Opera Today

Soile Isokoski - Wigmore Hall - Sallinen

Isokoski has been singing Hugo Wolf since very early in her career.Her style is well suited to Wolf's songs. No arch artifice here, no flashy exaggeration. Isokoski's natural, unforced simplicity portrays the young women in these songs as fundamentally nice people, even when they're flirting coquettishly. Auch kleine Dinge could be interpreted with sarcasm, since the lover 's main attrribute is that he's tiny. Isokoski's gentleness breathes sincerity. "Bedenkt, wie klein ist der Olivenfrucht", she declares, then delivers the punchline "und wird um ihre Güte doch Gesucht".

Isokoski has performed Berlioz Nuits d'été (op 7) many times. This was not quite as incandescent as I've heard her sing it in the past, but as compensation it was an opportunity to concentrate on listening to her technique. Her foundations are so solid that you can admire her phrasing and carefully controlled modulation. If the lustre of her top was less than perfect, she made up for that with rich, almost mezzo warmth in the lower ranges. A voice might not be perfect at every time, but a really good singer knows when to use her strengths to communicate. No listener should expect recording-type results every time. Far better, I think, to hear someone like Isokoski manage her resources so wisely.

When Isokoski sang Richard Strauss Drei Lieder der Ophelia op 67 1918, she showed why she's such a good Strauss singer. Her Vier letzte Lieder recorded in 2003, conducted by Marek Janowski, is outstanding, even in a market full of good performances. Since Ophelia is a character from Hamlet, Strauss's settings lend themselves to dramatization. "Wie erkenn' ich mein Treulieb?" asks Isokoski sweetly, so the horror of the answer cuts sharply. "Er ist tot und lange hin". When she sings about the naked corpse in Sie trugen ihn auf der Bahre bloss, her voice transforms as if she's witnessing a miracle. "Kein Trauen bringt Gewinn". This connects to the Christian prayer in Karl Simrock's German translation.

Isokoski also regularly sings the songs of Charles Ives. Many Americans in Ives's time were recent migrants, so Isokoski's heavily accented English works rather well, creating an image of America as a vibrant melting pot. In On the Counter (1920) Ives satirizes "the same old sentimental sound" of popular songs by writing rolling circular figures for the piano. Isokoski sings the words "I love you" in such a humourous way that you can hear why Ives couldn't stand trite tunes. Not all divas can let their hair down emotionally but Isokoski hums and whistles with such gusto that she evokes the merry crowd in the opera house in Memories A) Very pleasant . This isn't the Met, full of reverence, but an "opera house" closer to the Opry, where people went to have fun and didn't care what anyone else thought.

Aulis Sallinen's Nelja laulua unesta (Four Dream Songs) (1972) are connected to his opera Ratsumies (The Horseman). There are probably more operas written in Finland than anywhere else, and Sallinen is a major composer. Soile Isokoski has made them a speciality, taking them into her repertoire at a very early stage in her career. .Anyone who has heard her sing Sibelius Luonnotar will understand why, for Sallinen's songs are powerful, unleashing supernatural, superhuman forces.

The cycle begins with a chilling piano introduction, suggesting snowfall and driving winds. A Man Made of Sleep appears, but what does he signify? The songs require extreme control of range." Hän ei nuku nukuttamalla", sings Isokoski, leaping suddenly up the scale from low, rumbling incantation. In Finnish each vowel is pronounced clearly, and there are many vowels in each word, often with umlauts. The language itself shapes this music, and Sallinen repeats phrases to maximize the impact. "Nukkuu unta näkemättä, ei sitä uni herätä" (he is sleeping without dreaming, no dreaming will awake him). The pace cannot be rushed, syllables must resonate.

The third song, On kolme unta susäkkäin (Three dreams each within each) is perhaps the most disturbing and unsettling piece in the group. The piano tolls a staccato sequence, while the voice intones mysteriously. A woman is dreaming and within her womb, an unborn child is dreaming, too. The mood is desolate, and Isokoski sings as if she's chanting a rune. "Minun täytyy syntyä ja koul" (I must be born and must die). Yet the line rises sharply upward, Isokoski's voice reaching crescendi before the sudden mood change in the last phrase. From thence, it's as if something powerful has been released. The final song is Ei mikään virta, (There is no stream that journeys so swiftly as life itself). The final song hurtles forward. Words are repeated urgently,turbulently, Isokoski's voice crisp and agile. "Kulkeva, kulkeva" (moving, moving) was enunciated high and clear despite the choppy pace. A tour de force, greatly appreciated.

Anne Ozorio

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product_title=Hugo Wolf, Richard Strauss, Charles Ives, Hector Berlioz, Aulis Sallinen
product_by=Soile Isokoski, Marita Viitasalo

Wigmore Hall, London, 25th January 2013
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Pelléas et Mélisande in Nice

As we already did because it was all a flash back. We had seen Golaud, dead, a bullet hole on the top of his head, seated in a sort of chair carefully and cleanly created out of a piece of a classic Greek column. He was surrounded by a lot of strangely dressed people plus an even stranger one in a clown costume (lacking only the red bulb on the nose). This we soon found out was Yniold.

In a bit less than three hours Mélisande was dead too during a psychedelic light show that took place beyond the Zen garden behind the very gray, very angular Japanese pavilion that served as the unit set. This garden setting was perhaps intended to invite us to conjure in our meditations all those fountains and grottos and bleak seascapes that other times make Debussy’s masterpiece one of opera’s sublime experiences. We were however just then participating in a violent domestic tragedy making meditation difficult.

