David McVicar’s WNO production of La Traviata draws gasps even before a word has been sung. The curtain rises on a living tableau from Manet or Winterhalter; a crowded, bustling world of tailcoats and ballgowns, jewelled colours and glittering candelabra, all under a blue haze of cigar smoke. It’s gorgeous – and after the drab monotony of WNO’s misconceived Donizetti trilogy last autumn, it was tempting simply to sit back and enjoy the spectacle.

 That’s the problem with La Traviata, of course – its enjoyability. Verdi’s melodic bling and tear-jerking purple patches mask an insupportable story with, at its heart, a moral decision infinitely less believable to modern audiences than anything that happens in Nibelheim or Valhalla.

Yet this reading simply dismissed the problem with a flourish; in an impassioned, urgent ensemble performance without a discernable weak link.

 True, as an impetuous, puppyish Alfredo, Ji-Min Park didn’t have the most glamorous tone, and Linda Richardson’s was one of those Violettas who seem to feel most musical kinship with Germont senior; her lovely, mellow soprano really bloomed in those Act 2 duets. Alan Opie’s Germont commanded every scene in which he appeared; by his climactic entrance at the end of the act, he’d achieved the potency and presence of a Wotan.

 For which, ultimate credit must go to the superb young conductor Simon Phillippo, who shaped the most tautly-paced, stylishly-phrased and genuinely expressive account of Verdi’s score that I have ever heard. The WNO Orchestra responded with thrilling élan; the first clarinet, in particular, all but out sang certain of the cast. Even the offstage bands played with precision and verve. On this showing, comparisons with Beecham are not wholly absurd.