Today, a look at one of my favourite operas -- a heart-rending tragedy that lasts for all of 35 minutes, but in that short time encompasses generation after generation of deep sorrow. And it's by one of my favourite composers, Ralph Vaughan Williams.
Riders to the Sea is a short one-act play by John Millington Synge, set in the remote Aran Islands off the western coast of Ireland. The weather-beaten fisher folk of these island communities have always lived a difficult and dangerous life. In the play, Maurya is the central character: a woman who has lost her husband, her husband's father, and five of her six sons to the sea. She strives in vain to stop her youngest son, Bartley, from taking the horses onto the boat into Galway so he can sell them. He ignores her, and leaves. Maurya has a premonitory vision that warns her of Bartley's impending death. Moments later, the men bring his body into the house and lay it out on the table, while Maurya mourns his death.
Vaughan Williams sets all this to expressive music of great power. The score opens and closes with the sound of the sea beating upon the rocks, abetted by a wind machine. Throughout the opera, the sea and the wind are present in the orchestra. Trust RVW to spot the reality that these are, and must be, audible and visible characters, the true antagonists of the drama. Much of the dialogue passes quickly in recitative, especially between Maurya's daughters, who often sing quickly, in hushed voices. When they do burst into melody, the lines soar lyrically in Vaughan Williams' typical manner, yet almost always in the minor key or modal keys. Maurya's music, by contrast, is slow, dark (contralto voice), and world-weary. Bartley arrives as a burst of young energy, yet even with him the minor and modal tones predominate.
One other character must be mentioned. The people of the island are represented by a chorus of women, whose "keening" (specifically mentioned in Synge's play) adds a heart-rending layer of sorrow to the moments when Bartley's body is brought into the cottage.
The final moments, when Maurya's last long speech becomes an aria of indescribable beauty and power, would probably bring tears to anyone's eyes. For the first time, the music moves firmly into the major key. Also, rising melodic lines replace the descending lines used in so much of the music to this point. Her acceptance of her tragic fate becomes a blessing, even a redemption, in this wonderful music. No matter that after her final words, the orchestra bursts out again with the minor-key sounds of wind and sea, as it surely must. It's Maurya's final words of acquiescence -- "No man at all can be living for ever, and we must be satisfied" -- that resound in your ear long after the music ends.
Every minute of the opera grips, just as the play does in a fine staging, the music following the innate musicality of the English language as rendered by Irish speakers. RVW spent some time in the Galway region, familiarizing himself with the sounds and rhythms of the voices. Every minute of the score benefits from this extra research effort.
In the 1970s, Meredith Davies recorded the opera for EMI with the incomparable Helen Watts in the role of Maurya. More recently, Richard Hickox recorded it in typically rich sound for Chandos. His Maurya was Linda Finnie, also a wonderful singer. My preference is for Watts and Davies, but by a small margin. Either of these recordings will make a marvellous addition to your music collection.
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