Opera Today

Doctor Atomic at the English National Opera

Fiona Maddocks [Observer, 1 March 2009]

John Adams’s Doctor Atomic, to a libretto by Peter Sellars about the first atomic bomb test, has already been seen in an original San Francisco version and at the New York Met, relayed to cinemas worldwide last year. This was its first UK staging, in Penny Woolcock’s Met production, with Adams’s meditative, richly faceted score incisively conducted by Lawrence Renes. Impressive though the screen relay was, nothing prepared you for the impact in the theatre. If a work forces you, simultaneously and uncomfortably, to clench your limbs and hold your breath, you have to take notice.

Endlich wird Händel wieder wie früher gespielt

Wibke Gerking [Die Welt, 24 February 2009]

Wie vor fast 300 Jahren: Am Badischen Staatstheater Karlsruhe wird Georg Friedrich Händels Oper “Radamisto” mithilfe rekonstruierter Schriften erstmals wie zur Entstehungszeit auf die Bühne gebracht. Dabei sind Bühnenbild, Licht, Kostüme, Maske und sogar die Mimik authentisch.

The compelling Dutchman

By Andrew Clark [Financial Times, 24 February 2009]

For a fairly popular opera, Der fliegende Holländer does not come round often. Like Wagner’s anti-hero, cursed to wander the seas and only put in to land every seven years, the work itself seems fated to be an infrequent visitor, forever in search of the elusive production that might be worthy of it.

Das Rheingold, Music Center, Los Angeles

By Allan Ulrich [Financial Times, 23 February 2009]

Finally, after valiant attempts and sporadic tantalising morsels, Los Angeles now boasts a Ring des Nibelungen it can call its own, and if the opening instalment is representative, it will look like no other production of Wagner’s 15-hour epic of ambition, greed and redemption currently on the boards. Fortunately, it will probably sound like the best of the rest.

Fidelio at Cadogan Hall

Hilary Finch [Times Online, 19 February 2009]

The aim of London Lyric Opera is to be “the premier London concert opera company”, no less and, with the current upsurge in unstaged and semi-staged performances, they will certainly have to be on their mettle. What’s more, they plan to put on a show every four months, casting “the best available singers”.

A restrained Flying Dutchman at the Royal Opera House, London

Terfel’s admirers would not have been disappointed. His voice boomed with authority, impressive for its strength, even when he had to sing dragging a heavy rope across the stage and wade through the real water at the front of the platform. Terfel’s vocal power always impresses, and he has done interesting Dutchmen elsewhere. However, in this production, by Tim Albery, he was not called upon to develop the character. Not long ago, Albery presented Boris Gudonov as stolid, mild-mannered bourgeois. This Dutchman was no more ravaged than Daland. When the women and Daland’s sailors call out to the doomed souls on the haunted ship, they face the audience and shine lights into the auditorium. When the Dutchman’s crew do appear, they’re neatly dressed in uniform, as if they’d never been to sea. Maybe there’s some deep meaning in this, but it could have been thought through with more focus.

Anja Kampe as Senta

The performance was more interesting, though, for what it brought out in the music. That glorious overture is a marvel of dramatic scene-painting, setting the mood for the entire opera. How it’s staged reflects on the whole production. Here it unfolded against a backdrop of green light and projected images of rain, with shadowy figures flitting from left to right. This was interesting, but hardly enough to sustain interest for that period of time. Nor did it vary, although the score itself is characterized by distinct developmental phases. This was disappointing because Marc Albrecht’s conducting shaped these changing themes very clearly, for they define the duality that is fundamental to the whole opera.

Albrecht’s approach revealed the underlying structure. Wagner wields leitmotivs like weapons. By juxtaposing the sailor’s cheery love songs with the savagery of the music associated with the storm and the Dutchman, he draws contrasts, between stability and chaos. Particularly brilliant are the crosscurrents in Act Three, throwing the music of the village against the music of the haunted sailors. This act depicts a “storm on land”, just as the first depicts a storm at sea. Keeping the different ensembles distinct is important here, and takes some sophistication. But the Royal Opera House Chorus excels in intricate ensemble. At last the production sprang to life, animated by the sheer vitality of the singing.

A scene from Der fliegende Holländer with Anja Kampe (Senta) in the foreground

Indeed, the role of the chorus in this opera is sometimes underplayed since attention usually centres on the Dutchman and on Senta. The influence of Weber still hung heavily on Wagner. Some of these choruses are reminiscent of Der Freischütz, another tale of demonic forces. Thus Albrecht’s vignette-like focus reflects episodic “aria” opera tradition rather than the overwhelming sweep of late Wagner in full sail. Der fliegende Holländer is only the first stage of the saga.

Bryn Terfel may have been the big draw, but perhaps this production will be remembered as the moment Anja Kampe made her name. Anyone who can steal a scene from Terfel is worth listening to. From Kampe’s small frame emanated a voice of great power, enhanced by an understanding of Senta’s role. Even before she meets the Dutchman, she fantasizes about him. The other women work in a factory, but Senta is by nature a non-conformist, drawn to the wildness that the Dutchman symbolises. No wonder she knows right away she wants him, not Erik. Senta is the prototype of Wagner’s later heroines who equate love with death, and who find fulfilment in redeeming others. This does reflect in many ways Wagner’s own predicaments, but the archetype becomes wilder and more cataclysmic. Kampe probably has the ability to make much more of such heroines in the future, given the productions that make more of the extreme intensity - madness, even - in these roles. She’s singing Isolde at Glyndebourne this summer, which will be something to look forward to.

Anne Ozorio

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Dutchman_Terfel_ROH09.png image_description=Bryn Terfel as the Dutchman [Photo by Clive Barda courtesy of The Royal Opera House] product=yes product_title=Richard Wagner: Der fliegende Holländer product_by=Bryn Terfel (The Dutchman), Hans-Peter König (Daland), Anja Kampe (Senta), John Tessier (Steersmann), Claire Shearer (Mary), Torsten Kerl (Erik), Orchestra and Chorus of the Royal Opera House, London. Marc Albrecht (conductor), Tim Albery (director), Renato Balsadonna (chorusmaster) product_id=Above: Bryn Terfel as the Dutchman

All photos by Clive Barda courtesy of The Royal Opera House

Lucrezia Borgia at Munich

It features three main characters: Lucrezia Borgia herself, Gennaro the tragic hero (tenor) who, unbeknownst to all but Lucrezia, is her son , and Maffio Orsini, Gennaro’s very, very, close friend who—tellingly?—is sung by a contralto.

The opera features a particularly unbelievable story based on unlikely premises which steer the protagonists into artificially dramatic situations that bear the least possible resemblance to reality. As per usual with Italian opera of the time, a series of unfortunate events/conspiracies/oaths leaves the dramatis personae in life-and-death scenarios where one or more of them die only to turn out to have been the murderer’s daughter/son/lover. If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. Rigoletto and Il Trovatore, as slightly more sophisticated examples of the same idea, send their regards.

Of course operas like Lucrezia Borgia are not popular for the inane story linews that make the average MacGyver plot look new and sophisticated. Nor is the repetitive music, worthy of a third rate Sicilian Oompah band, the draw either. For one, every scene takes three times longer than necessary because everything has to be spelled and trice repeated with Donizetti unwilling or unable to express any emotion in music. He has but three modes: regular, powerful (loud), and ‘ominous’ (fast string tremolos): it’s like painting with just three colors. Schubert can put the world's emotion in one tiny song... Donizetti, working at the rate of Lucrezia, couldn't put four emotions into an opera the length of Parsifal. Being premiered just six years before Verdi’s Oberto, it’s no coincidence that the music of Lucrezia sounds like very early (and very bad) Verdi

The real draw is solely the achievement of the soprano in the title role for whom the opera’s  vocal high-wire act the opera is one massive vehicle. Everyone in the audience waits through the entire second act for the very last five minutes (taking Orsini’s “Il segreto per esse felice” in the passing) when Madamma Borgia has her gratuitous vocal coloratura moment where the singer—given sufficient ability—has the opportunity to burn off a display of fireworks that seems nearly superhuman. The inevitable roaring approval from voice fetishists  - usually from the second tier upward) -  make the impression of an old fashioned freak-show, albeit in a fancy setting, inevitable.

The Bavarian State Opera has Edita Gruberova for the title role, who is worshiped in the few towns—Munich, Vienna, Zurich— where she regularly performs. The primadonna assoluta is still a bel canto monster at almost 63. Although the soft hue of her voice is worn down a bit, exposing a touch of harshness, she still indulges in all the highest pianissimo notes she cares to, letting them swell to a piercing forte with ease.

Edita Gruberova (Lucrezia Borgia), Ensemble

The direction of Munich’s Lucrezia is by Christof Loy, who was named Director of the Year 2008 by the German magazine Opernwelt and is a frequent collaborator of Gruberova’s. His staging—or lack thereof—strips the opera of anything resembling a set. A raked floor and a bright white backdrop with neon-letters spelling out “Lucrezia Borgia” (Gennaro rips the “B” out, when he assaults the Borgia’s coat of arms: “Oh diamin! ORGIA!”) is all there is, apart from a few chairs. Why Loy makes Gruberova take her wig off again (she does so to great effect in his Munich Roberto Devereux) isn’t quite clear. Her three costumes could, with some generosity, be construed as the multiple personalities that live within Lucrezia. The audience booed—as is good tradition, but the minimalist approach struck as refreshingly uncluttered.

The chorus, Gennaro, and his five friends all run around in Pulp Fiction uniform: black suites and narrow black ties. Only the ruffians in Act II look as if they had been chased through the costume magazine with the mission to pick whichever corniest 1950s Verdi costume first caught their eye. The ill fitting tights in every garish color and bad wigs were probably a clever self-referential joke of the production team, but that joke not being shared with the viewer, it just looked dumb. Zestfully throwing plastic wine glasses about, only for them to bounce off the floor with a hollow thud, is an embarrassment worthy of high-school productions that I thought would never happen at the Munich Opera.

Pavol Breslik as Gennaro and Alice Coote as Maffio Orsini made the most of their duty to pass the time between Gruberova outbreaks. Their tender duet—two men acting like a loving couple, played by a man and a woman—was a dramatic highpoint. Franco Vassallo’s smooth bass mastered Don Alfonso’s part agreeably. Loy’s team consists of lighting designer Joachim Klein, Barbara Drosihn who is in charge of costumes, and Henrik Ahr, responsible for the set. Bertrand de Billy’s conducting didn’t go beyond supporting and cuing the singers, but then he had nothing to work with, musically.

Jens F. Laurson

[This review first appeared in Seen & Heard. It is reprinted with permission of the author.] image=http://www.operatoday.com/rsys_27132_499d5cac68e3f.png image_description=Edita Gruberova as Donna Lucrezia Borgia [Photo by Wilfried Hösl courtesy of Bayerische Staatsoper] product=yes product_title=Gaetano Donizetti: Lucrezia Borgia product_by=Don Alfonso: Franco Vassallo; Donna Lucrezia Borgia: Edita Gruberova; Gennaro: Vittorio Grigòlo; Maffio Orsini: Alice Coote; Jeppo Liverotto: Bruno Ribeiro; Don Aposto Gazella: Christian Rieger; Ascanio Petrucci: Christopher Magiera; Gubetta: Steven Humes; Oloferno Vitellozzo: Erik Årman; Rustighello: Emanuele D'Aguanno; Astolfo: Christian Van Horn. Bayerisches Staatsorchester. Chor der Bayerischen Staatsoper. Musikalische Leitung: Bertrand de Billy. Regie: Christof Loy. product_id=Above: Edita Gruberova as Donna Lucrezia Borgia

All photos by Wilfried Hösl courtesy of Bayerische Staatsoper

Rigoletto at the MET

The term Bel Canto, historically associated with operatic singing, is essentially easy to define; however, as of late it has come to represent something other than its initial connotation. “Beautiful Singing,” is not simply the manifestation of a beautiful sound, but an actual aesthetic singing method that has been passed along from its early masters to those singers who choose to execute it. But, have we become obsessed with the “beautiful sound” rather than the aesthetic concept of Bel Canto? Is making beautiful sounds enough to ensure the verisimilitude of Opera?

On February 4th , the performance of Rigoletto at the Metropolitan Opera began with an announcement that on the eve prior Italian tenor, Giuseppe Filianoti, had spontaneously filled in for Mr. Rolando Villazón in the role of Edgardo in Lucia di Lammermoor, opposite Anna Netrebko. A significant feat for any well-seasoned professional, the announcement that Filianoti would sing back-to-back performances and continue with his scheduled performance as the Duke in Rigoletto was met with much applause.

Giuseppe Filianoti as the Duke

Debuting with Rigoletto, young Italian conductor Riccardo Frizza handled the Metropolitan Orchestra well, if perhaps lacking some of the necessary vibrancy required of Verdi’s scoring. At times, the tempi were held much too strictly and were devoid of rubato, that when used tastefully in middle-period Verdi can assist singers in carrying out pure Bel Canto singing. While tentative at first, Maestro Frizza settled into a more dramatically charged orchestral character by Act III. The swells in the storm scene, however, could have been more substantial, especially in a scene where Verdi employs the use of the human voice as a natural device, the howling wind of the storm. Chorus Master, Donald Palumbo was magnificent in his direction of this chorus that was the foundational support of the production.

George Gagnidze (Rigoletto)

Georgian Baritone, George Gagnidze, whose singing was the most accurate, aesthetically pleasing, and dramatic was promising in his portrayal of Verdi’s hunchback. His Rigoletto was both pathetic and sometimes sinister in his vendetta. In scenes his with Gilda, portrayed by Polish Soprano, Aleksandra Kurzak, the dramatic effectiveness of his singing faltered and several scenes became stagnant, if not all sounding the same. Gagndize began to tread the line between reality and the other in Act III, with his most dramatic singing and acting at the point when Gilda is discovered in the sack. A lovely, baritone with colore brucciato, Gagnidze carried the brunt of this production on the merits of his talent.

Soprano, Aleksandra Kurzak possessed a beautiful, clear voice, if not too clear for Verdi. Because Gilda is young, she is often portrayed by a coloratura lirica; historically however, Verdi’s orchestral palate and the dramatic penchant of his writing would require a fuller voice that is capable of high tessitura and yet broad enough in the middle registers to mesh with the orchestral thickness of Verdi’s middle-period writing. Ms. Kurzak’s voice was even soubrette-like and much too light in contrast to Filianoti’s full dramatic tenor and Gagnidze’s burnished Baritone. Her Caro Nome left much to be desired. Unfortunately, Maestro Frizza was not helpful; almost painfully strict, he did not allow any semblance of stretching, rubato, or colorito. In fact, it resembled early Mozart more than a middle-period work of Verdi. If a voice of this type were to sing Gilda, it would be to implement the bell-like quality of the notes in the higher tessitura; however, Ms. Kurzak lacked squillo in her upper range, presenting her with difficulty in the final fioriture of Gilda’s cadenza. Unfortuantely, she also lacked fullness in her middle register, a likely cause why Mr. Gagdnize’s scenes with her affected his own vocal colour. While producing some lovely sounds throughout, dramatically Ms. Kurzak failed to add any electricity to this production.

A scene from Rigoletto with Giuseppe Filianoti as the Duke, Viktoria Vizin as Maddalena, Aleksandra Kurzak as Gilda and Roberto Frontali in the title role of Rigoletto.

Mezzo-Soprano, Viktoria Vizin, was highly effective as Maddalena, exuding just the right amount of sultriness. She was dramatic and illuminated the stage perhaps more than her colleagues, and possesses a rich mezzo that is well suited to the Verdian palate.

While the majesty of the Met always remains, this production was not one of its most memorable. A young cast of promising talent is always exciting, however the shift in aesthetic understanding is equally noticeable. What would a Rigoletto have been like 40 years ago or even in 1851? Historically speaking, opera is an art of old and its aesthetic properties, even if set modernly by present-day artists, should remain as they were intended. Verdi’s hunchback is perhaps the character to whom he related the most for a number of reasons; yet, this production lacked the dramatic penchant that even one glance at the score makes blatantly evident.

“Careful,” might seem the word of the day. Taking the risk of making an audience believe that what is occurring on that stage is a reality in the midst of a larger one is becoming more and more sparse. Swallowed by the need to make a “beautiful sound,” the risk of dramatic intensity is flickering. Is removing the portamenti that are essential to Bel Canto, and singing strictly on the beat the way to create drama or remain historically accurate to Verdi’s aesthetic? If we continue to cater to the “beautiful sound” alone, the art of opera cannot remain true to its historical ancestry. It would be the desire of any spectator to hear a few sounds that were not as beautiful, at the behest of dramatic efficacy.

Mary-Lou Patricia Vetere © 2009

image=http://www.operatoday.com/_MG_1752.png image_description=Roberto Frontali in the title role of "Rigoletto." [Photo: Cory Weaver/Metropolitan Opera] product=yes product_title=G. Verdi: Rigoletto product_by=Rigoletto: Roberto Frontali and George Gagnidze; Duke of Mantua: Giuseppe Filianoti, Piotr Beczala, and Joseph Calleja; Gilda: Aleksandra Kurzak and Diana Damrau; Maddalena: Viktoria Vizin and Tamara Mumford; Sparafucile: Raymond Aceto. The Metropolitan Opera. Conductor: Riccardo Frizza. product_id=Above: Roberto Frontali in the title role of "Rigoletto."

All production photos by Cory Weaver courtesy of The Metropolitan Opera.

Lehár's Die Lustige Witwe from Semperoper Dresden

Leading the Staatskapelle Dresden forces, conductor Manfred Honeck does his best to present just such a reading. Two factors, however, work to mitigate his success. The singers, able as they may be and willing to have fun, mostly lack the vocal charisma to really put the music across at its best. Ultimately director Savary has to stage the dialogue scenes between the musical numbers, and the forced humor and annoyingly hyper performance style he elicits suggests he doesn’t like much about The Merry Widow except the music. Rather than cutting the dialogue down to a minimum, however, Savary opts for Benny Hill-style comic action, gratuitous sexuality and manic over-acting. Crass over class.

Hanna Glawari’s appearance by helicopter indicates some updating of the action, but the costumes and Folies Bergére dance routines could be early 20th century, while the plot remains very much late-19th. The dialogue, as is typical of operetta productions, gets a “freshening” as well, so that we get supposedly comical references to IKEA. With a fairly silly story such as this, no harm is done, except that the “anything for a laugh” approach becomes wearying. Indeed, audience laughter is spare and modest. Ahmad Mesgarhia proves especially tiresome as Njegus, mincing and shouting mercilessly.