The day of Mélisande’s death and his own Golaud chose to wear a bright maroon suit with black stripes. Pelléas was of course already dead having chosen to wear red blazer and a yellow shirt with a colorful tie for his late night fateful farewell to Mélisande. Mélisande who had a short, pert haircut had to pretend that a blue and gold scarf, obviously from India, was the hair that Pelléas tried to wallow in.

Costumes were by the production’s stage director, René Koering (père), sets were by Virgil Koering (fils) who evidently has a thing about radio operated model cars because this high tech toy was also featured in Wolf-Ferrari’s Secret of Susanna [the secret was that she smoked dope] that he designed a few years ago for Montpellier. Arkel on the other hand was pushed around the stage in an antique wheelchair.

The Opéra de Nice, a Belle Époque monument, these days boasts fairly large pit, allowing a quite generous number of strings. The accomplished Orchestre Philharmonique de Nice did indeed provide some of the rich sonorities that can make this remarkable score an orchestral tour de force. The conductor was Philippe Auguin, its music director (Mo. Auguin is also the music director of the Washington National Opera).

The maestro surely will have had an agreement with the cast that they would be entirely on their own for the duration of the opera as he did not so much as even glance at the stage, remaining buried in the score when not energetically encouraging the various players and sections of his orchestra (Mo. Auguin was quite visible to me as I had press seats courtesy of the Opéra de Nice in a box directly over the pit and stage). This presumed agreement however had its flaws — the engrossed maestro did not connect with the stage. The huge, shattering moments that make Pelléas and Golaud two of the repertoire’s most complexly emotional roles were rendered orchestrally soulless, their impact filtered through the maestro’s ponderous orchestral processes.

The singers (directly below me) were in fact brilliantly connected to the Maeterlinck tragedy and were well able to negotiate the text rendered into Debussy’s urgent melodic shapes and rhythms. Baritone Franck Ferrari (a Niçois with an Italian surname) gave a powerful performance as Golaud. Ferrari possesses a dark hued voice with reserves of virile power, ideal for Maeterlinck’s tragic hero. He is a consummate singing actor who gamely executed even the strangest moments of the stage direction.

Lyonnais tenor Sébastien Guéze proved himself yet again to be a very accomplished interpreter of the French heroic roles (Faust as well as Pelléas as examples). His French is crystal clear, his voice is able to expand into ever greater fortes of emotional release in Debussy’s most intense moments. The scenes of his sexual discovery of and declaration of love to Mélisande were the most thrilling of the evening.

A last minute replacement for the Arkel listed in the program (no explanation why, leaving room for speculation) was American trained black bass baritone Willard White. Jamaican born White is one of the renowned basses of recent times. Obviously a powerful performer he added an unusual, lascivious magnitude to Arkel that seemed to make him the primary architect of the tragedy. Mr. White’s French had a bit of a twang at first but we got used to it.

French early music diva Sandrine Piau was the Mélisande. Her voice is of sufficient amplitude to convey the indecision of this famous enigma though the mise en scéne deprived her of the ambience and the persona needed to enflame the above gentlemen. Mlle. Piau gamely pretended that Mélisande had a psychotic breakdown before she died. Russian born, French trained soprano Khatouna Gadelia gave Yniold a far more energetic and knowing presence than this emblematic innocent usually possesses.

It is hard to fathom what quirk of old-boyism handed a new production of this masterpiece to veteran opera intendant René Koering when there are so many easily identifiable French stage directors who have the technique, experience and imagination to plumb its depths with intelligence and sensitivity. Mr. Koering is a jack-of-all-operatic-trades. This attribute served him brilliantly as general director of the Opéra National de Montpellier, but it does not give him the experience or artistic stature to mount a production on what should be an important provincial French stage.

Michael Milenski

Cast and Production

Pelléas: Sébastien Guéze; Mélesande: Sandrine Piau; Golaud: Granck Ferrari; Arkel: Willard White; Geneviève: Elodie Méchain; Yniold: Khatouna Gadelia; Doctor: Thomas Dear. Chorus of the Opéra de Nice Côte d'Azur. Orchestre Philharmonique de Nice; Conductor: Philippe Aiguin; Stage Director: René Koering; Costumes: René Koering; Set Design: Virgil Koering; Lighting: Patrick Méetüs. Opéra de Nice. January 17, 2013.

Nash Ensemble, Wigmore Hall - Warlock, Britten

This recital was enriched by all these elements, its constituent works informed by an interest in the nation’s folk traditions as well as Celtic romanticism and custom; by expanding boundaries and new musical and geographical horizons; by elegiac melancholy and also by optimism, freshness and renewal.

The desolate tones of Peter Warlock’s darkly prophetic The Curlew, for tenor, flute, cor anglais and string quartet, dominated the first half of the concert. Setting four poems by W.B. Yeats, Warlock evokes an almost unalleviated mood of despair; much of the vitality of the music derives from the composer’s uncannily apposite setting of the text, and tenor Mark Padmore’s eloquent, unmannered delivery of the rhythmically elaborate text did much to communicate the vividness and immediacy of the work. The opening instrumental mood-painting was moving and atmospheric: the plangent cor anglais (Gareth Hulse) announcing the eponymous bird’s plaintive lament, answered by the gentle repetitive murmuring of the flute’s peewit (Philippa Davies). The players adroitly established the bleak vista before the first, delayed entry of the voice, “O curlew, cry no more in the air”. Throughout the instrumental fabric was clearly articulated, both solos and ensemble presenting thematic wisps with delicacy and dolefulness - a perfect illustrative backdrop for the melancholic texts. The string players wove an intricate web of tremolo and sul ponticello traceries, complementing the woodwind’s mournful diminuendos and echoes.

