On its original release on the Argo label, this must
surely have been the first classical disc ever to have a parental warning
sticker on the cover. Well, the sticker has gone, but the language,
both verbal and musical, remain as powerful and shocking as before.
In fact, it is at times something of a misnomer to call this a classical
piece, as it relies for its effect on ‘crossover’ techniques, such as
pounding rock rhythms, music-hall, popular tunes, football chants, jazz
and blues. The impact is also fractionally lessened away from the theatre,
where the visual stylisation, particularly regarding the movement of
the actors, is so important. Nevertheless, on disc one can concentrate
on the words and, more particularly, the astonishing variety and range
of sounds Turnage conjures up from his chamber orchestra.
Despite persistent rumours about Berkoff’s dismay at
the operatic treatment of his play (particularly the Thatcherite ‘politicising’
of the content), the listener is left in no doubt that Greek
is more than just a product of a disaffected 1980s Britain. This is
a true piece of music drama, admittedly brutal and grim, but a piece
with enough lasting quality to ensure a place in the repertoire. Indeed,
as a staging at the 2001 Huddersfield Contemporary Music Festival (to
be revived this year) proved, Turnage has given Berkoff’s scabrous reworking
of the Oedipus myth an extra layer of subtlety. His orchestra, as in
all the great psychological operas from Tristan onwards, goes
well beyond the expletives on stage to reveal the hidden truth of the
character’s motives and emotions. With astonishing virtuosity of scoring,
an ensemble of 21 players, most of them called upon at one time or another
to double on percussion, conjure a world of restless fury, pent up anger
and bristling tension that is almost cinematic in its matching of colour
to mood. Take the Prologue to Act 2, where Eddy(pus) and his wife, though
now prosperous, are reminded that all is not well and plague still stalks
the lane. Where the singers declaim in a mixture of parlando
and sheer mob bellowing, the orchestra manages, in two brief minutes,
to give us a much subtler but even more menacing picture of the horrific
events unfolding before us. The instrumental effects also drive home,
in an almost Brechtian way, the fact that the plague is a metaphor for
something more contemporary, namely racism, gang warfare and mass unemployment.
This all points to a satisfying aural experience, particularly with
such an immediate recording balance.
Without the visual staging, the ‘singing’ is to be
enjoyed less. The impeccably trained opera singers struggle with Berkoff’s
visceral East End slang, and much of the sprechtstimme is unconvincing
without the body language to accompany it. Still, this is as authoritative
as it gets, with the entire cast on this recording having performed
in the premiere (at least two are to appear in the London Sinfonietta
revival). Coming off the back of that successful first staging (originally
conducted by Siân Edwards) all are obviously well inside their
characters, with Helen Charnock’s Mum being particularly moving. The
quality of the orchestral playing is beyond criticism.
This new re-issue is cheap and comes once again on
one very well filled single disc. Full text is included, though it is
doubtful you will need it, given the superb diction and up-front recording
quality. Despite Turnage’s expressed ambivalence towards operatic form,
he has matured considerably in this genre, as the success of The
Silver Tassie showed. To hear the young composer’s first,
highly energised essay in the form is fascinating indeed, and whether
it is uncomfortable or not, it remains essential listening for lovers
of contemporary music theatre.
Tony Haywood
Eddy – Quentin Hayes
(baritone) 