Any successful Merry Widow depends on the star power of its leads, and though both Bo Skovhus as Danilo and Petra-Maria Schnitzer as Hanna Glawari possess strong voices and good looks, neither ever relaxes into their roles, and they have no spark between them. Skovhus sounds fine when on his own, but his voice and Schnitzer’s do not blend well. Though she is attractive and looks the part in Michel Dussarrat’s appealing costumes, Schnitzer tends to oversing, and every high notes falls short.

At one point, a character sighs and declares, “An operetta can drag on.” Well, this one certainly does, so maybe that was a self-fulfilling prophecy. The best thing about this set is Medici Arts slim packaging, although the too-slim booklet could have used a synopsis of the action.

Chris Mullins

image=http://www.operatoday.com/LustigeWitweSemperoper.png image_description=Lustige Witwe (Die)

product=yes producttitle=Franz Lehar: Die Lustige Witwe (The Merry Widow) productby=Baron Mirko Zeta - Gunther Emmerlich; Valencienne - Lydia Teuscher; Graf Danilo Danilowitsch - Bo Skovhus; Hanna Glawari - Petra-Maria Schnitzer; Camille de Rosillon - Oliver Ringelhahn; Viscomte Cascada - Christoph Pohl; Raoul de St. Brioche - Gerald Hupach; Njegus - Ahmad Mesgarha; Kromow - Dominik Licht; Olga - Gisela Philipp; Bogdanowitsch - Frank Blümel; Sylviane - Gabi Falkenhagen; Pritschitsch - Frank Höller; Praskowia - Heike Wommelsdorff. Staatsopernchor Dresden. Sächsische Staatskapelle Dresden. Manfred Honeck, conductor. Jérôme Savary, stage director. productid=Medici Arts 2056818 [DVD] price=$29.99 producturl=http://www.arkivmusic.com/classical/Drilldown?nameid1=6990&namerole1=1&compid=39100&bcorder=15&nameid=56124&name_role=3

Adriana Lecouvreur at the MET

There are nights at the opera when we want to have fun. Francesco Cilea wrote Adriana Lecouvreur for such occasions, and such occasions there are in glorious plenty in the current Met revival of this sublime bit of kitsch. If that other grand operatic folderol La Gioconda, revived in the Met’s opening week last fall, had been cast with half the care or staged with half the expertise of this Adriana, it would have been a hit and not a yawn. For one thing, the title role in Gioconda should certainly be offered to Maria Guleghina, who performs Adriana with all the excitement (if not exactly the dependable legato) that both roles call for. She would give Gioconda the fire it conspicuously lacked last fall — the fire that makes a Gioconda — or an Adriana. Guleghina knows what melodrama is all about. When her Adriana, feverishly dying, cried, “Melpomene son io!” one did not quite believe it, but one did believe that Guleghina, as Adriana, believed it.

Guleghina does not have a reliable instrument. I’m trying to choose my words carefully here. Her voice is extraordinary — sometimes it bubbles over like some great Russian river in flood, whelming the landscape in solid sound, and at other times it blinks out just when you hoped you could rely on it. Her technique is not smooth when a quieter voice is called for, the exquisite thread of a Milanov or a Freni is not hers to command. She sings the great aria of her first appearance, “Io son l’umile ancella,” in separate bursts, divided voices, not as if she is explicating her theatrical technique (the text at this point) but as if there is a disjunction between the amount of breath she has summoned and the amount that arrives. This can unsettle, as it does in such other Guleghina signature roles as Verdi’s Abigaille and Lady Macbeth — but they both require a coloratura precision she does not have; Adriana does not, and is therefore a better role choice for her. She tosses herself about with abandon in the love scenes, but she is at the top of her form in the great confrontations with Olga Borodina’s Princesse de Bouillon, and when, at the climax of Act II, these two great ladies in full cry and spectacular silken costumes, panniers on display like the plumage of prehistoric birds in battle array, it is one of opera’s great scenes presented at the pitch of gladiatorial combat. Poisoned violets? I was surprised not to see blood and broken bones, picked clean by harpie teeth and claws.

Olga Borodina as The Princess de Bouillon and Plácido Domingo as Maurizio

Borodina, of course, is one of the great voices of our time and one of New York’s happiest acquisitions from the Russian vocal stable. Her Laura was a rare fine feature of the Gioconda, but the Princesse is a far more violent, desperate character — which suits her admirably. We hate the Princesse because she refuses to give up the man she loves, though he loves Adriana, and because she resorts to poison to keep him — but remember, she’s in the throes of first passion, after years of an arranged, aristocratic marriage, and Cilea spares her a dab of sympathetic treatment. In any case, Borodina’s singing is always passionate without losing track of musicianship. Her low tones are utterly Russian, but she has learned how to deploy them in Italian music (and French music) without Slavic accents, and her control in this hectic part was icily correct. When she wants a note to go here, it goes here, if there, it goes there, nowhere else, precisely pitched and just as loud or as soft as she desires it to be. This is not as common (especially among the ladies in the Italian repertory nowadays) as it might be, and I wish she’d give Guleghina a coaching session or two.

Roberto Fontali as Michonnet and Maria Guleghina as Adriana Lecouvreur

The original choice for Maurizio being transferred to the new Trovatore, the role was given to Plácido Domingo, originally set to conduct these performances. Maurizio was the role of his Met debut forty years ago, and everyone (not least Guleghina) was thrilled that he got through it decently — but let’s be frank, shall we? This was not a performance to thrill from any singer less beloved. Though his manner was able and gallant, his sound was dry and strangulated, his great martial aria of Act III rather painful than otherwise. When he sang Gherman in The Queen of Spades in 2004, he still sounded youthful as well as romantic; in this far lighter role he was no longer a pleasure to hear. Only by the final romantic duet with the dying Adriana had he warmed to some beautiful phrases; his sobs were heart-melting and will be, for me, perhaps, a satisfying last vocal effort from the tenor of the Traviata that first made me an opera fan forty-three years ago.

Roberto Frontali made a touching, satisfying Michonnet, and John Del Carlo charmingly (and loudly) occupied the role of the scheming Prince de Bouillon. Marco Armiliato kept a good pace in the pit, allowing the fragrant melodies of this fragile work to bloom sweetly under his care, and supporting the singers nimbly.

John Yohalem

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Adriana_Met_01.png image_description=Plácido Domingo as Maurizio and Maria Guleghina as Adriana Lecouvreur [Photo by Marty Sohl courtesy of The Metropolitan Opera] product=yes product_title=Francesco Cilea: Adriana Lecouvreur product_by=Adriana: Maria Guleghina; Princesse de Bouillon: Olga Borodina; Maurizio: Plácido Domingo; Michonnet: Roberto Frontali; Prince de Bouillon: John Del Carlo. Conducted by Marco Armiliato. product_id=Above: Plácido Domingo as Maurizio and Maria Guleghina as Adriana Lecouvreur

All photos by Marty Sohl courtesy of The Metropolitan Opera

Frankfurt: Thinking Inside the Box

In fact I thought, “oh darn (or some such expletive), here’s yet another big, shallow, white box.” Is there any veteran opera-goer in Europe that at one time (or many) hasn’t felt that same way? C’mon, ‘fess up. Ya know ya have. (Even though designers may try to mix it up once in a while by using a big…black… box.)

Anyhow, without wishing to prejudge Herbert Murauer’s set design as Euro-cliché, I settled in to observe what promised to be a good cast, a fine conductor, and one Germany’s top companies get about their Straussian business. My optimism what somewhat short-lived, at least visually. For the white panels backing the shallow box slid open to reveal another shallow, down-at-heel hotel room, nearly empty of furniture save a few straight back chairs. A lamp had lost its table and was plopped on the floor. Makeshift black cloths covered the windows, straining like a skirt that is too short. The dingy, cramped foyer would surely have scared off any of Arabella’s suitors before they even crossed the threshold. It was not incorrect, to be sure, just, well…depressed. And depressing.

The panels did some premeditated sliding around, aided by the back and forth linear movement of the entire shallow hotel suite, revealing one half of the room, then the other, then another “zwischenzimmer,” and finally Arabella’s denuded bedroom (which still had plenty of clothes in the closet, however). Oh, and at one point revealing the scrambling stage right crew, as a chunk of wall detached and revealed them in what was clearly an unplanned effect. I wish that I could say that any of these “reveals’ were, well, revelatory. But there did not seem to be a rhyme or reason to the bits and bobs we were allowed to see at any given time, nor was any one composition of them artistically very interesting.

Act II’s party scene initially promised more, but once past the pleasant look of the beige marble stairs and the crystal chandelier over the landing, the long brown rectangular settees became monochromatic and, even with the subsequent rolling discovery of the men’s toilet (ooooh, Matteo threatens to off himself with a pistol in the loo!), the sliding panels kept gliding tediously past set parts we were long since tired of seeing. Not to mention the chandelier became a distraction, with its crystals vibrating as the set crept around. The eternal white box framing the extreme front of the stage became a sort of DMZ, a no man’s land into which soloists advanced to, what, ruminate? Isolate? Fixate? Hard to know.

The spatial relationships created by this dichotomy of playing areas were suspect, and there was not a discernible consistency in their uses incorporated into Christof Loy’s variable stage direction. Character relationships were seriously stunted by having the cast as poseurs sing through the fourth wall straight at us, witness Arabella doing just that, as the text has her “seeing things” out the window she is clearly nowhere near. One thing to be said for the Frankfurt stage: it must be wider than New Jersey since these scenic configurations seesawed back and forth, and once, disappeared into the wings in one entire piece, leaving one white panel backing Arabella at Act’s end, with a vast void of blackness behind her from which Zdenka appears.

Britta Stallmeister (Zdenka), Richard Cox (Matteo)

Mr. Loy had Arabella enter, elegantly attired in a black dress and fur (Mr. Murauer’s costumes were characterful and appealing), and so far so good. But then the quirks began in earnest. She unceremoniously dumped Matteo’s gift of roses onto the floor of the “box,” only to later kneel and fuss unduly over them, finally putting one rose in her teeth as she flirted with Elemer, who ended flat on his back on the box floor for some reason. Arabella briefly stood straddling him, then as she walked away he picked at the hem of her skirt which he tried to sneak a peek up. Hmmm.

The miscalculation of behavior inappropriate to the piece escalated in Act II, when the duped dope Mandryka appeared to physically and sexually abuse poor Fiakermilli by roughly manhandling her. Indeed, if the physical struggling and shading of her coloratura shrieks were any indication, he seemed to have been digitally violating her from behind. As Adelaide (Arabella’s Mother) expressed shock at his behavior, he similarly grabbed mom’s bottom, a gesture so extremely improper it would seem to have rendered the entire rest of the plot’s progression implausible.

The whole concept of Fasching-bored tuxedo-ed and gowned young people plopping on the ante chamber steps and settees, getting progressively more wasted, and winding up like a trash pile of upscale Woodstockers littering the stairs, grew more and more predictably glum. This is Loy’s invention, not Strauss’s.

There were compensations to be sure, not least of which was clean ensemble playing from the Frankfurt Museum Orchestra. I wish the acoustics of the house were not so dry, for the virtuosic solo passages remained a bit earthbound. Nor did the lush “tutti” passages meld as creamily as they might have, resulting in a rather generalized sound that more often than not lacked frisson.

Nevertheless, the pit had a very good evening overall, and Sebastian Weigle exerted a firm stylistic hand, shaping a sensitive and well-shaped reading. Musical highlights included the ravishing Act I duet from Arabella and Zdenka (does this ever miss?), Mandryka’s duet with the heroine in Act II, and most especially, the closing scene of reconciliation.

Anne Schwanewilms (Arabella) is deservedly making quite a career as a Strauss soprano, witness her hugely successful house debut as the Marschallin in a season past at Lyric Opera of Chicago. I also caught her phenomenal Marie in Santa Fe’s “Wozzeck” and was captivated by her theatrics, beauty of voice, and sound musical instincts.

On this occasion however, I found the talented Ms. Schwanewilms too-often cooing “preciously,” variously cradling and weighting syllables as if they were somehow unconnected, and breaking up the musical line. Her high notes were usually spot on and luminously spinning, but sometimes got a wee bit tight and, sorry Anne, just a wee bit sharp. On occasions when the band was very soft (or silent) her cinema-subtle, conversational delivery could be just breath taking. But too often we were “reading” her performance via the surtitles for lack of oomph in her projection. (Not just me, Germans all around me were looking up at the words, instead of watching our diva sing them).

As Mama Rose might exhort: “Sing out, Arabella!”

A solid-voiced Mandryka, Robert Hayward seemed to spend the first act singing Jokanaan, so apocryphal was his delivery. What might work as a pontificating prophet, seemed a tad overbearing here, even for a hectoring prat like Mandryka. His performance grew much subtler overall in Two, until he morphed into Baron Ochs for the distasteful revenge flirtation with Fiakermilli. However, Mr. Hayward possesses an impressive, full-bodied bass baritone, with a few high notes “negotiated,” but all securely achieved.

Britta Stallmeister’s Zdenka is a slip of a girl with a big, penetrating voice that is even throughout her considerable range. She does seem to push too hard at big musical moments, occasionally displaying a wobble that is alarming in one so young. Mama Rose again: “Don’t sing out, Zdenka!” A little restraint should correct this minor quibble. Her characterization and physique du role were perfection.

I quite enjoyed Susanne Elmark’s turn as Fiakermilli. Can anyone, even the great Dessay, truly make this troublesome, gratuitous role work? For her part, Ms. Elmark hit all the notes securely, with a pretty, flutey delivery. Having “exhausted herself” threatening the male chorus with a riding crop like a faux X-Tube posting, she characterized all the cadenza licks as hyperventilated releases. Hey, it worked. And the lovely Susanne was blond, slim, pretty, in white lace up boots, a multi-colored bodice, voluminous white skirt dotted with flowers, and white hat and gloves. She dominated the stage in her every appearance with an assured star presence and vibrant impersonation.

I have long admired veteran soprano Helena Doese, on the Frankfurt roster for many years. Her voice does not have the youthful sheen and power of old, it is true, especially in the lower reaches, but she lacks nothing in characterization and makes a substantial contribution as Arabella’s Mother. Alfred Reiter makes the most of his stage time with a secure assumption of the heroine’s dad, Graf Waldner. Richard Cox was an excellent Matteo, clear of voice and inventively dramatic. So too, Peter Marsh’s lively, well-sung Count Elemer was a joy that consistently brightened the proceedings. Barbara Zechmeister made a good, if brief, impression as the Fortune Teller in the opera’s opening bars.

By evening’s end, the Konzept may never have gotten any clearer, nor the design any more interesting, but the many aural delights wrought by an A-list cast, conductor, and a finely tuned chorus and orchestra provided enough pleasure “inside the box” to make for quite a pleasant evening at Frankfurt’s Arabella.

James Sohre

image=http://www.operatoday.com/ArabellaFrankfurt01.png image_description=Robert Hayward (Mandryka), Anne Schwanewilms (Arabella) [Photo by Monika Rittershaus courtesy of Oper Frankfurt]

product=yes producttitle=Richard Strauss: Arabella productby=Graf Waldner, Rittmeister a.D.: Alfred Reiter; Adelaide, seine Frau: Helena Döse; Arabella, seine Tochter: Anne Schwanewilms; Zdenka, seine Tochter: Britta Stallmeister; Mandryka: Robert Hayward; Matteo, Jägeroffizier: Richard Cox; Graf Elemer, Verehrer; Arabellas: Peter Marsh; Graf Dominik, Verehrer Arabellas: Dietrich Volle; Graf Lamoral, Verehrer Arabellas: Florian Plock; Die Fiakermilli: Susanne Elmark; Eine Kartenaufschlägerin: Barbara Zechmeister; Welko, Leibhusar des Mandryka: Florian Rosskopp; Djura, Diener des Mandryka: Victor Tsevelev; Jankel, Diener des Mandryka: Ingo Ziegler; Ein Zimmerkellner: Jan Polewski. Chor und Statisterie der Oper Frankfurt Frankfurter Museumsorchester. Musikalische Leitung: Sebastian Weigle. Inszenierung: Christof Loy product_id=Above: Robert Hayward (Mandryka), Anne Schwanewilms (Arabella)

All photos by Monika Rittershaus courtesy of Oper Frankfurt

No Home for Heroes at the Theater an der Wien, Vienna — Pierre Audi’s new production of Handel’s Partenope.

In the past few years we’ve seen several new productions of this very atypical Handel opera seria and all, except this one, have emphasised the comic elements rather than the tragic. Perhaps it’s because the story of Queen Partenope and her warring lovers is on the slight side, and there is no obvious heroic choice or battle to confront — just the question of who should end up in whose bed. So far, so soap opera.

But even soap operas need more than romantic liaisons, and Handel knew that — especially as at the time he wrote Partenope (five years before the better-known Alcina) he was struggling to re-establish his status with some lesser-known singers. He introduced many new musical and dramatic ideas to woo back his public, but he also had to work with some artists of more limited accomplishment than he was used to. It is a tribute to his artistry that the first fact effectively disguises the second.

The story is the usual mix of romantic betrayal, cross-dressed disguise, and misunderstandings. Pierre Audi imagines Partenope (Christine Schäfer, edgy, brittle, petite) as a wealthy socialite, ensconced in her American West Coast beach-side villa, surrounded with her lovers and their friends, served by a slightly mysterious butler, Ormonte (Florian Boesch, smoothly camp) and assorted hangers-on. They live an empty, artificial existence fuelled by sex, drugs and champagne (and the services of their personal trainer) to stave off the most dreaded threat of all: boredom.

But suddenly everything changes when her current favourite, Arsace, (David Daniels, tanned, trim and buffed) becomes aware that the latest guest to the party is his ex-fiancée Rosmira, (Patricia Bardon, as ever perfectly ambiguous) disguised as a man, Eurimene. Rosmira is out for revenge, of the most subtle and cruel kind, and from that moment on it is around Arsace that the whole opera revolves, as he is sucked in, smashed, and spat out again from this emotional vortex. There are two sub-plots involving another high-roller, Armindo, (Matthias Rexroth, handsome, stolid) and a slightly shady outsider, Emilio, (Kurt Streit, macho bike gear to the fore) who both covet Partenope’s favour, but it is the Arsace-Rosmira-Partenope triangle that is the powerhouse of this production.

