We know that Aeneas is going to sail away. We know it before he arrives, before he declares his love to Dido, and certainly before the Sorceress and her witchy acolytes get all eye-of-newt about it. But when your opera house is the great hall under the Cutty Sark, and the clipper’s 200ft copper hull is rearing up over your head, it’s impossible to forget the tragedy that Purcell’s compact drama has in store.

So you have to wonder why Andrew Staples, director of the Monteverdi Choir’s semi-staging, felt the need to work quite so hard? The space is the staging. You can try to ignore it (no mean feat when the museum’s collection of antique figureheads flanks the stage in a surreal guard of honour: Florence Nightingale rubbing painted wooden shoulders with Disraeli, Sir Lancelot and a selection of buxom lovelies), but you can’t work against it; you simply won’t win.

Undeterred, Staples presented us with a “ritual” performance. Trumpets fanfared and drums were beaten as cast and orchestra processed mournfully on, faces white, ripped and stained tailcoats over their concert blacks – refugees from a Tim Burton fable. Soloists who had arrived in Carthage via Croydon on a Saturday night made one fear for open flames. Thank goodness Purcell swaps Virgil’s pyre for poison.

Close your eyes, though, and this was a rich account. Conductor Jonathan Sells rode every darting, eddying current in the score, the English Baroque Soloists a colourful, abandoned force in celebration, infinitely restrained elsewhere. Best of all were unaccompanied choral moments – “With drooping wings”, or the two interpolated Funeral Sentences – where movement and time stilled together, voices absolutely unified in their inflection, carving the music’s emotions with devastating clarity.

The space’s natural resonance allied to some big voices made for an exciting central drama. German-Egyptian mezzo Karima el Demerdasch (definitely one to watch) was a voluptuous-voiced Dido, her suicidal queen still coming into focus. Johanna Wallroth’s radiant, exuberantly ornamented Belinda and Bethany Horak-Hallett’s sumptuous Sorceress supplied the rival musical poles, tugging us from good to ill and back again. And what a treat to have a properly baritonal Aeneas in Hubert Zapiór – a worthy lover and sparring partner for Demerdasch, a hero almost worth dying for.

Next month the show travels to Norway for the Bergen festival. Cut loose from its nautical anchor, I suspect it’ll pick up several dramatic knots.