Padmore shaped the vocal lines intelligently, although perhaps he did not fully reveal the emotional disturbance at the heart of the work, for the text and score demand that we be truly discomforted and perturbed. But there was affecting contrast and drama. With the opening of final stanza of ‘The Withering of the Boughs’, the tenor evoked tentative intimations of hope and new life, warmed by a string rocking motif, which was then immediately and unequivocally destroyed by the voice’s exposed quasi parlando repetition: “The boughs have withered because I have told them my dreams.” The composer instructs the singer to use a “low tone - almost a whisper” and Padmore executed this challenging line with consummate control.

Yeats’ pensive Celtic lyricism and the plaintive cor anglais colouring of Warlock’s songs harked back to the opening work of the evening, Arnold Bax’s Oboe Quintet, the melodies of which mimic, though do not quote, Irish folksong and dance. Composed at the end of 1922, this composition was pioneering in its integration of oboe and strings. In the opening movement, Gareth Hulse’s wistful oboe figures rose with graceful melancholy from the strings’ introductory elegiac chords; and the muted pianissimo ending - the upper strings’ tranquillity disturbed by the cello’s insistent repetitions and the oboe’s final curlicue - was spell-binding.

But, while asked to create an endless range of textures and timbres, the strings do more than simply accompany. In the second movement, violinist Marianne Thorson spun a silky espressivo thread, accompanied by rich string chords, a beautiful contrast to the subsequent improvisatory flourishes from the oboe. Laurence Power conveyed the power and vitality of Bax’s writing for the viola. Moreover, despite the prevailing ambience of lament, lively folk gestures and rhythms provide energy and drive, culminating in an animated, jig-like final movement. The shadow of war darkens the hues of the closing bars, however, and the Nash Ensemble brought the piece to a sober, forlorn, but not sentimental, conclusion.

Britten’s Songs from the Chinese for voice and guitar followed the interval. These ancient texts, with their mild formality and distance, suited Padmore perfectly. In ‘The Old Lute’ - a setting of Arthur Waley’s translation of a poem by Emperor Wu-ti of the Han dynasty, who ruled more than 2000 years ago - Padmore floated the higher pitches and elongated the syllables to create a calm quietness, evoking the sound of the lute, now dusty and faded, but whose sound “is still cold and clear”. In contrast, the rhythm drive of Wu-ti’s ‘The Autumn Wind’, with its short phrases and vigorous consonants, enabled the tenor to re-create the dynamism of the racing wind, and to evoke the unstoppable momentum of passing time. Guitarist Craig Ogden sculpted crystalline accompaniments, establishing a fitting airiness and transparency. Together the performers ensured that the concentrated focus of the songs, and the formal and thematic unity of Britten’s score, was clearly communicated.

The evening ended with a rare opportunity to hear Vaughan Williams’ C Minor string quartet of 1898. Although one senses the young composer searching for an individual musical voice - the influence of Dvorak, Brahms and Tchaikovsky is evident - there is much of merit in these four movements, and the medium is convincingly handled, the string textures accomplished. The inner movements, Andantino and Intermezzo: Allegretto characteristically make use of Elizabethan modality and English folksong to create a meditative ambience, while the Variazione con finale fugato which concludes the work is a rhythmically invigorating presto. The four string players of the Nash Ensemble gave a committed performance of what essentially feels like ‘work in progress’; the ensemble work and attention to detail was exemplary and the players exhibited considerable technical mastery.

Given the thoughtfulness and imagination which has clearly informed the Nash Ensemble’s programming throughout this series, the inclusion of Elgar’s three tuneful yet rather light-weight violin encores - Salut d’Amour, Chanson de Matin and Chanson de Nuit - seemed an odd decision. Thorsen and Ian Brown (piano) performed them with refinement and artistry but the works seemed out of context here.

Claire Seymour

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product_title=Bax Quintet for Oboe and Strings; Elgar Salut d'amour, Op.12, Chanson de nuit, Op.15/1, Chanson de matin, Op.15/2; Warlock The Curlew; Britten Songs from the Chinese, Op.58; Vaughan Williams String Quartet in C minor.
product_by=Nash Ensemble: Ian Brown (piano), Marianne Thorsen and Laura Samuel (violins), Lawrence Power (viola), Paul Watkins (cello), Philippa Davies (flute), Gareth Hulse (oboe & cor anglais) and Richard Hosford (clarinet).


Wigmore Hall, London, 22ndJanuary 2013
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San Diego Opera new season 2013

Although Donizetti was Italian, he composed The Daughter of the Regiment to a French libretto by Jean-Francois Bayard and Jules-Henri Vernoy de Saint-Georges. On February 11, 1840, it was first seen at the Opéra Comique in Paris. Three years later, its American premiere took place in New Orleans, not New York. The opera is a showpiece for the tenor who sings nine high Cs in the aria 'Ah! Mes amis, quel jour de fête'. In San Diego, that tenor will be Stephen Costello who has previously sung brilliant performances of Romeo and Faust there. His
sweetheart, Marie, will be Slovakian coloratura soprano L'ubica Vargicová who was an exquisite Gilda in Rigoletto at San Diego in 2009 and who is well known for her portrayal of the Queen of the Night in The Magic Flute at the Metropolitan and Los Angeles Operas.

