The Triumph of Beauty and Deceit/The Young Man with a Carnation, Almeida Opera, London<br></br>La gazza ladra/ Sarka/Osud, Garsington Opera, Oxfordshire

Loony tunes down a dark alley

Sex, sex, and more sex. Prurient proseletizers, screaming satyrs, leering hookers, fallen beauties, grasping addicts, careless murderers, copulating skeletons and coprophiliac cartoon characters. Rabbits (six-foot tall, or small and bouncy). Schoolgirls (ditto). Transvestites (same again). Well, what do you expect down a dark alley in King's Cross? But before the residents' association jams the switch-board, I should clarify. This isn't a picture of street life sleaze, it's a snapshot from Almeida Opera 2002.

Sexual violence is a common facet of opera productions. But rarely is it as intrinsic to the work in question as Nigel Lowery's bitterly funny and brutally explicit staging of The Triumph of Beauty and Deceit; Gerald Barry's in-yer-face inversion of Handel's thrice-composed secular oratorio Il trionfo del tempo e del disinganno – here performed in bite-size chunks as companion piece.

Barry (gentle Irish modernist famous for brow-beatingly angular moto perpetuo) and Handel (cantankerous German genius of grace and subtlety) have little in common at first glance. Both, however, share what may loosely – in the case of Handel's non-operatic works – be termed an instrumental style of vocal writing. But where Handel demands the melismatic flexibility of an oboe or violin from his soloists, Barry makes them work in combat or canon with vigorously inverted figures for wind, brass, strings and tuned percussion like a litter of kittens playing rugby with a ball of wool. The result? Excepting the handful of unaccompanied, semi-Gregorian soliloquies and dialogues that serve as caesurae to Triumph's relentless orgy, Barry's sadistically structured patter-speed lines need surtitles (despite the entertainingly waspish English text of librettist Meredith Oakes). Even these flew fast and thick, and without a production of audacious clarity and the virtuosity of the Birmingham Contemporary Music Group, this would have been an unrewarding experience.

In trionfo – here done as a Britney-with-brains high-school strut – the battle for pig-tailed pubescent Beauty (Gillian Keith) is won by Truth (William Purefoy) and Time (Stephen Richardson). Preening Pleasure (Andrew Watts) is left sobbing and powerless against the moral majority of her (sic) peers. Hit me baby one more time? I'll say. In Triumph's cartoonish carnality tale, Beauty (Christopher Lemmings) – now an Old Compton Street ingenue – does indeed get hit one more time. And another. And another. For this ostensibly radical but deeply reactionary allegory of gay hedonism sees poor Beauty fisted, fucked, and fucked-over by all: Pleasure (now a satyr), Truth (a voyeuristic cleric), Deceit (a lady-boy), Time (in the usual toga), and a large rabbit.

If violence and coprophilia left a nasty taste in one's mouth – especially once the crypto-conservative subtext registered – you had to admire the singers who coped so well with the business of translating this opera and melding it with the Handel. In the latter, Keith was delicious as ever, bringing an inevitable tear to the eye in Tu del ciel. Watts, wrestling manfully with what are – in trionfo – soprano arias, sang with visceral passion and searing tone through both works. Purefoy, in the quieter, creepier alto role of Truth, down-played drama in favour of insinuation. Richardson – a big, beery, burnished, bravura bass – delighted, while Roderick Williams – in fright-wig, mini and platforms as Deceit – delivered a performance that outshone his material; lucid, elegant and highly artistic. A remarkable achievement by all, but so much for prima le parole.

Would that Edward Rushton had assembled a cast like that for the première of his impressive one-act Karen Blixen adaptation The Young Man with a Carnation (also at Almeida Opera). Though The Opera Group's instrumental ensemble were enthusiastic and adept, Rushton's beautifully shaped roles needed more lustre than their three young singers could manage. Deftly scored and harmonically mature, this 29-year old composer's work flits between genres while retaining a strongly European, if not French, accent. In contrast to the Barry, text comes first. His vocal writing – as resourceful as Robin Rawstorne's clever set designs – not only favours naturalistic delivery but inspires further illumination of timbre and mood from the 11 instruments: flashes of colour from the brass, the two teasing violins, and from Anya Fadina's flamboyant piano part. Economical, imaginative, gripping and direct. Well worth catching on tour.

Could Garsington Opera's regulars stomach Barry's hyperactive priapism? The presence of one audience member common to both La gazza ladra and Triumph indicates a surprising crossover. Surprising because Garsington's suit is pretty, efficient and conservative productions of pretty, efficient and conservative repertoire. For every curiosity – this year's left-fielder being a double-bill of Janacek's Sarka (Tancredi meets Valkyrie) and Osud (composer meets navel) – there are two old favourites. Nothing to frighten the horses – wise in a rural location, I feel – or the serried ranks of former cabinet ministers who gather for a pleasant picnic with a bit of opera on the side.

But how to explain the ennui that wafts from stage and pit to the top of the tented auditorium? Perhaps Garsington's performers have realised they're not the main draw for all of their audience. Or maybe they know that in this hopeless acoustic – particularly frustrating in the Janacek – imagination plays as great a part in the assessment of their contributions as analysis does. That said, here is a swift appreciation of those whose voices were carried me-wards by the icy winds. For sparkle in the Rossini: Nerys Jones, Christopher Purves and Brindley Sherratt. For pathos in same: Russell Smythe. For complexity and intelligence in Osud: Adrian Thompson. For muscle and magic in Sarka: Miriam Murphy, Alenka Ponjavic and Susan Stacey. And though sustaining hypothermia while listening to sounds that splutter up like scents from an unstirred stew – here an oboe, there a double bass – holds little appeal for me, I don't think I fit the profile of Garsington's target audience. For many of its extremely happy punters, the up-against-it-ness is part of its allure. Hauling a hamper back to your Volvo in sheet rain might not win the Victoria Cross but – and this was touching to observe – those elderly gentlemen who battled the elements became heroes in their wives' eyes, albeit briefly. A triumph of Pleasure over Time, if ever I saw one.

a.picard@independent.co.uk

'The Young Man with a Carnation', Buxton (0845 1272190) Wednesday & 19 July, Warwick and Leamington Festival (01926 496277) Thursday. 'Osud'/'Sarka', Garsington Opera (01865 361636) Thursday. 'La gazza ladra', Garsington Opera, today, Tuesday & Saturday