Opera Today

Rossini Opera Festival, Pesaro 2012

A couple of years ago the Rossini Festival staged the very first Rossini opera, Dimitrio e Polibio. It is on a serious subject (a father finds his long lost son and reconciles with an old enemy as well). Rossini was 15 years old. It was five years later that he discovered his comic muse with L’equivoco stravagante, followed the very next year (1812) by four more comedies, plus what the Festival considers his first opera seria, Ciro in Babilonia (forgetting that Dimitrio e Polibio is an opera seria). The rest is history.

The Festival had entrusted the staging of Dimitrio e Polibio to Italian director Davide Livermore who gave us enough lazzi (little visual tricks) to amuse ourselves mightily and make the opera itself as incidental to the evening’s entertainment as it is to the Rossini oeuvre. Ciro in Babilonia ossia La caduta di Baldassare is pretty thin material as well. It was another opportunity for Mr. Livermore!

Though thrust between Rossini and Mr. Livermore (lee-vehr-more-aye, no accent one assumes) was former enfant terrible New York Times music critic Will Crutchfield, now a conductor and coach of bel canto at the Caramoor Center for the Arts (64 kms north of New York City). Conductor Crutchfield is a strange mixture of erudition, musicality, and limited musical charisma who seems possessed by the operatic ideal of collaboration.

Meanwhile there was some singing too, most notably by 62 year-old Polish contralto Ewa Podles as lovesick Ciro. At this point in her career Mme. Podles is most often reverentially cast as a celebrated singer in a character role (the evil aunt in San Francisco’s Suor Angelica as example). The surprise is that Mme. Podles can still do a coloratura trouser role with plenty of voice and dazzling aplomb. Rossini’s Ciro is however a decidedly pale character to host such force of voice and personality.

Mme. Podles did indeed make this unlucky Persian king (he lost a battle plus his wife to Belshazzar) into a character well beyond the possible imaginings of Rossini. This only succeeded in rendering Australian soprano Jessica Pratt less convincing as the Rossini heroine Amira, his Rossini imagined femme fatale wife. Mlle. Pratt possibly could have approached the vocal ideal of such a creature as she is a fine Rossini singer, popping off interpolated stratospheric notes in shimmering coloratura.

Baldassare, the lovesick ruler of Babilonia (yes, like Handel’s Xerxes) loses in the end. Ciro wins a battle and gets his wife back and everyone lives happily ever after, though of course all this is pure fantasy. Baldassare too, Missouri born tenor Michael Spires, was no match for Ciro. He cut a good figure, his very long lament Qual crudel, qual trista sorte made a case for the greatness of the Rossini-to-come, and earned him a real ovation (real ovations are long and loud in Pesaro).

Mr. Livermore took on Rossini’s opera seriaand cleverly did away with it knowing that we would find its superimposition onto a silent film epic imitation more amusing. Surely we did (though an opera seria every once in a while does hit the spot). That its transformation was thorough is beyond question, including the suppression of supertitles so we could not know really what was being said or thought (these singers did not project the Italian text as did, for example, the singers in Mathilda di Shabran to a remarkable degree). So it was opera without words, though we all know opera has words, and some of us, probably many of us ached for real opera.

Mr. Livermore made constant reference to the silent film era with video techniques effected by Torino’s D-Wok (an enterprise that offers “multi-sensory creativity recipes”). These effects were brilliantly and sensitively used to goose up Rossini’s incipient greatness, like the moving background film images slipping into judder for the serious moments in the Ciro/Amira recognition duet, plus the scratches on the film (thin streaks of light) increasing in intensity and frequency as Rossini’s music intensified at the opera’s conclusion. Not to ignore the close-up shots of melodramatic faces in sepia tinted frames, and (whew!) the absolutely stunning early film-art epic costumes designed by Gianluca Falaschi.

Scene from Il signor Bruschino

Mr. Livermore was a singer before he became one of Italy’s most gifted and interesting stage directors. Well aware of the needs of singers he and his designer Nicolas Bovey provided a moving platform stage layout that propelled the singers to positions of direct communication with the conductor (and therefore the audience) for the big arias. In fact Mo. Crutchflield seemed more interested in his singers than in the fine orchestra of the Teatro Comunale di Bologna even though a splendid violin solo rang out in forceful melodramatic pathos with Mlle. Pratt’s Deh, per me non v’affliggete (don’t beat yourself up on my account).

Davide Livermore’s production was smart indeed, too smart for what Rossini had to say.

Well, enough with opera seria, let’s get back to comedy. The very next year, a big one, Rossini first dashed of a one-act farce, Il signor Bruschino before composing his first great tragedy, Tancredi, and his first great comedy, L’italiana in Algeri. The Festival entrusted the staging of this incidental farce to Teatro Sotterraneo, a Florentine group comprised of dancers, actors, performance artists, singers, etc., who collectively create and perform theater.

At first the suspicion was that this was in fact the case, that the stage manager, his assistant, the dresser, etc., who rushed about the stage doing schtick before, during and after the overture were Teatro Sotterraneo, that a couple of old guys (Bruschino and Gaudenzio as we later learned) putting on strange costumes and sort of coxcomb like plastic wigs were Teatro Sotterraneo, and that Florville and Sofia who sang about their problems were Teatro Sotterraneo actors and not really Rossini singers.

The sets and costumes, the issue of the Accademia di Belle Arti di Urbino which was part of this opera-by-committee committee, were a crossroads somewhere, maybe Pesaro, or in the unlikely case that you (and the far more likely case that these talented kids) had been to a Disneyland in Anaheim, Tokyo, Orlando or Paris in the recent past, maybe a theme park somewhere. Probably it was just the Lungomare in Pesaro — in fact there was even a sign announcing that we were in Rossiniland with arrows pointing to La Gazza Ladra and other such attractions.

What would Disneyland/Rossiniland be without you and me to wonder and marvel at what we found there? So what looked like the youth cult that surely must be Teatro Sotterraneo, plus a few more seasoned tourists like us, timidly interfaced with Bruschino, Florville and Filiberto there in Rossiniland (the Cinderella, Daffy and Donald Ducks, etc., of Disneyland). That is when we were not distracted by a sudden parade chasing after William Tell (yes, Rossini’s late, great opera was quoted).

So it was a farce within a farce, one dumbly brilliant farce, make that brilliantly dumb farce within another. A stroke of genius. Anything went to sabotage the integrity of one of Rossini’s lesser efforts, efforts that in fact gave it the vibrantly casual artistic life it deserves.

With due respect to the singers, they were appropriately neither Teatro Sotterraneo nor were they the cast you would dream of for a Pesaro Italiana or Tancredi. They were wonderful singing actors who brought Rossini’s farce alive in high art that was well beyond mere opera. Roberto de Candia and Carlo Lepore supplied experience and savoir faire as Bruschino and Gaudenzio, Andrea Vicenzo Bonsignore as the innkeeper Filiberto, David Alegret as Florville the young lover, and Maria Aleida with her amazingly high notes as Sofia the ingenue supplied the promise. Young Italian conductor Daniele Rustioni was a lively participant in the proceedings as were members of the Orchestra Sinfonica G. Rossini.

Much magnificence was added to the Rossini oeuvre over the next ten years, like all of the more recognizable Rossini titles (the operas in French were still to come), including Matilde di Shabran ossia Bellezza e cuor di ferro in 1821, a very strange piece. Like Handel’s Xerxes it is either a tragedy or a comedy, and in the best of all possible worlds it is both.

It was a revival of a 2004 production erected in the limited stage housing of the 600 or so seat Teatro Rossini that made its way to Covent Garden in 2008 where the two concentric floor to rafters circular staircases, the sum total of its scenery, were presumably resized to a considerably larger dimension. Back now in Pesaro at the Adriatic Arena in this (or yet another) enlarged version it did not come close to making the startling scenic impressions that have marked Adriatic Arena productions in recent years (like Mose in Egitto, Zelmira, and Ermione).

However it did have Juan Diego Flórez and that seemed enough to bring the audience to an a priori delirium. The twenty-three year-old Juan Diego made his Pesaro debut in the role of Corradino the Iron Hearted back in 1996, in a resurrection of Matilde di Shabran after 175 years of oblivion. Needless to say it was Mr. Flórez who sang it in London at age 35, and may it suffice to say that the role still belongs to him alone at age 39. Possibly this is because he may be the only one who can sing it. Or maybe wants to.

Scene from Matilda di Shabran

Corradino the Iron Hearted has a lot to sing about. The peace and quiet (save for an occasional battle) of his chateau has been disturbed by the arrival of two women who are chasing him. He hates women. So there are a lot of high “C”’s and more than a few elaborate rages. Corradino is head-strong and not too smart (well, he is a tenor). Though of course Juan Diego is nothing if not smart, and very famous for his high “C”‘s. This combination of character and singer is exploited to perfection by Mr. Flórez in minimal moves and maximal voice and musicianship.

This is mature Rossini who masterfully constructs huge ensembles, a quintet in the first act bringing iron hearted Juan Diego together with German formed Russian soprano Olga Peretyatko as Matilda, the pushy ingenue who lets nothing get in her way (like Rosina) and Italian mezzo Chiara Chialli as the pushy Contessa who, after four hours [!] of conniving, was the sore loser. Young Italian buffo Nicola Alaimo as the wise doctor Aliprando and Italian baritone Paolo Bordogna as the opportunistic Neopolitan poet Isidoro (gifted Pesaro regulars) finished the five who lined up across the stage and let it rip.

The staging of the opera was limited to the principals running up and down the spiral staircases when not forming a line to sing together. The quintet was joined in the extended first act finale by the two additional principals, young Russian mezzo Anna Goryachova as Edoardo, captured son of the Iron Hearted’s arch enemy, and excellent Spanish bass Simon Orfila as Ginardo, the castle gatekeeper.

Holding all of this together with the orchestra of the Teatro Comunale di Bologna was young Italian conductor Michele Mariotti, a graduate of the Conservatorio Rossini di Pesaro who has gone to the top fast. Mo. Mariotti brought unusual elegance to the opera’s overture, and coaxed continued suavity and a far more than usual or expected orchestral participation in the complex musical proceedings without foregoing his responsibilities to the stage.

Without the participation of a real production conception (Italian film director Mario Martone’s production was more or less costume opera, at least as seen from row 14), the performance missed achieving the magical Rossini operatic delirium that has been the hallmark of recent Adriatic Arena productions. Not that this lack was lamented by the audience who responded to Rossini’s magnificent ensembles with huge, really huge, foot stomping ovations.

Olga Peretyatko, Matilda, had the last word in an extended solo scene at the end of the opera in which she unleashed torrents of brilliant coloratura bragging about her conquest of Juan Diego, the real Rossini diva she has become over the past several years in Pesaro.

Michael Milenski

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Program:

Ciro in Babilonia

Baldassare: Michael Spyres; Ciro: Ewa Podles; Amira: Jessica Pratt; Argene: Carmen Romeu; Zambri: Mirco Palazzi; Arbace: Robert McPherson; Daniello: Raffaele Costantini. Teatro Rossini, Pesaro. Orchestra and Chorus of the Teatro Comunale di Bologna. Conductor: Will Crutchfield; Stage Directoro: Davide Livermore; Scenery and projections: Nicolas Bovey; Videodesign: D-WOK; Costumes: Gianluca Falaschi. (August 13, 2012)

Il signor Bruschino

Gaudenzio: Carlo Lepore; Sofia: Maria Aleida; Bruschino father: Roberto de Candia; Bruschino son / Commissario: Francisco Brito; Florville: David Alegret; Filiberto: Andrea Vincenzo Bonsignore; Marianna: Chiara Amarù. Teatro Rossini, Pesaro. Orchestra and Chorus of the Teatro Comunale di Bologna. Orchestra Sinfonica G. Rossini. Conductor: Daniele Rustioni; Stage Director: Teatro Sotterraneo; Sets and Costumes: Accademia di Belle Arti di Urbino; Lights: Roberto Cafaggini. (August 15, 2012)

Matilda di Shabran

Matilde di Shabran: Olga Peretyatko; Edoardo: Anna Goryachova; Raimondo Lopez: Marco Filippo Romano; Corradino: Juan Diego Flórez; Ginardo: Simon Orfila; Aliprando: Nicola Alaimo; Isidoro: Paolo Bordogna; Contessa d’Arco: Chiara Chialli; Egoldo: Giorgio Misseri; Rodrigo: Ugo Rosati, Luca Fisani. Adriatic Arena, Pesaro. Orchestra and Chorus of the Teatro Comunale di Bologna. Conductor: Michele Mariotti; Stage Director: Mario Martone; Scenery: Sergio Tramonti; Costumes: Ursula Patzak; Lights: Pasquale Mari. (August 14, 2012)

image=http://www.operatoday.com/ciro2012programma_640x.gif
image_description=Scene from Ciro in babilonia

product=yes
product_title=Rossini Opera Festival, Pesaro 2012
product_by=By Michael Milenski
product_id=Above: Scene from Ciro in babilonia

Photos courtesy of Rossini Opera Festival

La bohème at the Salzburg Festival

That said, La bohème proved more successful in almost every way than the relatively disappointing Carmen seen earlier in the week.

Above all, this was a triumph — perhaps predictable, but none the less worth of mention for that — for Daniele Gatti and the Vienna Philharmonic. This was the first time during this year’s Festival in which I had heard the VPO on top form — though it would not be the last. The comparison may be odious but it made me realise quite what had been missing in the Welsh National Opera performance I had heard in June. Wagnerisms abound, of course, but it takes a great conductor truly to relish them like this and to transmute them into something quite personal to Puccini. Harmony and orchestration are really what is most interesting about the composer’s work, however naggingly memorable some of his melodies might be. Gatti presided over an orchestral performance comparable to his Salzburg Elektra a couple of years ago, the sheer depth of tone resounding throughout the Grosses Festspielhaus as impressive as the shimmering, translucent beauties of Puccini’s more modernistic passages. Pacing was irreproachable, permitting the story and, most important, the score to unfold as they would, rather than imposing an irrelevant external framework upon them; unity was thereby enhanced rather than detracted from.

The cast was first-rate too. Piotr Beczala has often sounded too Italianate, indeed too Puccini-like, in much of the repertoire in which I have heard him; this is clearly where he is most at home. The odd moment at which I thought less might have been more aside, there was nothing for which to reproach him here and much to laud. If ultimately Rodolfo is hardly the most interesting of roles, Beczala did what he could with it, dynamic range and shading especially noteworthy. Likewise, unsurprisingly, for Anna Netrebko’s Mimi, a star turn if ever there were one. Netrebko truly inhabited the role, both more generally and with particular reference to Damiano Michieletto’s production too. Many of the more celebrated opera singers in this repertoire might have disdained a production that failed vulgarly to flatter them ; Netrebko relished the contemporary setting and the emphasis upon Mimi as disadvantaged. Her voice was in excellent repair, soaring gloriously above the equally glorious orchestra. I had not come across Nino Machaidze before, but her sexy, intelligent Musetta made me hope that I shall do so again soon. Massimo Cavalletti’s Marcello put not a foot wrong; nor indeed did any member of the ‘supporting’ cast. Choral singing was of the highest standard throughout — an often overlooked aspect, crucial to a successful performance of this opera.

Nino Machaidze as Musetta, Massimo Cavalletti as Marcello, Marcello Giordani as Rodolfo, Alessio Arduini as Schaunard and Carlo Colombara as Colline

In a sense, there was nothing especially radical about Michieletto’s production, though given what most houses present for La bohème, one could say that even the very fact of moving the action to the twenty-first century shows a thirst for adventure. (In this of all operas, there is surely an imperative, albeit incessantly flouted, to rid a staging of every last ounce of sentimentality.) Costumes alone, designed with flair by Carla Teti, would doubtless have had self-appointed ‘traditionalists’ spluttering: a good in itself, though hardly enough. Designs were splendid: spectacular in a good rather than vulgar-Zeffirelli sense. The Paris street and metro map that unfolded from time to time was really rather fun. Act Three’s sense of an urban, frozen wasteland, replete with obligatory burger van, was chilling, in more than one sense. Yet the production had subtler virtues too, foremost amongst which should be accounted the space it permitted one to question the work and assumptions one might hold about it. Whilst I cannot (yet?) bring myself quite to accept the metatheatrical claims made for the opera by some, however much more interesting they might make it, there was to be discovered here, even if this were not the director’s intention, an indictment of the selfishness of youth. Where Michieletto spoke of celebration, it was equally possible, and indeed in my case more so, to recognise from experience the shallow posing and disingenuousness of student-style declarations of love, purpose, and principle. Mimi became a more interesting victim, or perhaps better, the circumstances that brought about her fate became sharpened, without turning the opera into something that it was not. I wonder how this will be received in Shanghai, with whose Grand Theatre this is a co-production.

Mark Berry

image=http://www.operatoday.com/hires-28Jul2012__Silvia_Lel.gif image_description=Piotr Beczala as Rodolfo and Anna Netrebko as Mimi [Photo © Silvia Lelli courtesy of Salzburger Festival] product=yes product_title=Giacomo Puccini: La bohème product_by=Rodolfo: Piotr Beczala; Mimi: Anna Netrebko; Marcello: Massimo ; Cavalletti; Musetta: Nino Machaidze; Schaunard: Alessio Arduini; Colline: Carlo Colombara. Benoît: David Fersini; Alcindoro: Peter Kálmán; Parpignol: Paul Schweinester; Parpignol (Artist): Steven Forster; Customs Sergeant: Liviu Gheorghe Burz; Customs Officer: Michael Wilder; Hawker: Martin Müller. Damiano Michieletto: (director). Paolo Fantin (set designs). Carla Teti (costumes). Martin Gebhardt (lighting). Kathrin Brunner (dramaturgy). Nikos Lagousakos (choreographical assistance). Concert Association of the Vienna State Opera Chorus (chorus master: Ernst Raffelsberger). Salzburg Festival and Theatre Children’s Chorus (chorus master: Wolfgang Götz). Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra. Daniele Gatti (conductor).