Kurt Streit (Emilio), Christine Schäfer (Partenope) and David Daniels (Arsace)

The whole opera is set in Partenope’s villa and between them Audi and set designer Patrick Kinmonth have created a most effective and intriguing space. Huge blocks of grey wall swivel on both the horizontal and vertical axis, rotating and metamorphosing into new rooms and passages. We glimpse pools and lawns upstage, and second floors are reached by ingenious stairways that mutate into windows. Lighting by Matthew Richardson is equally effective and mood-enhancing. The only off-note is a strangely-sloping apron above the orchestra pit — which on occasion has the effect of cutting off the singers’ feet from the parterre audience’s view and causing some obvious physical difficulty to Schäfer in particular, who wears dangerously high heels for most of the opera. Perhaps that explained her continual expression of worried vulnerability. There was no such physical difficulty for the rest of the cast: their costumes were very much modern “chic tat” - much leather, torn designer denim and expensive trainers — and there was evidence of long, detailed rehearsal in the slickness of their moves and interactions. The mock battle scene became a parody of itself — an ironic nod to the recent “combat fatigues and machine guns” genre of baroque opera stagings — with the characters enjoying a paintball style warfare game that only briefly suggested real danger. It’s musical impact was however real enough with some powerful work from the brass and winds.

In the pit, Christophe Rousset (at the harpsichord) led his experienced band Les Talens Lyriques with sure-footed verve and impeccable style throughout. This was not surprising, given their reputation, but a pleasant relief given some period bands’ apparent difficulty with intonation from time to time, especially with the dreaded natural horns. No such problems at first night — despite the wintry conditions outside and the oven-heat within. Tempos were non-controversial, line and attack sans pareil.

David Daniels (Arsace) and Patricia Bardon (Rosmira)

Vocally, this first performance was patchy, and it was soon obvious who had got it right and who might need a re-think. In the title role Christine Schäfer sang correctly but without particular passion or gaiety, a strangely constrained performance that didn’t convey the sheer magnetism of Partenope the man-eater. The role has few slow, thoughtful arias, (Care mura is only an arioso) and her music can sound rather similar, so it is essential that the singer makes the most of this element of the character, despite any directorial view pushing it elsewhere. Having said that her Qual farfalletta and Io ti levo were convincingly sung.

In contrast, Handel wrote for the anti-hero Arsace some of the best and varied music of the opera. David Daniels was constantly impressive in his finely judged expressive singing, his innate baroque style, and his total immersion in one of this opera’s few characters that actually go through any significant emotional journey. Some of his colleagues could usefully study his use of the eyes to hold an audience. His coloratura work in the rage/despair aria at the end of the second Act, Furibondo spira il vento was scintillating; his eloquent and delicately original ornamentation in the melting Ch’io parto in the third a reminder of why he is the world’s first choice in these roles. Equally proficient and emotionally-charged was Patricia Bardon’s Rosmira/Eurimene — here is another singer who, like Daniels, understands the genre, and has the technical brilliance and dramatic skills to convince in any director’s visual world. Her character’s wounded pride and twisted love were impeccably portrayed. Io seguo sol fiero worked particularly well with the oboes and horns of Rousset’s orchestra. Her male impersonation throughout was well-judged to suit the requirements of the story.

Almost but not quite matching these two was Kurt Streit, more at home in Mozart than Handel, but well-versed in this particular role. His ringing tenor and athletic poise was as upfront as his biker-gear and he obviously enjoyed his brief forays upstage on the Harley-Davidson that lurked menacingly, it’s gleaming chromework a latent threat throughout. In contrast to the polite purr of the machine however, it occurred that someone might suggest that he moderates his decibel level — the cosier confines of the Theater an der Wien don’t need tenors to bounce off the walls.

David Daniels (Arsace), Patricia Bardon (Rosmira) and cast

In this production the other alto role of Armindo was taken by the young German countertenor Matthias Rexroth. Some of his music was cut and he therefore had less opportunity to make a strong vocal or dramatic impression. What we saw and heard was adequate, but tending to the wooden at times. In this version his character does not win the lady (at least we are left presuming so) and we are not surprised. The butler Ormonte was characterfully sung and acted by baritone Florian Boesch, who made the most of the ever-present “ring-master” role and who, in the end, actually referees the denouement of the whole opera — the “fight” between Arsace and Rosmira-as-Eurimene.

It is this finale which cleverly encapsulates Audi’s vision of Partenope’s latently violent world: the confrontation becomes an actual boxing match set inside the villa, complete with ropes, hanging microphone, glitzy scorecard girls and the protagonists in lurid red and white towelling robes. The watching characters seem to hold their breath as Arsace makes the winning blow: his opponent must fight, like him, bare-chested (and thus betray her sex). This cruel twist breaks her spirit, and reveals all the treachery and immorality lying beneath the sham glamour of their lives. Handel’s final chorus is oddly abrupt and Audi leaves us wondering whether any of them will ever love each other again. No heroes here in Vienna, just a baroque opera for the 21^st century, and none the worse for it.

Sue Loder © 2009

Handel’s Partenope at the Theater an der Wien, Vienna, Austria. Remaining performances on 25^th, 27^th Feb. (T.Wey as Arsace on 27^th only), and 1^st, 4^th and 6^th March.

image=http://www.operatoday.com/SchaferStreit.png image_description=Christine Schäfer as Partenope and Kurt Streit as Emilio [Photo by Armin Bardel courtesy of Theater an der Wien] product=yes product_title=G. F. Handel: Partenope product_by=Partenope: Christine Schäfer; Emilio: Kurt Streit; Arsace:David Daniels; Rosmira: Patricia Bardon; Ormonte: Florian Boesch; Armindo: Matthias Rexroth. Les Talens Lyriques. Christophe Rousset, conductor. Pierre Audi, producer. Theater an der Wien. product_id=Above: Christine Schäfer as Partenope and Kurt Streit as Emilio [Photo by Armin Bardel courtesy of Theater an der Wien]

Massenet's Don Quichotte at San Diego Opera

In recent years he has brought to the San Diego Civic Center his celebrated King Phillip (Don Carlo) and Boris Godunov. His appearance this season in Massenet’s little-seen late opera Don Quichotte, however, may be the performance that cements his reputation as an artist cherished by San Diego’s opera-loving community forever. His triumph on opening night overcame any niggles — some surely deserved — about the ultimate merit of Massenet’s Cervantes adaptation.

Even with an intermission, the performance ran just two hours and twenty minutes, evidence of the crude reduction the libretto (by Henri Cain) makes of the literary masterpiece. Act one starts with a dance, then Dulcinea warbles a pleasant aria somewhat similar to Carmen’s first number. Eventually Don Quichotte appears, only to be derided by the townspeople, and Dulcinea sends him off on a seemingly hopeless mission, to recover a stolen necklace. Act two basically consists of the encounter with the windmill, and in act three the robbers capture the Don and are about to execute him when his pathetic nature moves their larcenous hearts of gold, and they not only release him, but give him his beloved’s necklace. In act four he returns it in triumph, and Dulcinea, while grateful, has to gently let him know that she can never match his idealized picture of her. So in act five, he dies.

Ian Campbell directed this new production, with scenic design by Ralph Funicello and costumes by Missy West. Each act required curtain drops for set changes. A production with a more creative approach that eliminated the pauses between acts might not even need an intermission. San Diego Opera audiences have been known to reward traditional sets they enjoy with waves of applause, but Funicello’s designs, rather like slightly classier versions of those that might be constructed by an elite high school’s drama department, didn’t elicit much if any on opening night. The choice to have the Don and Sancho Panza wheeled on atop a horse and mule, respectively, that appeared to have been stolen from a carousel could have been a sly wink at the cartoonish goings-on; your reviewer suspects it’s all a part of the compromises imposed in trying to present naturalistic stagings of an art form that at its heart is not about naturalism. The tree the robbers tie the Don too, for example, probably wouldn’t have such wobbling branches in a film version.

Nonetheless, the artists behind the evening deserve credit, for their efforts threw into relief the greatness of Furlanetto’s performance. The singer is in fantastic shape, and physically embodied the role. More importantly, he caught the foolishness and the grandeur, the pathos and the pride. His voice, secure and full, conveyed all the romantic longing and aspirational passion of the man. And Don Quichotte, it turns out, is one of Massenet’s most melodic operas, with fine tune after tune. Surely with a more substantive libretto, the work would be produced with greater frequency.

Argentinean bass-baritone Eduardo Chama as Sancho Panza and Italian bass Ferruccio Furlanetto as Don Quixote [Photo © Cory Weaver]

Denyce Graves retains the personality and stage presence on which she has built her career, but any number of other mezzos could have sung a more alluring, distinctive Dulcinea. Eduardo Chama’s Sancho Panza, on the other hand, stood his ground next to Furlanetto’s Don, capturing both the devotion and subservience of his character, and helping to make the anti-climatic final scene as effective as it could be.

The excellent conductor Karen Keltner emphasized dancing rhythms and singing string tones. A company like Naxos would do well to bring these artists together — with a different Dulcinea — for a recording.

Perhaps only an adequate opera, then, but such is Furlanetto’s success that Don Quichotte seems a masterwork. Anyone who can make the final performances of this short run should make every effort to get a ticket.

Chris Mullins

image=http://www.operatoday.com/MG0848.png image_description=Italian bass Ferruccio Furlanetto as Don Quixote and American mezzo-soprano Denyce Graves is Dulcinea. [Photo © Cory Weaver]

product=yes producttitle=Jules Massenet: Don Quichotte productby=Ferruccio Furlanetto: Don Quixote; Eduardo Chama: Sancho Panza; Denyce Graves: Dulcinea; Bryan Register: Juan. San Diego Opera. Karen Keltner, conductor. Ian Campbell, director. product_id=Above: Italian bass Ferruccio Furlanetto as Don Quixote and American mezzo-soprano Denyce Graves is Dulcinea. [Photo © Cory Weaver]

PUCCINI: Tosca — Mexico City 1952

Music composed by Giacomo Puccini. Libretto by Luigi Illica and Giuseppe Giacosa, based on the play La Tosca by Victorien Sardou.

First performance: 14 January 1900 at Teatro Costanzi, Rome

Principal Roles:
Floria Tosca, a famous singer	Soprano
Mario Cavaradossi, painter	Tenor
Il Barone Scarpia, Chief of Police	Baritone
Cesar Angelotti, a political prisoner	Bass
Il Sagrestano (the sacristan)	Baritone
Spoletta, a police agent	Tenor
Sciarrone, a gendarme	Bass
Un Carceriere (a jailer)	Bass
Un Pastore (a shepherd)	Boy soprano

Time and Place: June 1800, Rome

Summary

Act One

Setting: Inside the Church of Sant'Andrea della Valle, Rome.

Angelotti, a political prisoner, enters furtively, having just escaped from the Castel Sant'Angelo through the help of his sister, the Marchesa Attavanti, who has left him some clothes in the church and the key to the Attavanti Chapel, where he can hide and disguise himself. When Angelotti is hidden, the painter Mario Cavaradossi comes in to resume work on a Maria Maddalena. The sacristan points out a resemblance between the Maria Maddalena and a strange lady who has been coming to the church frequently of late (the Marchesa). Mario contemplates the harmony of the stranger's beauty with that of his beloved, Tosca. Angelotti reappears and recognizes his old friend, Mario. Mario promises to help, but they are interrupted by the appearance of Tosca. Angelotti hides, which leads Tosca to become jealously suspicious. Mario allays her suspicions they agree to meet that evening. After Tosca leaves, Angelotti reemerges and Mario takes him to his villa outside the city.

The sacristan returns to announce the defeat of Napoleon but finds Mario has left. Choristers and acolytes prepare the Te Deum to celebrate the victory of the royalists; however, they are silenced when Scarpia enters. He has tracked Angelotti to the church and Mario's lunch basket is found in the chapel. Mario now becomes the target of his suspicions. Using the Marchesa's fan to arouse Tosca's jealousy, she flees the church and is followed by Scarpia's men. Scarpia relishes the thought of having Mario executed and possessing Tosca.

Act Two

Setting: Scarpia's apartments in the Palazzo Farnese.

As the Queen of Naples celebrates the victory in another part of the building, Spoletta arrives to report that Angelotti could not be found at Mario's villa. Mario has been brought in for questioning, but he stands silent. Tosca arrives. Mario urges her not to say anything. She nevertheless reveals Angelotti's whereabouts as Mario is being tortured. Mario rebukes her; however, he is overjoyed when Sciarrone arrives to inform Scarpia that Napoleon has won the battle at Marengo. Scarpia orders Mario to be executed at dawn. Tosca pleas for mercy. Spoletta returns with news that Angelotti has killed himself, rather than be captured. Scarpia offers to hold a mock execution of Mario in exchange for Tosca's love. She agrees. As he writes out the safe-conduct, Tosca grabs a knife on the table. When Scarpia approaches to claim his prize, she stabs him.

Act Three

Setting: Dawn atop the Castel Sant'Angelo.

While a shepherd sings in the distance, Mario is brought up to his place of execution. Alone he contemplates Tosca and his life. Tosca arrives withnews of the mock execution. She admits that she has killed Scarpia. The execution is ordered. Mario falls. Tosca approaches and urges him to rise only to find that he is dead. Spoletta then rushes in to arrest her for the murder of Scarpia. Tosca jumps from the parapet to her death.

Click here for the complete libretto.

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Callas_Tosca.png image_description=Maria Callas as Tosca audio=yes first_audio_name=Giacomo Puccini: Tosca first_audio_link=http://www.operatoday.com/Tosca3.m3u product=yes product_title=Giacomo Puccini: Tosca product_by=Angelotti: Gilberto Cerda; Carceriere: Carlos Caballero; Mario Cavaradossi: Giuseppe di Stefano; Pastore: Luz Maria Farfan; Sagrestano: Alberto Herrera; Scarpia: Piero Campolonghi; Sciarrone: Francisco Alonso; Spoletta: Carlos Sagarminaga; Tosca: Maria Callas. Orchestra & Chorus of the Palace of Fine Arts. Guido Picco, conducting. Live performance, 1 July 1952, Mexico City.

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Strong 'Pagliacci' lifts uneven double bill at Lyric Opera

By John von Rhein [Chicago Tribune, 16 February 2009]

Two love-gone-wrong operas might seem an odd choice for a Valentine’s Day opening night, but Lyric Opera of Chicago scored a popular success Saturday night, to judge from the ovations that greeted its double bill of the famed verismo twins: Mascagni’s “Cavalleria Rusticana” and Leoncavallo’s “Pagliacci.”

Blacked-out opera debuts in bar

[BBC News, 16 February 2009]

The cast of a new opera was forced into an impromptu debut in the bar of the Royal Opera House after a power cut.

The lights went out 10 minutes into the press night of composer George Benjamin’s updated Pied Piper story, Into the Little Hill, on Saturday.

From a vault in Paris: The sound of opera in 1907

By Alan Riding [Int’l Herald Tribune, 16 February 2009]

PARIS: On Dec. 24, 1907, a group of bewhiskered men gathered in the bowels of the Paris Opera to launch a project which, by definition, they could never see to fruition. First, 24 carefully-wrapped wax records were placed inside two lead and iron containers. These were then sealed and locked away in a small storage room, with instructions that they remain undisturbed for 100 years.

Florida Grand Opera parts ways with music director

Daniel Chang [Miami Herald, 15 February 2009]

Mounting financial pressure from the withering economy is taking a further toll on the Florida Grand Opera, whose administrators said this week that they will not renew the contract for Stewart Robertson, FGO music director since 1998 and conductor of more than 40 of the group’s productions.

The Return of Tobias, Queen Elizabeth Hall, London

Anna Picard [The Independent, 15 February 2009]

It takes a major anniversary to justify a performance of The Return of Tobias. Critically acclaimed at its 1775 premiere, Haydn’s Italian oratorio gives little hint of the meteorological and zoological detail he would later lavish on The Creation and The Seasons. Save for a smattering of Sturm und Drang in the overture, and a sequence of searing dissonances asTobias’s blind father, Tobit, recoils from the sun, this is a domestic oratorio: a simple story of a loving, gentle family, written by an unhappily married, childless composer.

Rigoletto, Royal Opera House, London

By Richard Fairman [Financial Times, 11 February 2009]

If times are going to be hard, opera companies need productions that will earn their keep. David McVicar’s production of Rigoletto at Covent Garden is proving a good investment - a straightforward staging with no controversial ideas and minimal sets, which probably does not take a lot of rehearsal.

ROSSINI: Armida — Firenze 1952

Music composed by Gioacchino Rossini. Libretto by Giovanni Federico Schmidt based on Gerusalemme liberata by Torquato Tasso.

First Performance: 11 November 1817 at Teatro San Carlos, Naples.

Principal Characters:
Goffredo	Tenor
Rindaldo	Tenor
Idraote	Bass
Armida	Soprano
Gernando	Tenor
Eustazio	Tenor
Ubaldo	Tenor
Carlo	Tenor
Astarotte	Bass

Time and Place: Near Jerusalem during the First Crusade, c. 1099.

Synopsis:

Act I

A battlefield not far from Jerusalem.

The supreme commanding officer Goffredo, together with Eustazio and the paladins are about to elect a successor for the deceased Dudone, when a noblewoman enters—Armida. She is crying and has a large retinue, including Idraote, disguised as a dignitary. She has come to ask for the help of ten soldiers to save her from Idraote who has usurped the throne of Damascus and has threatened to kill her. Obviously, this is a ruse; the enchantress wants to remove the strongest soldiers from the battlefield, above all Rinaldo, who had slipped through her hands once before. After much hesitation, Goffredo gives in to Armida's request and promises her ten soldiers. First, however, he elects Dudone's successor who shall then choose the ten. Once Goffredo has left, Eustazio and the paladins elect Rinaldo much to the chagrin of Gernando, who hoped to be chosen in his place. Thereupon, Armida and Rinaldo meet. The enchantress is able to awaken his love for her. Seeing them together, Gernando insults Rinaldo who then kills his adversary in a brief duel. Rinaldo flees to escape Goffredo's wrath who wants to punish him. He follows Armida. Thus, the enchantress has obtained exactly what she wanted.

Act II

A frightening forest.

Astarotte and the demons come out of the kingdom of inferno and offer Armida their services. The enchantress appears with Rinaldo. The soldier is fascinated by the wonders worked by Armida. With a simple nod, she transforms the forest into the interior of a magnificent palace where nymphs, dwarfs and cupids are dancing, weaving symbolic figurations, including that of a young soldier being seduced by the nymphs and entrapped in the arms of love. It is Rinaldo sitting next to Armida while the dancing continues.

