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The Magic of Adequate Surprise

There was brouhaha and a big crowd on Friday when the first of three showings of a new opera by Gunnar Þórðarson sounded over a fully packed church at Skálholt. The ostensible occasion was, in accord with our time's inclination for events, the 350th anniversary of the death of the bishop's daugther Ragnheiður, upon which also was sung for the first time the Icelanders' most traditional funeral psalm, "Allt eins og blómstrið eina" [Just like the lone blossom]; the same year that her father brought the most important manuscript of Norse antiquity, the Codex Regius of the Prose Edda, as a gift to Frederick III of Denmark. It is therefore safe to say that the framework of time and place was appropriate. But of course a new Icelandic opera in full length was no less of an occasion, since such a thing does not happen every year. Certainly many people's curiosity was piqued that here was an original work by a self-taught songwriter. It's one thing to be able to endlessly write evergreen pop songs (though it's really more difficult than many think), it's another to make a convincing musical production from such a tragic drama as is the poignant story of the fate of Ragnheiður Brynjólfsdóttir. All the more difficult is the problem when the composer associates with a late romantic style where well-known icons are legion, as are the pitfalls of cliché. Unlike the problem of academic progressivism that couldn't care less about the hindmost link in the chain (the listener!) in its unending search for "nie erhörte Klänge". Others than Churchill could fearlessly say today that never has so much dreadful music been composed by such highly educated people to the dismay of so many -- whatever you might say about much of the polished rock music of our time in the absence of enlightened choice.

And now comes the essence. Having described the aforementioned pitfalls I was almost completely surprised how Gunnar's musical language, not least the chord progression, seemingly without effort bypassed most all predictability. Now and then I thought to myself "Oh no! Here it comes!" But then it did not come -- but rather something different and better.

To be able to adequately surprise that way is exactly the magic that is required of tonal music in the 21st century. A recipe that is certainly not for cowards and many would pay dearly to accomplish. Not to mention that Gunnar obviously knows in places his Puccini, his Mahler, and Webber. But his work bears unmistakable witness to a prodigious improvement over his first "serious" works, Messan (2000) and Brynjólfsmessan from 2005.

The famous virtuosity of Gunnar no less delighted the ears in the varied solo arias and choir parts that occasionally touched on humor, as smiles were welcome in such a tragic story. The orchestra's treatment was especially colorful; everything from the most tender sensitivity to the stormiest drama and shivering gloom. The orchestra played exceptionally well under the careful direction of Petris, even though the generous church acoustics sometimes made it hard for him to get the volume furthest down when most needed.

The libretto of Friðrik Erlingsson supported the storytelling well and gave plenty of space for musical creativity. Although at times you could trip over a little heavy-handed phrasing and the occasional rising on an deemphasized syllable, but that can surely be fixed in the next iteration.

It would drive the unstable insane to discuss all 43 arias of the two-and-a-half-hour-long opera. Suffice to say that the cast was well selected. The nine soloists sang with world-class inspiration, especially the main roles of Ragnheiður, Bryjólfur, and Daði. Likewise the pitch-perfect contribution of school boys, worker women and parish children from the ranks of the South Iceland Chamber Choir was an undivided delight; powerful and yielding at the same time.

Nothing was done half way. There is therefore nothing left but to encourage a fitting staging of the opera as soon as possible.

- Ríkarður Ö. Pálsson