Irish Times wroters review John Dexter Harmonyat St Ann's Church, Dublin; Romeo & Julietat the Half Moon Theatre, Cork and Arcade Fireat the Olympia Theatre, Dublin
John Dexter Harmony, OSC/Dexter at St Ann's Church, Dawson Street, Dublin
Bach - Cantatas 69a, 35, 137
It's interesting to hear performances approximating how cantatas may have sounded when they were sung by the boys of Bach's Leipzig choirs. The question in the case of John Dexter Harmony was whether 11 trebles would be enough.
They were. That said, a few more would have added heft to the large-scale opening chorus of Cantata 69a, Lobe den Herrn, meine Seele ("Bless the Lord, O my soul"). But they sang with sweetness and strength, firmly lending their particular boy-quality to the top line, and securely navigating Bach's fugal passages under Dexter's attentive direction. This work also includes an especially fine bass aria, with its hushed petition to God "to stand by me in suffering and sorrow", and its long-held notes were beautifully measured by soloist Nigel Williams.
The programme's second cantata was beset by fatal time-lag issues. What a pity; Cantata 35, Geist und Seele wird verwirret ("Spirit and soul become disordered"), is an odd and interesting work for alto soloist and organ obbligato, with everything but the recitatives derived from instrumental sources. These included at least one lost concerto for possibly keyboard or oboe whose outer movements Bach reused here as instrumental sinfonias.
These were played with bright, soloistic presence by David Leigh, who also provided decorative obbligato accompaniment to alto Alison Browner's tranquil and intelligent intensity. Unfortunately, the time-lag completely annihilated the ensemble between organ and players and singer, which rendered listening a maddening experience, the aural equivalent of a two-ring circus.
There were no such issues in the last work, Cantata 137, Lobe den Herren, den machtigen Konig der Ehren ("Praise the Lord, the mighty King of Glory"), featuring well-taken obbligato solos for violin and oboes. Its joyful, celebratory spirit was established in the swinging opening chorus, returning in the final chorale, which was embellished with trumpets and timps in a fitting conclusion to the work, the concert, and to this, the seventh annual series of the Orchestra of St Cecilia's 10-year survey of the complete Bach cantatas. Michael Dungan
Romeo & Julietat the Half Moon Theatre, Cork
Given that the apothecary is a witch-doctor in wolf's clothing (and also, incidentally, Lady Capulet) the extreme liberties taken with Romeo and Juliet in this Cork Opera House and Cyclone Theatre Company production aren't as offensive as might have been predicted. Much of the credit for that must go to a cast whose talents are various but utterly consistent, and all five of whom managed to create and maintain at least the 23 characters listed as dramatis personae and quite a few more as well.
This is because director Peadar Donohoe decided to stage the story of the star-crossed lovers as a farce, rehearsed, and possibly enacted, by a group travelling through the old west. The geography is a mixture of Oklahoma! and Brokeback Mountain, and so are the accents. This profusion and confusion of reference and recognition - from which one can take one's pick, beginning with the phallic protrusions of the Stetson hats - is central to this reading of the play. Its exaggerations are entertaining, and a good deal of the text survives, but the verse, inevitably, is lost and the pathos is sacrificed to slapstick, especially with the speed of the final death-throes.
Those who think that this work is a tragedy may not enjoy this performance, but those who can accommodate a comic emphasis are bound to relish it. The energy, athleticism, competence and quality of the five multi-character actors are so engaging as to ensure forgiveness for this romp; it is tempting to paraphrase Coleridge's description of Edmund Keane and to suggest that to see these actors is like reading Shakespeare by strobe lightning. Runs until the end of March. Mary Leland
Arcade Fireat the Olympia Theatre, Dublin
Only Arcade Fire could go from a funeral to an apocalypse and make that feel like progress. Following the heroic live sets that accompanied 2004's Funeral, a record with all the emotional outpouring and strange exhilaration of a wake, the band's challenge is to find an equivalent performance for their new album, Neon Bible, a record which often has all the emotional outpouring and strange exhilaration of narrowly missing a bus.
In fairness, Neon Bible is a fine record, let down only by comparison to the group's astonishing debut. After an eternity of sound checks, the nine multi-tasking musicians file out in an orderly line onto a stage cluttered with disorderly instruments: an industrial pipe organ, a mandolin, a hurdy-gurdy, French horns, a double bass, and stand-mounted megaphones. There is even room for a breakdown-warning triangle, hinting at the emotional turbulence to come, or, perhaps, songs of vehicular distress.
For a band edgily alert to unspecific threats and the reckless excitement of a quick escape, Keep The Car Running makes a superb opener. The menacing Black Mirror and surging No Cars Go, meanwhile, represent the new album at its strongest - the strings and brass working as hard as the beat, the sound unashamedly huge, dark and luxurious. But Funeral is kept at bay for as long as possible, as though its force had become ungovernable.
Thankfully, that might be true. In the gathering storm of Neighbourhood #1 (Tunnels), tiny girls are transformed into indestructible bouncing bombs while brawny blokes collapse into one another's arms. Crown of Love and Neighbourhood #3 (Power Out) are the musical articulation of almost-inexpressible emotions. Rebellion (Lies) is just incandescent.
In these songs lies the difference between fervid appreciation and total abandon, and little that follows can hope to compare. As the band wave their last beaming goodbyes, though, devotion to Arcade Fire still burns like a pyre. Peter Crawley