Act III

A forest.

The paladins reach Ubaldo and Carlo—a celestial mission has been sent to save Rinaldo. Using a gold bar, they make the nymphs flee as they try to get closer to them. Hidden in a thicket they hear the words of love exchanged between Armida and Rinaldo. But, when the enchantress leaves, they come out into the open; using Rinaldo's reflection in their adamantine shield, they show him how disgraceful and deplorable it is for him to be enslaved by Armida. Rinaldo is ashamed of himself and decides to return to the battlefield. Goffredo has promised to forgive him. A beautiful beach. The enchantress reaches the three soldiers who are leaving and tries to hold Rinaldo back in every possible way. But now, Rinaldo's sense of honor and pride are stronger that any magical power. Rinaldo follows his comrades leaving Armida unconscious. When she comes round, she fights with herself and cries; but revenge is stronger. Armida mounts her carriage drawn by dragons and, in the midst of smoke and flames, chooses vengeance.

Click here for the complete libretto.

Click here for the complete text of Gerusalemme liberata.

Click here for an English language summary of Gerusalemme liberata.

Click here for Rinaldo and Armida by Anthony van Dyck, 1628-1629

Click here for Rinaldo and Armida by François Boucher, 1734

image=http://www.operatoday.com/content/Armida_detail_Boucher.jpg image_description=Detail from Rinaldo and Armida by François Boucher, 1734. audio=yes first_audio_name=Gioacchino Rossini: Armida first_audio_link=http://www.operatoday.com/Armida1.m3u product=yes product_title=Gioacchino Rossini: Armida product_by=Maria Callas, Francesco Albanese, Mario Filippeschi, Alessandro Ziliani, Gianni Raimondi, Carlo Stefanoni, Orchestra e Coro del Maggio Musicale Fiorentino, Tullio Serafin (cond.).
Live recording, Firenze, 26 April 1952.

Kurt Weill’s Der Kuhhandel at Volks Oper Wien

Berger, in a “traduction” by Uwe Lukas Jäger, doesn’t go on to explain the change in title, nor does he comment on the most alluring bit of music in Weill’s score: a strong foretaste of the melodic material that would become the standard “September Song,” which Weill would compose after his move to the USA to start his career as a Broadway composer. Try track 22, “Juans Lied.”

A failure in its initial run, Arms and the Cow may have been a bit too pointed in its satire for an operetta - even relevant, of all things, in that frequently frivolous genre. Set in a very Teutonic-inspired version of Latin America, the story revolves around corrupt leaders and the arms salesman who profit off them, with poor Juan and his intended bride caught up in the machinations when Juan’s cow, his one claim to property and success, is taken by the government as a tax penalty. Read that line as many times as possible and then just shrug it off. Everything ends happily, at any rate.

How much of the operetta seen here resembles the original production can’t be easily judged. A brief note in small font on the back cover of the DVD case credits the libretto to Robert Vambery “in a revised text by Reinhard Palm.” That would explain the references to Botox and the axis of evil. Pountney doesn’t lay on the politics too heavily, thankfully, letting the cartoonish characterizations and frequently incomprehensible plot developments bubble along, comically enough. The most amusing character is the arms salesman Mr. Jones, in a performance by Michael Kraus primarily delivered in German, with the odd English exclamation and expletive. Kraus somehow manages to convey an “Ugly American” attitude even barking and growling in German. Carlo Hartmann spends most of the staging in a suspended divan, portraying the lazy and ethically dubious President Mendez. Most every operetta has at least one role for a comic actor to sink his/her teeth into and tear it into gruesome shreds (think Frosch in Fledermaus). Here Wolfgang Gratschmair provides the dental workout, chewing the scenery as Ximenez, an aide to the president. The young lovers, as is also often the case, are a fairly dull pair, and neither Dietmar Kerschbaum as Juan nor Ursula Pfitzner as his love Juanita have impressive voices, both being uncomfortably edgy in the top range.

Weill’s score has too little of his inimitable voice, but the music is still the best part of the show, from the mock national anthem that serves as the curtain raiser, through the romantic laments and comic patter numbers, to the toe-tapping ensemble finale. Christoph Eberle and the Volksoper forces serve it up with energy and style.

The packaging leaves much to be desired, with the cast listing and other credits only found on the back of the jewel case. Some sloppy editing results in misspellings in the subtitles. In fact, the menu screen offers the option to “select titel” (sic).

At about two hours and twenty minutes, Arms and the Cow is overlong, and while always at least mildly entertaining, only Weill completists or indiscriminate lovers of operetta may want to spend that much time fretting about Juan’s kuh.

Chris Mullins

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Kuhhandel.png image_description=Der Kuhhandel

product=yes producttitle=Kurt Weill: Der Kuhhandel productby=Juanita Sanchez (Ursula Pfitzner); Juan Santos (Dietmar Kerschbaum); Mr. Jones (Michael Kraus); President Mendez (Carlo Hartmann); Ximenez (Wolfgang Gratschmaier); General Garcia Conchas (Rolf Haunstein); Emilio Sanchez / Minister von Ucqua (Josef Forstner); Juan’s Mother / Odette (Regula Rosin). Vienna Volksoper Choir. Vienna Volksoper Orchestra. Christoph Eberle, conductor. David Pountney, stage director. productid=Phoenix Edition 803 [DVD] price=$29.99 producturl=http://www.arkivmusic.com/classical/Drilldown?nameid1=12874&namerole1=1&bcorder=1&comp_id=286645

Fritz Wunderlich — The Legend

And if those fans don’t care for operetta, the second disc won’t persuade them to take a chance.

But they should. Profil provides scanty documentation, but the performances apparently derive from 1954-56. Wunderlich, in other words, sings in the freshest voice possible, but with the taste and elegance of his prime. And why not a tasteful, elegant Turridu sung in German (as are the Puccini selections)? Wunderlich traces a beautiful melodic line in the opening serenade, and when it comes to Turridu’s ode to wine (here called a “trinklied”), the tenor pours out that joyful richness heard in his famous versions of “Granada.” Unfortunately, that already brief number suffers a brutal cut, as does Turridu’s farewell to his mother. The duet with Santuzza whips and stings, but as Turridu’s mama has some lines, Profil should have identified the roles taken by the credited Marlies Siemeling and Ingeborg Wenglor. Theo Zilken takes Sharpless to Wunderlich’s Pinkerton, a portrayal that even en Deutsch rivals Pavarotti’s for tonal beauty with the appropriate hint of Yankee arrogance. It’s less of a surprise that Boheme’s Rodolfo fits Wunderlich like a glove, and again he has a good partner in the Marcello of Herbert Brauer, although Trude Eipperle’s Mimi can sound strained. Disc one ends with four selections from Mozart’s early Zaide, two with Maria Stader, and here Wunderlich reaffirms that he is without peer as a Mozart tenor.

Amusingly, Profil identifies the first two tracks of the 17 on disc two as being more Mascagni from Cavalleria Rusticana. “Komm in die Gondel” and “Treu sein, das liegt mir nicht” actually come from Johann Strauss II’s Eine Nacht in Venedig. The conventions of German operetta mean that for some ears, such as your reviewer’s, almost an hour of tenor numbers risks boredom, but such is Wunderlich’s grace and control that tedium never manifests itself. Surely Die Fledermaus has never heard a more attractively sung Alfred.

As mentioned above, Profil does itself and consumers no favors with the packaging. The only track listing, in painfully small font, appears on the back of the jewel box. The slim booklet merely provides only a generic biography, in German and English (of a sort).

Snap this up, Wunderlich fans who do not have the selections, and any other lovers of truly great tenor singing.

image=http://www.operatoday.com/WunderlichProfil.png imagedescription=Fritz Wunderlich: The legend

product=yes producttitle=Fritz Wunderlich: The legend productby=Fritz Wunderlich (Tenor) productid=Profil PH 08016 [2CDs] price=$21.99 producturl=http://www.arkivmusic.com/classical/album.jsp?album_id=179113

Donizetti's Don Pasquale from the Ravenna Festival

Mrs. Muti also gets a respectful if oddly-phrased nod from the production’s director, Andrea De Rosa: “The director thanks to CRISTINA MAZZAVILLANI MUTI [caps from the original] for her continuous and unique carefulness she dedicated to the project.” Wonder what made her carefulness “unique”? Beyond her ability, that is, to snag as conductor one Riccardo Muti.

Filmed for TV at the Teatro di Tradizione Dante Alighieri for the 2006 Ravenna Festival, director Rosa’s Pasquale appears to be set at the time of the opera’s composition, judging by Gabriella Pescucci’s somber formal dress for the men. Set designer Italo Grassi erected wood-paneled doors for entrances and exits; otherwise, the stage backdrop is black cloth. While not high on visual appeal, the drab presentation actually plays well enough, as Don Pasquale’s comedy has always had its troubling aspect, with the title character certainly deserving of some comeuppance but not necessarily the mean-spirited actions of Malatesta and Norina. Pasquale furiously kicks out his nephew Ernesto after the younger man has rejected his uncle’s choice for his bride. Malatesta, ostensibly Pasquale’s friend, concocts a scheme to make Pasquale regret this disinheritance by tricking Pasquale into a marriage with Norina, Ernesto’s true love, who plays along by acting a total shrew. When the trick is exposed and the sham marriage annulled, Pasquale forgives his nephew out of relief.

Donizetti’s charming and tuneful score provides the spoonfuls of sugar to help this somewhat sour comedic medicine go down, and conductor Muti gets sharp, colorful playing from the youthful Orchestra Giovanile Luigi Cherubini. Apart from Claudio Desderi’s Pasquale, a youthful cast fits the generational profile of the characters very well. Malatesta shouldn’t be too much older than his “sister,” Norina, and Mario Cassi looks like a successful young gentleman, very much a more professional cousin to Rossini’s Figaro. Cassi’s smooth baritone provides the show’s best singing. Desderi starts hoarse and never clears up, though he acts well, keeping in balance Pasquale’s ridiculousness and essential humanity.

Francisco Gatell makes a handsome Ernesto, but the voice is undistinctive. As actress, Laura Giordano excels as Norina, here an almost literal spitfire who seems to get almost a sadist’s pleasure out of her part in the scheme. In faster music, Giordano’s instrument does well enough; the rest of the time, she has a pinched tone and a fast vibrato that upsets the melodic line.

Your reviewer gratefully acknowledges that the subtitles introduced an unfamiliar word to him, “temerarious.” The DVD prompts a language selection with the first screen, but that doesn’t turn on the subtitles in the selected language, oddly enough.

So the orchestral playing trumps the singing in terms of quality, and the intimacy of the small theater’s stage helps the drama come across despite the unimpressive physical production. Not a great Don Pasquale, but a decent one, so be sure to “thanks [sic] to CRISTINA MAZZAVILLANI MUTI.”

Chris Mullins

image=http://www.operatoday.com/DonPasqualeRavenna.png image_description=G. Donizetti: Don Pasquale [Arthaus Musik 101303]

product=yes producttitle=G. Donizetti: Don Pasquale productby=Don Pasquale: Claudio Desderi; Dottor Malatesta: Mario Cassi; Ernesto: Francisco Gatell; Norina: Laura Giordano; Un notaro: Gabriele Spina. Coro del Teatro Municipale di Piacenza. Orchestra Giovanile Luigi Cherubini. Riccardo Muti, conductor. Andrea De Rosa, stage director. Italo Grassi, set design. Gabriella Pescucci, costumes. Pasquale Mari, lighting. Gabriele Cazzola, TV director. Recorded live from the Ravenna Festival 2006. productid=Arthaus Musik 101303 [DVD] price=$29.98 producturl=http://www.arkivmusic.com/classical/Drilldown?nameid1=3144&namerole1=1&compid=12746&genre=33&bcorder=195&labelid=4357

Chicago’s Lyric brings life to Tristan

New vocabulary was needed to describe the awesome excellence of this first of nine performances of Wagner’s most sensual and seductive work.

This lay — briefly — in the brilliance of David Hockney’s sets and costumes, undiminished even after 20 years on various stages. The cast was of an even artistry hardly expected in today’s overworked Wagnerian world. Andrew Davies did not merely conduct the incredible orchestra that he has built at the Lyric; he truly recreated this mammoth score, leading the listener through the tormented course that Wagner had pursued in writing the work.

This was, indeed, an evening beyond expectations. Yet its beginning was less than auspicious. Deborah Voigt — more Barbie Doll than medieval mail-order bride in brightest red — was strangely dwarfed by Hockney’s bigger than life designs. And the fact must be faced that she no longer has that lush richness of voice that disappeared with her hard-gained leanness.

Argentinian director José María Condemi, the only consistently weak link in the production crew, was clearly in over his head in what appears to have been his first Wagnerian assignment. Act One was segmented — a series of scenes that failed to flow into an engaging dramatic whole.

Although Voigt handled the narrative well, her curse did not curdle the blood as it should have. Indeed, had one not known — and respected — the work that makes her the “Isolde of choice” in the eyes of many, there would have been a discomforting feeling that she was miscast. Thus the amazement at the transformation that flowed from the Lyric’s stage in Act Two. Here things jelled; individual contributions melded into a dramatic impact that listeners carried with them into the cold and windy Chicago night.

This was above all a youthful Tristan. The Weltschmerz-stricken lovers were convincing as humans feeling these conflicting passions for the first time. American Heldentenor Clifton Forbis, well established around the world as a major Wagnerian, was a handsome and well-matched partner for Voigt. A man of marked intelligence, he even made sense of Wagner’s metaphysical ramblings on the conjunction “and” and matters of individuation in Act Two, integrating this text meaningfully into the context of the intimate exchange that follows the exuberant greeting that opens the act.

In his comments on the opera Condemi suggested that “the plot of Tristan could be summarized like this: two women walking around the stage (Act One), two people sitting on a bench (Act Two), and a man keeps getting up and lying down again (Act Three).” Alas, Condemi was largely content to leave it at that.

Happily, it was Forbis who moved the opera beyond such simplification, especially in his review of his life in Act Three, where so much that has happened before Act One is explained. It is here that the real Tristan is encountered, and Forbis made him comprehensible — and extremely sympathetic. He did this without a hint of strain or exhaustion. He is a singer who knows how to use his voice wisely.

A scene from Act II of Tristan und Isolde

Particularly amazing was Jason Stearns’ sensitive portrayal of Kurvenal as a servant of near-adolescent emotional devotion to his master.  A late substitute for Finland’s major new Wagnerian Juha Uusitalo, Stearns came late to opera, having served 21 years in the Army before turning to singing. Coached by Thomas Steward in the final year of the American’s life, Stearns sang the Dutchman at Savonlinna last summer, and other Wagnerian assignments await him. Whether he — a rather small man — can handle Wotan in large American houses waits to be seen; here, however, he was a perfect Kurwenal who fit with ease into the concept of the staging. Greer Grimsley replaces him later in the run.

Chicago makes it a practice to seek comment from its singers for its program book, and about his role in Tristan Stearns wrote tellingly: “When Tristan dies, Kurwenal really doesn’t want to live anymore. He forces death on himself — he wants to die with his leader.” This approach came out in Stearns’s every move. He was a servant not of dog-like devotion, but a young man tenderly in love — yes, the word fits here in its highest meaning — with his master. It was a deeply touching portrayal.

If anyone “owns” the role of Brangäne today, it is Petra Lang, who has been Isolde’s soul mate on every major stage and shared honors with Voigt when she  sang her first Isolde in Vienna in 2003. Although Lang stressed that she sees Brangäne “as a younger confidante, a friend to Isolde,” here she failed to cast aside the traditional German mold of a reserved member of the court. And although she sang her second-act warning beautifully, Michelle DeYoung would have been a more appropriate servant in this staging.

The flowing white hair that Stephen Milling wore made King Marke unusually aged — especially in contrast to the youthfulness of the production. Yet the Danish bass wore his suffering with credible dignity.

Wagner instructs that Isolde expire “as if tansfigured,” sinking in Brangäne’s arms onto Tristan’s body, Condemi chose to have Voigt die on her feet at some remove from her beloved. On the heels of a “Liebestod” so triumphantly sung as it was here such stage directions are of little concern. Voigt gave it her all, leaving the audience so mesmerized that they were hesitant to applaud until the stage grew dark.

In 1966 when David Hockney made his theatrical debut with Alfred Jarry’s Ubu Roi he did not stray far from the proscenium like compositions in many of his paintings. He took a bigger step in his designs for the 1978 Glyndbourne Magic Flute, where he opened the first act with a rocky, palm filled landscape that is replaced by increasingly symmetrical, monumental flats that refer to the opera’s earliest sets of 1791.

Nearly ten years later, in his design for Tristan he equipped the first-act ship with sails that billow before an empty vista. In Act Two a heavy cloud, first drawn by Hockney in Iowa, (1964),  looms over a diagonal stand of  trees across from Isolde’s palace that again direct the action of the opera to its inevitable denouement. In the final act a mammoth  tree arcs over the scene in which a desolate cliff carries the opera to its ultimate tragedy.

Color was a fundamental key to the entire production: Isolde in the red of royalty, Brangäne in earthly green, Marke, suitably in purple, and the men of action in functional “drab” or colors related to the King. Hockney wisely borrowed the effect of his wardrobe from 15th century paintings by Piero da Francesco and other early Renaissance artists.

The Chicago staging was sensitively lighted by Duane Shuller.

Holding this all together was the magisterial conducting of Lyric music director Andrew Davis, whose delicate balance of singers and orchestras and shadings of tempo made this an evening even superior to what the world admires in the Wagner of James Levine and the ensemble at the Met. A truly and thoroughly remarkable Tristan und Isolde.

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With Gustav Mahler’s valedictory Ninth Symphony the Chicago Civic Orchestra offered an ideal prelude to the Lyric’s Tristan on January 26 in Symphony Hall.

The training ensemble of the Chicago Symphony, the 100-plus members of the CCO, graduates all of the world’s top conservatories, were conducted on this occasion by Esa-Pekka Salonen, retiring music director of the Los Angeles Philharmonic. Although just 50, on the podiatry Salonen could still pass for a teenager. He was in perfect “sync” with his musicians.

In his Norton lectures Leonard Bernstein analyzed the concluding Adagio of the work — to be played “very slow and reserved — as a triple act of leave-taking: it reflected first the irregular heart-beat that was to fell Mahler before the premiere of the work, plus which — said Bernstein — the movement is both the end of the symphony as it had existed up to that time and further “the end of our Faustian culture.” The performance in a packed - provided food for thought on “Lennie’s” ideas, along with the opportunity to contemplate the consequences of Wagner.

