WEXFORD - This small Irish seaside town's modest but famed festival
has some major distinctions: it is more adventurous in programming than
probably any opera company in the world, actively seeking out works not
likely to be done anywhere else.  It is also more formal in dress and
less comfortable in seating than Bayreuth itself - the best-known
institution in those two categories.

Wexford Festival Opera began in 1951, with Balfe's "The Rose of Castile,"
and has managed to amaze each year with "other works." However little-known
today Balfe's "The Bohemian Girl" may be, "Rose" is truly terra incognita.
From Weber, it was "Oberon," from Mozart, "Zaide," from Humperdinck,
"Koenigskinder."

The Wexford "Turandot" was by Busoni, "Manon Lescaut" by Auber, "Barber
of Seville" by Paisello, "Rusalka" by Dargomizhsky, "La Boheme" by
Leoncavallo.  And then there were the composers Gazzaniga, Fibich, Haas,
Goetz, Storace...

On Monday night, black ties and gowns entered the unglamorous, store-front
lobby - each patron greeted with a handshake or a kiss from festival CEO
Jerome Hynes and chairman Ted Howlik - to hear Enrique Granados' 1898
"Maria del Carmen," in the first performance of the work outside Spain.

As two spiffy audience members eased themselves into the tiny seats of the
Theatre Royal right behind me, I overheard part of their conversation:

"There is nothing Irish here," said one, "the orchestra is from Byelorussia,
the singers are from Slovenia, and the opera is from Spain." "Now, now,"
said the other, "we are all Europeans now." They were both wrong.

The evening began with the audience - well, at least some of them -
singing "Amhran Na Bhfiann," the National Anthem, and that has to be
Irish enough.

As to being Europeans, the orchestra (from Belarus, not the old land of
White Russians) may qualify, with a bit of a stretch, but the evening's
glory was a duo of Mexican singers, whose country hasn't yet applied for
EU membership - as far as I know.

Granados' heated zarzuela sound, sweeping, melodic and passionate to
a fault, is an acquired taste, and I, for one, love it dearly, ever
since a surprisingly recent introduction to the operatic version of his
"Goyescas." Yes, the music is lilting, gushing, storming, altogether
wonderful, but the weakness of the script probably explains this Carmen's
neglect even in Spain, not to mention the world's near-complete ignorance
of it.

(Walter Aaron Clark, a Granados scholar from the University of California,
traces the spooky story of the work's manuscript through several traumatic
episodes.  It was with the composer when Granados visited New York for
the premiere of "Goyescas" at the Met.  On the return to Spain, in 1916,
his ship was torpedoed by a German submarine; Granados and his wife were
among those who drowned, but his luggage, and the "Maria del Carmen"
score in it, was recovered - only to be stolen and, supposedly, burned
later in an accident.  The story of the opera itself makes for better
drama than the awkward adaptation of Jose Feliu Codina's play.)

Maria is a Tosca-like figure, fought over by a good guy, Pencho, and an
evil one, Javier.  In order to save the life of Pencho, Maria agrees to
marry Javier, and after a great deal of turmoil, all ends well, Javier
avoiding the fate of Scarpia by mending his ways.

Diane Veronese - name withstanding, born in Tbilisi, Georgia, and trained
in New York - is the big-voiced soprano in the title role, compounding
the character's exasperating goofiness ("I leave you because I love
you...  I marry you because you're the enemy of the man I love") with
deer-caught-in-the-headlights stage manners, and a pair of fluttering
hands that don't find a resting place through two and a half hours.

On the other hand, there is Jesus Suaste, the Pencho, one of the most
appealing and dignified singers in opera anywhere.  The baritone from
Mexico City gives the very opposite of the over-the-top performance
Wexford seems to favor, he is subtle and restrained, both in singing and
acting.  His musical communication - if not the voice - is reminiscent
of Thomas Quasthoff's sincerity and simplicity in performance.

Another gem from Mexico (Guadalajara) is the tenor singing the role of
Javier: there is no point trying to avoid the obvious comparison of Dante
Alcala's lyric and yet powerful voice to the young Domingo.  Alcala has
a bright, secure tenor, always on the money, full of color, open, and
fresh.  He is very young, Wexford apparently providing him with one of
his first major roles.  He could - and should - go far.

 From the fine cast, another standout was Silvia Vasquez, a young soprano
from Valencia.  In the secondary soprano role, she sang well, exhibiting
a bright, soaring voice, and a natural, appealing stage manner.  Baritone
Alberto Arrabal, from Madrid, and tenor Riccardo Mirabelli, from Argentina,
contributed well, although they should take lessons in restraint from
Suaste.

Director/designer Sergio Vela very nearly sabotaged the production
with an over-literal, unworkable set.  To reflect the setting of the
drought-stricken Murcia region of southeastern Spain, Vela turned the
stage into an uneven, cracked-earth obstacle field, challenging the cast
- in their native costumes - to move and remain upright, and - oh, yes
- sing as well.

And so we come to the greatest piece of puzzle: the orchestral performance
by the Belarus Philharmonic of a very, very Spanish score.  The competent
- if not particularly brilliant - result is to the credit of the Spanish
conductor, Max Bragado-Darman.  The man from Madrid has the unique
distinction of leading orchestras both in Kentucky and the Canary Islands.
"We are all Europeans now," indeed.

Janos Gereben/SF
(In Wexford, 10/20-22, in London, 10/23-27)
www.sfcv.org