Based on actual historical figures, Richard Wilson’s Aethelred the Unready tells the tale of a hapless king who was cursed at birth and went on to acquire the ignominious appellation. The action takes place just before the Tribunal of Historical Revision, during which Aethelred’s wife, Emma, hopes to gain a more noble, or at least a more palatable title for her pathetic husband on the 1000th anniversary of his death. Despite her pleadings with Clio, the Muse of History, and the Chronicler William of Malmesbury, she is unable to affect a change, especially since her bumbling spouse blows every opportunity for one. It’s not until Aethelred enters a dream state induced by the Hypnotist that he finally grows some cajones, and, promptly upon waking, he rids himself of all those annoying people, thereby finding eternal peace at last.
The chief virtue of this opera is its intelligent and whimsical libretto, which is chock full of clever witticisms and cutting one-liners (Emma’s “His name is Aethelred the Unready, with knees unsteady”). And judging from the occasional audience laughter on this live recording, there’s a considerable visual comic element as well. But listeners to the CD have only the words and music to contend with, and therein lies the problem. Wilson chose to flesh out his scenario with a musical language that is not only unyieldingly atonal but also unremittingly astringent. You might say, “Well, there are a lot of 20th century operas like that.” True, but Aethelred was composed in the 1990s and premiered in 2001, by which time composers as diverse as John Adams, John Harbison, John Corigliano, Tobias Picker, and Philip Glass had been writing operas that people would want to hear again, or at least sit all the way through the first time. Wilson’s work has not one memorable tune, or even melodic fragment, and the overall effect of the music is a pervasive and depressing grayness.
This is a pity, for the performers do an admirable job of bringing the characters to life. Robert Osborne’s rather stilted vocal quality (he sounds more like an oratorio singer than an operatic baritone) and droll delivery ideally suits the milquetoast Aethelred. As Emma, Elizabeth Weigle’s biting sarcasm is barely masked by her false sympathy, while Andrew Childs smartly projects William of Malmesbury’s royal pomposity. Drew Minter’s Clio is a model of imperious androgyny, though I can think of few sounds more gloomily irritating than atonal countertenor singing. No doubt there are readers who are saying “oh, quit being namby-pamby, and just eat your atonal spinach, it’s good for you!” Fair enough. So for them, as well as for those who enjoy the exquisite sensation of a grain of sand lodged under their eyelids, I’d say you’re in for a real treat!