Wes Blomster

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Tristan_Chicago_01.png image_description=Deborah Voigt and Clifton Forbis sing the title roles in Tristan und Isolde [Photo by Dan Rest/Lyric Opera of Chicago] product=yes product_title=Richard Wagner: Tristan und Isolde product_by=Isolde: Deborah Voigt; Tristan: Clifton Forbis; Brangäne: Petra Lang; Kurwenal: Jason Stearns (Jan. 27-Feb. 8), Greer Grimsley (Feb. 12-28); Marke: Stephen Milling. Lyric Opera of Chicago. Conductor: Sir Andrew Davis. Director: José María Condemi. product_id=Above: Deborah Voigt and Clifton Forbis sing the title roles in Tristan und Isolde.

All photos by Dan Rest/Lyric Opera of Chicago.

London Lyric Opera: Fidelio

Simon Thomas [musicOMH, 2/09]

Following a concert performance of Der fliegende Höllander at the Barbican in November, London Lyric Opera present Fidelio at Cadogan Hall next week.

A Catnip Role for a Soprano as a Tragic Actress

By ANTHONY TOMMASINI [NY Times, 9 February 2009]

Not many opera buffs would argue that Francesco Cilea’s “Adriana Lecouvreur” is a great work. Still, this well-made and effective music drama, which enjoyed an enormously successful 1902 premiere in Milan, is a prime example of the verismo style then flourishing in Italy.

Classical honors have an L.A. note

By MARK SWED [LA Times, 9 February 2009]

It was a very good Grammy year for the home team.

Crossing the Great Divide: The Diversity of Anne Sofie von Otter

By Anastasia Tsioulcas [PlaybillArts, 8 February 2009]

Swedish mezzo-soprano Anne Sofie von Otter is teaming up with jazz pianist and composer Brad Mehldau on a new program that will premiere at Carnegie Hall Feb. 11. Here, she speaks with journalist Anastasia Tsioulcas about this collaboration.

New staging of 'Orfeo' was too great a divide

By R.M. CAMPBELL [Post-Intelligencer, 8 February 2009]

La Venexiana, the highly esteemed Italian vocal ensemble, earned its reputation for its meticulous and authentic readings of Monteverdi madrigals. Its production of the composer’s first opera, “Orfeo” (aka “L’Orfeo, favola in musica”), is a curious blend of period sensibilities and contemporary waywardness.

Opera San Jose's new production of "Cosi fan tutte" is a winner

By Richard Scheinin [Mercury News, 8 February 2009]

Opera San Jose’s new production of “Cosi fan tutte” is a winner. It’s about love, lust and sexual manipulation: Mozart’s opera is a modern opera, and the new production gets that. It’s classy and outrageous, more than a little bit randy, while making the most of Mozart’s exquisite, perfect, celestial music.

At the Aspen Music Festival, recession seems just a rumor

By Kyle MacMillan [Denver Post, 8 February 2009]

Despite the economy’s worsening downturn and a projected drop in ticket revenues, it’s full speed ahead for the Aspen Music Festival.

Welsh National Opera's new co-production of The Marriage of Figaro

By Liz Griffin [Hereford Times, 8 February 2009]

THE audience left the Wales Millennium Centre last night bathed in the sun-drenched warmth of Seville and enchanted again by Mozart’s frothiest opera.

The Love of Three Oranges

Antonia Alonzo [Journal, 8 February 2009]

Citrus fruit is not something that you usually associate with opera, but RSAMD’s production of Prokofiev’s The Love of Three Oranges is more surreal than the anticipated fairy tale.

Opera North to take on Puccini’s Tosca

Ben Machell [Times Online, 7 February 2009]

“He is in love with her,” the assistant director, Tom, explains. He’s pointing at photos of three performers in a freshly printed programme. 

Frozen hand, chilly staging

By Richard Fairman [Financial Times, 6 February 2009]

Traditionally, when Rodolfo tells Mimì “Your tiny hand is frozen”, it is not because of the Arctic winds and blizzards. The harsh winter weather that caused transport disruption on Monday also resulted in the opening night of English National Opera’s new production of La bohème and its live satellite television relay being postponed to Wednesday.

The Soprano: Netrebko's Star Turn

by Michelle Edgar [WWD, 6 February 2009]

“No way am I ever going to touch this.”

That was Anna Netrebko’s first reaction when she saw the score for Gaetano Donizetti’s tragic opera “Lucia di Lammermoor,” in which she’s currently starring at the Metropolitan Opera House, the next performance of which is Saturday.

Werner Herzog takes opera into a whole new aria

Rupert Christiansen [Daily Telegraph, 6 February 2009]

Werner Herzog’s latest movie lasts about five minutes, and makes an unexpected marriage between an obscure people in south-west Ethiopia and a love duet by Puccini. Ask him what the match means and all you will get is his quiet sphinx-like smile: he wants its implications to work over you like a poem.

Her Season of Puccini on Stage and on Disc

By BARRYMORE LAURENCE SCHERER [WSJ, 5 February 2009]

‘I am Romanian, but to follow an international career you need to live in an airplane and be all the time in other places than Romania,” says soprano Angela Gheorghiu, following rehearsals at the Metropolitan Opera. “So we have homes in Bucharest, Geneva and Paris, but we live a kind of Gypsy existence.” In fact, a moment earlier she got off her cellphone with her husband, tenor Roberto Alagna, who had just landed at Kennedy Airport — in March he stars in the Metropolitan Opera’s “Cavalleria Rusticana” and “Pagliacci” double bill.

Magic Flute at ENO

Although Nicholas Hytner’s staging takes more of a ‘family entertainment’ approach than some more psychologically searching productions, with overt jokes and a pantomime-villain Monostatos, it is one of the company’s greatest assets; a well-established rite of passage for many of ENO’s promising young singers, an ideal first night at the opera for a child or adult beginner, and the sort of show which it seemingly isn’t possible to dislike.

Robert Lloyd as Sarastro and Sarah-Jane Davies as Pamina

On this occasion, Sarah-Jane Davies and Robert Murray were well-cast and well-partnered as Tamino and Pamina. Davies sang in the last revival here, and she has become a really lovely Mozartian singer, her beautifully controlled soprano subtly imbued with pathos and emotion. Murray’s elegant tenor was ideal for the high-born, high-minded youth, and he was eloquent in his delivery of the English words. It was a shame that both seemed nervous and tentative in their characterisation.

As the Queen of the Night, Emily Hindrichs’s small, brittle and cleanly-placed soprano was initially impressive, but in the Act 2 spoken dialogue her rage had little sense of a noblewoman’s wounded pride, and she came across merely as petulant and shrill. Her subsequent aria had some lapses in accuracy. Robert Lloyd – a rare sight on this stage, having spent so much of his distinguished career at the Royal Opera – brought gravitas and a fatherly presence to Sarastro, with bottom notes of rich velvet.

Jeremy Sams’s gently humorous colloquial dialogue was delivered in a wide range of regional accents, some more real than others. In the case of the Three Ladies (guest principal Kate Valentine and chorus-members Susanna Tudor-Thomas and Deborah Davison) whose glamorous feather-trimmed midnight-blue costumes demand a certain amount of upper-class bearing, the use of various accents was a misjudgement; I wondered whether perhaps one of the three had been unable to disguise a genuine accent, and the other two had been obliged to affect accents of their own to compensate.

Papageno was played once again as a genial Yorkshireman by the very likeable Roderick Williams, though through no fault of his own he had trouble living up to his job description on this occasion. Two of the four real white doves, whose behaviour when they appear on stage during the Bird-catcher’s Song is usually impeccable, got uncharacteristically overexcited and decided it might be fun to evade capture. It took an additional pair of hands and a good two or three minutes to round them up, amid much audience mirth. The joys of live theatre!

Emily Hindrichs as The Queen of Night and Robert Murray as Tamino

If the birds were intent on demonstrating the wisdom of the oft-repeated advice never to work with children or animals, trebles Charlie Manton, Louis Watkins and Harry Manton were here for the defence. They were quite the finest trio of boys I can recall hearing, perfectly in tune and impeccably vocally matched.

Conductor Erik Nielsen (Kapellmeister of the Frankfurt Opera), in his house debut, was rather stately and mannered in a heavily Baroque-inflected overture, but from then on his reading had a poised and even pacing that never dragged.

Sarah-Jane Davies as Pamina with the Three Spirits (Charlie Manton, Louis Watkins & Harry Manton)

The company has been strangely quiet on the subject of whether the staging has now been officially retired, or whether it has been granted a more permanent reprieve. But now that opera companies have a bigger challenge than ever in competing for audience spending power, it would surely be a waste to scrap such a sure-fire hit as this. It keeps those doves in work, anyway...

Ruth Elleson © 2009

image=http://www.operatoday.com/ENO_TheMagicFlute-07.png image_description=Robert Murray as Tamino [Photo by Richard H Smith courtesy of English National Opera] product=yes product_title=W.A. Mozart: The Magic Flute product_by=Tamino: Robert Murray, Michael Bracegirdle (Feb 7 mat, Feb 12); Pamina: Sarah-Jane Davies, Mairéad Buicke (Feb 7 mat, Feb 12); Papageno: Roderick Williams, Toby Stafford-Allen (Feb 7 mat, Feb 12); Papagena: Amanda Forbes; Sarastro: Robert Lloyd, Graeme Danby (Feb 7 mat, Feb 12); The Queen of the Night: Emily Hindrichs, Laure Meloy (Feb 7 mat, Feb 12); Speaker: Graeme Danby, James Gower (Feb 7 mat, Feb 12); Monostatos: Stuart Kale; First Lady: Kate Valentine; Second Lady: Susanna Tudor-Thomas; Third Lady: Deborah Davison; First Priest / First Armed Man: Christopher Turner; Second Priest / Second Armed Man: James Gower. The English National Opera. Conductor: Erik Nielsen, Stephen Higgins (Feb 7 mat, Feb 12). Original Director: Nicholas Hytner. Revival Director: Ian Rutherford. Designer: Bob Crowley. product_id=Above: Robert Murray as Tamino

All photos by Richard H Smith courtesy of English National Opera

Die tote Stadt, Royal Opera House

It displays his virtues beautifully. But his vices, too, are part of the mix. In Die tote Stadt we hear both the promise of his youth and echoes of what was to come.

The virtues are clear –this is delightful music full of action and romance. Korngold weaves genres together with ease and freedom. The Meyerbeer segment is a joy. He connects a tradition of popular opera while alluding to the most recent incarnation of the Pierrot story – Pierrot Lunaire, Schoenberg’s greatest hit, a sensation before the First World War. He references Wagner, the Strausses (Richard and both Johanns) and plenty of Puccini, particularly Madama Butterfly, another tale of obsessive love and death. Korngold is no ignoramus. He knows his music history and knows his audiences will relish the allusions. The good moments in this opera are superb, torrents of chromatic colour, sonorities so luscious one could almost drown in their gorgeousness.

Nadja Michael as Marietta

“O Tanz, O Rausch!” sings Marietta, who loses herself in the ecstasy of dance. This mindless, instinctive surrender to sensuality animates the opera. Marietta symbolizes life and vigour. Only she dares confront the overpowering portrait of the dead Marie. Marie may have her moment of vengeance but ultimately, it’s Marietta who lives on. When Frank, Paul’s alter ego suggest they leave Bruges, Paul sings a reprise of “Marietta’s Lied” it becomes a song of triumph, not regret.

The message in Die tote Stadt could not be clearer. Paul must move on if he is to survive. The past can be treasured but cannot take priority over the future. Metzmacher perceptively said that the opera was “like an old photograph. You like to keep it and look at it. But reality is different”. The original novel, Bruges la Morte, by Georges Rodenbach was illustrated with photographs of the city, preserved forever in one moment in the 19th century.

This performance, at the Royal Opera House, under the baton of Ingo Metzmacher, was perhaps as truer to the spirit of the original than many others, for Metzmacher sees it as fresh, daring and modern. This is important because Korngold has, in the last ninety years, acquired a reputation for backward-looking sentimentality. Audiences do like what they assume to be tradition. In 1920, Die tote Stadt was cutting edge. Wozzeck and Jonny Spielt auf were years away. There are shockingly daring harmonies and clashes of key, especially in the Prelude to Act 3. Metzmacher’s clear, incisive style doesn’t cloak the modernity in a slush of sugar, but makes us realize just how aware and innovative Korngold could be.

But Korngold, like Richard Strauss in Elektra, seems to pull back from the edge. However much his admirers may champion his later work, it is Die tote Stadt that is his masterpiece. There isn’t place in this review for an assessment of Korngold’s career as a whole, but the very fact that he chose this ambivalent narrative is revealing. The libretto was written jointly by Korngold and his father, the domineering Julius Korngold, but this was concealed until 1975. How far did Julius’ arch conservative hand hold sway over what he son did, consciously or otherwise ? Since the hero’s dead wife holds vampire-like control of his life, the relevance may not be purely accidental.

The original novel is far more sinister and disturbing. Korngold instead avoids facing the dilemmas by turning murder and madness into a dream, from which his protagonist can walk away without reflection. Yet reflection occurs again and again in the music and textual images. Willy Decker’s staging makes much of mirrors, portraits, of transparent glass surface that throw light back on the action. The “parallel reality” scenes in Act 1 are excellent as theatre, expressing the ambiguous, multi-layered duality that pervades the music and plot. The procession scene is designed to match the Meyerbeer scene – white costumes, masks, stylized ensembles. This is perceptive for it expresses visually the fundamental contrast in the opera between real life and artifice, between actors and characters.

(From Left To Right) Jurgita Adamonytė as Lucienne, Ji-Min Park as Graf Albert, Gerald Finley as Fritz, Steven Ebel as Victorin, Simona Mihai as Juliette & (Back Row) Adrien Mastrosimone as Gaston

First Night nerves may have accounted for lapses in the singing, though both Paul (Stephen Gould) and Marie/Marietta (Nadja Michael) are demanding roles that keep the singers on stage nearly the whole evening. The range in Marie/Marietta is fearsomely wide, so if Michael was more comfortable in the lower register, it was understandable. Gerald Finlay was luxury casting even though he only appears intermittently. As always, the Royal Opera Chorus was superb.

This Die tote Stadt made a convincing case for Korngold’s reputation. Glorious as it is, though, there are elements in it which make us realize in retrospect why the composer would later excel in music for film. Early movies were a kind of “extreme opera”, where music intensified dramatic action, where emotions were whipped up even if the plots were thin.

Korngold was writing for film long before the Anschluss, which caught him already in Hollywood. The colourful, episodic nature of Die tote Stadt, with its evocation of feeling, despite the weakness in the text, is a foretaste of where Korngold was to find himself. Only a few years previously, all movies were silent. Film music was the cutting edge of modernity, and Korngold was in the vanguard, creating a whole new genre.

Anne Ozorio

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Tote_Stadt_ROH_01.png image_description=Stephen Gould as Paul [Photo by Bill Cooper courtesy of The Royal Opera House] product=yes product_title=Erich Wolfgang Korngold : Die tote Stadt product_by=Stephen Gould (Paul), Nadja Michael (Marie/Marietta), Gerald Finlay (Frank/Fritz), Kathleen Wilkinson (Brigitta), Chorus of the Royal Opera House, Ingo Metzmacher (conductor), Orchestra of the Royal Opera House, Willy Decker (director), Wolfgang Gussman (designs). product_id=Above: Stephen Gould as Paul

All photos by Bill Cooper courtesy of The Royal Opera House.

The Beggar’s Opera at Covent Garden

A half-drawn stage curtain revealed plush, red velvet upholstery, illuminated by the golden glow of balcony lights, elegant tabs extending into the auditorium space. The designs effectively emphasised the architectural heritage – the current building is the third theatre on this site; the first, the Theatre Royal, having been opened in 1732 by the impresario, John Rich, who also staged the first performance of John Gay’s Beggar’s Opera at his theatre in Lincoln-Inn-Field. However, in the light of this, it was perhaps an unfortunate choice to have actress Sirena Tocco, in the role of the Beggar, dressed as an ROH usher … what does this suggest about ROH wages? Closer inspection of the ‘lavish’ set exposed deliberate signs of structural decay - the ominous cracks and crevices a warning perhaps of the fissures in the ‘concepts’ behind this production.

Despite the visual ingenuity (and indeed, the sets by Kimm Kovac and Andrew Hays vividly and convincingly conjured an appropriately seedy air, as we visited Peachum's off-licence, a lap-dancing club and a jail) what followed on the stage was decidedly less impressive. While musical standards were generally high, the acting skills of these professional opera-singers, dressed as modern-day prostitutes, pimps and villains, left much to be desired. Indeed, at times there was more life in the cardboard ‘audience members’ that gazed, one-dimensionally down from the balconies looming above the stage.

Australian director, Justin Way, directing his first opera in the Linbury Studio Theatre, aimed high but missed his target by miles. If ever the time was ripe for the whole-scale transportation of Gay’s satirical masterpiece from the eighteenth century to the modern age, surely this is it. With the headlines telling lurid tales of alleged bribery in the House of Lords and exposing the self-interested schemes of unscrupulous city bankers, amid the shock of rising unemployment and house repossession rates, this ‘low-life opera’ can still hold up a telling mirror to the greed and corruption endemic in today’s world. Yet this pedestrian production, translated from the taverns and brothels of London past to the sex-shops and red lights of modern-day Soho, lacked punch and grit, missing the obvious opportunities to lampoon and caricature the ‘great and the good’.

Two of the major flaws in this production were inconsistency and incongruity. Gay may have successfully ‘borrowed’ assorted airs and songs from his contemporaries - including Handel and Purcell, only to ridicule them in the process – but this untidy assemblage of sundry ideas lacked coherence. Furthermore, although Britten’s revisions are innovative and interesting, such a complex harmonic and rhythmic treatment of the ‘folksong’ originals did not concur with any of Way’s jumbled ideas, and simply aggravated the muddle.

Similarly, the cast formed a motley crew, a wearying confusion of types and epochs - chavs, skins, Goths, lager louts – among whom the Beggar wandered, aimlessly but apparently angrily, her gestures and movements adding little to an already confused concept.

