Birth, death, and the messiness in between

Where words leave off, music begins”, said the poet Heinrich Heine. Morgen und Abend, a new opera by Austrian composer Georg Friedrich Haas, attempts to go where words cannot and follows a man, Johannes, into existence and beyond into death. Although death (together with love) is one of those ubiquitous themes in opera, it is usually the act of dying rather than the experience of being dead. This opera then promises a new kind of musical experience.

Indeed, Morgen und Abend is unlike anything you are likely to have heard before, and at key moments it is spectacularly successful. As Johannes is born into the world, it almost seems as if the fabric of the universe is being pulled and stretched, as if to accommodate his new consciousness. Long sustained notes, and glissandi in the strings create hallucinogenic textures, shifting between light and dark. An unseen choir gives the sense of something great occurring. Although the orchestra produces these soundscapes flawlessly, such magical moments are heard only a handful of times. As the plot seems to concern itself with mundanities for large stretches, the music often feels reduced in its significance, or even unnecessarily hefty.

Long sustained notes, and glissandi in the strings shift between light and dark, creating flawless soundscapes

As with the music, Fosse’s Joycean script at times provides the pure sensation of birth and death, stuttering long strings of descriptive words and noises to great effect. But it is all too often distracted by irrelevant details, attempting to create logical consistencies or perhaps just filling time. For example; that Peter has been sent back as Johannes’s best friend in order to guide him into death adds nothing to our understanding, and in fact feels rather more like the sort of supernatural explanation found in a young adult novel. There are deeper problems too. Though titled “Morgen und Abend”, morning and evening, the morning scene depicting Johannes’s birth is just a short introduction to the interminably long evening in which we watch as Johannes painstakingly comes to understand what the audience has long realised – that he is dead.

Visually, we are presented with a suitably minimal and grey tableau. Important objects are strewn about: a door, a bed, a fishing boat. These are used sparingly, with a further layer of symbolism being attached to them each time. The door becomes a gateway between worlds and times, the boat on which he used to fish becomes the vessel to carry him off. We seem to be in a timeless space, moving backwards and forwards as we hop through the chronology of Johannes’s memory. More use could have been made of the visual metaphors suggested in the text, such as the ocean being the vast realm of death – instead we are left to imagine these against the white backdrop on stage. One lighting trick at the end really impressed me, seemingly setting everything on stage into relief as if in stone and emphasising the permanence of death.

The small cast of singers and actors did very well in performing such difficult music. In particular Sarah Wegener, in the role of Signe, was forced to grapple with microtones. However, despite this, Morgen und Abend doesn’t quite meet the weight of its subject matter. A few uniquely profound moments here and there almost rescue the plot’s strange occupation with more mundane matters. For some, it may be more interesting to read Ludwig Wittgenstein’s ideas on death in the programme notes. Perhaps better for the Royal Opera to heed his advice; “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent”.

Until 28th November at the Royal Opera House

Tickets from £5