Grosses Festspielhaus; Salzburg; 23rd August 2012. product_id=Above: Piotr Beczala as Rodolfo and Anna Netrebko as Mimi

Photos © Silvia Lelli courtesy of Salzburger Festival

Eternal Echoes: Songs and Dances for the Soul

Itzhak Perlman’s playing, unmistakable from the first, interacts with the cantorial voice mirroring it, sounding an ethereal descant over it or leading the supporting band. His playing represents the vision of the collection, and sets the tone for each piece. Cantor Yitzhak Meir Helfgot, musically so well matched to Mr. Perlman, is the vocal soloist whose extraordinary voice and abilities prove an irresistible draw. The ten selections, taken mostly from the traditional liturgy, are sung to long-beloved tunes emblematic of the musical palette of Ashkenazic Jewry; the refined arrangements by Hankus Netsky with Jesse Gelber and Dmitri Slepovitch should be as appealing to the khazones newcomer as they are familiar to the khazones connoisseur. In its intimacy, spontaneity and captivating interpolations of dance within song, the presentation is novel, but the album is not a novelty: gimmickry and kitsch are wholly absent. An atmosphere arises akin to that of a kumsitz or farbrengen, a bit informal, but spiritually elevated. In this virtual setting, one gathers with wonderful musicians of varied experiences and backgrounds for the sake of an outpouring of the Jewish soul to God. Instrumentalists, who traditionally put their fiddles, tsimbl, clarinets and horns away on the Sabbath and Jewish holy days, play as if they were Cantor Helfgot’s meshorerim, in music whose natural setting is the shul [synagogue], the Shabbos [Sabbath] table, the simcha [joyous occasion] or the stage.

Of the five pieces customary for shul—T’filas Tal [Prayer for Dew], Yism’chu [They Shall Rejoice], R’tzay [Be Favorable], Sheyibone Bays Hamikdosh [May the Holy Temple Be Rebuilt], Kol Nidre [All Vows]—the R’tzay and Sheyibone Bays Hamikdosh are said daily, in fact, multiple times a day. Yitzhak Schlossberg’s R’tzay and Israel Schorr’s Sheyibone elaborate these prayers. Both texts ask for God’s favor that the Temple be rebuilt and the Temple service be restored. Schlossberg’s R’tzay pleads the case for the acceptance of Israel’s prayers with the kind of heightened vocalization—the krekhts—and sheer persistence that is characteristic of khazones. Accompaniment is minimal. By contrast, Schorr’s Sheyibone is a catchy folk-like tune punctuated by vocal displays ascending to high B-flat, high C and a bit beyond, before returning to the earthier main tune. This too is a pleading, but grounded in a tune both delightful and unforgettable.

Yism’chu, a prayer of rejoicing in the Sabbath, precedes R’tzay during the Sabbath day mussaf service. It is sung to an old Hassidic tune that became widely used in non-Hassidic circles thanks to recording and publication. As a prayer of rejoicing, the weight of pleading and heightened text expression is lifted. The folk instruments come forward and a dance in the spirit of Sabbath joy emerges to finish the piece. Hopeful more than joyful, T’filas Tal expresses Israel’s utter reliance upon God to draw blessings down upon the land of Israel. Dew signifies favor, enlightenment, sweetness and abundance: a good decree. Heard once a year on the first day of Passover, it is a composition of the legendary cantor Yossele Rosenblatt. From its overall earnest tone, cadenza opportunities emanate that take flight for both cantor and violinist.

There is no music on the album more famous than that of Kol Nidrei. Arnold Schoenberg, who himself set Kol Nidrei, observed that it is not a single melody or set composition, but a collection of melodic turns that can be rendered in highly individual ways. It is chanted in the evening prior to Yom Kippur [Day of Atonement]. In a real sense, Kol Nidrei is a legal proceeding that must conclude before nightfall concerning the nullification of vows. As stressful as a court appearance is, that stress is never reflected in Cantor Helfgot’s voice or in the arrangement, which prefers intimacy to monumentality. The piece begins with a prelude for the violin based on a tune Elie Wiesel sings in his congregation. The accompaniment is a gentle whisper as Cantor Helfgot begins. While his voice soars through the familiar melodic turns, it never sounds strained, nor does the music ever sound too facile. The violin returns with the High Holy Days nusach offered in the most humble and pure fashion. The ornamented final D-flat is sufficient for closure.

Other works include the Mizmor L’Dovid [23rd Psalm] of Ben Zion Shenker, the great exponent of the Hassidic music of Modzitz, sung widely at the Sabbath table, and the Zionist theatrical piece, Shoyfer shel Moshiach of Abraham Goldfaden. The preference is for music with a connection to Judaism in its immediacy as opposed to music that is already at a remove from Jewish life, like the famous Oyfn Pripetchik. Electronics, key change gimmicks and other elements of pop music are avoided. There is more than sufficient tonal variety thanks to the keys chosen for the arrangements. This album’s stylistic affinities lie with Schubert Lieder and the orchestrations of Joseph Rumshinsky.

What is the album about? This is answered in the first number, A Dudele, a song by the Hassidic master Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev (1740-1809). The song, like the psalm and liturgical pieces, is directed to the Ribbono shel Olam [Master of the Universe]. What begins as a rhetorically intensified cry for God’s attention transforms itself into an acknowledgment of God’s omnipresence and nearness. With that realization the rhetorical formalities fall away as a desire for closeness becomes more insistent. It is this particular desire for closeness to the Divine on behalf of the individual, the family, the community, the nation and the world that ultimately speaks to a shared universal desire full of great hope. In this respect, this album should speak to a wide audience.

Steven J. Cahn, Ph.D.
University of Cincinnati

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James MacMillan’s “Since it was the day of Preparation…” Premieres at Edinburgh International Festival

The Hebrides Ensemble, which co-commissioned the work with Soli Deo Gloria, performed Since it was the day of Preparation… in the historic setting of Greyfriars Kirk on the 22nd of August.

MacMillan is a major Scottish composer who specializes in music with spiritual sensitivity. Since it was the day of Preparation… sets the final section of St John’s Gospel from the removal of Jesus’ body from the cross to the end of John’s account, covering the period from Easter Eve until Pentecost. The work is for a small group of singers and a small group of musicians, together with male soloist, baritone is in the original scoring but here the role was ably sung by the low operatic bass, Brindley Sheratt.

Episodes of recitative for different vocal groupings, are interleaved with ‘interludes’ an extended cadenza for each instrument in turn and with other ‘interludes’ for the quintet as an ensemble (theorbo, cello, clarinet, horn and harp). These could in fact be used in excerpt and would stand on their own, either as short works showcasing each instrument, or collectively.

There are long passages for tenor (Andrew Busher) — who opens the entire work — and high baritone (Tom Bullard), not a bass, as described slightly confusingly in the programme, but very good, with a warm sweet tone. Both are very good, and the excellent acoustic meant every word was clearly audible, even at the back of the performance space. Against this are placed periodically Latin liturgical texts, mainly from the Renaissance. The musical, liturgical and dramatic climax of the whole work comes early in the second act, when a piercing peal of sound from the clarinet symbolises the discovery of the empty tomb.

The clarinet is an instrument for which MacMillan has written well, and here his writing for it is at its finest. This vocal section, ‘The Empty Tomb’ is followed by an Interlude for that same instrument, perhaps pre-eminent amongst these and very ably played by Yann Ghiro, whose contribution to this performance was one of its highlights. The clarinet also features prominently in the ensemble interlude between the first two acts, which separates the burial scene from the discovery of the empty tomb ; after quiet, dignified understated playing in the lower register by the other instruments, it enters to take the lead in a skirl-like dance which fades into a keening wail of mourning, being joined by the cello playing high in its register — a piece reminiscent of MacMillan's Tuireadh.

The difficulty of performing the role of Christ has been addressed before. MacMillan creates a feeling of distance and other worldliness by setting the soloists further back from the rest of the singers, and in this performance the use of the low bass voice added gravitas to the role. Brindley Sherratt’s singing created an absolutely spine-tingling effect, further enhanced by the continuous use of bells whilst Christ’s words were sung, recalling the effect of bells being used in the eucharistic prayers during a mass.

Another of James MacMillman’s religious works formed one of the programme items in Sunday’s recital from the festival series at St Michael’s Church. Kiss on Wood, for violin and cello, is also drawn from liturgy for Holy Week, this time an anthem for devotions on Good Friday. A small but powerful piece, it was ably and enjoyably performed there by Monika Geibel (violin) and Olja Buco (piano) — who also gave an excellent account of Elgar’s Violin Sonata in E minor, Op 82 (both works influenced by wood as a material, as well as for a wooden instrument).

The Edinburgh Festival will be presenting more of of MacMillan’s work next week in the shape of his Opera Clemency, one of a series of chamber operas commissioned by Scottish Opera and performed in turn on a nightly basis. Again a religious work, this time from the Old Testament rather than the New. I’ll be reporting further for Opera Today.

Since it was the day of Preparation… will be performed again in London during the autumn season this year. Last night’s performers are also recording this work, to be released next Spring. The Hebrides Ensemble can be heard again on tonight’s Late Junction on BBC Radio 3, and at the Lammermuir Festival in east Lothian next month. Synergy Vocals will be returning to the Edinburgh Festival next year to perform Berio’s Sinfonietta with the BBC Symphony Orchestra. Brindley Sheratt will be appearing in a new production of Medea at the ENO.

Juliet Williams

image=http://www.operatoday.com/JamesMacMillan.gif image_description=James MacMillan [Photo by Hans van der Woerd courtesy of intermusica] product=yes product_title=James MacMillan: Since it was the day of Preparation … product_by=Hebrides Ensemble with Brindley Sherratt. Synergy Vocals. Director, cello: William Conway

Greyfriars Kirk, Edinburgh, Scotland 22nd August 2012 product_id=Above: James MacMillan [Photo by Hans van der Woerd courtesy of intermusica]

“Ich kann mir keine deutschen Sätze merken”

By Von Manuel Brug [Die Welt, 20 August 2012]

Die bekannteste Sopranistin der Gegenwart geht im Oktober auf eine Elf-Städte-Tour: Anna Netrebko über Paparazzi, schwierige deutsche Sätze und das Singen an der Wurstbude.

Debussy at 150: The Impressions Still Deceive

By Anthony Tommasini [NY Times, 17 August 2012]

Classical music institutions are usually quick to seize on major anniversaries of a composer’s birth or death as a convenient programming hook. Get ready for the Wagner and Verdi bicentennial celebrations next year.

Glimmerglass Gambles and Wins

No one could accuse the company of not ‘thinking big’ when they scheduled Aida as the showpiece of the 2012 season. Is there any piece that screams ‘Grand Opera’ quite as loudly? And is there any theatre more intimate than the Alice Busch, with its 910 seats, smallish stage, and even smaller pit?

Daveda Karanas as Amneris

Ms. Zambello turned these limitations into a distinct advantage by first divesting the piece of the usual ‘Egyptiana.’ Gone were the replications of temples and friezes and Nile dress and pageantry. For the director-designers have focused on the intimate love triangle and placed it in the context of the Arab Spring.

Set designer Lee Savage has located the action in a finely detailed bombed-out palace. After the prelude, sounds of warfare cause a group of rebels to seek shelter in the ruin, and subsequently to convert it (perhaps a bit too quickly) into a cyber-command center setting up chairs and tables laden with computers. Amneris’ boudoir (apparently in a less damaged portion of the building) is created with the addition of a beautifully dressed ‘Queen’-size bed, and the addition of luxuriously gowned ladies in waiting, looking like a bevy of bridesmaids in their South East Asia-inspired coral attire.

I quite like the placement of a jeep down right for the Nile scene, on the hood of which warriors strategized over a map of the region. The vehicle also afforded some interesting blocking opportunities as Radames and Aida sat in it and on it, and themselves regarded the map as Radames betrays the geographic placement of the rebel forces.

Bibhu Mohapatra has crafted an effective costume plot rife with bold choices. The Nubians were attired in modern adaptations of traditional regional dress, pure white flowing garments accented with blood red belts, trim and emblems. In the final two acts, princess Amneris showed up in a form fitting black sequined “wedding” dress that communicated ‘black widow.’ The King was in a thuggish North African leopard skin-accented Bad-Ass Gangsta ensemble. Overall, the dress suggested mid-eastern finery and/or commando/insurgent wear straight out of today’s news. Best of all, Ms. Mohapatra’s garb in the Triumphal Scene provided a riot of color that did much to satisfy expectations of pageantry.

The creative team came up with a viable solution that included a three-tiered tower that dominated the visual, with the King and Ramfis on top, Amneris and Radames on the middle level, and the full complement of Young Artists grouped in bunches for maximum effect on the main floor. Through well-executed movement (‘blocking by the inch’) Miss Z showed her usual command of crowd management and devised a masterful ebb and flow that more than satisfied all our expectations.

Phillip Gay as the King

She was certainly mightily helped in her pursuit by Eric Sean Fogel’s meaningful choreography, especially the taunting of the captives by aggressive, hyperactive young men snapping white cloths. Mr. Fogel’s inspired work made me regret that the Act One ballet was cut. Rounding out the production team, company treasure Anne Ford-Coates oversaw an effective hair and make-up design (as she did for all productions). And Robert Wierzel designed highly effective lighting that not only encompassed the milieu of impending violence and garish military posturing, but also suggested moments of real serenity with cool washes. I especially liked the clever shadow screen effect in Act Three.

Nader Abbassi conducted a sensitive, moving account of the score, partnering beautifully with his soloists and eliciting exciting full-voiced singing from the amassed forces (David Moody, Chorus Master). Maestro Abbassi also drew forth intensely hushed choral effects in the Act One Temple Scene that made a supernatural effect, even competing as they were with a sudden pelting downpour of rain that hammered the roof. Although this group of musicians was smaller than we regularly encounter in larger pits, they performed with real distinction from the sinuous opening prelude, through the boisterous military scenes, down to the detailed solo work like the exquisite oboe solo in “O patria mia.”

Speaking of which, Michelle Johnson in the title role reaped a sustained ovation for her rendition of that aria, one of many highpoints of her portrayal. Ms. Johnson is possessed of a ripe, round soprano, evenly produced throughout the range. She has plenty of power to hurl out gleaming top notes that ride over even the largest ensembles, but can also float ethereal pianissimo phrases (“Numi, pieta,” to name one) with considerable distinction. Her chest voice has real firepower but is always well controlled and well blended into her freely produced technique. Michelle is young and is still occasionally finding her way through the demanding part, but hers is a major talent and she will surely evolve into a sought after interpreter of this iconic role.

When last I heard Noah Stewart, it was as the wholly successful Prince in The Flowering Tree. But that was a lyrical role that showcased his sweetness of tone and his beautiful sense of line, all the while capitalizing on his irresistible charisma and super hero good looks. Radames is a major step forward for this young talent, which is also to say a major challenge. Mr. Stewart has evolved into a timbre of polished brass, with clarion power above the staff, and a personalized, smoky allure in the mid-range. With the assumption of heavier roles, it has to be said a bit of clumsiness has crept into the passaggio, with upper ah and oh vowels sometimes turning hard. But I hasten to add he was always in complete control of his considerable resources.

Noah Stewart (center) as Radamès with members of the ensemble

Verdi gives our hero a major challenge right at the top of the show, and “Celeste Aida” was a tad labored and oversold. I might encourage our tenor to explore the soft option of the ending. Once that aria was dispatched, Noah relaxed noticeably, the technique settled into place, and he gave much pleasure with stentorian phrases as well as beautifully negotiated passages at mezzo forte and softer. ‘O terra addio’ was particularly heartfelt and affecting.

As Amneris, Daveda Karanas brought an appropriately steely resolve to bear, and she treated us to a riveting, forceful vocal presence at all pitches and volumes. Her tortured rendition of a powerful Judgment Scene earned Ms. Karanas a huge ovation. I wondered if she might not fare even better in a larger house where the acoustic and some distance might round out the steely vocal presence a bit.

From the Young Artist Program, Joseph Baron scored with a confident Ramfis, a role that perfectly suited his rolling, imposing baritone. Clay Hilley gave us a memorable Messenger, solidly sung with a secure, penetrating tenor. Philip Gay as the King showed great promise with his pleasing, reliable bass. And Lenora Green made the most of her brief turn as the Priestess, her lush soprano making us wish the character had more to sing.

It is a testament to the quality level of the other principals that the incomparable Eric Owens did not throw the balance of the show off kilter with his winningly performed Amonasro. This was Mr. Owens’ first attempt at the part, and based on his total success, it will not be his last. With his entrance, his rich, powerful, imperious vocalizing raised the bar to an even higher level, and his colleagues responded to the challenge.