Tom Randle as Macheath

The amateurish acting, straight from the village hall, was exacerbated by the fact that there is simply so much dialogue to get through in this ballad opera. Gay wrote his piece for actors who could sing; this production gave us singers who can’t act. Unconvincing soap-opera stereotypes, the cast adopted ‘Mockney’ accents, an uncomfortable idiom for the antiquated diction, which was delivered woodenly and unconvincingly. They seemed distracted by their pseudo-erotic costumes, the female chorus writhing embarrassingly in their peep-show booths, and were left drifting in the absence of meaningful choreography, or even basic stagecraft. When they weren’t wanted on stage, they climbed into the faux dress-circle and passively observed the events. Most frustratingly, moments of superb music-making were sadly destroyed by the jarring return to lengthy passages of confusing spoken text.

At least one could close one’s eyes and listen to some glorious singing. Tom Randle, as Macheath, presented a perfect ‘lovable rake’, his warm, smooth tenor bringing out the lyric simplicity of Gay’s airs, though his acting was little better than the rest of the leaden cast. The Peachums were a convincingly criminal clan: in particular, Leah-Marian Jones relished Polly Peachum’s uninhibited strutting, and made an engaging foil to Sarah Fox’s Lucy Lockit – although both conveyed a vocal tenderness and sweetness that belied their dramatic stridency. The laughs were supplied by the ‘old guard’ - Susan Bickley (Mrs Peachum), Jeremy White (Mr Peachum) and Donald Maxwell (Lockit). And, despite a pre-performance announcement that she was suffering from a severe sore throat, mezzo-soprano Frances McCafferty was a superbly grotesque Diana Trapes.

A scene from The Beggar's Opera

But, the trouble was, quite simply, that it was all far too middle-class and ‘nice’.

Scottish-born Christian Curnyn, standing in for the late Richard Hickcox and making his ROH debut, led the musicians of the City of London Sinfonia in courageous style, striving in vain to inject some energy into this flagging show. His vigorous gestures, fully visible to the audience via the oddly-positioned stage screens, did draw some excellent ensemble playing from the twelve-piece chamber orchestra; and the challenging obliggato solos were delivered with confidence and élan.

The final verdict? More pantomime than parody, more Gilbert and Sullivan than Brecht … and more boredom than bite.

Claire Seymour

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Beggar_01.png image_description=Tom Randle As Macheath & Leah-Marian Jones As Polly Peachum [Photo by Johan Persson courtesy of The Royal Opera House] product=yes product_title=The Beggar’s Opera
Music by Benjamin Britten (realised from the original airs of John Gay). Libretto – John Gay (with alterations and additions by Tyrone Guthrie) product_by= Macheath: Tom Randle; Polly Peachum: Leah-Marian Jones; Lucy Lockit: Sarah Fox; Peachum: Jeremy White; Mrs Peachum: Susan Bickley; Lockit: Donald Maxwell; Filch: Robert Anthony Gardiner; Diana Trapes: Frances McCafferty. The Royal Opera. City of London Sinfonia. Christian Curnyn, conductor. Justin Way, director. product_id=Above: Tom Randle As Macheath & Leah-Marian Jones As Polly Peachum

All photos by Johan Persson courtesy of The Royal Opera House

Liber Evangeliorum: Verse and Music From the Age of Charlemagne

The Liber Evangeliorum by the ninth-century monk of Wessenburg Abbey, Otfrid, is a rich example of the creative spirit seeking an outlet. Otfrid’s work provides in vernacular Old High German a poetic text of Gospel narratives, “harmonized” from the different Gospel accounts. Significantly, this text survives in a source that gives St. Gall neumes with some of the verses, confirming that, at least at one time, the text was sung, and in a liturgical context. And it is the challenge of this possibility that the splendid Ensemble Officium embraces.

Ensemble Officium’s recording reconstructs possible musical versions of some of Otfrid’s verses and interweaves them with Gregorian responsories and hymns for Advent and Christmas, and in so doing creates something of the idea of an embellished Vigils liturgy as might have been experienced in the St. Gall orbit. The liturgical reconstruction is “loose” — the chants are drawn from diverse days, for instance — but the interplay of vernacular lessons (Otfrid’s texts) and canonical liturgical material is engaging and resembles the dynamic of lection and lyrical response at the core of the night office.

The recreations of Otfrid’s verses favor variety. In some instances the texts are spoken, in others they are sung to recitational chant. In still others, the verses are spoken to the improvised accompaniment of fiddles, occasionally (and richly) in counterpoint with polyphonic choral lines. The renditions of the liturgical chants are also interestingly conceived, often with instrumental drones and counterpoints, as well as polyphonic vocal layering.

The ensemble is a mixed personnel with both men and women singers. And while the execution is uniformly impressive, the sound of the women is particularly stunning, with pure, bright, highly focused tone. Some of the chants are lengthy — the invitatory “Praeoccupemus” approaches ten minutes, for instance — but the tone and approach are entrancing and hypnotic, with little temptation to check the clock.

Liber Evangelorium is imaginatively conceived and engagingly rendered. Given the amount of interpretation and reconstruction required—the musical notation is imprecise, the performance practice flexible, the liturgical context uncertain — there are ample opportunities for missteps. The historical record offers little room for certainties here, but the aesthetic results of the program and its performance are most assuredly gratifying.

One drawback to the CD, however, is the relative lack of translations. All of the texts have a modern German translation printed; Otfrid’s texts have thumbnail sketches in English and French, as well; the liturgical texts are translated in German without the summaries. Given the care that has been taken in creating the liturgical dynamic, broader access to the text would seem a fitting improvement.

Steven Plank

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Liber_Evangeliorum.png image_description=Otfrid von Weissenburg: Liber Evangeliorum: Verse and Music From the Age of Charlemagne product=yes product_title=Otfrid von Weissenburg: Liber Evangeliorum — Verse and Music From the Age of Charlemagne product_by=Ensemble Officium; Wilfried Rombach, Director product_id=Christophorus CHR 77279 [CD] price=$20.99 product_url=http://www.arkivmusic.com/classical/album.jsp?album_id=146446

Eugene Onegin at the MET

The problem with turning this classic into a romantic opera was compounded, though, by the poet’s ironic outlook, and this Tchaikovsky proposed to answer by changing the ending — by having the two protagonists admit their love and run off together. A friend of his sister’s took him to her garden house and, in the course of one of those long Russian summer evenings, argued him out of his resolve, convinced him to keep Pushkin’s classically balanced conclusion: as Onegin once coldly, preachily rejected the ardent young Tatiana, now, years later, when he has fallen in love with her, Tatiana coldly dismisses him. (No record survives of that conversation in the garden house, but what an opera it would make! — something earnest and chatty, like Dargomyzhsky’s Stone Guest or Rimsky-Korsakov’s Mozart and Salieri.)

In both Pushkin — where Tatiana simply states she will remain faithful to her marriage vows — and in the opera, where a rather more passionate debate takes place (because romantic opera requires passionate duets, and Tchaikovsky had denied himself one in Act I), Tatiana’s nobility in the teeth of her feelings, and Onegin’s despair, are made far more palpable in the music-drama.

It’s interesting to compare the two Onegins — novel and opera — to the two Thaïs, novel and opera, brought to our attention at the Met a few weeks ago. Anatole France was an ironist, and his novel about a courtesan who becomes a saint while the saint who converted her loses his faith is, frankly, a satire — in order to make a romantic opera out of it, Massenet had to invent its characters anew, and the degree of his success depends on whether or not you care for Massenet’s music. (I don’t.)

Pushkin was a sophisticated romantic, or rather, he had been one in his youth, and the plot of Onegin is his ironical view of the sort of young man he had been (or known), and the sort of woman he had loved. His characters are all great readers of French and English literature — he tells us just what each has been reading (Lensky aloud to Olga) — and their behavior owes a great deal to self-conscious affectation. Tatiana cannot even write her famous letter in Russian — she assumes a love letter must be written in French, her only model for such things. (Tchaikovsky changed that, of course.) Onegin identifies with Byron’s scarred, bored, doomed heroes even before he kills his best friend and goes into exile — and it is Pushkin’s joke that, having traveled the world like an aimless Byronic hero, he comes home to find he would actually have been quite happy living on a Russian country estate with the right wife. But she is no longer available — unlike so many society ladies, she is monogamous, and receives his overtures with distaste. We have had a hint of this — which Tchaikovsky retains for his opening scene — in her mother’s recollections of the novels she used to read (Richardson, Grandison), of the worthless man she fell in love with, of her arranged marriage to Tatiana’s father, of her contentment with “habit” over happiness. Like mother, like daughter: in the scenes that follow, we see the same story play out in the younger generation.

Ekaterina Semenchuk as Olga and Piotr Beczala as Lenski.

When Tchaikovsky dramatized this sixty years after it was written, as his sister’s friend pointed out, the novel was too well known and too well loved to alter its conclusion. At that, he had a far easier time than Massenet in making musically romantic figures out of his hero and heroine — because they were more romantic to begin with, or maybe he was just better at it. Too, failing to find the proper ironic tone for Onegin himself (he comes into his own as a character only in the last act, when he has abandoned his posing), Tchaikovsky undercut him by making naïve Tatiana the focus of Act I, doomed Lensky the focus of Act II, and giving the big aria in Act III to Tatiana’s elderly husband, a cipher in the novel. Onegin is the odd man out in his own opera; this can make him hard to portray sympathetically, though Dmitri Hvorostovsky achieved it at the Met two years ago (and on HDTV telecast), appearing callow in Act I and passionate in Act III as if he had indeed undergone a soul-transformation.

The current Met revival of Onegin, though sumptuously cast and gloriously sung, has the flaw that Thomas Hampson is rather too old, too saturnine, too gray — in manner and appearance if not voice — to portray the poseur of Act I. His acting is carefully judged, his singing suave (he’s in better voice than he was in Thaïs, where his affect hardly seemed that of a desert ascetic), but his grayness, his chilliness, cause one to doubt the romantic conversion. This is not fatal in so excellent a revival, but it does restrain one’s enthusiasm — not least because Robert Carsen’s minimalist production all but omits the social settings that Tchaikovsky thought so important to comprehension of the story: we focus on the individuals, and if they let us down, there is nothing to fall back on. I will discuss my problems with this staging below.

Renée Fleming scored one of her worthiest triumphs of recent seasons in the last revival of Onegin, but to my mind Karita Mattila is better. If you (as I do) usually prefer one of these ladies to the other, Tatiana will not change your mind — if you love both, you will be very happy. As she has shown in Jenufa and Katya Kabanova, Mattila has a particular affinity for young women troubled by romantic complications. In the opening scene, following Pushkin, we find her buried in her book among the birch trees, but her Letter Scene is a sensual awakening, and here the shining metal of her voice takes on a quality, one might call it, of adolescent idealism. This is certainly enhanced by her childish, clumsy movements, the trembling of her hand when Onegin returns her letter, make this a finished stage portrayal, but it is her hopeful, springing soliloquy that thrills, makes her a girl newly awakened to love, a heroine. The woman who appears in Act III not only moves and dresses differently, she seems to sing with a different voice, a thicker, more mature sound, a womanly voice as opposed to a girlish one. Both voices are beautiful, it is hardly necessary to state — but that she has thought out how to deploy them to make us understand two different Tatianas, girl and wife, is a feature of Mattila’s claim to be the greatest singing actress on the lyric stage today.

The young Polish tenor Piotr Beczala, who is having quite a winter replacing less sturdy tenors in Lucia and Rigoletto, sang a perfect Lensky — ardent, jejune, his mood flashing from ecstasy to despair, with a delicious, youthfully liquid quality to his voice and even a hint of Italianate sob. Olga usually makes no impression, but Ekaterina Semenchuk’s attractive presence and luscious Slavic mezzo made us notice her brief moment at center stage in the opening scene. Wendy White sang an effective Larina, Barbara Dever a most imposing Filippyevna, Tony Stevenson a rather uncharacterized Triquet, and Sergei Aleksashkin a stalwart Prince Gremin without having quite the authority to overshadow the lovers in the last act as a really thunderous Russian bass will often do. Jiří Bělohlávek led the Met orchestra in a sublime, supportive, lithely flowing and (a few brass blooples aside) exquisite account of this wonderful score.

So we come to Robert Carsen’s scenery-free production, on which viewers bitterly divide. The point of its bareness appears to be to focus the drama more closely on the principals to the exclusion of all else — the social backdrop against which Pushkin and Tchaikovsky have lovingly placed them, for instance. The score contains three extended dance sequences by which Tchaikovsky unfolds the story from rural simplicity to gentry interacting to the grand world, and these are, to say the least, underplayed here — bored-looking peasant women rake leaves, cramped choristers sing of the pleasure of dancing while unable to move, and against the aristocratic polonaise, a troupe of footmen redress Onegin in court costume, scenting his fingers and touching up his coiffure. Since the characters are social beings, whose motivations owe a great deal to appearances, I get Tchaikovsky’s point but not Carsen’s. True, one does not waste time during the name-day party trying to find the lovers in the crowd, but there is no pleasure to be seen in that cramped assembly. The dance music is intrinsic to the opera, and it seems unnecessarily affected not to permit dancing if the orchestra is going to play all of it. What the staging does is not to draw attention to the principals or their story — the opera and the singers have already done that — but to the stage director. Did we need that? Is anything worthwhile accomplished by it?

Still: an engrossing sung and acted Onegin, not to be missed; if possible to be seen repeatedly.

John Yohalem

image=http://www.operatoday.com/ONEGIN_Mattila_Hampson_4134.png image_description=Karita Mattila as Tatiana and Thomas Hampson in the title role of Tchaikovsky's "Eugene Onegin." Photo: Beatriz Schiller/Metropolitan Opera product=yes product_title=Pyotr Il’yich Tchaikovsky: Eugene Onegin product_by=Tatiana: Karita Mattila; Olga: Ekaterina Semenchuk; Larina: Wendy White; Filippyevna: Barbara Dever; Onegin: Thomas Hampson; Lensky: Piotr Beczala; Triquet: Tony Stevenson; Prince Gremin: Sergei Aleksashkin. Conducted by Jiří Bělohlávek. Production by Robert Carsen. Metropolitan Opera, performance of February 2. product_id=Above: Karita Mattila as Tatiana and Thomas Hampson as Onegin

All photos by Beatriz Schiller courtesy of The Metropolitan Opera.

VERDI: La Traviata — Lisbon 1958

Music composed by Giuseppe Verdi. Libretto by Francesco Maria Piave after La dame aux Camélias (1848) by Alexandre Dumas, fils (based on the life of Dumas’ putative mistress, Marie Duplessis (aka Alphonsine Plessis)).

First Performance: 6 March 1853, Teatro La Fenice, Venice

Principal Roles:
Violetta Valery	Soprano
Flora Bervoix	Mezzo-Soprano
Annina	Soprano
Alfredo Germont	Tenor
Giorgio Germont, suo padre	Baritone
Gastone, visconte de Letorieres	Tenor
Barone Douphol	Baritone
Marchese d’Obigny	Bass
Dottore Grenvil	Bass
Giuseppe, servo di Violetta	Tenor
Domestico di Flora	Bass
Commissario	Bass

Setting: In and around Paris, about 1850.

Synopsis:

Act I

The salon in Violetta’s house

Violetta Valéry, a famed courtesan, throws a lavish party at her Paris salon to celebrate her recovery from an illness. Gastone, a count, has brought with him his friend, the young nobleman Alfredo Germont, who has long adored Violetta from afar. While walking to the salon, Gastone tells Violetta that Alfredo loves her, and that while she was ill, he came to her house every day. Alfredo joins them, admitting the truth of Gastone’s remarks. Violetta replies to Alfredo, “I’m indebted to you”.

The Baron waits nearby to escort Violetta to the salon, but she walks to him saying, “You, Baron, never cared as much”. The Baron replies, “I have just known you for a year”. Violetta glares at Alfredo and says, “He just met me a minute ago!”. At the salon, the Baron is asked to give a toast, but he refuses and the crowd turns to Alfredo (Alfredo, Violetta, chorus: Libiamo ne’ lieti calici — “Drinking song”).

From the next room, the orchestra begins to play and the guests move there to dance. Violetta feels dizzy and asks the guests to go ahead and to leave her to rest for a while to recover. The Baron leaves her alone. The guests dance in the next room, while Violetta looks at her face in her mirror. She looks pale. Alfredo enters and he expresses his concern for her fragile health and later declares his love for her (Alfredo, Violetta: Un dì, felice, eterea — “The day I met you”).

At first Violetta rejects him because his love means nothing of importance to her. However, there is something about Alfredo that touches her heart. Alfredo is about to leave when she gives him a flower, telling him to return it when it has wilted. She promises to meet him the next day.

After the guests leave, Violetta wonders if Alfredo could actually be the one in her life (Violetta: Ah, fors’è lui — “Perhaps he is the one”). But she concludes that she needs freedom to live her life (Violetta: Sempre libera — “Always free”). From off stage, Alfredo’s voice is heard singing about love as he walks down the street.

Act II

Scene 1: Violetta’s country house outside Paris

Three months later, Alfredo and Violetta are living together in a peaceful country house outside Paris. Violetta has fallen in love with Alfredo and she has completely abandoned her former life. Alfredo sings of their happy life together (Alfredo: Di miei bollenti spiriti — “Wild my dream of ecstasy”). Annina, the maid, arrives from Paris, and, when questioned by Alfredo, she tells him that she went there to sell the horses, carriages and everything owned by Violetta to support their country lifestyle.

Alfredo is shocked to learn this and leaves for Paris immediately to settle matters himself. Violetta returns home and receives an invitation from her friend, Flora, inviting her to a party in Paris. Alfredo’s father, Giorgio Germont, is announced and demands that, for the sake of his family, she break off her relationship with his son. He is reluctantly impressed by Violetta’s nobility, which is not what he expected from a courtesan. Giorgio reveals that Violetta’s relationship with Alfredo has threatened his daughter’s engagement (Giorgio: Pura siccome un angelo — “I have a daughter as pure as an angel”) because of Violetta’s reputation as a courtesan . While she says that she cannot break off her relationship with Alfredo because she loves him so much, Giorgio pleads with her for the sake of his family. With growing remorse in her heart, she finally agrees (Violetta, Giorgio: Dite alla giovine — “Say to this child of thine”). She bids farewell to Giorgio. Giorgio kisses her forehead in a gesture of gratitude for her kindness and sacrifice, before leaving her weeping alone.

Violetta gives a note to Annina to send to Flora as acceptance of the party invitation. As she is writing a farewell letter to Alfredo, he enters. She can barely control her sadness and tears; she tells him repeatedly of her unconditional love (Violetta: Amami Alfredo — “I love you, Alfredo”) before rushing out and handing the farewell letter to her servant to give to Alfredo.

