A modern production by Aurora Orchestra starring Allan Clayton without detracting from Schubert’s original

Schubert’s Winterreise is a deep and profound exploration of loneliness, melancholy and self-journey through an incredible chemistry between male voice, piano and the poignant verses by Wilhelm Müller, which was written just one year prior to Schubert’s untimely demise at 31.  German conductor Hans Zender orchestrated this masterpiece in 1993 by weaving in a myriad of modern soundscapes and instrumental techniques (such as huge array of percussion) that infuses Schubert with a contemporary flavour and psychological depth. 

Zender’s rendition leaves infinite space for recreation and theatrical re-imagination, such as Opéra Comique’s avant-garde, multimedia-laden production (2017) and Dutch video artist Aernout Mik’s production negotiating between the virtual and the real (2020). Based on Zender’s adaptation, this production of Aurora Orchestra, conducted by Nicholas Collon and directed by Jane Mitchell, featuring Allan Clayton as the tenor, also endeavours to explore Schubert’s modernity and contemporary connection through compelling theatrical story-telling and brilliant movement arrangements.

Before Aurora’s Winterreise, I have never imagined a choreographed classical performance where almost all the musicians are moving here and there, not only onstage interacting with the tenor, but also coming to and touring around the auditorium. There are two polystyrene-made white staircases on both sides of the stage, and from time to time, certain players will leave their seats, move to the stairs, and play as featured soloists. The accordion stands especially remarkable: although it is not commonly used in western classical music, it perfectly fits the theme of winter journey, instantly picturing the desperate romanticism deeply embedded in Schubert. 

Such effort of movement arrangement comes to an ecstasy at the end, with Clayton’s endeavour to mingle with the crowd. Sarcastically, the musicians strategically withdraw to the two polystyrene staircases with almost no one remain on the seat. Eventually, even Collon, the conductor, leaves his central stage, occupying a small corner on stage right, giving way to the man’s solitude. As Mitchell articulates, those players are, themselves, storytellers. They denote a doubleness of the orchestra, embodying both the world that forsakes the man, and an outsider’s perspective witnessing his tragic journey.

Allan Clayton’s crystal, clear voice perfectly encapsulates the wandering, melancholic youth in his winter solitude. Little doubt, he is also an expressive actor. In most of the time, he stands behind a trapezium-shaped projection scrim, overlooking the orchestra as his forsaking world. Sometimes he sits and lies down on the white staircases, accompanied by and interacting with the players. For instance, when performing “The Crow”, four wind players wear plague doctor masks coming to him, symbolising both comfortable company and the omnipresent image of graveyard and death.

To some extent, the man himself mirrors the crow, meandering through endless nocturnes but occasionally find brief respite in a secluded wooden cabin, an oasis cloaked in snow (“The Inn”). He might find warmth by the fireplace, or stumble upon fleeting, once-in-a-lifetime companionship, but the inexorable pull of solitude forces him to resume his trek through the wintry expanse, journeying into the long nights again.

Even the audience is not his true company. Like the wind players earlier in the production, Clayton also navigates through the auditorium. We can feel his voice approaching, as near as by our sides. As he’s wandering away, the voice recedes into the distance, echoing a heart that has turned to stone, becoming an ultimate embodiment of loneliness and desperation. Some may criticise that Clayton hams it up too much, especially when you are fond of Kaufmann’s subtle classic of authenticity. While subtlety no doubt reflects Schubert’s spirit, theatricalisation in a certain degree can effectively convey the depth of rejection and alienation, aligning more closely with Zender’s envision. 

The performance at Saffron Hall acts as a preview for its Southbank performances on the 14th and 16th of March. At times, there lacks some synergy between the orchestra and the moving musicians, but such moments will definitely not jeopardise the orchestra’s bold innovation and artistic expression.