There is no question that Ms. Zambello’s artistic commitment was the primary cause for the production’s success. There were some controversial touches to be sure. The water boarding of Radames was not quite truthful for the Judgment Scene narrative but the ‘truth’ is it was a moment of powerful resonance nonetheless. There was also debate about Radames’ execution by lethal injection (shades of Sellars’ Theodora!). Aida subsequently injects herself, unstraps the dying hero from the table and the two expire in spasms without being able to physically entwine in a final embrace. Risky, yes. Different, yes. But when the results are so incredibly moving, who needs elephants?

L to R: Brandy Lynn Hawkins as Irina, Eric Owens as Stephen Kumalo and Makudupanyane Senaoana as Absalom

Having sung the matinee Aida, Eric Owens was back on stage that very evening gifting us with a Herculean achievement in Lost in the Stars. Mr. Owens was quite simply a force of nature, his compelling singing, unaffected acting and suggestion of an Afrikaner accent committed and honest. His singing this night had no equal and he rang down the Act One curtain with a searing sustained high note so anguished and powerful it may be resounding still. In Act Two Eric brought down what was left of the house with an extended aria that was a miraculous blend of lucid narrative and concentrated emotional journey.

Sean Pannikar was also excellent as the Leader, his solid tenor soaring easily over the full-throated choruses. Mr. Pannikar was instrumental in the profound impact of “Cry, the Beloved Country.” As Irina, Brandy Lynn Hawkins, a sympathetic actress, deployed a rounded lyric soprano to affecting purpose in “Stay Well”. As the selfish brother John, Amos Nomnabo’s mellow delivery was characterized by an appealing fast and tight vibrato, an ironic aural counterpart to his dramatic mal-intent. Makudupanyane Senaoana‘s Absalom was so wonderfully winning that it was a shame he had nothing to sing.

Tazewell Thompson is a director of such taste and imagination that he made the whole meticulously coordinated evening seem improvised, spontaneous and effortless. The book is undeniably problematic, often repetitive, with scenes occasionally overlong. Sometimes musical moments are too infrequent. But Mr. Thompson compensates with focused direction, devising seamless transitions that inventively incorporate the excellent chorus (Mr. Moody again). He devises alternating moments of excited , well-choreographed motion, and reflective, sometimes painful repose. Choreographer Anthony Salatino supported Tazewell’s vision with apt period choreography, especially for the naughty “Who’ll Buy.”

Brandy Lynn Hawkins as Irina and Makudupanyane Senaoana as Absalom

Too, this was an exceptionally effective physical production. Set and costume designer Michael Mitchell has created handsome unit set that not only gets re-dressed efficiently to suggest various locales, but also has a treasure trove of hidden delights, like a kitchen unit revealed by lighting through the slats in the basic box, and a wondrous suggestion of clouds with the hanging laundry (white sheets) that frames “Stay Well.” With utmost economy of gesture the space becomes a church, a speak easy, a courtroom, a train, all with the simple addition/removal of a handful of chairs. A trapdoor suggests Absalom’s prison. Mr. Mitchell’s period costumes were also well-considered and character specific.

The story of apartheid and repression is sadly still relevant. But Lost in the Stars also embodies themes of redemption and deliverance that are important, welcome, and cathartic. There was audible weeping in the house at the conclusion as the father of the murdered boy comforts and cradles the grief-stricken father of the murderer. This was powerful lyric theatre of the top tier. John DeMain conducted a straightforward, idiomatic reading of Weill’s score.

Lully’s seldom performed Armide was lavished with an arresting set design from Gerard Gauci, colorful and varied, starting with a show drop scrim based on fanciful calligraphy and symbols. The drops and flown legs were sparkling with eye-catching Muslim decorative touches, complemented by twinkling lights and even blazing fires. Bonnie Beecher provided a multi-faceted lighting design complete with storm and transformation effects, and good uses of gobos and area lighting.

Dora Rust D’Eye’s elaborate costumes defied period but suggest a sort of generic, timeless jewel-toned southeast Asian splendor and revelry, to include Batik’d and tie-dyed tights. Ms. D’Eye certainly took full advantage of the wonderful physiques of her actors and provided a costume plot full of erotic imagery. Caveat: the bare-shouldered look for the heroine with its push up bra and generous décolletage became a distraction as the show progressed.

Olivier Laquerre as Chevalier Ubalde and Colin Ainsworth as Renaud

Jeannette Lajeunesse Zingg has choreographed a never-ending, prolific series of numbers that melded stylized court dances, classical ballet, and suggestions of primitive tribal dances. The fluid, stage-filling movement from the seventeen dancers of Opera Atelier was a major asset but also proved a bit repetitive, and ultimately a bit too placid and polite considering what’s at stake in the unfolding story. The athleticism of the men’s choreography was arguably the more interesting with the sword ‘pas de deux’ quite skillfully done. To be fair, the ladies’ dance with castanets and bells offered nice variety. Side bar: the men pulling little scimitars out of their little scabbards and brandishing them as they jetée’d off to battle was about as threatening as “Ballerinos with Butter Knives.”

Marshall Pynkoski’s contribution as director was a series of pleasant stage pictures, sound traffic management, and melodramatic poses, all fluttering hands and deliberate gestures. While I admired the consistency, the approach was occasionally limiting although there was good development o character relationships and uninhibited intimacy. Overall, Mr. Pynkoski used all the stage areas with good variety and developed an effective series of couplings (and un-) for his principals.

Peggy Kriha Dye sang quite an impressive Armide. Her secure soprano easily dispatched the role’s rangy demands, notably more vibrant at fuller volumes. Below mezzo forte the tone tended to veer a little to the dry side. What Ms. Dye’s instrument may lack in natural gradations of color in the lyric segments, she more than makes up for with good French diction and a calm sense of line. But when she got riled up in Act Two, Peggy invested heavily in the emotional content (occasionally at her vocal peril) with a rasp here, a strident chest tone there, a ferocity of output that pushed the voice almost beyond its limit. Still, all this risk-taking and decision-making produced compelling results, drew us into her plight, and earned her a vociferous reception at curtain call.

Although no announcement was made, I wondered if young, handsome Colin Ainsworth (Renaud) might not have been indisposed. The basic core of his voice suggested a sweet lyrical tenor. But the top was often cloudy, the middle and low were somewhat barked, and the voice just didn’t respond the way he wanted, especially above the staff. His performance was highly musical and he husbanded his resources well, but it seemed as though he was making his way around some limitations by sheer force of will. He showed a pleasing enough musical approach that I would look forward to hearing him again on another occasion.

Jack Rennie as Love with Peggy Kriha Dye as Armide and Curtis Sullivan as Hatred

Perhaps the two most exciting singers in the production were the Young Artists Mireille Asselin (Phénice/Lucinde) and Meghan Lindsay (Sidonie/WaterNymph). Ms. Asselin sports a most refined singing technique, a lilting silvery tone, and poised delivery. Ms. Lindsay’s winning soprano is warm and round, yet can be incisive when required.

Olivier Laquerre (Artémido/Ubalde) and Aaron Ferguson (Chevalier) shared some successful accomplishments as well as some weaknesses. Mr. Laquerre is a pleasing actor who cuts a good , lithe figure, and Mr. Ferguson matches him for on-stage presence, abandoned impersonations, and spot-on timing. Their comic relief scene was faultlessly played and the two were audience favorites. Unfortunately, their vocal delivery was marred by uneven vocal production, limited by a weak sense of line and inconsistent focus.

Thomas Cannon has a forceful throbbing voice to be sure, but he pushed his brief scene as Aronte so hard that tuning was problematic. A bit of restraint should fix that right up since he performed commendably in Stars. Curtis Sullivan offered a stalwart portrayal as Hate, with a straight-ish, open tone, his delivery consistent throughout the range. As Hidraot, João Fernandes used his pleasantly darkened baritone to good effect, but he might incorporate a bit more ‘point’ to truly register as the imposing sorcerer. His singing lost presence when he sang from upstage, which might have been corrected by more advantageous placement.

For all the assembled talent on stage, I felt overall that “Armide” lacked inner life, which must be placed on conductor David Fallis ,who led a competent but uninspired reading. Orchestral coloration and dramatic engagement were in short supply, there were some decidedly scrappy ensemble passages between pit and stage, and there was an overall lack of artistic collaboration. Pity, since there was such a good roster of talent involved.

Peggy Kriha Dye as Armida

I love The Music Man. It is the first live musical I ever saw, and in college we ‘theatre geeks’ prided ourselves on learning all the ‘rap’ segments by heart. I can still do a pretty mean one man show version of the “Rock Island” opening. I have directed it twice. So, it was with some trepidation that I settled in my seat to hear a bunch of classical singers take on some of musical theatre’s best known characters. My worries were unfounded.

If Dwayne Croft’s spoken lines were at first a little bit ‘opera house grand,’ my ear attuned to it, and his assured performance nailed the laughs and captured the sentiment. Of course he is a fine baritone with a big, burnished tone and this was likely the best sung Harold Hill on record. But I was unprepared for his spontaneity, his sense of fun, his fleetness of foot, and his immersion in the style. A hometown boy, Dwayne started off performing on Cooperstown stages in musical comedy and well, he still has it in him.

As Marion, Elizabeth Futral was as lovely as ever and sang with her usual heart and resonant tone. She seemed misdirected to be unwaveringly harsh in Act One, and her aggressive , level speaking voice did not welcome us to embrace her as we might. Also, when her singing took over there was a somewhat jarring gearshift from sassy retort to rich, mellow outpourings. A softening of edges might make Ms. Futral’s impersonation even more effective.

Jake Gardner landed every punch line as he dithered and blathered delightfully as the bumbling Mayor Shinn. Josh Walden was a wiry, animated Marcellus, who proved himself a stellar hoofer. Cindy Gold was a saltier-than-usual Mrs. Paroo, relishing her ribald references. Megan Ort and Allan K. Washington were well paired as Zaneeta and Tommy. Ernestine Jackson brought a fresh new take to Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn. And as Amaryllis and Winthrop, the youngsters Aria Maholchic and Henry Wager performed like old pros, the latter stopping the show with “Gary, Indiana”. Master Wager also touched our hearts with the important transition scene late in Act I when the shy boy-with-the-lisp suddenly effuses about being handed his new trumpet. (“Sister, sister, did you ever see such a scrumptious solid gold thing?”)

Elizabeth Futral as Marian Paroo with Aria Maholchic as Amaryllis

The rest of the large cast was filled out with the fresh-scrubbed, full-voiced Young Artists who sang the choral pieces with panache (David Moody, chorus master again). Special mention goes to the barbershop quartet: Eric Bowden, Adam Bielamowicz, John David Boehr, and Derrell Acon. This is a very specific style of singing and blending, and the four talented young men skillfully brought it off.

Once one accepted the updating of the action to the 1940’s, the physical production could hardly be faulted. There were several spectacular show drops of the sort you hardly see any more, a marvel of a rotating and unfolding set (designer James Noone) that looked handsome and was exceptionally fluid. Leon Wiebers has created a lavish parade of colorful costumes that captured the period beautifully, although I would have preferred that Marion not be in pants for her first scenes. I appreciate the thought of reinforcing her outsider status but it distanced the audience as well as the other “citizens.” Kevin Adams’ atmospheric and vivid lighting enhanced every moment, and there was excellent work from the follow spots.

Conductor John DeMain was the sure hand in the pit that kept matters humming along like a well-oiled top. Marcia Milgrom Dodge did yeoman (yeo-woman?) duty as director and choreographer. Her inventive staging conveyed an impression of graceful fluidity from start to finish. The updating mostly worked, with some effective re-imaging like the biddies rolling on seated under hair dryers at the beauty salon in the spin-up to “Pickalittle.” It worked less well with the Wells Fargo Wagon being a motor vehicle, since the horses hooves are so well characterized in the score. And, keeping Harold as a Conservatory graduate of ‘aught-six’ would make him about sixty-two, past the sell-by date as the ‘usual’ leading man status!

Elizabeth Futral as Marian Paroo and Dwayne Croft as Harold Hill

The discussion will surely continue whether Broadway musicals with opera stars belong in a “classical” festival. As I listened to the ripples of delighted laughter and the outbursts of spontaneous applause; reveled in hearing un-amplified performers reminding me of the joys of The Music Man; and considered the SRO audience that included many children, I thought. . .”and what’s the discussion”?

James Sohre

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Aida

Ramfis: Joseph Baron; Radames: Noah Stewart; Amneris: Daveda Karanas; Aida: Michelle Johnson; King: Philip Gay; Messenger: Clay Hilley; High Priestess: Lenora Green; Amonasro: Eric Owens; Conductor: Nader Abbassi; Director: Francesca Zambello; Set Design: Lee Savage; Costume Design: Bibhu Mohapatra; Lighting Design: Robert Wierzel; Choreographer: Eric Sean Fogel; Hair and Make-up Design: Anne Ford-Coates; Chorus Master: David Moody

Lost in the Stars

The Leader: Sean Panikkar; Answerer: Bongiwe Nakani; Nita: Chebet Too; Grace Kumalo: Ernestine Jackson; Stephen Kumalo: Eric Owens; Arthur Jarvis: Ryan McConnell; James Jarvis: Wynn Harmon; Edward Jarvis: Jonah Groom; John Kumalo: Amos Nomnabo; Linda: Chrystal E. Williams; Absalom: Makudupanyane Senaoana; Irina: Brandy Lynn Hawkins; Judge: Jake Gardner; Alex: Caleb McLaughlin; Conductor: John DeMain; Director: Tazewell Thompson; Set and Costume Design: Michael Mitchell; Choreographer: Anthony Salatino; Hair and Make-up Design: Anne Ford-Coates; Chorus Master: David Moody

Armide

Phénice/Lucinde: Mireille Asselin; Sidonie/WaterNymph: Meghan Lindsay; Armide: Peggy Kriha Dye; Hidraot: João Fernandes; Aronte: Thomas Cannon; Artémido/Ubalde: Olivier Laquerre; Renault: Colin Ainsworth; Hatred: Curtis Sullivan; Chevalier: Aaron Ferguson; Conductor: David Fallis; Director: Marshall Pynkoski; Choreographer: Jeannette Lajeunesse Zingg; Set Design: Gerard Gauci; Costume Design: Dora Rust D’Eye; Lighting Design: Bonnie Beecher; Hair and Make-up Design: Anne Ford-Coates; Chorus Master: David Moody

The Music Man

Charlie Cowell: Wynn Harmon; Conductor/Constable Locke: Aaron Ferguson; Harold Hill: Dwayne Croft; Mayor Shinn: Jake Gardner; Jacey Squires: Eric Bowden; Ewart Dunlop: Adam Bielamowicz; Oliver Hix: John David Boehr; Olin Britt: Derrell Acon; Marcellus Washburn: Josh Walden; Tommy Djilas: Allan K. Washington; Marian Paroo: Elizabeth Futral; Mrs. Paroo: Cindy Gold; Amaryllis: Aria Maholchic; Winthrop: Henry Wager; Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn: Ernestine Jackson: Zaneeta Shinn: Megan Ort; Gracie Shinn: Victoria Munro; Alma Hix: Samantha Korbey; Maud Dunlop: Lisa Williamson; Ethel Toffelmeier: Stephanie Lauricella; Mrs. Squires: Amanda Opuszynski; Conductor: John DeMain; Director and Choreographer: Marcia Milgrom Dodge; Set Design: James Noone; Costume Design: Leon Wiebers; Lighting Design: Kevin Adams; Hair and Make-up Design: Anne Ford-Coates; Chorus Master: David Moody

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Aida_Glimmerglass01.gif image_description=Michelle Johnson as Aida and Eric Owens as Amonasro in Aida. [Photo: Karli Cadel/The Glimmerglass Festival] product=yes product_title=Glimmerglass Gambles and Wins product_by=By James Sohre product_id=Above: Michelle Johnson as Aida and Eric Owens as Amonasro in Aida.

All photos by Karli Cadel/The Glimmerglass Festival

Ariadne auf Naxos, Salzburg Festspiele

What materialised was something rather different, which ultimately delivered less than it might have seemed to promise. The Salzburg Festival’s Director of Drama not only directed the stage proceedings, but offered a new version of his own. Hofmannsthal’s adaptation of Molière’s Le bourgeois gentilhomme is itself adapted so as to form the basis of a further level of metatheatricality. Nothing wrong with that in principle; indeed Strauss tends to thrive on such æsthetic play.

Emily Magee (The Prima Donna/Ariadne)

The problem, however, is that the new level is ultimately banal, an explanation of the enterprise being a Hollywood love-story between Hofmannsthal and Ottonie von Degenfeld-Schonburg. What most interests many of us about Strauss is the fraught relationship, and sometimes serene disconnection dialectically reinforcing itself as in connection, between life and work. Presentation of a vulgar, sub-Romantic ‘life explains works’ story cheapens rather than intrigues. Otherwise, Bechtholf’s production is unobjectionable. Rolf Glittenberg’s set designs are stylish, likewise Marianne Glittenberg’s costumes, save for an unfathomably dreadful leopard-skin get up for Bacchus. (Zerbinetta likens his stealing forward to that of a panther, but even so…)

Added to this mix prior to the interval are certain parts of the later, 1916 Prologue, albeit spoken. What a waste to reduce the Composer to a spoken part! At least, however, we have opportunity to hear the incidental music. Then, after the interval, comes the opera proper, albeit with interventions from Hofmannsthal and Ottonie — yes, their love bears fruit at the same time as that of Ariadne and Bacchus — and, more irritatingly, from the dreadful M.Jourdain, objecting, in a fashion doubtless considered ‘witty’, that the music might be beautiful but it lacks a French horn, that Ariadne does nothing but complain, and so on. Many of these ideas might have sounded good on paper, even in discussion, but would have been better off rejected when it came to practical rehearsal. Yes, we hear the opera music for 1912, but we do not hear it as conceived: a pity, when even this problematical first version is so manifestly greater in sophistication than this 2012 Salzburg ‘version’. It was fascinating to hear what remained from 1912, but it would have been still more fascinating to have heard it all.