The servant gives the farewell letter to Alfredo. As soon as he finishes reading it, Giorgio comes in and attempts to comfort his son, reminding him of his family in Provence (Giorgio: Di Provenza il mar — “In Provence”). Alfredo suspects the Baron is behind his separation with Violetta and the party invitation, which he finds on the desk, strengthens his suspicions. He determines to confront Violetta at the party. Giorgio tries to stop Alfredo, but he rushes out.

Scene 2: Party at Flora’s house

At the party, the Marquis tells Flora that Violetta and Alfredo have separated. She calls for the entertainers to perform for the guests (Chorus: Noi siamo zingarelle — “We’re gypsies gay and youthful”); (Chorus: Di Madride noi siam mattadori — “We are bullfighters from Madrid”). Gastone and his friends join the matadors and sing (Gastone, chorus, dancers: E Piquillo, un bel gagliardo — “Twas Piquillo, so young and so daring”).

Violetta arrives with Baron Douphol. They see Alfredo at the gambling table, and upon seeing them, Alfredo creates a big scene about his winning. The Baron feels annoyed. He goes to the gambling table and challenges him. Alfredo wins some large sums of money from the Baron until Flora announces that the supper is ready. Alfredo leaves with handfuls of money.

Everyone goes in to supper, but Violetta has asked Alfredo to see her. Fearing that the Baron’s anger will lead him to challenge Alfredo to a duel, she gently asks Alfredo to leave. Alfredo misunderstands her apprehension and demands that she admit that she loves the Baron. In grief, she does so. Her confession makes Alfredo furious and he calls the guests to witness what he has to say. Alfredo humiliates and denounces Violetta in front of the guests, and then throws his winnings at her for her “services” while they lived together (Questa donna conoscete?). She falls, fainting onto the floor. The guests reprimand Alfredo: “Leave at once, we despise you. You have insulted a noble lady”.

In search of his son, Giorgio enters the hall. Knowing the real significance of the scene, he denounces his son’s behavior (Giorgio, Alfredo, Violetta, chorus: Di sprezzo degno, se stesso rendo — “Worthy of contempt is the man”).

Flora and the ladies attempt to persuade Violetta to leave the dining room, but, before doing so, Violetta turns to Alfredo and sings, Alfredo, Alfredo, di questo core non puoi comprendere tutto l’amore — “Alfredo, Alfredo, little canst thou fathom the love within my heart for thee”.

Act III

Violetta’s bedroom

Dr. Grenvil tells Annina that Violetta will not live long as her tuberculosis has worsened. Alone in her room, Violetta reads a letter sent by Alfredo’s father saying the Baron was only wounded in his duel with Alfredo. The letter also states that he has informed Alfredo of the sacrifice Violetta made for him and his sister; and that he is sending his son to see her as quickly as possible to ask for her forgiveness. But Violetta senses it is too late (Violetta: Addio del passato — “So closes my sad story”).

Annina rushes in the room to tell Violetta of the arrival of Alfredo. The lovers are reunited. Alfredo suggests that they leave Paris (Alfredo, Violetta: Parigi, o cara , noi lasceremo — “Dearest, we’ll leave Paris” ).

But it is too late; she knows her time is up (Alfredo, Violetta: Gran Dio! morir si giovane — “O, God! to die so young”). The old Germont enters (Ah, Violetta) with the doctor. He regrets what he has done. Shortly after, Violetta dies in Alfredo’s arms.

[Synopsis Source: Wikipedia]

Click here for the complete libretto.

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Callas_Violetta.png image_description=Maria Callas as Violetta (La Traviata) audio=yes first_audio_name=Giuseppe Verdi: La Traviata first_audio_link=http://www.operatoday.com/Traviata1.m3u product=yes product_title=Giuseppe Verdi: La Traviata product_by=Alfredo: Alfredo Kraus; Annina: Maria Cristina de Castro; Commissario: Manuel Leitao; Douphol: Alvaro Malta; Flora: Laura Zannini; Gastone: Piero di Palma; Germont: Mario Sereni; Grenvil: Alessandro Maddalena; Obigny: Vito Susca; Violetta: Maria Callas. Coro do Teatro Nacional de São Carlos. Orquestra Sinfónica Nacional. Franco Ghione, conducting. Live performance, 27 March 1958, Teatro Nacional de São Carlos, Lisbon.

Poaching in Cologne

And that seems to be what Cologne Opera has facilitated at its latest premiere. For it has taken Albert Lortzing’s comic opera Der Wildschütz oder Die Stimme der Natur (The Poacher, or The Voice of Nature) and allowed the creative team to appropriate it as the basis for some wildly divergent production choices (this interpretation is shared with Stuttgart Opera).

Der Wildschütz is seldom performed outside of Germany, which is a pity since the score has some wonderful set pieces and arias, some of which turn up now and again on student recitals, gleaned from operatic aria anthologies. (I myself sang “at” a couple of them in college.) The plot is convoluted to be sure, even by normal mistaken-identity-royalty-in-disguise standards. But given the right production and good musical standards, it is capable of giving much pleasure.

Happily, “good musical standards” Cologne had in ample supply, most especially with its roster of soloists. Miljenko Turk is a house treasure, possessed of a buzzy, focused, well-schooled baritone; an authoritative, virile stage presence; and an innate musicality. Having already enjoyed him immensely in Billy Budd and Der Freischütz, I was just as taken with his secure vocal assumption of Count von Eberbach. Would that he had not been got up as a faux storm trooper for the first scene.

The engaging Hauke Möller always put his pleasing lyric tenor in good service to a physically wiry and agile performance as Baron Kronthal. Although boyishly handsome (at times a ringer for Sean Penn in “Milk”), this ectomorph was not flattered by putting him in knee-length britches and an apron that unfairly highlighted a good-looking guy’s skinny calves and knobby knees. He’s the romantic lead, people! Okay, okay, he did make his first appearance as a swaggering, helmeted, sunglasses-wearing NASCAR driver, someone’s idea of a vision in yellow. (David König is that “someone,” on the blame line for the evening’s variable costumes.)

In the title role of the “poacher” Wilfried Staber’s Baculus sang particularly well, his sizable, clearly pointed bass and animated presence welcome in his every appearance (even as he looked duff in his too-formal suit, red bow tie and horn-rimmed glasses). Tall (no, really tall), lanky, orotund bass Jochen Langner was the eccentric Pankratius, here demoted for some reason from major-domo to a hunchbacked chef. I kept waiting in vain for the “Young Frankenstein” joke (“What hump?”).

On the distaff side, Claudia Rohrbach’s pristine soubrette made her every phrase a delight and she scored big (with Mr. Staber) in the delightful A-B-C-D duet. I was (only) slightly less taken with the Countess von Eberbach, Viola Zimmermann, who arguably has the least developed female principal role. Her meaty mezzo occasionally seemed a little slow to respond in a few of the sprightlier passages, although she contributed well to the ensembles and is a poised actress. In the tiny role of Nannette, Opera Studio member Hanna Larissa Naujoks made her brief appearance entertaining.

Miljenko Turk (Graf von Eberbach), Katharina Leyhe (Baronin Freimann), Viola Zimmermann (Gräfin), Hauke Möller (Baron Kronthal)

While I have admired Katharina Leyhe at past Cologne outings, her entrance aria as Baroness von Freimann (disguised flatteringly as a male student in one of the evening’s better costumes) was a bit fluttery. She seemed nervous, the low range a mite unsteady, the passage work squishy. She even fumbled and dropped her prop sword as she exited. Once past this, however, her rather light lyric soprano settled into a limpid and often affecting rendition of the part. Still, the role really requires a true diva temperament that seemed just beyond the ken of this gentle performer’s sensibilities.

Other questionable staging decisions aside (and I will chronicle a few), director Nigel Lowery made a fatal core mistake in his treatment of the dialogue. For he chose to present most of it in playback, first in the form of a scratchy “old” black and white film projected on an overhead screen, later as a filtered audio voice-over. All the while, the live actors were stuck on stage, dimly (and dumbly) down lit as they moved around in a Purgatory Pantomime, upstaged by the indifferent media display. This not only consistently frustrated any audience relationship that we tried to develop with the performers, rendering it to fits and starts; but, in a piece that relies heavily on its ability to charm, it rendered “Wildschütz” quite utterly charmless. Maybe I was just tired from the train trip, but after tedious dialogue film number three sputtered to ill-paced life, its way-too-earnest Teutonic close-ups reduced me to uncontrollable giggles at how colossally un-funny it was.) By the time the show reverted momentarily to live recitations in the play-acting scene of ancient tragedies, no amount of melodramatic posing could reclaim it.

Miljenko Turk (Graf von Eberbach), Chor der Oper Köln

Lothar Baumgarten’s lighting design, partly mandated by this Konzept, was unusually erratic. House lights inexplicably stayed at half through the overture. In arias, spots were often everywhere but on the soloists. Area lighting effects were sometimes at the cost of a good basic wash. Curious.

The evening actually started well enough with an amusing show drop that depicted a stylized man and woman, each immersed in reading the same red-covered book, “Wir sind sehr froh” (we are very happy). A gardener laconically watered a profusion of flowers in boxes hung on the lip along the entire stage front. The orchestra struck up a pleasing enough reading under Enrico Dovico. Things bode well. And then, when the requisite poacher’s shot was fired near overture’s end, high hope began to unravel as a gaggle of teenage girls ran on screaming and screaming and screaming as though there had just been a shooting at the Mall.

The curtain flies up to reveal a live couple center stage (Baculus and Gretchen) reading the same books. The playing environment is a big blond wood box with three lobby light-type fixtures overhead downstage (which later explode during the “storm”), and with two, two-dimensional stylized buildings that look to be a depressing factory and/or office building (instead of “a village inn”). Oh, yes, and a large cut-out letter “F” on the floor leans cock-eyed on the wall stage right. While my evil mind raced to many “F’ comment possibilities, it was revealed that it stood for “froh.” Oh. Joy. Well, undeterred, I soon enough wondered what the “froh” was going on.

For the chorus files on in drab working proletariat industrial smocks, all reading the same book (propaganda, get it?) and filing into the factory/office in an endless loop. The militant Count puts a white shopping bag over Gretchen’s head and leads her off stage. Huh? Oh, and then he carries on a life-sized realistic stuffed German shepherd, teeth bared to attack. After threatening the chorus with it, he props it on the prompter’s box, I guess to threaten us. (Laugh, dammit, or I give Rin Tin Tin “the command”.)

Baculus and Gretchen reappear to be hailed as the bride and groom at what is, after all, the celebration of their engagement. But they spend their first duet collecting up all the many overcoats which were shucked by the chorus. In due time, the male chorus re-appears as attack dog trainers in white protective body suits, genitals appropriately covered (by what, cod pieces?), sporting bowler hats and combat boots. Two similarly clad men wear life-like dog heads and crawl around, digging up and strewing lots of flowers, and later presenting the Count a real treasure: a decaying buried carcass. (Rene Magritte or Salvador Dali on acid couldn’t have dreamed this up).

Act II transformed into a stage within a stage, topped with another “F” that looks like the Broadway logo for Footloose. Of course this is not set in the script’s billiard room since the Count and Baron do not challenge each other to a billiard game, no, but rather haul out rifles and fire at police marksmanship targets they have hung on the false proscenium walls. The “stage” created is fairly clever (Owen also did the set design) and the various roll drops are a minor source of visual fun. The practical window in one of them provided an opportunity for a sight gag as our sporty tenor leaped through it effortlessly to disappear like Cherubino on the run. But couldn’t Owen have also designed some stairs instead of using two chairs as the only way for characters to get onto the “stage” from the floor? Seeing the principal women hike up and down the chairs while trying to sing was not pretty.

Fünftausend Taler, the most famous aria, was solidly sung by our title character. As for having it develop into a Las Vegas show number with two leggy chorines, and having the set (rather clunkily) evolve into a garish “entertainment strip” like a pre-Giuliani 42nd Street, well, why not? It worked. But then we were stuck with it. Mr. Turk’s vibrant “Heiterkeit und Frölichkeit,” musically the highpoint of the evening, was hamstrung with a scenario of his alternately schmoozing and abusing two prostitutes. By the time the High School girls (and youth chorus) came back on as wide-eyed tourists in porno land, and the chorus defiantly brandished their red books, we had been totally “froh’d.”

Overall, I actually had the impression the production may have been slightly under-rehearsed. Maestro Dovico led a competent reading that was at times spot-on, and other time rhythmically less sure. Certain allegro passages with soloists were marked by bars of unsteadiness. The chorus (under Irina Benkowski) worked hard enough, having their best moments as Act II’s multiple mythic and divine characters. But, if anything they seemed too refined, too cautious, too unengaged.

Der Wildschütz deserves better. Its riches include enchanting echos of Mozart and Weber, and prefigure Johann Strauss and company, even Gilbert and Sullivan. It would seem a perfect work for a professional summer festival. Glimmerglass? Saint Louis? You listening? Get a production team that believes in it, and it’s seriously up your alley.

As it is, we were here left with a dumping ground of unrelated ideas and schtick recycled in good measure from traditional operetta and Regie-theater alike, being served up as old wine in new (breakaway) bottles. I was reminded of a college tour we made one Christmas to perform at military bases in the Northeast Command.

At one very remote site outside of Thule, Greenland, one of our talented comics presented a perfectly memorized and mimicked “Weather Report” routine made famous by George Carlin. It always landed. This night after we had performed our opening musical set to very enthusiastic applause, he began his monologue with all his usual fire and there was not a peep of response. He kept going gamely. Nothing. Then he got desperate and panicked, rushing it, pushing and the silence was still deafening. How could this be? It always worked. Well, we found out later that the audience consisted solely of Danish contract workers who spoke not a word of English.

And that sort of sums up how I felt about this Wildschütz. It was as though they were using a bizarre artistic comic language we didn’t speak: Froh.

James Sohre

image=http://www.operatoday.com/1232632672.png image_description=Hauke Möller (Baron Kronthal), Viola Zimmermann (Gräfin) [Photo by Klaus Lefebvre]

product=yes producttitle=Albert Lortzing: Der Wildschütz oder Die Stimme der Natur productby=Graf von Eberbach: Miljenko Turk; Die Gräfin: Viola Zimmermann; Baron Kronthal: Hauke Möller; Baronin Freimann: Katharina Leyhe; Nannette: Hanna Larissa Naujoks; Baculus Wilfried Staber: Wilfried Staber; Gretchen: Claudia Rohrbach; Pankratius: Jochen Langner. Chor der Oper Köln. Gürzenich-Orchester Köln. Musikalische Leitung: Enrico Dovico. Inszenierung und Bühne: Nigel Lowery. product_id=Above: Hauke Möller (Baron Kronthal), Viola Zimmermann (Gräfin)

All photos by Klaus Lefebvre

Brussels’ Definitive Death

Before I enthuse about any other of the many wonders that combined to make this night an indisputable artistic triumph, pride of place simply must go to the superlative lighting design created by Jean Kalman. Were one to want to attend an unrivaled Masters Class in stage illumination, this would be the address. His perfectly judged effects were not only an integral part of the whole, but they seemed to inform and motivate the piece’s performance style with their chiaroscuro beauty.

Indeed, I will not soon forget the magical effect of a down-lit gondolier rocking in and out of focus as a shadow projection on the white mid-stage drop, as though the unraveling Aschenbach could almost, but not quite, remember. The back lighting of the boys’ Apollonian games was “brilliant,” in every sense. The intense white down-lighting of Tadzio’s dance solo, searing through his opaque clothing and temptingly silhouetting his lithe body, was genius. The complement of beautiful projections included shimmering waves, a blurry visualization of the famed Venetian skyline, and at times, a stage-wide wash of Aschenbach’s hand-written notes. This was arguably the finest lighting design I have experienced inside an opera house.

Tom Pye’s set design was no less remarkable, achieving marvelous results in the rapid succession of shifting locales with a very few carefully chosen pieces. Gondolas are suggested by a character simply sitting on luggage or the lip of the stage platform, with a pole-wielding gondolier standing behind and gently steering the imaginary boat. The utter simplicity of the three billowing diaphanous white curtains, perfectly suggested the airy hotel lobby with only the addition of a couple of potted plants and chairs. The no-man’s land of the dark opening scene, with its isolated lighting, black-draped furniture, and the lone word “Muenchen” projected on a suspended white square, soon enough gave way to a breathtaking “reveal” as the back drapes opened, and we were assaulted by a blinding amber lit sky.

The requisite ship’s deck was dominated by a huge smoke stack belching chemical smoke, a hanging net laden with cargo, and benches that were instantaneously disengaged from the black crepe of the opening moments. The all-important beach setting was wonderfully suggested with only the cyclorama and rolling black frame outlines of clothes-changing cabins. The stage for Act II’s show-within-a-show in the hotel was achieved with a simple platform and a backdrop on a pole hung between two supports. The threat of cholera was ominously represented by the shadow of a sliding black panel that traveled behind the mid-stage drape, coupled with a choking fog that oozed forth from the flies.

It is hard to overpraise the fluid scene change work by the stage crew and supers. Although one of the “sailors” did get caught in the cargo net as it began to fly, prompting another super to hiss “descends, descends” to the wings in a momentary departure from Myfawny Piper’s script!

One or two minor scenic miscalculations might yet be addressed in future performances. There was an odd display of low-hanging bare battens that slowly rose at the start of each act with an irrelevant piece of black drape attached stage left. Odd effect that at least quickly disappeared. And, please spike Aschenbach’s beach chair a few inches further upstage so that it doesn’t hang up the act curtain as it falls. But these are insignificant blips on the radar of a magnificent design achievement that includes the luscious black, grey and varied cream costumes by Chloe Obolensky.

Deborah Warner’s clean, forthright, and telling direction surely influenced the design choices and vice versa. This was a seamless collaborative effort from a production team that included a mighty contribution from choreographer Kim Brandstrup. It is difficult to know who developed the physicalized familial relationships with Tadzio, his mother and sisters, but they were lovely, and richly detailed. Branstrup chose to let the beach movement evolve, beginning with the boys playing ball rather randomly, and gradually morphing into more playful, dancerly moves which were always grounded in the coltish behavior of post-pubescent young men.

