even their hardiest trio of songsters are only afforded the moniker of "The Three Fivers", lest they get notions about themselves.
Fear an tí Dara Ó Cinnéide steered the packed programme towards its rousing conclusion with a steely determination, and his introduction of the infamous Caipíní left was an indication that the bar was to be set high from the start.
Brendan Begley's prodigies took to the limelight with gusto. Páid Garvey, Tom Mhaurice Ó Suilleabháin, Seánín Callaghan, and Caitlín Ní Bheaglaíoch high stepped their way through a grand repertoire, with the elder gents, Jimín Shea and Tommy Hoare tossing their combined 180 years across the stage like confetti, Shea's accordion and Hoare's languid dance steps raising the pulse of the packed house in seconds.
Tríona and Maighread Ní Dhomhnaill's Donegal, Breton and Dublin song repertoire met an unfettered warmth in Feothanach, despite the plummeting temperatures outside. Tucked behind the finest grand piano that side of Mount Brandon, Tríona lured Maighread into the intricate tale of An Saighdiúr Tréighe and onwards into their father's gorgeous lament, Amhrán Hiúdaí Phaidí Éamoinn.
Even Maighread's quintessential Liffeyside trademark, The Spanish Lady burrowed its way into the collective west Kerry bosom effortlessly.
The nervy introductions from Matt Molloy and Seán Keane belied their gifted playing, and hinted at a lingering self-doubt shared by this pair of Chieftains on the loose. Their opening gambit, a pair of jigs, Gillian's Apples and Up And About In the Morning introduced the audience to flute and fiddle, instruments not often seen in tandem in west Kerry, where the accordion reigns supreme.
Connemara sean nós dancer, Róisín Ní Mhainín lent spirit and gusto to the set with the feistiest footwork. Molloy's solo slow air, Easter Snow, followed by Keane's divine reading of Gol Na mBan San Ár were genteel reminders of the virtues of wedding virtuosity with modesty. - Siobhán Long
Anthony Byrne (piano), John Field Room, NCH, Dublin
Anthony Byrne's all-Chopin programme showed that he doesn't believe in making things easy for himself. It pleasantly mixed familiar pieces with one or two not-so-familiar ones, but the technical challenges were as unrelenting as they were formidable.
His eagerness always to get on to the next bit of music ensured there were few dull moments. Yet it spelled danger for many of Chopin's eloquent turns of phrase, and upset some delicate metrical balances.
In one passage of the Revolutionary' Study Op 10 No 12, Byrne reduced Chopin's four crotchets to three. With the Polonaise in A flat Op 53, he excised a fully written-out repeat. A few bars disappeared too from the Waltz in C sharp minor Op 64 No 2.
Nor was he bound by performance directions. Generally, things were a notch or two louder than Chopin requires. And where lightness and contrast were called for - in the so-called Minute Waltz in D flat Op 64 No 1, for example - weight and sameness were delivered.
Though an incessant sense of urgent agitation made what ought to have been moments of repose feel uncomfortable, it brought dash and excitement at the right places. In certain figurations of the Fantasy in F minor Op 49, in the dry chording of the Polonaise in A Op 40 No 1, and in the frantic final pages of the Scherzo in C sharp minor Op 39, Byrne's irrepressible virtuosity coincided with what was right for the music. - Andrew Johnstone
Téada, The Gleneagle Hotel, Killarney, Co Kerry
Commerce and art have never made for cosy bedfellows, and The Gathering Festival in Killarney further reinforced every reason for the sundering of the two.
With a timely and thoughtful support from Maeve Donnelly and Peadar O'Loughlin and from Connie O'Connell & Co, punters were left waiting until the midnight hour was nearly struck, before headliners Téada were given the green light.
Even the hardiest fan's patience was tried by a programme that evidently valued bar sales far higher than the musical virtuosity on stage.
Against a backdrop of incessant chatter and clinking pint glasses, Oisín MacDiarmada, Tristan Rosenstock & Co ploughed headlong into a set that repeatedly soared skywards, only to plummet headlong into the doldrums, harried by the twin conspirators of a suffocatingly low ceiling that ravaged the band's higher notes, and a distracting din from the bar.
Wisely, Téada steered wide of any Sliabh Luachra polkas, opting instead for one borrowed from Clare concertina player, Elizabeth Crotty, paired with a powerful take on The Shelf.
The set of hornpipes book ended by Johnny Doherty's The Stepping Stones and An tSean Bhean Bhocht gave guitarist Seán McElwain, fiddler Oisín MacDiarmada and Téada's magnificent flute player, Damien Stenson ample room to engage in a divine collision that gave each instrument room for manoeuvre and at the same time, gloried in the coalition of the three. - Siobhán Long