Roberto Saccà (Tenor/Bacchus)

After an occasionally shaky start, the Vienna Philharmonic was on good form. Daniel Harding shaped the incidental music before the interval with knowledge both of its French Baroque origins and the affectionate almost-but-not-quite neo-classicism in which Strauss clothes it. The Overture in retrospect offered something of an exception, more Stravinskian than what was to come, but not jarringly so. Form was conveyed intelligently and meaningfully throughout the opera, a more than satisfactory balance achieved between ‘numbers’ and the greater whole. The final climax was thrilling, moving as it should, the chamber orchestral forces persuading one, in a moment of echt-Straussian magic, that they are larger than they are, both consequence and deflation of Wagner’s examples. (The earlier Tristan quotations did not fail to delight, nor, of course, to raise a smile.)

Emily Magee was an adequate Ariadne, but rarely more than that. Too often, her voice failed to soar as it should; an edge to it proved a touch unpleasant. Elena Moşuc, by contrast, proved an outstanding Zerbinetta. Her extended aria, up a semitone, was delivered as flawlessly as I can recall any performance of the somewhat easier — that is, of course, relative! — 1916 version. The 1912 aria is even more outsized, even more absurd, in its way even more lovable; at least, that was how it sounded here. Roberto Saccà did a fine job in the thankless role of Bacchus; if he could not quite manage to prevent the strain from showing, and could not quite help one long for Jonas Kaufmann, who performed the role earlier in the run, there was a great deal for which to be grateful and nothing which to object. (Apart, that is, from the costume.) Zerbinetta’s followers were full of character and inviting of tone; it would really be invidious to choose between Gabriel Bermúdez, Michael Laurenz, Tobias Kehrer, and Martin Mitterrutzner. Likewise the other smaller sung roles. If the actors impressed less, it was difficult to know whether that was simply on account of the material. At any rate, I assume the over-acting of Cornelius Obonya’s M. Jourdain was at least in part on directorial instruction.

Will someone now offer us the 1912 version we were promised? And then we can return safely to the unalloyed joys of 1916.

Mark Berry

image=http://www.operatoday.com/ARIADNE_AUF_NAXOS0084a.gif
image_description=Michael Laurenz (Scaramuccio), Gabriel Bermúdez (Harlequin), Elena Moșuc (Zerbinetta), Martin Mitterrutzner (Brighella), Tobias Kehrer (Truffaldino)[Photo © Ruth Walz]

product=yes
product_title=Richard Strauss: Ariadne auf Naxos
product_by=Prima Donna/Ariadne: Emily Magee; Zerbinetta: Elena Moşuc; Tenor/Bacchus: Roberto Saccà; Naiad/Shepherdess: Eva Liebau; Dryad/ Shepherd: Marie-Claude Chappuis, Echo/Singer: Eleonora Burato; Harlekin: Gabriel Bermúdez, Scaramuccio: Michael Laurenz; Truffaldin: Tobias Kehrer; Brighella: Martin Mitterrutzner; Major-Domo: Peter Matić; Monsieur Jourdain: Cornelius Obonya; Composer: Thomas Frank; Hofmannsthal: Michael Rotschopf; Ottonie/Dorine: Regina Fritsch; Nikoline: Stefanie Dvorak; Lakai: Johannes Lange. Sven-Erik Bechtholf, director. Rolf Glittenberg set designs. Marianne Glittenberg costumes. Heinz Spoerli choreography. Jürgen Hoffmann lighting. Ronny Dietrich dramaturgy. Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra. Daniel Harding conductor.

Haus für Mozart, Salzburg, August 2012
product_id=Above: Michael Laurenz (Scaramuccio), Gabriel Bermúdez (Harlequin), Elena Moșuc (Zerbinetta), Martin Mitterrutzner (Brighella), Tobias Kehrer (Truffaldino)

All photos © Ruth Walz courtesy of the Salzburg Festival

Berlioz and Liszt at the Salzburg Festival

This, the third of the Vienna Philharmonic’s concerts, reunited the Salzburg Festival’s pit band with one of its favourite conductors, Riccardo Muti. Muti’s presence on the podium pretty much guarantees at the very least a high degree of execution, and there were no real problems in that respect here, though I have heard the VPO sound more faultless, not least with him. In the right repertoire, and the nature of that repertoire can readily surprise, Muti remains a great conductor. Berlioz proved on this occasion a better fit than Liszt, perhaps not surprisingly, given Muti’s track record: I recall a fine Salzburg performance of the Symphonie fantastique, followed by Lélio.

I have heard far worse in Liszt, a composer who suffers more than most not only from bad performances, but also from the deleterious consequences thereof. Bach’s towering greatness will somehow, quite miraculously, shine through even the worst the ‘authenticke’ brigade can throw at him; Liszt in the wrong hands can readily sound meretricious, and even we fervent advocates have to admit that his œuvre is mixed in quality. The late, indeed outlying, Von der Wiege bis zum Grabe (‘From the Cradle to the Grave’) (S 107) fared better of the two symphonic poems performed, birth and death in turn faring better than the ‘struggle for existence’ in the middle. The VPO contributed delicate, sensitive performances in those outer sections, violas’ cradle song and woodwind caresses especially ravishing.

Les Préludes, (S 07), on the other hand, suffered from some of the bombast that also infected the middle section of the first work. The most celebrated of Liszt’s symphonic poems — for reasons that remain obscure to me — is extremely difficult to bring off successfully. Muti’s reading did not exhibit the vulgarity of, say, Solti, yet nor did it entirely convincingly convey harmonic motion and richness of texture. There were times when, volume notwithstanding, the work sounded somewhat thin. The audience, however, acted as if it were English in Beecham’s understanding, not much liking the music of Von der Wiege bis zum Grabe, reaction quite tepid indeed, but certainly liking the noise that Les Préludes made.

Julia Kleiter, Ildar Abdrazakov, Riccardo Muti, Saimir Pirgu, Vienna Philharmonic

Berlioz’s Messe solennelle (H 20) was long thought lost, yet it resurfaced in 1991, granted its first modern performance in 1993. This was the first time I had heard this fascinating work in the flesh. Whilst it would be folly to proclaim it a masterpiece, or even something approaching that status, it has much to interest, not least in Berlioz’s recycling of some of the ideas in works that certainly are amongst his greatest. One might expect a degree of kinship between this mass and, say the Requiem — the latter’s celebrated brass interventions reusing material from the Resurrexit’s ‘Et iterum venturus’, but one can hardly fail to be brought up short by the appearance of music one knows so well from the ‘Scène aux champs’ in the Symphonie fantastique, employed both orchestrally and then chorally. Muti’s long experience in the sacred music of Cherubini served him well in this performance, which it is difficult to imagine being bettered.

Steely, post-Revolutionary grandeur he does extremely well, form delineated with great clarity, but tender moments were equally well served. Any fears of undue restraint were duly banished by a blazing conclusion to the Kyrie. Choral singing was excellent throughout, as, the occasional blemish aside, were the performances of a large, though not extravagant, VPO. Movements additional to the typical mass — at least, typical to us, if not necessarily to early-nineteenth-century France — provided especial interest: an O salutaris, following Cherubini’s practice, and a celebratory monarchical Domine salvum fac, the latter benefiting greatly from sweet-toned yet ardent tenor, Samir Pirgu, and the darkly Verdian Ildar Abdrazakov, whose contributions throughout were, following a slightly muddy start, characterful and at time ominous. Only soprano Julia Kleiter was somewhat disappointing, her intonation rendering Berlioz’s pastoral a little sea-sick, before descending into generalised blandness. This was Muti’s performance, though; he set his seal on the work with style and conviction.

Mark Berry

image=http://www.operatoday.com/15Aug2012__Silvia_Lelli_7.gif
image_description=Vienna Philharmonic, Riccardo Muti conducting. [Photo © Silvia Lelli courtesy of the Salzburg Festival]

product=yes
product_title=Franz Liszt: Von der Wiege bis zum Grabe (S 107), Les Préludes (S 97); Hector Berlioz: Messe solennelle (H 20)
product_by=Julia Kleiter: soprano, Samir Pirgu: tenor, Ildar Abdrazakov (bass). Concert Association of the Vienna State Opera Chorus (chorus master: Ernst Raffelsberger). Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, Riccardo Muti (conductor).

Grosses Festspielhaus, Salzburg, 17th August 2012
product_id=Above: Vienna Philharmonic, Riccardo Muti conducting.

Photos © Silvia Lelli courtesy of the Salzburg Festival

Mahler: Symphony no. 3 / Kindertotenlieder

At the core of this release is an insightful treatment of the fourth movement, the setting of the “Midnight Song” from Nietzcher’s Also sprach Zarathustra (“O Mensch! Gib acht!”). While a number of fine recordings of this work exist, this particular interpretations stands apart because of the ways in which the thematic ideas emerge with the shape and phrasing that brings out details, like the evocation of “Urlicht,” the fourth movement of the Second Symphony near the text “Was spricht die tiefe Mitternacht?” in this movement of the Third Symphony. Here Tilson Thomas and Michelle de Young work together in making this interpretation memorable for details like this, which fit into the larger whole. In fact, the interpretation and banding support the structure of the last three movements as a unit, where the solo setting from Nietzche leads into the setting of “Es sungen drei Engel” from Des Knaben Wunderhorn, and culminates in the instrumental Finale of the Symphony. Yet the core of this unity is in this ten-minute movement, which deserves rehearings to appreciate the attention the performers brought to the piece.

De Young is an exemplary Mahler interpreter, and this recording demonstrates her fine technique and sensitivity to the phrasing. Her rich tone is present in the softer passages, as well as in the louder ones, with the color always present, and the voice never strained. In fact the qualities which De Young brings to the fourth movement are evident in the fifth, where the solo voice expresses the confession of St. Peter for betraying Jesus when he was arrested. In this interpretation, the phrasing fits both the text, and the music, with the quotation of lines from the song “Das himmlische Leben” appropriately lyrical. Here the chorus not only conveys the text, but evokes instrumental music with the ostinato figures Mahler used in it.

A similar lyricism is present in the Finale, where the orchestra’s phrasing is poignant, as Tilson Thomas shapes the phrases to create sections that make the structure palpable. This sense of vocality is present throughout the Finale, even the orchestral outbursts in the horns and other brass, which fit well into the fabric of this interpretation. At the same time, the balance between textures and dynamic levels follows the score faithfully and results in an intensive conclusion to the movement. Wordless, text, and even without the movement titles Mahler once used for this work, the result is impressively moving in this persuasive interpretation of a sprawling score, which has challenged generations of performers as they also approached the Third Symphony.

The first three movements of the Symphony are equally convincing, with the lyrical character of the Wunderhorn song “Ablösung im Sommer” evident in the quotations form it in the Scherzo. In that movement Tilson Thomas makes Mahler’s scoring audible, as the shadings emerge readily in this well-engineered release. The delicacy of the second movement is also apparent, with the rich sonorities of the strings resonating well in this performance. The monumental opening movement receives a careful treatment by Tilson Thomas in a performance which lasts 36 minutes. Here the various elements in Mahler’s score are treated with care, so as to distinguish the elements of the score as they occur. As the marches and march-like music develop in its structure, the structure takes shape vividly in this performance. The sonics in this recording represent the live performance well, and give a sense of immediacy and excitement. It is a strong interpretation of the first movement, which shapes the pieces that follow.

Included with this recording is a performance of the song cycle Kindertotenlieder, which De Young interprets persuasively. Her elegant phrasing and clear diction bring the poetry forward in this familiar piece. The set of songs is compelling for the thoughtful tempos that allow the text to be heard, with the accompaniment serving the strophes of each song well. The cycle fits into the remaining time on the second disc, and its inclusion is not related to the Third Symphony. After all, the two works are separated by a decade, and Tilson Thomas is good to distinguish the styles deftly. This recording of Mahler’s Kindertotenlieder bears consideration for the fine collaboration between the soloist, orchestra and conductor in presenting with elegiac qualities of the work without resorting to maudlin sentiment or histrionics. Rather, the sense of loss and its acceptance is present throughout piece and guides this memorable interpretation.

James Zychowicz

image=http://www.operatoday.com/mahler-3-300-01.jpg
image_description=San Francisco Symphony 60045 [2SACDs]

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product_title=Gustav Mahler: Symphony no. 3; Kindertotenlieder
product_by=Michelle De Young, mezzo soprano, Women of the San Francisco Chorus, Pacific Boychoir, San Francisco Girls Chorus, San Francsico Symphony, Michael Tilson Thomas, conductor.
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Schoenberg’s Gurrelieder — BBC Proms 2012

This is an audacious work of theatre for orchestra and voices. No costumes needed, nor staging, though seeing it in a performance space as inherently dramatic as the Royal Albert Hall intensifies its impact. No live Gurrelieder will ever be dull.

Gurrelieder has featured in seven BBC Proms. Pierre Boulez conducted it in 1973, in an astounding performance that is still one of the best recordings available. Andrew Davis opened the 1994 Proms with a Gurrelieder where Hans Hotter gave an outstanding performance as speaker, so remarkable that it’s lived in my memory ever since. Jukka-Pekka Saraste and his musicians have a lot to live up to, but their 2012 Proms performance did not disappoint. Every performance has its merits, and from each we learn.

Wagner’s influence was so pervasive that Schoenberg, like Mahler and Hugo Wolf before him, needed to find forms other than opera through which to develop his musical persona. Saraste emphasizes the “Wagnerisms” in Gurrelieder so forcefully that you keep hearing echoes from Tristan und Isolde in the interaction between Waldemar and Tove. here’s even an echo of the Shepherd’s tune in the woodwind passages. King Waldemar’s men sound like Gunther’s Gibichungs, and the Waldtraube plays as pivotal a role as the Waldvogel. It’s relevant that Simon O’Neill, who sang Waldemar, specializes in lower-range Wagnerian roles like Siegmund. Angela Denoke was a reasonable Tove, and Katarina Karnéus sang a beautifully rounded Wood Dove.

Saraste’s emphasis so dominates that the differences betwen Parts 1 and 3 in Gurrelieder are minimized, particularly as Part 1 was conducted more loosely than Part 3. It’s a valid approach, and certainly makes the piece approachable. Yet it’s not an interpretation that brings out the Schoenberg in Gurrelieder, which is far more original and challenging.

Between the time Schoenberg began Gurrelieder and the time he completed it, he went through trauma in his personal life. The picture above shows Schoenberg and his wife Mathilde Zemlinsky, with their two children. It’s a summer afternoon, they’re in the Austrian countryside. But the faces are pools of blood. Mathilde and the artist Richard Gerstl had an affair but when it ended, Gerstl killed himself. The following year, Schoenberg (himself a painter) wrote Das Buch der Hängenden Gärten and Ewartung (op 17, 1909). He was now able to resolve the impasse with Gurrelieder.

In Part 2 of Gurrelieder, Waldemar responds to the loss of Tove with “Herrgott, Herrgott, wiesst du was du tatest” . The notes that are later sung as “Herrgott” appear right at the beginning of the whole piece, but are now transformed. Simon O’Neill doesn’t have the most lyrically beautiful voice, but it’s right for Waldemar, consumed as he is with cosmic rage. O’Neill uses the idiosyncrasies of his voice intelligently. This Waldemar is maddened by suffering and turns on God. “Lasst mich, Herr, die Kappe deines Hofnarr’n tragen!”, he snaps. (Let me wear your jester’s cap). As Klaus Narr tells us, Waldemar isn’t a nice man, which is perhaps why he’s so overwhelmed when Tove loves him. O’Neill seems to have understood the part in context of the whole work, rather than just singing his own part regardless as some of the smaller parts are often done. This I respect more than a “lovely” voice, Roman Trekel had an even more metallic burr, but sang parts that worked for him. Philip Langridge (a good Klaus Narr) had an even more awkward instrument, but used it to create character better than most.

As the ghost of Waldemar rides through the skies, the terrified Peasant (Neal Davies) hides and puts his faith in formulaic prayers. So it’s significant that Schoenberg makes so much of Klaus Narr. He’s a jester and plays the fool, but it’s his job ito say things to kings (and Gods) that they don’t want to hear. Like Waldemar and his hunters, the jester is dead, too, a haunted spirit forced to walk in endless circles, going nowhere. It’s not a good thing and he knows it. His music is unsettling, as it should be, despite the mock bucolic text. The joke is on the jester, who must ride with his master in death. Jeffrey Lloyd-Roberts sang correctly but could have expressed more savage irony. From this point, a change is coming, overturning the “Wagnerian” forces that prevailed before. In the orchestra, Saraste lets small instruments like piccolo and xylophone be heard over the big brass and overwhelming strings.

Superlative choruses sang the demonic huntsmen, extremely well-parted so their song moved with the wildness you’d expect from ghosts riding on the wind. As they fade into “Versinkt! Versinkt”, an eerie chill seems to sink in, even in the overheated Royal Albert Hall.