Renowned Polish contralto, Ewa Podleś and American soprano Carol Vaness will sing the character roles of the Marquise of Birkenfeld and the Dutchess of Krakenthorp. Here is what Ms. Podleś wrote about the opera: "What is The Daughter of the Regiment about? It’s about love! The Marquise of Berkenfield? In the pure theatrical sense she is not the main role, but on the other hand, it is Marquise who is the spiritus
movens of the entire plot. It is she who finally decides about the fate of two people in love. Their future happiness depends on her. That’s why, even though hers is not the main role, in many ways she is the leading character."

"San Diego is a place with a soul! My return to the San Diego Opera is an opportunity to meet a magnificent, charming staff, sensitive public and personally, Stage Director Emilio Sagi, whom I love to work with because of his internal space and his limitless imagination. And last but not least, a meeting with Carol Vaness. Both of us we made our Met debuts at the same performance of Rinaldo in 1984."

You can see The Daughter of the Regiment on the evenings of Saturday,
January 26th; Tuesday, the 29th; Friday, February 1st, or at the Sunday
matinee on the 3rd.

The second production at San Diego Opera will be Camille Saint Saëns'
Samson and Delilah with bronze-voiced tenor Clifton Forbis as the
Biblical strong man and seductive mezzo-soprano Nadia Krasteva as the
beautiful but treacherous lover who cuts off his all-important hair. With
full chorus, a fascinating ballet, colorful costumes, and monumental
sets, this is a blockbuster production not to be missed. Resident
Conductor and Music Administrator Karen Keltner will lead the orchestra.
Performances are on Saturday, February 16th; Tuesday, the 19th; Friday,
the 22nd; and Sunday, the 24th.

On March 16th, San Diego Opera will present two performances of the
Mariachi opera Cruzar la Cara de la Luna (To Cross the Face of the Moon)
which has music by José "Pepe" Martínez and lyrics by Leonard Foglia
and the composer. The performers are the well-known Mariachi Vargas of
Tecalitlán who can be heard on more than eight hundred recordings. The
bilingual opera follows three generations of a family, their countries,
their cultures and their customs. The central character, Mark Velasquez,
is a Mexican-American. Like the Monarch butterflies which migrate every
year to the birthplace of his father, Mark and the members of his family
must travel both physically and spiritually between Michoacán and Texas
and look deep into their hearts before they learn where they truly
belong.

Celebrate the music, memories, color, and high spirits of Mexico in this
semi-staged production as the rich classical sounds of the traditional
Mariachi and brilliant soloists create a poignant and moving opera.
Directed by Broadway's Leonard Foglia, Cruzar la Cara de la Luna will
have super titles in both English and Spanish.

San Diego Opera's presentation of Ildebrando Pizetti's rarely seen
opera, Murder in the Cathedral, has sparked interest from all over
the country. It tells the true story of Thomas Becket, the Archbishop of
Canterbury, who was brutally murdered in his cathedral in 1170. The role
of the archbishop is a tour-de-force for the great Italian bass Ferruccio
Furlanetto. Susan Neves sings the leading female role of the First Chorus
and Allan Glassman is the Herald. General Manager Ian Campbell stages the
production and the conductor is Donato Renzetti.

Mr. Furlanetto writes: "Murder in the Cathedral is a wonderful
theater' piece commissioned by the Canterbury Cathedral itself and it has
been a very fortunate subject for a movie as well. In 1953 Ildebrando
Pizzetti composed his opera on this subject, being also extremely
faithful, in his libretto, to T.S. Elliot's best-selling book. It is
based on a real event that occurred during the controversy between the
English monarchy and the Roman Catholic Church which led to the murder of Archbishop Thomas Becket after his Christmas sermon in 1070."

"In the Pizzetti work, the character of Thomas Becket is an extremely
demanding role, vocally and physically. It is basically a one-man show in
which the Archbishop, who has returned to England after a voluntary exile
of seven years in France, faces a tremendous decision. He had been a
successful politician and a high-ranking personality in the Kingdom when
he decided to embrace the Catholic faith and become a priest. Now he had
to decide whether to kneel in front of the king or to assert the power of
the Church over the power of the monarchy. Becket knew that the second
choice would have meant a terrible clash with the royal institution but
this choice was the only one left to a man of his integrity. This role is
really fascinating because of the multiple aspects of Becket's
personality and the troubled decision, which would bring him to
martyrdom."

"The dramatic character of Thomas Becket is equally supported by the
characteristics of an intense vocal line applied to a splendid, deeply
intellectual text. The scene and aria that ends the first act is one of
the most rewarding moments of the operatic repertoire and a unique
privilege for the interpreter. I am very grateful to the San Diego Opera
to have made this possible. It is a very courageous choice and I am sure
that it will be rewarded by the San Diego audience which is one of the
most refined in the States, and by the national and international
attention that is being paid to this event."

"For me, after the tremendous joy and satisfaction of once again
assuming this role, it will be another splendid occasion to be in my
favorite spot on the planet, an area where I had so many enjoyable events
and situations and where I can count on a great number of friends who
always let me feel always their warmth and affection."

