NEW YORK — Students in college music-history courses usually learn two things about Carlo Gesualdo (1566-1613): first, that he shattered all previous norms for the use of dissonance and chromaticism in vocal polyphony; second, that he murdered his wife and her lover when he caught them in bed together. Both of those facts were on full display at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine on Feb. 13 when British early-music masters The Gesualdo Six and director Bill Barclay teamed up for the U.S. premiere of their music-theatrical piece Death of Gesualdo, produced by Concert Theatre Works.
The theatrical, visual element took the form of what Barclay labeled tableaux vivants, inspired by the popular 19th-century parlor entertainment. Six dancers, choreographed by Will Tuckett, didn’t so much dance as pose and then move a bit, often in slow motion, filling in a series of six short acts and an epilogue with vignettes telling a stylized version of Gesualdo’s life story — and judging him: Satan comes to collect him at the end.
The music was Gesualdo’s 1611 Tenebrae Responsoria (liturgical settings for the final days of Holy Week, which Barclay claims is “the mass he wrote for his own death”), interspersed with the composer’s frighteningly intense Italian madrigals. No bubbly and brilliant Jacques Arcadelt or Costanzo Festa polyphony here — these latter-day madrigals, arguably from the pen of a madman, were of an entirely different musical and emotional fabric.
As innovative as that approach might be, the most important aspect of such a performance must be the music. In this respect, the 75-minute program was flawless. Led and grounded by the bass voice of founder and music director Owain Park, the men of The Gesualdo Six offered a profound reading of these a cappella madrigals and sacred pieces, digging into their spirituality and their obsession with death. The six voices floated through the cathedral’s vastness like mist, enveloping the listener with fascinating beauty.
The theatrical angle held promise, along the lines of the ensemble’s previous collaboration with Barclay, Secret Byrd, and Barclay’s more recent creation with The Sebastians and Chatham Baroque, Markus Passion. This project was less successful than those other two, not for its underlying ideas or its execution, but for the specific way it was presented here. Barclay wrote that he was concerned with the question “What do we do with the art of monstrous people?” Yet a more urgent question distracted the audience, as one overheard concertgoer put it: “How were we supposed to see anything from a football field away?”
Hyperbole? Barely. The audience chairs filled the 248-foot-long nave of St. John the Divine, the world’s largest Gothic cathedral. There were no risers or raking, and the temporary stage was not particularly high. Those of us in the back half struggled to see what was happening onstage — losing the lower half of the performers (hidden by the listeners in front of us) and the details of the distant scenes made up of brightly lit figures against a black scrim.
There was another production drawback that should have been foreseen. Gesualdo’s outrageous, almost painful dissonances are shocking at first, but after a while the pieces can start to sound the same — unless one is carefully following the text and appreciating how and why he uses those dissonances. The six-part polyphony causes syllables to overlap, challenging the aural comprehension of even an expert in Italian and Latin. So one must rely on the libretto, which was provided with just enough light to read it. Yet those of us attempting to follow along and also watch the stage had a nearly impossible task.
Despite those issues, the visuals were worth watching. Arthur Oliver created colorful and ornate costumes inspired by Renaissance oil paintings, assisted by deep-golden lighting designed by Barclay that caused the dancers to glow. The red of a Cardinal’s vestments, later matched by Satan’s garment, was especially arresting. Janni Younge designed a delightful puppet version of Gesualdo as a boy (if I understood correctly). There were even a couple of laughs, such as when Gesualdo and his wife took to their marriage bed, diving like dolphins behind a wide strip of cloth held in a rectangle by four dancers.
As for the singers, they dressed in simple matte black and kept out of the way most of the time, despite being the true heart of the performance.
Death of Gesualdo would likely be much more satisfying seen close up. Curious viewers can view a streaming version through March 2 through Music Before 1800, which co-commissioned the piece. For information and tickets, go here.