The “Wild Hunt of the Summer Wind” sweeps away all that’s gone before. But Waldemar’s curse is not resolved. Instead, Schoenberg uses his music and Sprechstimme to herald something completely new. Haunted as I am by Hans Hotter’s Speaker I probably expect miracles. This is a part for baritones who retain their musical instincts even when their voices bloom no more, which adds to the meaning of this strange part. As dawn breaks, the ghosts fade, and nature, in its glory, awakes. Wolfgang Schöne still has a voice, and intones the tricky rhythms nicely. But we’re definitely not in Wagner territory now. The Speaker addresses “Herr Gänsefuß, Frau Gänsekraut” (Lord Goosefoot, Lady Amaranth), a reference to the “Herrgott” heard earlier. It’s also a reference to Waldemar and Tove and their status in the scheme of worldly things. But Goosefoot and Amaranth are tall weeds cut down by wind. This Wind blows the past away, to welcome new growth.

“Seht die Sonne!” the chorus sang with tumultous vigor, the orchestra resurgent in glorious splendour. “Läßt von lichter Stirne fliegen Strahlenlockenpracht” (and from the sun’s glowing brow flies “the spendour of his locks of light” as the translation by Donna Hewitt puts that last, lovely and very Germanic noun).

Anne Ozorio

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Gerstl_-_Die_Familie_Schoen.gif
image_description=Die Familie Schönberg by Richard Gerstl (1883-1908) [Source: Wikipedia]

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product_title=Arnold Schoenberg: Gurrelieder
product_by=Angela Denoke, soprano; Simon O'Neill, tenor (Waldemar); Katarina Karnéus, mezzo-soprano (Wood-Dove); Jeffrey Lloyd-Roberts, tenor (Klaus the Fool); Neal Davies, bass-baritone (Peasant); Wolfgang Schöne, speaker. BBC Singers. BBC Symphony Chorus. Crouch End Festival Chorus. New London Chamber Choir. BBC Symphony Orchestra. Jukka-Pekka Saraste, conductor.

Royal Albert Hall, London, 12th August 2012
product_id=Above: Die Familie Schönberg by Richard Gerstl (1883-1908) [Source: Wikipedia]

Bayreuth Does It Again

By Frank Cadenhead [Opera Today, 13 August 2012]

Just after things were settling after the scandal of baritone Evgeny Nitikin supposed swastika tattoo at the Bayreuth Festival, another one seems likely to take its place.

Another Bayreuth Stunner

Nitikin was forced to leave rehearsals and abandon the title role just days before the opening of The Flying Dutchman and it created a fire-storm of press coverage.

The very high-profile revelation of Nitikiin’a tattoo of the Nazi Party symbol, the display of which is formally banned in Germany, embarrassed the festival and the famed singer’s constantly changing story, dripped out over days, gave the story legs it should never have had.

Some opera managers, including Munich’s Staatsoper and New York’s Metropolitan Opera have already declared that this “youthful indiscretion” would not bar his appearances on their stage. (The group he was singing with in his teens was named the ““National Socialist Black Metal” band.) Even Bayreuth’s managers, the team of Katharina Wagner and Eva Wagner-Pasquier, hinted that any ban would not necessarily be permanent.

The German press, however, has now been writing about the bad boy artist Jonathan Meese, who has been hired to stage a new revival of Richard Wagner’s final opera, Parsifal at the 2016 Wagner Festival at Bayreuth. He was the subject of two German newspaper articles yesterday and today. Both articles raise questions about his “Nazi fetish” — a constant theme in his body of work.

The artist’s home page, for example, has a photo of him giving a Nazi salute during a panel discussion. Presumably, the same Bayreuth Festival leadership that sent away the Russian baritone has not yet dealt with this seeming contradiction.

The artist-director’s website is www.jonathanmeese.com.

Frank Cadenhead

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Berlioz’s Requiem (Grande messe des morts) — BBC Prom 39

Who would not feel a frisson of anticipation when presented with an ocean of string players, as many as 8 bassoonists, 12 horn players, 4 additional brass ensembles, and a veritable football team of percussionists, seated before a choral multitude, all ready to join together in what is one of the most thrilling and dramatic of choral works?

The aural result was similarly imposing, with the magnificence and might of the ensemble complemented by the solemn sobriety and tender sweetness of individual lines.

Berlioz requested that his colossal forces be spatially separated, and one might think that the vast arena of the Albert Hall, with its many tiers and galleries, would be an ideal venue in which to perform and experience this work. However, Thierry Fischer’s decision to place the ‘off-stage’ brass ensembles together, behind the orchestra produced mixed results.

One the one hand, the sound was focused and intense: the impact of the monumental entry of the brass bands in ‘Dies Irae’ evoked the apocalyptic power of the natural world: a tremendous tidal wave of sound, perfectly fulfilling Berlioz’s ambitions, revealed in his Memoirs, that “this awesome musical cataclysm, so carefully prepared, where exceptional and tremendous means are used in proportions and combinations never attempted before or since, this picture of the Last Judgement, which [will], I hope, live on as a great landmark in our art”.

On the other hand, some of the antiphonal effects and the sense of dialogue between the groups was occasionally lost by this placement, as, for example, in the successive entries of the brass ensembles which follow their first collective fanfare, each a third higher than the previous one.

Perhaps Fischer was concerned with the practical problem of co-ordinating multiple ensembles scattered far and wide in a cavernous barn; indeed, Berlioz himself was aware that there was a danger of “an enormous and dreadful cacophony” without skilful conducting. [Berlioz subsequently reported that the work’s first conductor, Habeneck had, at the very moment of the problematic tempo change at the start of the ‘Tuba mirum’ “lowered his baton, quietly pulled out his snuff box and started to take a pinch of snuff. I was still looking in his direction. Immediately I pivoted on my heels, rushed in front of him, stretched out my arms and indicated the four main beats of the new tempo. The orchestras followed me, everything went off as planned, I continued to conduct to the end of the piece, and the effect I had dreamed of was achieved.”]

Whether the choral forces were an equal match for the brass eruption, probably depended upon where in the vast hall you were seated. Certainly there was some outstanding choral singing; and in any case, despite its Napoleonic scale and celebratory, even aggrandizing air, the Requiem is a work of both spectacle and subtlety. The thunderous passages may be the most well-known, even notorious, but they are short-lived, and much of the score is restrained, Berlioz’s fine ear for instrumental colour always in evidence - even the 10 pairs of cymbals are employed softly en masse.

Fischer did much to elucidate the timbral variety, in particular drawing out the distinct reedy blend of the woodwind groupings, so creating an effectively austere contrast to the more flamboyant theatrical moments of the score. Of particular note was the opening of the brief ‘Quid sum miser’, depicting after Judgement Day, where there was some superb cor anglais and bassoon playing, complemented by dark, brooding ’celli and double basses.

Similarly, in the furiously paced ‘Rex tremendae’ Fischer delineated the contrasts and juxtapositions, the choir both commanding, “Rex tremendae majestatis”, and imploring, “Salve me”.

After such intense passion, the soft men’s entry at the start of the a cappella ‘Quaerens me’ was striking. And, in the ‘Offertorium’ the choral restatements of “Domine Jesu Christe” interweaved stylishly with the orchestral motifs, the fragmented utterances establishing a mournful, plaintive mood.

Tenor Toby Spence, the lone soloist before these colossal forces, has clearly not fully recovered his voice, following the serious throat condition which he recently suffered. However, in the ‘Sanctus’ there were still signs of the sweet lyrical tenor for which he is justly renowned. And, although he could not always sustain a clean tone, becoming a little hoarse and unfocussed at times and relying on a quasi-falsetto for some of the higher range, this was a brave performance; indeed, together with the delicate high strings and flute, Spence’s slight vulnerability complemented the pathos of text which so often reflects upon the fragility of man in a desolate universe.

Although the tempo of the ‘Lacrimosa’ was a little fast for my liking - the melody can sound rather trite if rushed - overall Fischer judged the structure of the whole effectively, bringing out both the grandeur and intimacy of the work. The long-held woodwind and string chords in the ‘Agnus Dei’ brought calm and, as melodies from previous movements were reprised, a sense of peace, a movement from judgement to redemption.

As David Cairns explains in his programme essay, the Requiem belongs to the tradition of ceremonial, Revolutionary works which represented “the idea of the Nation, the entire people of France, assembled for a solemn act of prayer and thanksgiving”. Although the performers in the Albert Hall probably did not quite reach the decibel-level of the full-throated, 14-minute roar which accompanied Mo Farah’s run into the Olympic history books at the other end of London that night, they certainly conveyed Berlioz’s fervent vision of the astonishing power of both faith and humanity.

Claire Seymour

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image_description=Hector Berlioz [Portrait by Gustave Courbet, 1850]

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product_title=Hector Berlioz: Grande Messe des morts
product_by=Toby Spence: tenor, BBC National Orchestra of Wales, BBC National Chorus of Wales, Huddersfield Choral Society, London Symphony Chorus , Conductor: Thierry Fischer

Royal Albert Hall, London, 11th August 2012
product_id=Above: Hector Berlioz [Portrait by Gustave Courbet, 1850]

The Makropulos Case at Edinburgh International Festival

The plot concerns a long-running legal dispute over inheritance where the will is missing. The case has dragged on for more than 300 years, long after the initial claimants have died. Or not, as the Case might be. The law office scene has a strong element of dramatic tension, albeit perhaps at a slow pace, and this is not unpromising for an opera. It might however perhaps seem potentially rather dry and lacking in emotional content. But the desiccation is deliberate, suggesting centuries of pointless litigation. A mysterious diva, Emilia Marty, appears in town, transfixing all males who cross her path. In addition to her spell-binding powers, she appears to have mysterious knowledge of the matters of the case, to the consternation of the male company. Played out is a contrast between masculinity and femininity; logic and intuition; the tangible and the supernatural.

Only in the final (third) act is this resolved: the mystery woman has uncanny personal knowledge of the events which others are having to piece together from documents. She is the same woman, who has been involved since the beginning, travelling through time in different incarnations under variants of her initials "E M" . She became immortal because in her youth she drank an elixir of (almost) eternal youth devised by her father, which she had given to the original testator. The recipe for the elixir had been wrapped inside the will of her long ago lover, but only she knows the location. Until now, it's been considered missing or non-existent.

Having regained the means to renew extended life, she chooses to reject it, having 'seen enough'. Eternity isn't all it's cracked up to be. In a dramatic final scene, she ages visibly on stage - lit and staged very well in this production - before expiring. The message that life is best lived out within its naturally allocated span is in fact life affirming and this enjoyable show leaves the audience walking out of the theatre on air.

The multi-talented Swedish singer Yiva Kihlberg excels in the central role of Emilia Marty in this her debut with Opera North. Her first entry onstage, dressed in a wasp-waisted suit with Margaret Thatcher-style handbag recalls not only Thatcher but a young Elizabeth Taylor - a useful analogy for the audience. A 1940s styled simple set enables the stage to become in turn a law office; backstage at a theatre and finally a hotel bedroom. It is effective without being distracting and should tour well. Paul Nilon sings a strong Albert Gregor. Mark Le Broq is also very good as Vitek, the head clerk of the law firm. Nigel Robson is delightfully raffish as Count Hauk Sendorff.

This production is thoroughly enjoyable and would in fact make a good introduction to audiences new to opera, especially those that might fear "modern" opera. Janáček's The Makropulos Case dates from 1926, so it's olderr than most patrons, unless they, too, have Emilia Marty's secret. This production was presented in English translation, and the singing was clear and easy to follow. Janáček's music is accessible and vivid, and this performance, conducted by Richard Farnes, demonstrated why this opera has become a classic. Catch it in Edinburgh if you can - there are further performances tonight and tomorrow - or on tour this autumn, details at www.operanorth.co.uk.

Juliet Williams

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Janacek.gif
image_description=Leoš Janáček [Source: Wikipedia]

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product_title=Leoš Janáček: The Makropulos Case
product_by=Vitek: Mark le Broq, Albert Grego: Paul Nilon, Kristina: Stephanie Korley, Dr Kolenaty: James Cresswel, Emila Marty (E.M.): Yiva Kihlberg, Baron Prus: Robert Hayward, Cleaner: Sarah Pring, Technician: Matthew Hargreaves, Janek Prus : Adrian Dwyer, Count Hauk-Sendorf: Nigel Robson, Chambermaid: Rebecca Afonwy-Jones. Other roles: Stephen Briggs, Gabriel Keogh, Ricky Morrell, Jeremy Peaker, Arwel Price, Andrew Squires. Conductor: Richard Farnes, Director: Tom Cairns, Set and costume designer: Hildegard Bechtler, Lighting designer: Bruno Poet

Edinburgh International Festival, Festival Theatre, Edinburgh, 11th August 2012
product_id=Above: Leoš Janáček [Source: Wikipedia]

Edinburgh International Festival - Delius, A Mass of Life

This choice in Edinburgh is a brave tribute to the composer in this anniversary year. Like Bernstein's Mass, heard earlier this week at the Proms, this work is not a Mass in the conventional sense, but a celebration of life from a humanist perspective; Delius uses texts from Nietzsche's Also Spach Zarathustra. This link gives notes on the work by Eric Fenby, amanuensis to the composer, who was a uniquely well placed commentator. There is also on the same page commentary by the conductor Sir Thomas Beecham, who was an early champion of Delius. Last night's concert also had the distinction of being the only performance in the anniversary year of this rarely performed work which calls for massive forces.

This opening concert of the Edinburgh International Festival saw the well-loved English music specialist Sir Andrew Davis, best known perhaps for his Proms conducting as Chief Conductor of the the BBC Symphony Orchestra, return to these shores but this time to Scotland with the RNSO. He also conducted the South Bank centre's tribute to Delius in January this year They were joined by an international line-up of soloists and with Edinburgh's very own Festival Chorus, marking the combination of celebrating home-grown talent and attracting world-class stars which is the hallmark of the Edinburgh Festival. Sir Andrew received a very warm welcome from a capacity audience, and maintained seemingly effortless control over the mass of performers involved, the stage as well as the hall being absolutely packed.

As a work is important, not only in demonstrating writing for large forces as well as the well-known smaller works, but in setting out Delius' personal philosophy: it is something of a 'Credo' and this makes its title of a 'mass' make more sense, it otherwise arguably being an oratorio about the Nietzschian hero Zarathustra, who has also inspired Strauss. Having rejected conventional Christian beliefs, Delius was very influenced by Nietzsche. It is a work which is 'larger than life' in all senses.

Written in France and inspired by German writings, in both musical and philosophical terms, possibly more than any other single work of his, it argues against viewing Delius as an 'English' composer and instead seeing him as European / international in his influences and identity. The content of the lyrics calls to mind perhaps most readily Beethoven's 'Ode to Joy', but the most obvious musical reference is to Mahler's 'Wunderhorn' influenced large-scale works.

It is not often one thinks this space may be on the small side, but the piece opened with an effect which I can only describe as a 'wall of sound', a joyous blast surging out. This forceful opening broadens out into first an introductory recitative for male voice, with musical accompaniment of a sparkling character, calling to mind a brook running through a forest; and then a 'dance scene' to which all soloists contribute in turn, together with chorus. These, arguably the highlights of the performance, both strongly recall the soundworld of Mahler.

There is then a sudden shattering of the sunny mood, as night falls on this scene, and the hero cries, 'Woe is me' and confronts his own mortality. Here the change of mood was perhaps gradual rather than sudden, not quite having the dramatic tension which would have drawn out the change of mood with immediacy. The melancholy became much more apparent only later in this fourth scene, when in contemplating impending death, Zarathustra is tortured by visions of a spider spinning its web around his corpse.

The second half - which is set on the mountains rather than in the forest - is slower, and more reflective. The first, third and fourth sections have opening instrumental interludes which precede the entry of voices. These are charming in themselves, but also work well to refresh the listener between the musical and philosophical intensity of the sung sections. They perhaps bring a sound more instantly recognisable as Delian, idyllic and lyrical.

As the piece progresses, the baritone's role becomes larger, as he represents Zarathustra, a figure who is arguably semi-autobiographical for Delius, the work becoming in the second half more and more a recitative for him and the orchestra with occasional interjections from the other soloists and support from the chorus. The mood and pace of the opening return in the final section, which gathers pace leading to the unison 'Alle Lust will aller Dinge Ewigkeit' and building further to a triumphant close which then slips, almost Berg-like into the infinite 'Ewigkeit' (endless day).

Hanno Muller-Brachmann, who had the advantage of singing in his first language, was capable as the artist / hero /superman. However it is all the more noticeable that having less airtime and in some ways a lesser part, tenor Robert Murray's singing stood out as clear and incisive and I would single him out for particular commendation. Mezzo-soprano Pamela Helen Stephen has a golden honeyed voice which is a delight to listen to. She was in an eye-catching dress of impressionist colours, referencing a Monet garden and appropriate to the themes of the music. The festival chorus and the orchestral players are to be commended for their stamina in this musical marathon.