Ms. Neves writes: "I think the plot of Murder in the Cathedral is
very current. There has always been discord between Church and state and
it is still happening today. There are always religious fanatics that
believe they are fulfilling God's will when they randomly kill people who
do not believe as they do. The opera does not focus on the differences
between the King and Becket, per se, but more on the murder itself. As
one of only two female characters in the opera, I feel the First
Chorister is the voice of the people. They are fearful for their beloved
Archbishop and also, as women, feel the grief and desolation of the
injustice of the murder to come and the religious unrest in their
country."

"The role is different from most of the other operas in my
repertoire. The First Chorister is the spokeswoman of the female
chorus and as we know, the Church is a male dominated entity. I am
looking forward to singing a role where I comment on the action
instead of being a part of it. Musically, it is beautiful to sing. As I
mentioned before, I am thrilled to make my debut in San Diego and I am
looking forward to working with Ian Campbell and Maestro Renzetti."

Performances are Saturday, March 30th; Tuesday, April 2nd; Friday the
5th; and Sunday, April 7th.

For it's season finale, San Diego Opera presents Verdi's magnificent Aida
in a setting by fabulous colorist Zandra Rhodes whose vivid, monumental
designs enhance Verdi’s vision of ancient Egypt and make this an
unforgettable production. These brilliant sets and beautifully detailed
costumes follow the lead of Egyptian museum pieces. This production,
which has been feted in London, San Francisco, and Houston, will be seen
in San Diego for the first time. Rising American star soprano Latonia
Moore will be the Aida, the Ethiopian Princess who loves the Egyptian
general. Italian tenor Walter Fraccaro sings Radames, the general, and
the Met's wonderful mezzo, Jill Groves is Amneris. Andrew Sinclair will
direct and Daniele Callegari will conduct. Performances are April 20th,
23rd, 26th, and 28th.

Maria Nockin

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Sir Harrison Birtwistle The Minotaur ROH 2013

Though it packs an undoubted musico-dramatic punch, The Minotaur is not perhaps the overwhelming experience, the assault upon one’s faculties, offered by The Mask of Orpheus. It arguably stands a ‘late’ or at least ‘later’ work, somewhat simpler - these things are relative, of course - and more direct (ditto). The unbroken thread of the score, a metaphor for Ariadne’s own thread, brings the work closer to conventionally understood operatic tradition. This is a more linear work than many, for though Birtwistle and his librettist, David Harsent, also play once again with ritual and repetition, re-telling is incorporated, expressed, almost Wagner-like, within an essentially linear narrative. The labyrinth, then, has order, clearly discernible, beyond the apparently senseless chaos of human-bestial existence, as symbolised in the person of the ‘half and half,’ Asterios the Minotaur. Whether to start here, with The Mask of Orpheus, with Gawain, with Punch and Judy, or elsewhere is not something about which to become unduly worked up; the choice would be akin to deciding or falling upon a Wagnerian baptism of fire with Tristan or the Shakespeare-like entrée of Die Meistersinger, and so on. It is difficult to imagine, however, that anyone with ears to hear and with the slightest curiosity would not be hooked; my immediate response upon emerging from the theatre was to hope that I should be able to find a ticket for a subsequent performance.

Reworkings of myth proceed in typical Birtwistle fashion, though here of course the credit is at least as much Harsent’s. An especially interesting idea is the presentation of the bull who mounted Pasiphae as Poseideon; the Minotaur is therefore perhaps Theseus’s half-brother. (We still do not know, nor does he, whether Theseus be the son of Poseidon or the son of Aegeus.) It is, moreover, an excellent touch to tantalise us with Theseus’s future abandonment of Ariadne; it is stressed that they will board the ship together, but it is equally noteworthy that no one foresees her reaching Athens. The orchestra, meanwhile, acts very much in neo-Wagnerian style as Chorus, shadowing, intensifying, commenting upon the action. Perhaps there is something of Bach in the well-nigh obbligato quality of the alto saxophone identified with Ariadne - who in this retelling becomes perhaps a more compromised, even ambiguous character. She is not always ‘straight’ with Theseus; she even attempts to trick Fate, both by moving a pebble from one hand to hand. It takes a second try, moreover, before she acts truthfully towards the Snake Priestess. Things could readily have turned out otherwise, then, or maybe not, if one believes in Fate. At any rate, thinking about such matters, experiencing them through the drama, is unavoidable.

Ryan Wigglesworth’s conducting proved almost Classical, again contributing very much to the suspicion that this opera has already attained ‘classic’ status. With an orchestra and chorus on top form, the musical drama, incisive, ominous, gripping, beautifully melancholic, spoke, as the cliché would have it, for itself. There was no need for any extraneous ‘excitement’ to be applied from without; this was a far more fulfilling, musically-involving approach. The battery of percussion spoke, of course, but so did the steely yet malleable tones of orchestral woodwind, and not just the saxophone. Choral baiting of the Minotaur truly chilled our blood, just as others’ blood will be spilled on stage.

