In May, a new staging of Handelās āSemeleā premiered at the Komische Oper in Berlin. Allan Clayton, in coattails, a three-piece suit, and pink socks, played a sprightly Jove, who has just fallen in love with a mortal woman. When he sang the lines āWhereāer you tread the blushing flowārs shall rise / And all things flourish whereāer you turn your eyes,ā from the famous aria āWhereāer you walk,ā I could feel something almost literally flourishing in the opera houseānot flowers, maybe, but attention and emotion. His voice was soft, delicate, and clean; not qualities usually associated with tenors. Several weeks later, I met Clayton at a Viennese cafĆ© near the Komische Oper. He wore Adidas sportswear, and spoke to me over the loud clinking of silverware.
VAN: Iām curious about your interpretation of Jove in Handelās āSemeleā at the Komische Oper. It was funny, almost goofy. What was the intention between that?
Allan Clayton: Well, I worry about bullshitting so early in the interview, but Joveājovial? Iām not sure if that works. [It does.āEd.] But no, it was about utilizing who I am. You know, Iām not a thin, good-looking guy. Iām sort of overweight and bearded, though I can be quite light on my feet. But Jove has become human, so heās enjoying this body, loving his long hair. Heās finding human emotions for the first time: love, humor, sadness, loss. In playing with Semele, he begins to experience how it is to be human.
In Act III of the opera, thereās a chorus that basically blames the title character for being too vain. As an actor, do you have to believe in that moral universe while youāre on stage, or can you play it from a distance?
You can absolutely play it from a distance. But as Jove, I love her as a human. I warn her and warn her that if I reveal my true self to her, sheāll die. For me, the vanity doesnāt really have to come into it at all. Itās more about the love.
At times, āSemeleā can feel very foreign to our society. Itās nagging, slut-shaming.
But itās not that foreign, is it? On any of these reality TV shows, āLove Islandā or whatever, the people get booed, because theyāve been shagging on air, theyāve cheated, or they took their top off. The rationale, which I donāt agree with, is often that people who put themselves in the public eye deserve to have these insults thrown at them. Actually, that isnāt how it should work.

You mentioned your body type. Right now, thereās more pressure than ever for women singers to be thin and conventionally attractive. Have you ever felt that pressure as a man?
Yeah, sure. First of all, I feel the pressure every day of waking up and going, Iām overweight [laughs]. Then again, Iāve never really been thin. Iām quite a good, natural sportsman, but that never made me lose weight. And now Iām 37 and less active, and I drink too much, so my weight is more than it should be.
Thereās certainly been criticism about that in the press. There was this one minor Twitter thing where a critic said I was āvocally in excellent trim but need to spend more time at the gym if he is to be stripped regularly to his boxers.ā Someone tagged me in this review on Facebook; I wouldnāt have seen it otherwise. And I was drunk, so I wrote that he can fuck off.
A few years later, of course he was right to say that. But the production wasnāt done with me in mind. If it had been, Iād have sat down with the director and the costume designer and said, āThis is not a good look,ā and we would have done something different. Besides, a good mate of mine told me that he had a point. This is one of my best friends; and I had to agree with him.
For singers, everything that comes out of you is being judged. The basis is, How do your vocal chords come together, and do I like that noise? Itās really easy for that to carry over to your appearance as well.
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The German alto Wiebke Lehmkuhl told me she once lost a part because she wasnāt the right size for a preexisting costume. Have you ever had to deal with that kind of body-based casting?
There was one job, a Mozart opera: the contract hadnāt been signed, but Iād been told I was going to do it. To the extent that Iād been asked which director I thought should take over from the person who had to withdraw. It was still two or three years out. I made my suggestion, and then I got a message from my agent saying, āSorry, but theyāve decided youāre not doing it anymore.ā
It turned out that it was a physical thing. So I wrote to them and said, āI can lose weight, I can shave my beard. Tell me what it is, weāre two or three years out. I can do whatever needs to be done.ā They answered, āNo, you look too old.ā At this point I was either 29 or 30; and without the beard, I looked like I was six. So it was complete bullshit, basically.
The actual production happened not so long ago. It turns out theyād gone for two really handsome guys in the lead roles. Just photogenicā¦everything Iām not. And itās like, OK. But be honest.
The role of John/Angel III in George Benjaminās āWritten on Skinā was originally composed with you in mind. Were there any plans for you to be part of āLessons in Love and Violenceā?
In āWritten on Skin,ā I wasnāt used that much. I had the least of anyone to do. That was frustrating, because itās such a great show and I love George and his music. When I found out he was writing another operaāI didnāt ask him outright if I was going to be in it, but he told me, āOh, weāll have to find something nice for you to do in the next one.ā Later on, I got a very sweet text from him, saying, [librettist] āMartin [Crimp] and I have tried really hard to find out how you could fit into this work, and we just donāt see your voice being in it.ā Itās like, Dude, you donāt need to worry about me. But thatās how lovely a guy he is.
I saw āLessons in Love and Violenceā at Covent Garden, and liked it a lot. I sent George a message saying I felt like I was trapped in a glacier, being pushed inexorably towards a cliff, and then thereās a sudden shattering.
As someone whoās trained as a singer, how did you prepare for Hamlet, in Brett Deanās recent operaāarguably theaterās most famous role?
I didnāt prepare the acting at all, really. You canāt until youāre in the room, until you see who youāre reacting against. I knew the people, but I still didnāt want to second-guess what we were going to do. That would ruin the best part of opera, which is being in a rehearsal room for five, six weeks and finding it with your colleagues.
The performances are stressful. You might be ill, and itās two hours where youāve got to get it right. Thereās a paying audience, and they wantāthey deserveāto see the best show they can. So thatās often the most stressful, least enjoyable part of it. The best bit, especially in a new work, is interacting with people, hearing the orchestra for the first time.

Were you satisfied with yourself during the first performances?
After the last show of the run, I came off stage and I was like, Ah. OK. Even Vlad Jurowski came up to me and said, āThatās the first one youāve done where you donāt sound absolutely knackered by the end.ā I felt like I was just beginning to click, musically, dramatically: where I could give everything in the first half, where I could step back. With the other characters it clicked early on; but I never felt that it clicked for me. I didnāt get it.
Your voice sounds effortless to me. Thatās unusual for a tenor, where so many singers have a more forced quality.
[Laughs] Yeah. Iāve always been lucky that I can sing high quite easily. Recently, I was singing a gig with the LA Phil, and I got ill. So they send me to a throat doctor in Beverly Hills who they use. I was very naive: got an Uber to see him, and it turned out it was the throat doctor for Stevie Wonder, Justin Bieber, I think Tina Turner.
So he prescribed me some drugs. And he said it was interesting, part of my larynx is the same size as it was when I was a kid. It allows you an easy facility at the top. Iād love to say Iāve spent hours making it sound easy, but itās purely a genetic fluke. Apparently Justin Bieber has the same thing. ¶
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