Juliet Williams

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image_description=Frederick Delius, Jelka Rosen (1868-1935)
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product_title=Frederick Delius - A Mass of Life
product_by=Anna Christy - soprano, Pamela Helen Stephen - mezzo-soprano, Robert Hardy - tenor, Hanno Muller-Brachmann - baritone, Royal National Scottish Orchestra, Edinburgh Festival Chorus. Sir Andrew Davis - conductor, Edinburgh International Festival, Usher Hall, Edinburgh, 10th August 2012

Oliver Knussen’s Symphonies from NMC

Kertész was unwell, so 15-year-old Oliver Knussen conducted it himself. Two weeks later, Daniel Barenboim conducted the New York premiere

What an illustrious start to any career ! Yet, in a gesture of artistic maturity, Knussen soon disowned his first big success. Still in his teens, he left London and his many connections, and went to the United States to start afresh. America was the making of Oliver Knussen, who is now one of the most important composers, conductors and all-round mentors of British music. This recording, released by independent British music specialists NMC Records, commemorates Knussen's early years at Tanglewood, where he would later become Head of Contemporary Music. It's the first in a planned restrospective of Knussen's career.

Knussen's Symphony no 2 (1970) is thus his first major work, written at the age of 18. It's a surprisingly adventurous work, given his age, but already the germs of Knussen's style are present. This is a song symphony, inspired by poems by Sylvia Plath and Georg Trakl, with oblique but unsettling images of unpeaceful dreams. Knussen even combines the two poets in the first movement, further blurring boundaries. In the second movement, the soprano ((Elaine Barry), sings long, arching lines, and the orchestra is "drone-like", as Knussen has said himself. Rather than building density, Knussen lightens texture, pairs oif instruments dancing briefly, then go quiet, leaving two flutes alone in a final, whimsical cadenza. Does Knussen's Songs For Sue(2006) have its origins in his first "real" symphony, completed when he first went to America?

Knussen's sojourn in the United States also resulted in his Symphony No 3 (1973-79). Knussen took his cue from Shakespeare's Ophelia, distraught with grief, singing "mad songs" in Hamlet. The symphony is abstract, but Knussen has referred to its "cinematic" nature and "the potential relationship in film between a tough and fluid narrative form and detail which can be frozen or 'blown up' at any point." Without words, Knussen creates drama, in the shifting layers and tempi. Each permutation unfolds like a frenzied dance, or perhaps processional, given the size of these orchestral forces. Michael Tilson-Thomas, the dedicatee, conducts on this recording, made in 1981. Knussen's Third Symphony is rarely heard live so when Knussen himself conducts it at the BBC Prom 56 on 25th August 2012, it should be a major occasion. Already, I'm contemplating how Knussen will conduct it then, with the BBC SO.

From this same period, Ophelia Dances and Trumpets arise like offshoots from the Third Symphony. In Trumpets, the soprano stretches like a trumpet call, three clarinets in attendance. Ophelia Dances reiterates the concept of fragmented dance-like motifs in confluence. Coursing (1979), isn't connected to the symphony but its surging flow relates to the image of Ophelia, dead and no longer singing, borne along the river. It was written to honour Elliott Carter's 70th birthday. Carter is now 103, and Knussen turns 60 this year.

Anne Ozorio

For more information on this recording, please visit the NMC website.

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Opera Tomorrow: Wolf Trap Today

The question came at the front end of a litany of others — climbing out on that limb was Ned Canty, Memphis Opera’s general director.

It’s fair to say that opera aficionados are resolved about what elements must be present for opera to be named such, lest it be reduced to something unrecognizable. Talks like this one, presented by Wolf Trap Opera, moderated by general director Kim Witman, offer a glimpse into what younger people think about opera and what opera is becoming. In many ways, this talk flew open some crusty old opera doors, letting in fresh air and engaging perspectives.

Any conversation regarding what opera is eventually turns back to an inextricable, though arguable, truth: many of the entrenched attitudes associated with the art form are Eurocentric in origins. Who better then to account for that from an insider’s vantage point than personnel from Vienna Staatsoper?

Vienna head of music Kathleen Kelly says that opera has long attracted what amounts to groupies interested in the separation tied to being part of the art form. Opera once stood for “intellectual achievement, success.” This “high art” paradigm no longer holds, nor is it such a draw. Kelly’s claim seems to be particularly the case in the United States, where “high” means exclusive, exclusive means small, and as Kelly put it, “bigger is better in America.”

Baritone and director of artistic administration at Arizona Opera Ryan Taylor came into this part of the conversation, reminding that opera is relatively new in the states. Another rather bitter, and often dodged, issue that haunts opera is, “there are so many barriers to entry.” Opera can evince very visceral feelings; Taylor gave a cinematic anecdote as an example. A person may dislike a certain film, but does not condemn and summarily abandon the art form altogether. On the surface, this analogy persuades.

Look closer and you will find that it is misleading to compare opera to any other medium; it is not axiomatically flawed to use art forms contained in another as a benchmark for the larger’s value? There is more to opera’s elusive nature. Opera may be the art form that asks the most from its audience. A past colleague that was introduced to his first opera as my guest described it well: “there’s so much.” As if it isn’t enough to be aware that there’s so much, opera intelligentsia pride themselves on accumulating vast storehouses of knowledge and expertise on all areas covered in opera, from singing and technique, to orchestral arrangements and conducting, to stagecraft and theater, and still much more.

This may explain why opera suffers from first impression bias in a way unprecedented. A negative first opera experience could very well be a person’s last. That is to say, if opera is even given a chance. I shan’t soon forget the comment of a prospective friend early on in the getting-to-know-you process. “I’ll never go to an opera,” he stared right at me.

The gentleman, an attorney, said this in a relationship-defining way. Among other things, this struck me as severely astigmatic. It seemed to me that an esquire had much to gain, incidentally by widening his grandiloquence and discourse cache, and directly in the connections and partnerships that can emerge from attending any cultural event.

Baritone James Maddalena flies right by the short-lived fixes that lead to even shorter-term results of marketing schemes aimed at getting bodies in seats. The merchandizing gimmicks, coupon phenomena, and near publicity stunts (“opera at the airport”) taking up a chunk of opera advertising budgets may succeed in getting a person in for a scene, an act, or even an entire performance.

Maddelena wants to “keep them there.” The baritone, of course, means to entice the audience into taking more and closer steps towards the art form, to nurture, guide and produce a new generation of opera fan. For this, Maddelena says the story of the opera is what is needed.

Urban Arias executive director Robert Wood scaffolds onto that notion; a great part of the budget of this “baby company” goes to generating and disseminating media with the express purpose of telling the story of operas it is presenting. When an audience member knows “what the story is about,” their experience come show time is enhanced. It is clear that getting past this primary part of the opera learning curve, the different elements that make an opera special come together.

“We are the original multi-media experience,” David Devan of Opera Philadelphia comes in with contagious conviction. Singing in the classical style is but one part of the operatic experience. Opera requires someone to write the words (the poetry to be sung), music, an orchestra and conductor, sets and the requisite art to create them, costuming, makeup and has stage and theater components.

Devan is eager to answer for the United States and opera being a good match. It may be early on in the relationship but the music genre, and the philosophies that have guided it, are in alignment with American ideals. Entrepreneurship, individualism, capitalism, beauty, freedom and growth are all engrained in operatic culture from its origins.

An operatic production begins with an idea, a single thought set forth by a vision. That goes on to a pre-planning stage, and molds of a production are sketched by individuals trained to perform specific tasks. The whole of this is funded by donors, by their will, for their pleasure.

Artists perform and entertain through and in their roles; they refine their craft with each move, phrase and turn. Each piece is committed to. At show time, artists are on their own to create and beautify, beauty being the ultimate result and the engine that stimulates interest. Opera is produced with the goal to have profits redistributed and funneled into the creation of more opera. Each new season is an opportunity to improve on the one prior.

For Devan, luring and hooking a new audience goes past merely teaching the opera story. The challenge is finding an “X factor.” For an opera-goer to become an opera learner, that particular person in the seats must connect to a particular something. Whether it be registering a high level of personalization in a performance as Devan isolated, or accessing a connection through an already established interest in costuming or staging as Witman addressed, or having the quality of a voice speak to you, or lighting up from colors and images in a set — any one spark can set off a love affair with opera that can last a lifetime.

Devan’s comments could easily be interpreted as a call-to-action for the young artist. Wolf Trap apprentice singers and other musicians, as well as guests, and patrons were assembled on this Saturday afternoon, July 14th. The talk was free and open (quite — the woodsy glen beyond Wolf Trap’s campus offices played backdrop) to the public.

Many topic threads and current professional issues were presented and still more branched out from these, interconnecting with specific concerns and anxieties. From the questions — what is opera, what makes opera, how does an artist market themselves, will there always be an audience, do I have to go to Europe, how does a performer stay current and vital, is there a new audience out there somewhere, how do we keep them coming to opera, what will this art form look like — one theme ran consistent and overarching. What do I do?

“Inspire,” just work your craft, responded an aspiring singer. Another interjected, asking whether that would be enough. To close that thread, another singer said that is what’s important. The pull to keep up with fast times was expressed by one singer. What if we “missed out on an opportunity” by not having material on the internet? The issue of artist responsibility came up either expressly or by implication several times. To illustrate how easily this thinking can get out of hand, the issue of “image,” and its negative stereotypes, was brought up.

Fabricating something from nothing leads to more nothing, a baseless creative abyss. An artist can train in any part of their craft, improving on it, but each has a very personal something to offer an audience. While one response was rather systematic, “if we know our brands,” her ending statement was well-placed: nothing else matters. As an artist, the challenge is to create with a sense of becoming. This ties into Devan’s idea from earlier. Take that quality that shines in you — vocal color, personalization of performance, intimacy in creating a characterization — and feed it, build on it, make it grow.

An apprentice singer turned the idea of story inward, into “the story that I have.” Her testimonial included how she often shares her road to opera with others. In the inner-city streets of New York City, “nobody follows their dream.” This idea works in at least two ways. It can serve as a model, to seek out goals, to forge ahead down the road of most resistance. It can also serve as a way to vicariously live out the heart-swelling inflatus of overcoming odds and becoming all that one can be.

This process is for the courageous, and is always facilitated by a village, outside sources that identify that certain something pleading to be developed and that caution about the difficulties that will be part of the journey. Social networking’s place in the business occupied a good part of the discussion as artists seek counsel on what to look for when navigating the dizzying font of net social outlets.

Budget-conscious advice was offered by Gotham Chamber Opera’s artistic director Neal Goren. Lawrence Brownlee once discussed with Goren how he and his family decided early on to allot a percentage of their budget to marketing. That has remained unchanged for the Brownlees as his career has progressed. Brownlee spends money on areas that distinguish him as an artist and that will improve his career. Witman also encouraged managing costs, by maximizing effective communications and shifting perspectives for the artist, turning the idea of responsibility to opportunity.

Kelly spoke of something that might help starting artists make sense of Witman’s turn on words, stating that degree of internet presence, and the time an artist devotes to that, should be relative to the artist’s place in their career. Publicity at any one place in time must match goals. To start off, musicians need to connect with people in the business that interest them at some level.

“Follow people you find interesting,” and get on track with a message Kenneth Weiss, assistant conductor and principal coach at Washington National Opera, seemed to suggest. A consistent train of thought here, heard in the concerns of performers and responded to by panelists, was one of desiring to keep communications manageable. While it is obvious that for most musicians, a strictly terrestrial presence is like professional extinction, too much or low quality online advertising can be just as detrimental. A slack internet presence makes it “harder for us to find you,” put in Mr. Wood.

To get down to basics, Goren suggests having at least a sound file uploaded and accessible. Goren informed about a program in the works at Opera America, essentially online portfolios with “live feeds” of performances to accompany the resumes and personal information of a performer. This will be available in real time, all the time.

Devan gave this piece of practical advice, ask yourself “what parts of me am I prepared to share?” In keeping with the thread of efficiency in communications, Devan told aspiring performers to do a marketing inventory “twice a year” and to consider it “professional activity” like any other, dovetailing the Brownlee anecdote about attending to diffuse areas to improve one’s career.

Devan sounds like an advocate of outsourcing, a message perhaps a step ahead of this audience and in conflict with Kelly’s. It is still something to communicate, a lesson that can come in handy later. “Management” makes a difference. They “move the artist’s brand out.” Devan said flatly, “build a team.” Both Witman and Taylor gave examples of performers that changed publicists and had their careers dramatically and positively transformed overnight.

Composer Lori Laitman made a case for drawing sharp distinctions between online business contacts and fan base communications. She indicated that, along with making contact with opera administration personnel, artists should get to know their audience. Her message appeared to be about having opportunities advance out of compatibility. Several panelists agreed that finding common ground in interests outside of opera was an effective way to connect with others in online social networking.

These outside interests can be a conduit through which to attract newcomers to opera, a way to “pierce some of those barriers,” as Taylor follows his previous phrase. Providing a clear and direct expression of the story of an opera has already been offered as a means to have a green audience turn evergreen for their interest in opera.

There are other known holes to, or missing pieces in, a neophyte’s understanding of opera. Some of these were acknowledged in this discussion. Witman stated the obvious, the many things happening beyond that first row of seats is happening “live.”

When made to understand this, many are quite surprised and impressed by the mere fact. “Is it the acoustic quality,” when exposed en masse, that will ultimately bring in a whole new generation of opera fans, asked Mr. Canty. A gentleman in the audience, identifying himself as a Wolf Trap performance regular, told us that new audiences are often relieved to find out that surtitles are provided as part of opera performances.

In the HD theater medium that has taken opera by storm, Witman finds a powerful vehicle to transmit “the power of story.” HD, she believes, can provide a closeness that is felt more strongly and is more immediate than an opera house experience. If only to tap into a newcomer’s curiosity, and waning attention span, HD serves a useful purpose.

Information derived from surveys filled out at Houston Grand Opera’s HD screenings suggests that audiences might be calling for a return to the performance practices of “Mozart’s time,” as Taylor put it. In 18th century Vienna, patrons sat and spoke out loud, they played poker in boxes and carried on as a performance went on. Kelly cited that those polled preferred having the luxury of getting up as they pleased, moving around, and eating food in the theater as they do in HD performances.

At about this time, a singer-to-be asked another difficult question of panelists, “why are European theaters attracting youth?” A gush of engrossing information resulted. Kelly came in with little delay, “size of venue.” Most opera houses in Europe were built when orchestrations were rather small in scope and at a time when squeezing patrons together and filling every single seat was not a high priority.

The seat furthest from the stage there is much closer to the stage than its equal standard of measure in the US. The intimacy of that is hard to compete with; the audience has a chance to become more attuned to staging, music, and yes, story. Kelly sees that the communicative opportunities are greater in number and take less effort to receive.

“It’s alive in the culture,” Kelly added, prompting the debate over whether enough is being done in this country to support the arts, through funding its organizations and appealing for its presence in public education curricula. Regardless, opera in the US is experimenting with native forms, taking a road of its own, if not yet a defined direction. It is safe to say that, if successful here, these performance practices will spread out elsewhere.

A young composer in the audience sought to get a feel for what is happening in contemporary operatic composition. He asked whether electronic, dance music, was being integrated into writing for voice and orchestra. That was responded to quickly and affirmatively by Woods who apparently has worked with musicians that are creating this very fusion now.

Maddelena has come to represent the cutting edge of performance practices in opera. His is an insider’s view on, and a voice for, opera stretching past its comfort zones. In Death and the Powers, Maddelena plays Simon Powers, a metaphorical representation of a soul in the throes of technological over-corruption. What role does suffering play in a human life? To what lengths will humanity go in the pursuit of denying and eliminating pain, Tod Machover (composer) and Robert Pinsky (librettist) seem to ask in “Powers.”

The opera delves into man’s quest to conquer nature, and the ultimate fate of all being, battling the circle of life. Powers handles existential suffering by attempting to cheat it, using his bottomless bank account to produce a virtual world with an endless existence. Powers metamorphoses from a run-of-the-mill corporate goon to a computer-enhanced voice-box and cyber-being.

This disfigurement is literally embodied (or disembodied) in singing and through the vocal and orchestral line. Maddelena leaves the stage for the pit, singing into a microphone that digitizes and distorts tones into machine-like stridencies and other odd sounds. His physiological reactions are further caught and displayed digitally as part of the set. To many, this disqualifies the work from it being categorized as opera. It is too great a departure from the traditional structure of operatic practice. But there was also a time when any work under two hours in playing time was considered outside operatic parameters. Whether any of these additions, or versions, take hold and continue as a subset of the art form is a matter of wait-and-see.

For opera in America to survive, most panelists agreed that the art form will have to continue to produce more “American” works with more American flavors. For opera to survive in general there may have to be a loosening of purist ideals of what opera is. Witman called “pop-opera” — the world of such international sensations as Susan Boyle, Paul Potts, Il Volo, and nearer on the outside rim, Andrea Bocelli — “valid.” This attitude makes some in opera cringe.

Singling out academies that pump out opera professionals, some panelists picked out areas that need improvement if the art form is to grow and expand. Composer Laitman spoke of the importance of dialogue on stage, the language component as a primary driving force behind keeping opera vital. Institutions need to place more value on text.

On a side tack, educating librettists and all stage personnel on modern practices in theatrics and acting is on the mind of Mr. Wood. This is to make the most of stage opportunities and to satisfy audiences for whom matters vocal are secondary, or further down the list of matters of interest. Mr. Weiss also sees stage direction, and the evolving of operatic practices therein, as a vital step forward.

“How can we keep this industry alive and thriving?” Perhaps getting absolute and definitive answers to Mr. Canty’s, or anyone’s, questions is beside the point. Perhaps the point to talks like Wolf Trap’s is to create awareness, find that we are thinking many similar thoughts, to poke and prod — knocking convention and artifice off-balance. Perhaps our questions answer themselves.