Among Ms. Warner’s many fine staging choices was having Aschenbach doze in his chair, “dreaming” the extended fantastical game/dance sequence at the end of Act I. There was a subtle, innocently homo-sexed undertone to the relationship between Tadzio (the vibrant Leon Cooke) and his roughhousing buddy Jaschiu (Riccardo Franco, also fine). The two of them made much of the critical scene of Tadzio’s rejection and defeat, which motivated Aschenbach to leap up, cry out, fumble his cane, and fall to a prone position, exactly mirroring the fallen youth. Beautiful.

As the dying Aschenbach crawls effortfully back into his chair, as Tadzio dances with new resolution toward the sea, as a Turner-worthy gold sunset fades ever so painfully slowly to black, this brought to a close a memorable artistic achievement. I did wonder if it was wise for Aschenbach to already appear a bit unhinged in the opening scene. And during the second barber visit when our leading character is persuaded to succumb to a makeover, I am not sure that handing him a drink was a good idea, as the prop ultimately gave the odd visual impression that he is drunk, rather than suffering from cholera or mad obsessions. In the “general housekeeping” category, it was an avoidable pity to have the work lights come up so we saw the just-dead Aschenbach get up behind the curtain, rather unceremoniously fetch his cane off the floor, and strike a pose to be revealed for his solo bow. But these are minuscule quibbles in what was a brilliant night.

All this stagecraft would have been for naught, had it not been matched by an equally marvelous musical achievement. The role of Aschenbach could have been written for the at times eccentric but considerable gifts of tenor Ian Bostridge. In fact, Britten created the role for the eccentric talents of his life partner, Peter Pears, who premiered it at the age of sixty-three (if my math is correct). Mr. Bostridge has a sizable enough lyric voice, produced with ease and clarity, capable of fine gradations of shade and volume. At least based upon this performance, he must be numbered among the finest actors in opera today, and if he sometimes rasps a bit, or shouts in heated passages, or spreads the tone for effect, it is wholly in service to the drama. While I can occasionally find his over-weighted word pointing and erratic musical phrasing problematic in some of his recorded standard recital repertoire, in this quirky role it proves a mighty asset.

For the composer seems to have created a marathon monologue, interrupted by scene work. It is heavily centered on declamatory, conversational presentation from our lead. Perhaps because lyrical outpourings and arching lines were not Pears’ forte, especially not at that stage in his career, Aschenbach is virtually all “talk” at which, happily, Bostridge excels. Indeed, I cannot imagine a finer current exponent of this role than Ian Bostridge.

The tour de force of the combined seven bass-baritone roles to be sung by one performer finds a willing accomplice in the excellent Andrew Shore. Throughout the evening, Mr. Shore is secure of voice, fleet of foot, and game for anything. He found a unique approach within each diverse character by creating inventive stage business, not the least of which was his provocative Leader of the Players who deployed his unruly concertina to various comic ends, including suggesting a dangling phallus.

Of the many minor roles, standouts include counter-tenor William Towers for his secure and pure Apollo; baritone Jonathan Gunthorpe, for his urgent, intensely voiced warnings as the English Clerk; and the sympathetic Beggar Woman of Madeleine Shaw. All of the many smaller parts were uniformly well-sung by soloists drawn from the fine Monnaie/Munt chorus, well-schooled by Piers Maxim.

The whole of this complex, often spare, rhythmically challenging score was conducted with a sure stylistic hand by Paul Daniel. The talented pit musicians responded with inspired results, not least of which was the exposed piano work by Martin Pacey, restlessly and characterfully churning under so many of the recitative segments.

If I still find this piece to be more cerebral than emotionally engaging; more dramatically interesting than tuneful; more to be admired than loved, that is not the fault of this definitive production, the company’s latest opus in a seriously adventurous season. Can you name any American company that could survive (and sell out) a succession of Pelleas, Cenerentola, Rusalka, La Calisto, Le Grand Macabre? (Nope, didn’t think so…)

What with the dire economic news, and the need (real or imagined) to appeal to subscribers and new patrons alike with more and more bread and butter operas, perhaps the days of encountering such caviar fare as Britten’s last major theatre piece are numbered.

But for now, Happy New Year! Woo-hoo! We have been treated to a sensational interpretation of Death in Venice that would just be pretty damn hard to beat.

James Sohre

image=http://www.operatoday.com/DeathVeniceBrussels.png image_description=Death in Venice [La Monnaie/De Munt]

product=yes producttitle=Benjamin Britten: Death in Venice productby=Gustav von Aschenbach: Ian Bostridge; Traveller/Elderly Fop/Old Gondolier/Hotel Manager/Hotel Barber/Leader of the Players/Voice of Dionysus: Andrew Shore; Voice of Apollo: William Towers; Hotel Porter: Peter Van Hulle; Strawberry Seller: Anna Dennis; Strolling Player: Donal Byrne; Lace Seller: Constance Novis; Glass Maker: Richard Edgar-Wilson; Beggar Woman: Madeleine Shaw; English Clerk: Jonathan Gunthorpe; Restaurant Waiter: Benoît De Leersnyder; Guide in Venice: Charles Johnston. La Monnaie Chorus Solists. La Monnaie Symphony Orchestra & Chorus. Music Direction: Paul Daniel. Staging: Deborah Warner.

VERDI: Un ballo in maschera — La Scala 1957

Music composed by Giuseppe Verdi. Libretto by Antonio Somma after Eugène Scribe’s libretto Gustave III, ou Le bal masqué.

First Performance: 17 February 1859, Teatro Apollo, Rome.

Principal Roles:
Riccardo, Count of Warwick, Governor of Boston	Tenor
Renato, a Creole, his secretary, and husband of Amelia	Baritone
Amelia	Soprano
Ulrica, a fortune-teller	Contralto
Oscar, a page	Soprano
Silvano, a sailor	Bass
Samuel	Bass
Tom	Bass
Un Giudice [A Judge]	Tenor
Un servo d’Amelia [Amelia’s Servant]	Tenor

Setting: In and around Boston, at the end of the 17th century

Synopsis:

Act I

Scene 1. The governor’s house

Courtiers awaiting the arrival of the governor sing his praises, while malcontents conspire to bring about his downfall.

Riccardo contemplates the responsibilities of his position. The page Oscar hands him a list of guests for a ball; seeing the name of Amelia, he looks forward to seeing her again.

His secretary Renato, Amelia’s husband, warns him that there is a conspiracy afoot; but Riccardo, relieved that Renato has not discovered his passion for his wife, averse to shedding blood and confident in the love of his people, is unconcerned. Renato warns him against overconfidence and urges him to preserve his life for the sake of his people.

The chief justice brings an order of banishment against the fortune-teller Ulrica for the governor to sign. Oscar defends her and Riccardo decides to see for himself, telling Oscar to get him a fisherman’s costume as a disguise and summoning the court to meet him at Ulrica’s at three.

The conspirators hope to get a chance to kill him and the rest of the court, led by Riccardo, look forward to an entertaining afternoon.

Scene 2. The fortune-teller’s den

People gather to have their fortunes told, while Ulrica invokes the devil to aid her power of prophecy.

The disguised count mingles with the crowd in time to hear a sailor, Silvano, ask what will be his reward for years of faithful service to the count. The fortune-teller promises him money and promotion, and the governor, to prove her right, slips a note to this effect into Silvano’s pocket. When he finds it all are impressed with the accuracy of the prophecy.

Amelia comes to ask Ulrica for a prescription which will free her from the guilty love she feels for the governor and Riccardo, overhearing Ulrica instruct her to pick at midnight a herb growing beneath the gallows, resolves to be there as well.

The rest of the court arrives, not recognising the governor, although he reveals his identity to Oscar and orders him to keep the secret. Still in disguise, the governor asks the fortune-teller to say whether he will be lucky in love and at sea. When she looks at his hand, she recognises that he is a great man; then frightened by what she sees, refuses to continue. He insists and she tells him that he will die soon and at the hand of a friend.

Riccardo is derisive, Oscar and the bystanders filled with dread and the conspirators nervous. She repeats the warning and then identifies the murderer as the next man to shake him by the hand. Riccardo offers his hand in vain to the courtiers and conspirators, but when the unsuspecting Renato arrives, he takes the hand, thus proving to the governor’s satisfaction the falseness of the prophecy as Renato is his best friend.

Ulrica now recognises him with fear and he reminds her that she had been unable to penetrate his disguise or divine that he had been on the point of banishing her. He soothes her fears and she reiterates her warning, adding, to the alarm of the conspirators, that more than one traitor is lurking.

Silvano leads the bystanders in a hymn of praise to the governor.

Act II

The gallows outside the city at midnight

Amelia, almost overcome with terror, comes to pick the herb. Riccardo comes and declares his love, but she reminds him that she is the wife of a man who would give his life for him. Riccardo admits that he is consumed with remorse, but the power of his love is stronger and Amelia finally confesses that she loves him.

Their ecstasy is cut short by the arrival of Renato, warning that there are conspirators close by. He manages to persuade the governor to leave by a safe path and promises to escort the now-veiled Amelia to the city wihtout trying to uncover her identity.

The conspirators surround Renato and Amelia and, realising that their prey has eluded them, insist on knowing the identity of the lady. Renato is prepared to fight to prevent this but Amelia, trying to intervene, drops her veil.

The conspirators are diverted at the strange time and place Renato has chosen for an assignation with his own wife; and he, furious at having been betrayed by his wife and his friend, asks their leaders, Tom and Samuel, to come to his house the next day.

Act III

Scene 1. Renato’s study

Renato is adamant that Amelia must die, despite her assurances that her love for the governor is innocent. She begs to see her son for the last time, and he sends her out, turning bitterly to the portrait of the governor on the wall and blaming him for having seduced Amelia.

Tom and Samuel arrive, and Renato assures them that he does not wish to denounce them, but rather to join them, and even to be allowed to be the one to kill the governor. When they insist on their prior claims, he suggests they draw lots.

Amelia comes in to announce the arrival of Oscar with an invitation from the governor and Renato makes her draw the chosen name. It is his and his fierce joy makes her suspect the worst.

Oscar delivers the invitation to a masked ball. Amelia wishes to decline, but Renato, eager for revenge, accepts for them both. The conspirators agree on a costume and a password (Death) while Amelia tries to think of a way of warning the governor.

Scene 2. The governor’s study

Although in despair at the thought of parting from Amelia, Riccardo forces himself to sign a document sending Renato and Amelia back to England, without even seeing Amelia once more to say farewell.

Oscar brings a letter from a veiled lady warning Riccardo not to attend the ball, as his life is in danger. Refusing to run the risk of being thought a coward and resolving to see Amelia once more, he decides to attend the ball.

Scene 3. A vast and richly decorated ballroom

The ball is in progress and the conspirators search in vain for Riccardo until Oscar, persuaded by Renato that his business is urgent, describes the governor’s costume. Amelia, disguised, tries to warn Riccardo, but he recognises her and tells her that he has resolved to send her away with her husband. They bid each other farewell as Renato stabs the governor.

Riccardo restrains the crowd from taking vengeance and tells the now remorseful Renato that his wife is innocent and that he had planned to send them away. He dies, forgiving his enemies.

[Synopsis Source: Opera~Opera]

Click here for the complete libretto.

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Callas_Amelia.png image_description=Maria Callas as Amelia (La Scala, 7 Dicembre 1957) audio=yes first_audio_name=Giuseppe Verdi: Un ballo in maschera first_audio_link=http://www.operatoday.com/Ballo1.m3u product=yes product_title=Giuseppe Verdi: Un ballo in maschera product_by=Amelia: Maria Callas; Oscar: Eugenia Ratti; Renato (Count Ankarström): Ettore Bastianini; Riccardo (Gustavo III): Giuseppe di Stefano; Samuel (Count Ribbing): Marco Stefanoni; Silvano (Christiano): Giuseppe Morresi; Tom: Antonio Cassinelli; Ulrica: Giulietta Simionato; Un giudice: Angelo Mercuriali; Un servo: Antonio Ricci. Orchestra e Coro del Teatro alla Scala. Gianandrea Gavazzeni, conductor. Live performance, 7 December 1957, Milan.

Partenope in Ferrara

Partenope is attracted to Arsace, without knowing that he has previously abandoned Rosmira, who now — disguised as a chieftain under the fictional name of Eurimene from Armenia — arrives in Naples with the aim of winning him back. A third prince, Emilio from the nearby reign of Cumae (tenor), declares war on Partenope, offering marriage for peace. His attack, however, is easily rebuked by the joint forces of the queen and her lovers, so Emilio is detained at Partenope’s court as in a chivalrous prison camp of sorts. Rosmira/Eurimene secretly confronts Arsace demanding that he keep her true identity covered, then provokes him publicly in every possible manner. In the end, she challenges him to a duel in a court of honor, but must withdraw as he puts the condition that they fight stripped to the waist. Partenope decides to marry Armindo, orders that repentant Arsace be reunited to Rosmira and sends back Emilio to Cumae on friendly terms.

A bit too madcap by the average standard of early opera seria, Silvio Stampiglia’s libretto was written for Naples in 1699 and subsequently set by several composers. Rather than in outstanding literary or dramatic merit, the secret of its popularity may lie in the variety of situations and the panoply of stock affetti associated to them. One would like to call Partenope a Baroque sitcom, now and then on the verge of vaudeville. A radical admirer, none less than Edward J. Dent, affected to find in it something of a Shakespearean atmosphere, apparently referring to the bittersweet climate of The Twelfth Night rather than to the Bard’s tragedies or history plays. As recently argued by the British Handel scholar David Vickers: ‘The plot offers ample scope for emotional intensity, insightful characterization, wit, sexual innuendo, and profound despair’. This is probably what most appealed to Handel, who, after an abortive attempt in 1726, succeeded to present his own setting of Partenope to the London public in 1730. After two not-too-successful runs in that year at the King’s Theatre, and a nearly disastrous revival in 1737 at the Covent Garden, Partenope disappeared for two centuries. Modern revivals in German and English translations started at the Göttingen Handel Festival in 1935 and went forth, if very sparsely, until 1998, when the original Italian libretto resurfaced in Cooperstown, NY, and in New York City. The present staging at Ferrara — scheduled to circulate later in Modena, Naples and Montpellier, France — was, believe it or not, the opera’s Italian premiere ever.

To devout Handelians like myself (as opposed to sane folk who would object to sitting at the opera for three-and-a-half hours), the experience of hearing live an almost uncut score of the Harmonious Blacksmith is increasingly rare and a potential source of delight. It did not happen this time. In addition to its unusually high number of arias, Partenope has a remarkably prominent number of ensembles (eight, including two choruses), two accompanied recitatives and some flamboyant instrumental music of a warlike character. Ottavio Dantone’s performing version, essentially based on Handel’s first version of three, pruned 8 out of 48 set pieces: four arias for Arsace, as many for Partenope, and one for Armindo — which seems a generous appeasement with modern listening habits.

Elena Monti as Partenope, Sonia Prina as Rosmira

Nevertheless, there was still much left to cherish. First of all, a classy ensemble of voices, all well versed in period performing practice. A trio of ladies shared the best applause: as the de-facto protagonist Arsace, Marina De Liso sketched an enigmatic and irresolute anti-hero; nonetheless, her cleanly secure intonation, refined uttering and elegant coloratura were glorious throughout. As Rosmira/Eurimene, Sonia Prina towered as the relentless powerhouse she usually is onstage, sparking a regular ovation in her defiant aria ‘Io seguo sol fiero’ with obbligato horns and oboes. Valentina Varriale, as the moonstruck Armindo who finally gets the girl, impressed for the sheer beauty of her color, dark and fully fleshed-out. The quiet lilt of her heart-rending andante ‘Non chiedo, o luci vaghe’ conveyed all the elegy of selfless love, quite Arcadian-style.

Sonia Prina as Rosmira, Gianpiero Ruggeri as Ormonte, Cyril Auvity as Emilio, Marina De Liso as Arsace

In the title role, Elena Monti embodied the seductive, authoritative and slightly vindictive nature of her character almost to perfection. Depriving her of her signature aria ‘Qual farfalletta’, towards the end of Act II, was indeed insensitive. Both Emilio and Partenope’s chamberlain Ormonte (bass) are deadpan roles, yet their respective performers Cyril Auvity and Gianpiero Ruggeri came out egregiously for their assured technique, also showing a firm grip of style requirements. In the remote confrontation with the role-creator Annibale Fabri (a virtuoso from Bologna who managed to become a lone tenor star in the age of castrati), Auvity had to struggle hard with a terrific range and treacherous coloratura. He emerged unscathed, albeit switching to a peculiar mixed utterance at the upper and lower ends of his tessitura. Who knows whether Fabri, described by a contemporary British observer as ‘a very good master of musick’ did the same?

Sonia Prina as Rosmira, Valentina Varriale as Armindo

Giuseppe Frigeni’s integrated light-set-direction design and Regina Martino’s costumes provided a lesson of how to approach early opera without either irreverent gimmicks or cheap archaeological historicism. Their easily recognizable color codes, applied to studies in abstract perspective resembling chessboards, their luxuriant headpieces and peacock-shaped gowns for everybody (whether males, females or cross-dressers), conveyed a quintessential Spirit of Baroque — somewhat near to the Beijing Opera, where a single flag stands for ten thousand warriors or a model ship for whole fleets. Body language and perusal of stage space did fit admirably into the frame.

Antonio Florio and his (Naples-based) Pietà dei Turchini were slated to steer this important production. In the end, they declined because of budget disagreements, so the baton passed onto Dantone, whose period band Accademia Bizantina can stand on equal footing with any such ensemble in Italy. Indeed, they brought the wondrous machine to triumph and were awarded full honors; only a few skipped notes in the natural brasses gave evidence of limited rehearsing time, but this may improve later in the tour.

Carlo Vitali

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Partenope_Ferrara_01.png image_description=Marina De Liso as Arsace [Photo by Marco Caselli Nirmal] product=yes product_title=Georg Friedrich Händel: Partenope
Teatro Comunale, Ferrara, Italy. Performance of 18 January 2009 product_by=Partenope, Queen of Naples — Elena Monti; Arsace, Prince of Corinth — Marina De Liso; Rosmira/Eurimene, his former beloved — Sonia Prina; Armindo, Prince of Rhodes — Valentina Varriale; Emilio, Prince of Cumae — Cyril Auvity; Ormonte, Partenope’s counsellor — Gianpiero Ruggeri. Giuseppe Frigeni, director. Ottavio Dantone, conductor. Accademia Bizantina (with original instruments). product_id=Above: Marina De Liso as Arsace

All photos by Marco Caselli Nirmal