UK Edition
Review
The Second Violinist, Barbican, review: a clever, witty opera where the hero won't sing a single word
The Second Violinist is an opera in which the title character neither sings nor – until moments before the end, and then only briefly – speaks. We never even hear Martin, as he is named, playing his violin. Yet in Aaron Monaghan's portrayal, in this staging by Irish National Opera and Landmark Productions, he is a riveting figure.
Leaping out of the pit, as if on the run from his orchestra, Martin is all nervous energy, a musician on the verge of cracking up – an all-too-believable figure in a work that is at once funny and depressing in its truthfulness.
This is the second opera for which the prolific Irish composer Donnacha Dennehy has teamed up with the even better known writer-director Enda Walsh. Premiered in Galway in 2017, it won last year's Fedora-Generali Prize for Opera, a boost that means it is not only opening the Barbican Theatre's season but going on to Amsterdam next year.
It very nearly packs a punch in its compact 75 minutes, yet somehow its clever ideas are overworked with diminishing returns while its score, ironically, lacks the depth needed for such an intrinsically musical subject.
It certainly speaks to modern anxieties, and both Walsh's libretto and his own production make good use – sometimes overuse – of phones, voicemails, video games, messaging and social media on the screens built into Jamie Vartan's double-storey set. There's a little musical politics and even (though not a very good one) a viola joke.
Yet the fugitive violinist Martin also has a thing for the music of Carlo Gesualdo, the Italian Renaissance composer who earned notoriety in 1590 by murdering his wife and her lover. Enter Matthew (who turns out to be Martin's alter ego) and his wife Amy, in some sort of developing menage with Hannah, and Gesualdo's crime ends up being repeated.
As it's a long time before any voices are heard, Dennehy's instrumental writing (for a 14-strong ensemble) has to establish the drama, and his post-minimalist style can be flimsy. There are allusions to Renaissance music (especially from the chorus) but mostly the score moves from shy lyricism to hyper-neurotic energy, and the vocal lines can be predictable. At least they are singable, and are relished here by the strong baritone Benedict Nelson (Martin), bright mezzo Sharon Carty (Amy) and warm soprano Márie Flavin (Hannah). The conductor Ryan McAdams steers Dennehy's own Crash Ensemble without mishap.