There are people in positions and circles of influence, poising themselves to find solutions, actualize propositions, and open bridges and avenues of support for the future of opera. There are those that keep tradition alive, the way to keep operatic standards intact for that audience. There will always be those that value voice above all things, and theaters for them to go.

For audiences ready to push the envelope, that constantly ask through action what opera is, whether it must be what it was or become something else, there will be a place. There will be companies that cater to the apprentice and that nurture the questions and exploration of the performer’s craft and of their place in the art form.

There will be venues whose mission it is to produce opera as one holistic spectacle. Other companies will play to specific areas, all in accord with an emphasis and resources. Different companies will have different emphases.
To opera fan and performer, be comforted in knowing your place is secured.

There will be room...

To ticket sales personnel, please announce a curtain time with an hour’s head start to your LivingSocial customers. I beg you this one falsehood for the sake of those of us with public transport to catch, desiring a reasonable bedtime, or partying after the opera.

Make room...

R Carreras

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Glyndebourne : Ravel Double Bill L'enfant et les sortilèges, L'heure espagnole

The audience applauded the scenery, but this time the praise was sincere. Ravel's music and ideas come alive. I'm tempted to say, "beyond our wildest dreams", because dreams release the creative imagination. Ravel begins L'enfant et les sortilèges with strange mock-orientalism, to emphasize the alien nature of what is to come. The child (Khatouna Gadelia) throws a tantrum, reflected in the stamping ostinato in the music, and the repetitive, angular vocal line. "Méchant! Méchant! Méchant!". Table, chair and Maman's skirts loom menacingly, overwhelming the child. This is what it feels to be little, dwarfed by the world of adults. The child rebels and rips his room apart. But the objects he wrecks have feelings, too.

"L'enfant et les sortilèges" says director Laurent Pelly "lasts about 45 minutes, but has the depth of an opera of three or four hours". (read the interview in Opera Today here). Ravel's music is extraordinarliy vivid, but his concepts don't easily translate into visual images. Pelly, however, is a master at bringing abstract ideas to life, as anyone who has seen his Glyndebourne Humperdinck Hansel und Gretel would know. The Teapot and the Chinese cup dance, their "human" bodies exposed beneath the hard exteriors of their form. Ravel glories in mad chinoiserie, which conductor Kazushi Ono plays up with manic relish. The words aren't real but dadaist invention, even in Colette's original. At Glyndebourne the surtitles flash "Sessue Hayakawa" .Since this Glyndebourne production is a co-production with Seiji Osawa's Saito Kinen Festival, it will be seen by Japanese audiences who will get the joke (and can read the nonsense "Chinese" writing). Hayakawa was a Hollywood megastar from the 1920's, who subtly subverted western stereotypes of Asian people. Ravel is sending up the whole notion of western attitudes to the East.

And by exploring exotic genres, Ravel expanded the palette of mainstream western music. Even in Colette's original French text,the Teapot and teacup sing in cod-English "Sir, I punch your nose. I knock out you, stupid chose (thing)". Shepherds and Shepherdesses jump out of the wallpaper the Child has defaced, singing of bizarrely coloured dogs and lambs. Everything safe and familiar is transformed. Ravel writes mock-pastoral,while the pastorals do a solemn mock baroque dance. Visions of Le petit Trianon! Revolution is afoot. The Fire explodes, threatening to engulf the room. Kathleen Kim shoots out of the fireplace in a structure that resembles flame. Kim also sings the Nightingale and the Princess. As theatre, the Fire is a dramatic stunning device, but also reminds us this Child has unleashed dangerous forces.

Some of Ravel's concepts are so abstract that they're a test of any director. Arithmetic, for example, which is so important to Ravel that he embeds the formal logic of mathematics into his music (The connection with L'heure espagnole is obvious) In the 1987 Glyndebourne production, the The Little Old Man who represents Arithmetic was surrounded by cardboard cut-outs of numbers. Pelly, however, brings out the true inner significance. The Child has rebelled against maths homework, and now the Glyndebourne chorus appears as identikit Child to mock him. The formality of rows and series - is this a droll in-joke about Ravel's music, and the music which followed? Kazushi Ono defines the structure with clarity, and the chorus moves with precision. Surrealism liberates the imagination, but art needs an element of intellectual rigour,

Sofas, chairs and clocks, Cats, animals and insects, all confront the Child with their human-ness. In the Garden, adult values no longer dominate. Here, the Child will learn the true nature of humanity Pelly, who designed the costumes, doesn't trivialise the "animals" but shows them as realistically as is possible (given that Bats and Squirrels don't sing). So different from the twee "animals" in Melly Still's The Cunning Little Vixen (review here). Here, animals are treated with dignity, for that's the message of the opera, that no-one is supreme in this universe.The Glyndebourne chorus transform into trees, each one individualized. Even "statues" move. The darkness now is less nightmare than transformative dream. At last the Child recognizes that selfishness is cruel. He caged and tortured the Squirrel, but now looks into her eyes and sees things throgh her perspective. The Squirrel was sung by Stéphanie d'Oustrac, who also sings the Cat. At last, the Child can be a child again and call "Maman! up towards the lighted window. Laurent Pelly's L'enfant et les sortilèges is a masterwork of emotional intelligence and sensitivity, absolutely informed by Ravel's music.

Stéphanie d'Oustrac also sang the main role of Concepción in L'heure espagnole. Elliot Madore sang Ramiro the Muleteer who carries clocks around so effortlessly that he becomes a Grandfather Clock in L'enfant et les sortilèges (where he also sings the Tom Cat). This constant role-changing might stress singers, but is very much part of the meaning of both operas, so they all performed well. Torquemada the clockmaker thinks life can be regulated by clockwork, but as his wife discovers, things don't always go as planned. François Piolino sang Torquemada, and also the Teapot, the Frog and the Old Man of Arithmetic). The staging of L'heure espagnole seems relatively dated compared with the sheer genius of Pelly's L'enfant et les sortilèges, but its clutter also suggests why we need clocks (and Arithmetic, and indeed of the mechanisms of the world around us).

This production will be screened from 19th August in cinemas and online, and will eventually be released on DVD.

Anne Ozorio

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Cast and production information:

Ramiro: Elliot Madore, Torquemada: François Piolino, Concepción: Stéphanie d'Oustrac, Gonsalve : Alek Shrader, Don (Don Inigo Gomez: Paul Gay, The Child : Khatouna Gadelia, Mother, Chinese Cup, Dragonfly : Elodie Méchain, Grandfather Clock, Tom Cat: Elliot Madore, Armchair, Tree: Paul Gay, Teapot, Old Man oif Arithmetic, Frog: François Piolino, Fire, Princess, NIghtingale : Kasthlerren Kin, Shepherd: Natalai Brzezinska, Shepherdess: Hilka Fahimna, Cat, Squirrel : Stéphanie d'Oustrac, Bat: Julie Pasturaud, Owl: Kirsty Stokes, Director, Costumes : Laurent Pelly, Set Design for L'heure espagnole: Caroiline Ginet and Florence Evrard, adapted by Carioliune Ginet, Ser Design for L'enfant et les sortilèges: Barbara de Limburg, Lighting: Joel Adam, Costumes : Laurent Pelly and Jean-Jaques Delmotte, London Philharmonic Orchestra, The Glyndebourne Chorus, Conductor@ Kazushi Ono. Glyndebourne, Sussex, England. 4th August 2012

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image_description=Teapot (François Piolino), Child (Khatouna Gadelia), and Chinese Cup (Elodie Méchain) [Photo © Simon Annand]

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Bach Mass in B minor, BBC Prom 26

So we are entitled to start postulating about what Bach intended. But performing the work in the Royal Albert Hall is entirely different again, a space far bigger than Bach could ever have conceived of being used for his work. So that whilst I was listening to the performance of Bach’s Mass in B Minor on Thursday 2 August at the BBC Proms, given by the English Concert conducted by Harry Bicket, inevitably I was thinking not only about the quality of performance, but about the decisions taken to realise the work in the space and how successful they were as well.

Now, I have to admit up front that I am a one-to-a-part man. There is good evidence for this, it was very much standard Lutheran practice (see Andrew Parrott’s book The Essential Bach Choir). Whilst Bach might have sent the work to Dresden, he was a Lutheran through and through. So though he would presumably have welcomed hearing the piece in Dresden performed by soli, choir and orchestra (in our modern manner), it would not have surprised him to hear with it with just five or six singers. To fill the Royal Albert Hall though, you need to boost your forces somewhat.

Bicket used an orchestra of 50 players, including four flutes, two oboes and two bassoons, with continuo provided by a chamber organ sitting on the platform. Perhaps as a gesture to balance, his wind and brass players (bassoons apart) stood up to play. His choir had over forty singers in it with female sopranos and a mixture of male and female altos. The soloists were sopranos Joelle Harvey and Carolyn Sampson, counter-tenor Iestyn Davies, tenor Ed Lyon and bass Matthew Rose.

For me, one of the tests of a good Mass in B Minor, irrespective of the forces used, is to listen to the first vocal/choral entries in the first fugal Kyrie. Everyone can get the massive opening chords right. But for the fugue that follows, which is started by the instruments and then continued by the voices, it is essential that voices and instruments are balanced in the right way. The instruments are not accompanying the voices, all parts are equal, so that when the voice parts enter it should be as part of the whole texture, not creating an entirely new one with the instruments relegated to the distant background.

This Bicket got right. His choir sang very smoothly, with a good line and though a little dominant were balanced nicely with the instrumental forces. More worryingly the performance lacked bounce and immediacy, Bicket kept the whole of the first Kyrie very much under wraps; small gestures from him being echoed by small vocal and instrumental gestures; nothing too big, but nothing too vivid; all a little bit too discreet and polite.

For the Christe, sopranos Carolyn Sampson and Joelle Harvey blended beautifully and sang with a fine sense of line, supported by a strong bass line. But with the second Kyrie I began to notice a problem. During the louder tutti passages it just wasn’t possible to hear the wind instruments properly, the volume and mass of the strings and voices was simply too much. Instead the wind texture would become apparent at moments when the strings and voices thinned. Now Bach’s orchestration isn’t generally about colour, it is about lines. In 19th century orchestration, if you can’t quite hear a particular instrument it is not essential because the single instrument is contributing colour to a full chord. But in Bach each instrument, or group of instruments, has a line, an important line. So from my seat in the central stalls, it sounded as if Bicket should have doubled his oboes and bassoons to keep the proportions right. This was something that I kept noticing throughout the performance, one of those nagging things which isn’t fatal, but which you wonder why it didn’t bother someone earlier.

Still on the subject of balance, I have to say a brief word about the organ. It probably did a sterling job supporting the singers but the instrument was simply too small and too discreet for the venue. Bach used his church organs for continuo, and whilst these instruments were far smaller and far different from the monster organ in the Royal Albert Hall, they did have a degree of poke and character which the chamber instrument lacked. (Paul McCreesh has made some interesting Bach recordings using small scale forces and with organs of the type Bach would have known).

What of the performance itself, niggles apart? Well, musically it was of a very high order. The choir of the English Concert were in fine voice and ranged from the fast brilliance of the "Cum Sancto Spirito" of the Gloria to the stunning vocal control of the "Et Incarnatus" and "Crucifixus" from the Credo. Whilst they could conjure up vocal substance in the large scale passages, they moved like a far smaller body in the fast moving ones.

Joelle Harvey and Carolyn Sampson were both elegantly fluent as the soprano soloists. Iestyn Davies brought clarity and a fabulous sense of line to his solos, projecting the vocal line with ease without ever forcing. He finished with a performance of exquisite beauty in the Agnus Dei. Ed Lyon was a relaxed and beautifully lyric tenor, with a good freedom in the upper register but still plenty of character. Matthew Rose was impressive in his first aria but appeared to be having problems in his second.

The orchestra were on similar stunning form, providing a series of superb instrumental obbligatos as well as sympathetic and characterful tutti playing. They didn’t peck at the notes as some period bands do, giving the music a far greater sense of line and shape.

This was a performance full of good moments. But, in the final choral Dona Nobis pacem, Bicket ensured that the chorus returned to the same understated manner as the opening Kyrie and that made me realise that there was something that I had been missing. For me, there wasn’t a strong sense of the spiritual. The performances were highly musical, intelligent realisations of the individual movements, but the whole did not coalesce into the sort of spiritual journey which Bach intended. Friends sitting behind me thought otherwise and found the performance both beautiful and moving, so each takes different things from such an event.

Performing Bach’s Mass in B Minor in the Royal Albert Hall is inevitably going to mean that decisions have to be taken. But whilst I question some aspects of the performance from Bicket and the English Concert, there is no doubt that we witness music making of a very high order.

Robert Hugill

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2nd August 2012, Royal Albert Hall, London

Tippett : A Child of Our Time BBC Prom 25

Or so the story goes. In fact the origins of the work were probably less spontaneous and more complex. Previously Tippett had considered producing an opera based on the Dublin Easter Rising of 1916, but he found the Jewish problem more immediate and troubling - perhaps not surprising for one who was later to be sentenced as a Conscientious Objector to three months’ imprisonment in Wormwood Scrubs. Tippett himself explained:

“The Jews were the particular scapegoats of everything, for every kind of standing outcast, whether in Russia or America or even in England. For these people I knew somehow I had to sing songs.”

Tippett’s masterstroke was to include within his universal reflections and specific narrative, five Negro spirituals: “I felt I had to express collective feelings and that could only be done by collective tunes such as Negro spirituals, for these tunes contain a deposit of generations of common experience.” (Tippett, ‘Poets in a barren age’, in Moving into Aquarius (London: Palladin, 1974), p.152.). But, it was also a decision which resulted in an inherent technical and aesthetic difficulty: how to successfully assimilate a sophisticated western classical idiom with the simple, pure language of the spiritual?

The problem of integrating opposing musical genres was not entirely overcome in this stirring and uplifting performance by the BBC Proms Youth Choir - the massed forces of several UK youth choirs who, having attended an intensive course in Birmingham, were brought together with the BBC Symphony Orchestra under the baton of David Robertson.

Tippett produced both the score and the text - after T.S. Eliot had declined to write the libretto, professing that the composer would produce a more appropriate text himself. And, blending echoes of Wilfrid Owen’s war poetry with Jungian psychology, the text is relatively - and atypically for Tippett - simple and terse. The four soloists all enunciated their recitatives clearly and with excellent projection, with tenor Paul Groves employing a particularly sensitive declamation. Elegance, flexibility, and impassioned sentiment characterised Groves’ Part I solo ‘I have no money for my bread’; and he skilfully manoeuvred the more chromatic idiom of his second solo, ‘My dreams are all shattered in a ghastly reality’, in Part II, where ethereal high strings and some beautiful solo playing by flute and oboe enhanced the lyrical poignancy of the vocal melody.

Sarah Connelly, announcing the opening ‘Argument’ with poise and earnestness, sang throughout with rhetorical presence and clarity. Her Part III solo, ‘The soul of man’, was rhythmically alert and naturalistic, in animated counterpoint with a buoyant string line derived motivically from the spiritual.

In the role of ‘narrator’, baritone Jubilant Sykes, making his debut at the Proms, initially seemed a little nervous and restrained, but he grew in stature as the work progressed. Although his baritone perhaps lacks the necessary weighty resonance of a true bass, and at times he struggled to find sufficient impact and gravitas, Sykes shaped his recitatives and arias with thoughtfulness and care, building through his opening recitative to the inject drama and urgency in the final line, “And a great cry went up from the people”, and carefully colouring the text in Part III to reassure that “The simple-hearted shall exult in the end”. His Act 2 Scena with Connolly was particularly impressive, superbly conveying the escalating the menace of threat and fear, and leading effortlessly to the eruption of fugal violence in the choral ‘Terror’, “Burn down their houses! Beat in their heads!” Sykes’ subsequent grave utterances were perfectly paced, never exaggerated but each word placed for bitter impact. In the slowly paced Spiritual of Anger, ‘Go down, Moses’, chorus and bass suggested the innate power endowed by repression and injustice, and the baritone summoned up a momentous tone to convey the weight of collective history.

It was soprano Sally Matthews, stepping in to replace the indisposed Measha Brueggergosman, who was the star of the evening. From her first solo, ‘How can I cherish my man in such days’, her lines were unfailingly resonant of tone and rich with emotion, as she effortlessly soared in Tippett’s high melodic arches. With glimmering sheen, Matthews rode above the choral ensemble in the first spiritual, ‘Steal away’; in the penultimate ensemble with chorus, the translucence of her final ascents made the promised renewal seem undeniable.

Although Tippett adopted a traditional oratorio format of recitatives, arias and choruses, the subject matter does not lend itself naturally to this form. However, conductor David Robertson moved fluently through the various Parts and numbers forming a coherent narrative. Contrapuntal textures in the instrumental interludes were well delineated and characterised; and in the Part III sequence, from ‘The soul of man’ to the final spiritual, Robertson crafted an unstoppable contrapuntal and harmonic momentum, steady pulses from the ’celli and timpani, together with extended dominant pedals, creating an inexorable movement to resolution - the latter quietly achieved with a gentle cadence, “Here is no final grieving, but an abiding hope” - it is hardly Robertson’s fault if the opposing classical and popular idioms do not fully coalesce.