Christine Rice offered a heartfelt, conflicted Ariadne, Johan Reuter a stolid - but deliberately so - Theseus, his heroism thoughtfully questioned. John Tomlinson, celebrating an extraordinary thirty-five years on the Covent Garden stage, seems to have made the role of the Minotaur just as much as his own as he did the Green Knight in Gawain. (Salzburg’s new production this summer will almost inevitably feature him.) It is a part well suited to his advancing years. Vocal perfection is not required; it might even be out of place. But dramatic presence and integrity most definitely are; the tragic plight of a creature created and rejected so cruelly by ‘humanity’ was searingly portrayed. Andrew Watts again caused consternation with the mysterious archaic babble of the Snake Priestess, tellingly translated by another old Birtwistle hand, Alan Oke. Elisabeth Meister made an equally fantastic impression as the chilling Ker, feasting on the innocents’ blood; it is a screaming harpy-like role, but a musically screaming one, especially in this assumption. There was, in short, no weak link in the cast, and it is a very strong cast indeed.

Stephen Langridge’s staging tells the story with clarity, aided by Alison Chitty’s straightforward yet imaginative designs. I cannot help but retain a niggling doubt that a more adventurous production might have brought out a good number more dramatic strands than we see here. Something more Mask of Orpheus-like or indeed Soldaten-like might have alerted the audience to dramatic layers that went unseen, if certainly not unheard. By the same token, however, there is nothing wrong with expecting and/or permitting the audience to do some ‘aural thinking’ for itself. Let us hope, in any case, that before long there will be alternatives, which will expand our imaginative understanding of the work.

Programme essays were for the most part particularly informative, pieces by Rhian Samuel and David Beard especially so, though it is slightly odd to read Samuel referring to The Mask of Orpheus as ‘Birtwistle’s early opera’; ‘earlier’ perhaps? Moreover, Ruth Padel’s piece is simply incorrect to claim that ‘Monteverdi’s first opera was Arianna’; It was of course Orfeo. Nevertheless, I learned a great deal from the contributions taken as a whole. How splendid, then, to experience the Royal Opera House very much back on form - and on form in so many ways.

Mark Berry

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product_title=Sir Harrison Birtwistle : The Minotaur
product_by=Ariadne: Christine Rice; Theseus: Johan Reuter; The Minotaur: Sir John Tomlinson; Ker: Elisabeth Meister; Snake Priestess: Andrew Watts; Hiereus: Alan Oke; First Innocent/Young Woman: Susana Gaspar; Second Innocent: Nadine Livingston; Third Innocent: Justina Gringyte; Fouth Innocent: James Laing; Fifth Innocent: William Towers. Director: Stephen Langridge; Designs: Alison Chitty; Lighting: Paul Pyant; Choreography: Philippe Giraudeau; Video: 59 Productions. Royal Opera Chorus (chorus master/second conductor: Renato Balsadonna)/Orchestra of the Royal Opera House/Ryan Wigglesworth.

Royal Opera House, London, 17th January 2013
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Baroque treasures at the Barbican, London

Accompanied by Il Complesso Barocco directed by Dmitry Skinkovsky, Joyce DiDonato will be performing a selection of arias from great queen roles in baroque opera, on February 6. She performs arias for Cleopatra by Handel (from Giulio Cesare) and Hasse (from Antonio e Cleopatra). Hasse married Handel's leading lady, Francesca Cuzzoni, and settled in Naples, but Antonio e Cleopatra dates from early in his career when he was based in Naples. DiDonato will also be singing one of Rossane's arias from Handel's Alessandro, written for the great trio of singers Senesino, Francesca Cuzzoni and Faustina Bordone with Rossane being sung by Bordone.

An earlier generation is represented by Ottavia's final aria from Monteverdi's L'Incoronazione di Poppea.

Other baroque composers in the recital are rather less well known. Giuseppe Orlandini (1676 -1760) worked extensively in Italy, but his opera Arsace was premiered at the Kings Theatre in London in 1721. DiDonato will be singing an aria from his opera Berenice which dates from 1725. Geminiano Giacomelli was Italian born, but worked extensively in Vienna. His opera Merope was premiered in Venice in 1734, and DiDonato sings an aria from this opera. Giovanni Porta was another Italian composer who worked in London, his opera Numitore was premiered at the Kings Theatre in 1720. We will be hearing an aria from Ifigenia in Aulide, which was premiered in Monaco in 1738

The orchestra will also be playing instrumental music including a Vivaldi concerto written for Dresden, and the passacaglia from Handel's Radamisto.

We get the complete Radamisto on Feburary 10 with David Daniels singing the title role in a concert performance with Harry Bicket conducting the English Concert with Patricia Bardon as Zenobia, Luca Pisaroni as Tiridate, Elizabeth Watts as Tigrane, Brenda Rae as Polisenna and Robert Rice as Farasmene

Radamisto dates from 1720 and is one of the most serious of Handel’s serious operas (opera seria) written for the Royal Academy in the earlier part of his career. His aristocratic patrons who ran the academy were interested in seeing noble characters put through difficult situations, morally uplifting. The plot can sometimes seem convoluted, and there is no light relief, but Handel’s response to the characters difficulties is wonderfully subtle and humane. After the first performance in April 1720, Handel radically re-cast the opera so that the title role could be sung by the alto castrato Senesino, recently arrived in London. This gives us the unusual situation where one of Handel’s revisions to his Italian operas is as valid artistically as the original. The English Concert will be performing the revised version.

Prior to their Barbican performance, they are performing the work at the Theatre des Champs Elysees in Paris and at Symphony Hall in Birmingham.

Then on 10 March we move to Paris, as Christoph Rousset and Les Talens Lyriques perform Lully’s Phaeton with Emiliano Gonzalez Toro, Ingrid Perruche, Isabelle Druet, Sophie Bevan, Andrew Foster-Williams, Matthew Brook, Benoît Arnould, Cyril Auvity, Virginie Thomas. Lully wrote the opera to a libretto by his regular collaborator Philippe Quinault and the work premiered at Versailles in 1683. Its plot, dealing with the hubris of Phaeton, son of the Sun god, can be seen as an allegory of the punishment awaiting those mortals who dare to raise themselves as high as the sun (i.e. the Sun King, Louis XIV). The opera is the 10th of Lully’s 14 tragedies lyriques. As with all operas in the form, it mixes aria with choruses and extensive dance episodes which are integrated into the plot.

Robert Hugill

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A Noteworthy Chicago Revival of Don Pasquale

The title role and Doctor Malatesta were sung by Ildebrando D’Arcangelo and Corey Crider respectively, each making his role debut in these performances. Soprano Marlis Petersen performed the role of Norina and her beloved Ernesto was taken by tenor René Barbera. Stephen Lord conducted the Lyric Opera Orchestra with the Chorus prepared by Martin Wright.

During the orchestral prelude to the performance the lines delineating melodies associated with individual characters were nicely shaped. Don Pasquale’s opening monologue, in which he comments on his imminent meeting with Malatesta and plans for his nephew Ernesto, could have been fully appreciated if the orchestra had played its accompaniment less forte. From the start D’Arcangelo’s demeanor and conception of the role of Don Pasquale were not only dramatically but also vocally convincing. Equally suited to his part on both grounds is Corey Crider as Dr. Malatesta. When he describes the bride whom he has found for the aging gentleman, Mr. Crider inflects the word “angelo” with a rich, baritonal resonance while further executing accomplished runs in his aria “Bella siccome un angelo.” Both performers show an inborn sense of comic timing in their delivery of lines and interaction. When left alone Pasquale reveled in the prospects of his “angelic” bride, while Mr. Crider’s Malatesta watched through a curtained window in self-satisfied approval of the forthcoming masquerade. In a subsequent exchange Pasquale’s nephew Ernesto refuses to abandon his beloved Norina although he faces the prospect of disinheritance by the old gentleman. When Ernesto now learns of his uncle’s plan to marry, with the unexpected assistance provided by Dr. Malatesta, his disappointment is unleashed in the aria “Sogno soave e casto.” Barbera demonstrated a sure sense of legato in his approach, whereas individual pitches could be softened in order to express the fervor of Ernesto’s plight.

The following lengthy scene of Act One offered both Ms. Petersen and Mr. Crider the opportunities to delineate their characters through musical decoration. After Norina’s introductory “So anch’io la virtù magica,” which Ms. Petersen embellished with exquisite, light touches, Malatesta introduces his plan to fool Don Pasquale. Malatesta quiets her initial misgivings due to Ernesto’s emotional quandary and wins Norina over to the masquerade. As she agrees to play the part of Malatesta’s sister and supposedly marry Pasquale in a contrived ceremony, Norina declares “Pronta io son” at the start of their duet. Petersen and Crider here joined in a bel canto synthesis with Malatesta’s declarations of “Brava” ringing out in decorative anticipation of the comedy to be staged.

At the start of Act Two Ernesto’s well-known scene beginning “Povero Ernesto” was touchingly sung by Barbera. Since he has not yet been informed of the ruse, the nephew laments his loss of Norina and plans to leave Rome forever. Barbera invested his line with a graceful piano on “sorte,” then sang his cabaletta with a spirit of determination. At the entrance of Malatesta with the bride, now named “Sofronia,” Don Pasquale is eager to impress the naïve maiden. In this production Sofronia concealed herself demurely behind a screen, a hiding place to which Pasquale will later have access when fleeing his bride whom he can no longer control. The trio “Fresca uscita di convento” was used to enhance the comedic exchange and to tempt Don Pasquale yet further. Here Petersen’s runs were especially well executed, in this way using her voice to add to the character’s attractiveness. At the start of the marriage ceremony Ernesto’s arrival nearly spoils the ruse until he is warned off by the clever Malatesta. From this point until the start of the final scene in the opera comedy is paramount for among the principals only the duped Pasquale will continue to take his altered domestic life seriously. The quartet concluding the act showed a transformed Sofronia already making extravagant orders to improve the household, while Mr. Crider’s excellent passagework continued to guide the charade with masterful vocal control.

As Act Three begins the chorus of servants issues its comments on the new lifestyle in Don Pasquale’s domain. Throughout this scene D’Arcangelo showed his talents especially at acting and singing the part of an emotionally wounded signor without resorting in the least to buffo cliché. The confrontation between alleged spouses leads to Sofronia proclaiming her momentary dominance with a slap to Don Pasquale’s face. At this point the screen provided refuge to D’Arcangelo’s Pasquale as he sought escape from the wife whose acquaintance he now regrets. The final chapter in the charade is set in motion by Sofronia: upon leaving the house after the altercation with her husband, she drops a note intentionally from a presumed lover in which an assignation at night in the garden is suggested. Don Pasquale, no longer cowed and now furious, seeks out Malatesta for counsel, as the chorus, here quite effectively prepared, comments further on the house gone topsy-turvy. During the meeting between Pasquale and Malatesta, in which the gentleman is once again prepared unwittingly to be fooled, D’Arcangelo and Crider sang a model example of the challenging duet “Cheti, cheti, immantinente.”