The youthful choral forces had been well rehearsed by their respective choral masters and by Stephen Halsey. The music for chorus is not particularly ‘difficult’ in a technical sense - in fact Tippett simplified the spirituals in order to unify the musical language by basing own music on their fundamental elements; but, the negro slaves’ songs do need to be sung with passion yet without affectation if the charge of misappropriation, even exploitation, is to be avoided.

The members of the Proms Youth Choir were disciplined throughout. There was plenty of passion and volume, although sometimes without true weight and penetration, particularly in the tenor and basses - but perhaps that is an unfair observation, given the youthful ages of the participants. Certainly, there was much energised singing, and the lightness of the young voices prevented some of Tippett’s slightly turgid rhythmic settings, and rather repetitive imitative passages, from seeming too heavy-handed. Thus in the Chorus of the Oppressed in Part I, the polyphonic entries were crisp; similarly the Double Chorus of Persecutors and Persecuted was rhythmically energised, and sharp staccato strings intensified the air of dread. There was a lovely ensemble blend in the opening chorus of Part II, ‘A star rises in mid-winter’, and despite the size of his forces, Robertson was able to induce many a subtle pianissimo or diminuendo, notably in the opening spiritual ‘Steal away’.

The final spiritual was performed from memory, and this was both a strength and a weakness of the performance. For while such a direct address to the audience in the vast arena seemed to invite inclusion and ‘collective’ involvement, the stiff-armed rigidity of the massed singers had a distinct distancing effect - less Negro slave anthem, or even Lutheran congregational chorale, and more English cathedral evensong.

That said, all these parts added up to an intensely satisfying whole. The chorus masters of the participating choirs (the CBSO Youth Chorus, Quay Voices, National Youth Choir of Scotland, Côr Hyn Glanaethwy (Wales) and Codetta (Northern Island)) joined their young charges on the platform, and there was a genuine spirit of warm, joyful communal music-making.

In a short programme interview, David Robertson explained his rationale for the evening’s programming, the first half of the concert comprising one of Charles Ives’ most well-known works, The Unanswered Question, Samuel Barber’s ever-popular Adagio for strings, and Bernd Alois Zimmermann’s 1954 trumpet concerto, Nobody knows de trouble I see: “At the centre of this programme is the notion of reflection and questioning.” Unfortunately, in the first half Robertson did not allow sufficient time for such probing and contemplation (although he was not aided in his endeavour by much thoughtless and surely unnecessary and incessant coughing and spluttering); for in choosing to commence the Barber almost before the last echoes of Ives’ discomforting, unresolving string chords had subsided, he almost reduced the latter work to the status of irrelevant prelude to the more popularist work. The three performing groups - solo trumpet, four flutes (chosen here instead of the alternative, more diverse, group of two flutes, oboe and clarinet) and strings - were spatially separated, but Ives’ preference was for the strings to be placed off-stage and, although perhaps impractical on this occasion, the unwavering metaphysical soundscape created by the strings is surely best experienced as a cosmic rather than a human phenomenon.

Adopting a fairly slow tempo, Robertson structured the long linear lines of Barber’s Adagio effectively, but the work did not attain the emotional scale for which one might have wished. Trumpeter Håkan Hardenberger scaled the stratospheric heights of Zimmermann’s jazz-serial concerto with ease, but as a whole the performers did not quite capture the freedom of the jazz-inspired idiom and Robertson could not fully elucidate with clarity the structure of the episodic form.

Perhaps the greatest accolade of the evening should be reserved for Tippett’s oratorio itself - a work of the highest spiritual and human ambitions but one which also achieves a compelling impact and power, and which confirms Tippett’s own faith in the nature and function of music.

Claire Seymour

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1st August 2012, Royal Albert Hall, London

Santa Fe Opera convinces : Rossini Maometto II

Since founder and conductor John Crosby’s retirement in 2000, and the appointment that October of Richard Gaddes as General Director, with the subsequent assumption of those duties in 2008 by Charles MacKay, Santa Fe Opera’s musical quality and artistic values have grown impressively.

The pit orchestra has been constantly improved by such conductors as Edo de Waart and Alan Gilbert, and now by Frédéric Chaslin the current chief conductor. As a result, this season’s performances of two rare and especially challenging scores by Rossini and Szymanowski were beautifully realized by Chaslin and the young American music director Evan Rogister, showing high competence. Chaslin’s input as chief conductor for SFO, and especially as conductor of Rossini’s 1820 masterwork, Maometto II, proved invaluable. He’s a major asset.

Gioachino Rossini’s little-known tragedy enjoyed a splendid cast that included four highly gifted singers doing full justice to the severe vocal and musical demands set by the great Rossini in his fruitful Naples-San Carlo Opera years that were so creative (18 operas in seven years!). Santa Fe has now produced a superb Ermione (2000), as well as Maometto II from those years, and next season, La Donna del Lago (Walter Scott’s The Lady of the Lake), will be heard, completing a rich sampling of a famous, if not oft-performed, period of Italian bel canto history. This is true festival fare, and few opera companies have the resources or resolve to make it work as well as does the Santa Fe troupe. General Director Charles MacKay took risks in producing such repertory but all concerned have been well rewarded.

The rare Rossini had two key advocates to make it happen just now at Santa Fe: Italian lyric basso Luca Pisaroni, who was keen to sing the title role, and the distinguished musicologist Prof. Philip Gossett, who is editing a new critical edition of all Rossini’s works, and had ready at hand a reconstruction of the ‘original’ Naples version of 1820, mainly the work of distinguished Dutch musicologist and editor Hans Schellevis. Mr. Gossett said in a recent interview that the Santa Fe premiere is a tryout of the new scholarly score for evaluation in performance as part of the forthcoming edition of which he is General Editor.

Bel canto specialist Pisaroni wanted to perform the grand tragic piece that had haunted him since his young years when he witnessed the American basso Sam Ramey, in 1985 make a signal success as Maometto in Italy. Under MacKay’s leadership, the necessary support and talents were found and the rest is, literally, musical history. I expect future performances of Maometto II will in some way derive from Santa Fe’s premiere presentation of this important and newly refined masterwork of the Rossini canon.

Over the three hour duration of Maometto II, one may be challenged by the pouring forth of endless florid singing and flood of set pieces, connected by orchestrally accompanied recitatives in bel canto style. We are simply not used to hearing so many notes, so many verses, so many melodic and musical tropes and schemes, and their repetition and lengthy development - so much material, in fact, that Rossini’s middle-period serious works may briefly turn tedious. But then a new idea or musical delight makes it all worthwhile. The music is often glorious, romantic or heroic; solo arias, trios or larger forms, much of it pleases and often thrills. I cannot detail it all, but the performance of a 30-minute terzetto in Act I is one of the most remarkable developments in musical form in its time, even if today it may occasionally seem redundant. In Rossini’s time he was pushing the art with his experimental operas. Maometto II is a Rossini tragic opera, not known to the general opera public, that could command any major world stage and just now there are singers capable of performing it.

In addition to Pisaroni, to whom all laud and glory for his performance, the cast included a young Connecticut soprano Leah Crocetto providing a lovely assumption of Anna, in love with Maometto the Turkish general who is seeking to conquer her homeland, the Venetian colony Negroponte, and the stunning Irish mezzo soprano Patricia Bardon, as Venetian General Calbo (a trouser role), who loves Anna - a highly theatrical triangle, as Anna is put in the true focal point of the opera in making a choice between love and honor. Ms. Crocetto’s youth gives her the ability to move freely and well on stage, in spite of a certain avoir-du-pois, and most of all her warm singing is fresh, strong, technically brilliant and filled with great potential for the drammatico d’agilita roles of Rossini, Bellini, perhaps Spontini and others that are popular today. If she seemed to be occasionally marking time, all was forgiven in the death scene finale, when over a full chorus she spun out ravishing pianissimo tones and then, in her suicide scene, forceful dramatic outcries that bespoke an end to her agonies. Wow!

Ms. Bardon had a similar success with her big scene, an aria encompassing the widest possible mezzo range of both emotion and music. Her voice was full and mature in the best way, filling all florid demands and offering exhilarating color and rhetorical ‘punch.’ Bardon gave her all and maybe ten per cent more, with spectacular results. One more singer was a key to success, as Paolo Erisso, Anna’s desperate father and Head of the Venetians in Negroponte, attempting to defend all against the irrepressible Turks, namely California tenor Bruce Sledge whose bright high tenor served perfectly.

I heard the second performance, July 18, when Susan Sheston’s chorus, comprised mainly of the opera’s apprentice singers, performed their important music accurately and nobly. They had serious work to do and did it well. Smaller solo roles were successfully taken by Matthrew Newlin and Michael Daily.

Stage direction and scenic and costume design were in the hands of the celebrated Director David Alden and visual designer Jon Morrell who were highly effective. Alden’s work was mainly traditional, as it should be for Rossini, and much enhanced by Morrell whose innovative unit set was dynamic and surprising with costumes that were rich and pleasing. Choreographer Peggy Hickey must be commended for her dancers and dancing singers who made the Turco-Venetian hand combat scene into a quasi-Ninja ballet, cleverly realized. Fight director Jonathan Rider had a strong hand in this as did reliable lighting director, Duane Schuler. Maometto II turned out to be one of the most compelling evenings of music theater, if of a certain bel canto style, that I have seen in Santa Fe.

© J.A. Van Sant, 2012

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18th July 2012, Santa Fe Opera, NM.

Santa Fe Opera, Karol Szymanowski : King Roger

While King Roger is rarely heard, I happen to have experienced it in 1980 when the St. Louis Symphony presented two performances in concert form under the direction of Leonard Slatkin, who was an advocate for Szymanowski’s music. It made very little impression at that time, but heightened my appreciation of the Santa Fe production, whose theatrical qualities much enhanced the somewhat tepid tale of the Sicilian king, if one set within an unusually rich musical tapestry. A colorful and dramatic production of a static opera can make the effort seem worthwhile, and King Roger’s treatment by Santa Fe could hardly have been more beneficial. (Santa Fe played the opera in one 90-minute act that enhanced continuity.)

First of all the music: Wide swathes of Debussy-influenced tone painting abound, forming an impressionistic atmosphere, often punctuated and disputed by sharp polytonal accents and chromatic arguments in the full orchestra, illustrating Roger’s unhappy moods. The King is torn between his conventional church-approved duties as Monarch, versus the upsetting proposals of a charismatic Shepherd that appeared from nowhere, and much beguiled not only Roger’s subjects but also his wife, Roxana, with tempting ideas about sensual and erotic pleasures. Roger himself is tempted but also dismayed by the Shepherd whose call he hears all too well. In the end the King restores order, at least in his own mind, and assumes the royal robes of convention, but not without having been marked by life’s Dionysian distractions. With lots of talk, lots of posturing and agonizing and a rather ho-hum plot, King Roger is saved by the elegant and original music emanating from the orchestra. The vocal writing is mainly declamatory or conversational, with few if any memorable set pieces, aside from Roxanna’s song, a haunting vocalise that accompanies her fall to Dionysius.

Special appreciation must go to Evan Rogister, the young American conductor, who was a leading hand in making the show work. The singers were all competent, and sometimes more than that, but it is an ensemble opera without the need for star turns. As the King, young Polish lyric baritone Mariusz Kwiecien was authoritative and convincing, perhaps more in the King’s suffering than otherwise, but his is a lyric voice, so fine in Mozart, sometimes taxed in Szymanowski’s bigger moments. His Roxana was handsomely sung by the soprano Erin Morley who brought silvery beauty to her aria. The Shepherd is a hard role to cast and no doubt a difficult one to perform, but ingratiating tenor William Burden rose to the occasion, even if sometimes his top tones turned a bit pale and hard to hear. Raymond Aceto lent his distinguished baritone voice to the role of the Archbishop, with Dennis Peterson and Laura Wilde serving well in secondary parts.

The effectively played stage action was conceived by highly regarded director Stephen Wadsworth whose ideas were strong and clarifying, and were assisted by the ingenious if spare set designs of Thomas Lynch. The unusually fine costumes were by Ann Hould-Ward. Her designs, detailed and impressive, especially in Act I, immediately established a feeling of style and quality that set the right tone and engaged the viewer; strong input by Ms Hould-Ward who first worked at Santa Fe in 1992. I must particularly acknowledge the accomplishment of chorus master Susanne Sheston, whose Santa Fe Opera apprentice singers, augmented by twenty-four professional voices from the Santa Fe Desert Chorale, gave a superior account of Szymanowski’s sumptuous choral writing, one of the most noteworthy beauties of the score. I hope to meet King Roger again some day. His is an enchanting and musically rewarding illusion.

© J.A. Van Sant, 2012

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Santa Fe Opera, NM

Tchaikovsky: Eugene Onegin, Opera Holland Park, London

Where musical direction has sometimes proved variable, in Alexander Polianichko, OHP had recruited a fine Tchaikovsky conductor. (His reading of Cherevichki at the Royal Opera House was the first time I encountered his work.) Polianichko clearly felt at ease with the score and communicated that ease freely. Tempi and transitions were all well handled, nothing especially drawing attention to itself, the drama progressing ‘naturally’ from the musical ebb and flow - though, as we all know, it takes a great deal of art to conceal art. This might not have been the searing drama I heard Daniel Barenboim bring to Tchaikovsky’s opera in Berlin, but it served the work very well. It would be vain to suggest that the City of London Sinfonia would not have benefited from a greater number of strings - and there was room in the pit - but a chamber-orchestral performance worked far better than I had expected, noticeably better, indeed, than it had for Mozart or Beethoven, which suggests that the conductor and the performers on the night were at least as important as actual numbers. Certainly the strings played with cultivation and commitment. If they were sometimes overshadowed by some ravishing woodwind playing, the problem of balancing was not their fault.

Daniel Slater’s production was manifestly superior in every respect to the lifeless, Made-for-the-Met offering Deborah Warner foisted upon the Coliseum earlier this season. It will be interesting to see how Slater’s staging compares with the new production Kasper Holten is preparing for Covent Garden, since during a couple of conversations I had with Holten earlier this year, he mentioned the importance of memory to his conception of the work. (I think I can give that away at least, since it is not really giving anything away!)

That certainly shine through in Slater’s understanding too, Onegin a ghostly, dream-like figure often watching when he was not participating. Leslie Travers’s set - which might, and I mean this as a compliment - work equally well for an intelligent production of Der Rosenkavalier, evoke faded grandeur, the end of a line, aristocratic furniture upended, reminding us that Onegin was an outsider both chronologically as well as temperamentally. The third act, five years later, is set during the early years of the Revolution, the Polonaise treated as an opportunity for temporal relocation, young Soviet soldiers rearranging the stage, laying out a red carpet for (General?) Gremin and his well-connected wife, and, most touchingly, the nurse Filipievna snuffing out the candles from the Larinas’ chandelier.

It rises again, in fine post-revolutionary fettle, seemingly powered by newer, electric means, putting one inevitably in mind of Lenin’s equation of communism as Soviet power plus electrification of the whole country. I wondered at first how the new, Leninist setting would benefit the work, but was entirely won over, for the point was not so much the Leninist setting - though might that not also be an interesting idea: Onegin as Bolshevik, soon disaffected? - as the passing of time. There is nothing wrong, of course, with that being expressed as originally envisaged, but Tsarist St Petersburg is not in itself the point any more than Leningrad might be.

Books play an important role too. When we meet Tatiana, she is very much engrossed in her book (Richardson, presumably), something of a plain-Jane in contrast to the flightier Olga. Her mother, of course, counsels her - whether it be wisely is another matter - that she had to grow out of the fictions her youthful reading engendered, in order to live in the real world. The replacement of the Larinas’ library by an all-red set of books - suggesting, perhaps, a Progress Publishers’ collected edition, even though that fabled firm would not be founded until 1931? - again provides an excellent visual shorthand for the changed circumstances of the third act. Tatiana’s frustration is powerfully represented by her sweeping those books from the shelves.

In many respects, I felt that Slater’s staging brought Tchaikovsky’s opera, or at least its central character, closer to Pushkin’s ‘original’ than is usually the case. For not only is Onegin an outsider, he is filled with restlessness, and one has a very clear sense of him journeying from one scene to the next, much as in Pushkin’s lyric narrative. There is one loss here - though this is far from confined to this particular staging - in that there is relatively little room for Tchaikovsky’s homoeroticism, intentional or otherwise. Still, no staging of an interesting work will be able to deal with every concrete aspect, let alone with every dramatic possibility. This was the only staging I can recall seeing in the theatre to compare with Steven Pimlott’s bizarrely underrated production for the Royal Opera.

Mark Stone presented an Onegin handsome of tone as well as presence, aloof, restless, tormented without the slightest hint of exaggeration. Anna Leese was an excellent foil as Tatiana, her portrayal as intelligent, as dramatically progressive, as it was moving. Hannah Pedley’s Olga was pleasingly rich-toned, without detriment to her relative flightiness as a character (especially in this production). Whilst Peter Auty’s Lensky was well received, I found his performance and Patrick Mundy’s Triquet the only real disappointments in the cast, both somewhat coarse of timbre, the former in particular often sounding as if he would be happier singing Puccini. Otherwise, there was much to enjoy in the finely etched Mme Larina and Filipievna of Anne Mason and Elizabeth Sikora respectively, and in the less-geriatricly-portrayed-than-usual Gremin of Graeme Broadbent. The choral singing was excellent, an ideal match of clarity and weight, testament surely to excellent training from chorus master, Kelvin Lim. A memorable evening indeed.

Mark Berry

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231st July 2012, Opera Holland Park, London