The final scene indeed rights relationships as Petersen and Barbera sang an especially moving duet, “Tornami a dir,” in which their voices combined in a rush of emotional commitment. Don Pasquale appears and is compelled, again at the instigation of Malatesta, to give his blessing and financial support to the young couple. Yet in the finale relief and joy were palpable for all, including the now transformed Don Pasquale, at the close of this delightful production.

Salvatore Calomino

Click here for cast and production information.

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image_description=A scene from Don Pasquale [Photo by Dan Rest courtesy of Lyric Opera of Chicago]

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Photos by Dan Rest courtesy of Lyric Opera of Chicago

L’Italienne à Alger in Marseille

So a new production of this first flower of Rossini’s comic maturity was very welcome news.

In recent years the Rossini Festival at not-too-far-away Pesaro has focused on very early and very late Rossini, from the first silly commedia dell’arte farces that manage a trio or quartet once in awhile to the mature comedies that are dramatically so complex that the comedy genre collapses into grand act finales of septets at the minimum, with internal quintets and sextets that further complicate relationships. L’Italiana manages a modest sextet to close the first act and allows the pappataci quartet to grow to a brief sextet at the opera’s end. The extended, masterful sextet finales of Il barbiere will arrive three years later.

There was the wonderful just now in Marseille. Italian conductor Giuliano Carella was in the pit. This fifty-seven year old maestro, music director of the Opéra de Toulon and frequent guest in Marseille and Monte Carlo, is one of the treasures of opera in the south of France. As well he makes the rounds of the more prestigious European stages for the bel canto repertory, not to mention the Bellini Festival in Catania.

That he is a master Rossinian as well was apparent from the first moments of Rossini’s overture — an unrushed fleetness, a lightness that would lead anywhere, like the witty interplay of the oboe and piccolo that made you feel the pure joy of making music.

Then the singing, the repeated ragings of an Algerian emir named Mustafa (fed up with a clinging concubine) where the maestro’s ample tempos allowed magnificent fioratura to rip forth. And it all came together in the end with the zany quartet in which Mustafa is made a pappataci (it’s a joke, no one, most of all Mustafa, is sure what a pappataci is), the plot complexities became musical complexities, the confusion became total and the maestro brought it all together into a joyful froth that was pure music. The great Rossini.

Frédéric Antoun as Lindoro, Alex Esposito as Mustafa and Marie-Ange Todorovitch as Isabella

And there was the weird. French mezzo-soprano Marie Ange Todorovitch was the Isabella. Mme. Todorovitch is one of the treasures of the Opéra de Marseille, recently in Henri Sauguet’s Chartreuse de Parme as Stendhal’s splendid Dutchess of Sanseverina inappropriately in love with her young nephew Fabrice, as the cowardly Mother Marie in Poulenc’s Dialogue of the Carmelites, and upcoming as Clytemnestra in Elektra. So it was a huge stretch to embody Rossini’s sex-bomb Isabella (role debut apparently) even though Mme. Todorovitch’s roles have included about everything else in her long career.

Mme. Todorovitch possesses a large, roundly mature mezzo-soprano voice with, therefore, minimal flexibility though she did manage a bit of fioratura at mezza voce. Her needed effort to do so deprived Rossini of the joyful unleashing of florid technique that make these passages sheer musical delirium. Unfortunately Mme. Todorovitch’s performance severely dampened the verve that had been established initially by the maestro, by the accomplished Italian Rossini bass Alex Esposito as Mustafa and by the excellent Canadian tenor Frédéric Autoun as Lindoro. Make no mistake, la Todorovitch is an estimable artist. She was flagrantly, inexplicably miscast.

The new production, shared with Avignon, was created by Italian stage director Nicola Berloffa whose major credits seem to be assisting important Italian directors at major theaters. He successfully staged Rossini's Voyage à Reims performed by entry level artists that made the rounds of French stages a few years ago. But here Mr. Berloffa made the usual mistakes perpetrated by directors who do not commune with the comic muse. Mr. Berloffa confounded Rossini fioratura with too bright colors, with busy, cute decor and with catchy staging conceits (chorus and stage hands in drag, among others) that at first glance may be amusing but pall as the evening wears on. Not trusting Rossini to provide the theatrical energy Mr. Berloffa demanded that his actors constantly move and gesture. And as a bonus the action was arbitrarily updated, at least in part, to the flapper era, perhaps so that Mr. Berloffa, who designed the costumes as well, could provide a flashy red flapper dress for Mme. Todorovitch to wear during the finale.

Besides the conducting the evening did have two other quite considerable pleasures — the Mustafa of Alex Esposito was energetically sung in consummate Rossini style. Evidently a committed collaborative artist Mr. Esposito gave his all to realize Mr. Berloffa’s hyped-up stage direction. Tenor Frédéric Antoun as Lindoro, the lost lover Isabella stumbles upon in Algeria, is a cooler performer who struck a less strident tone on the stage. He delivered the brilliant coloratura and hit all the high notes with infectious ease in warm, even tones that prove a Rossini tenor can in fact have a beautiful voice and still be exciting.

Uhm, did I miss the point? Maybe there was a well hidden concept that Isabella was supposed to be a woman in mid-life crisis who conjured for herself a fantasy fling with two fine young singers. Unfortunately she would have had to hold up her end of the deal.

Win some, lose some.

Michael Milenski

Cast

Isabella: Marie-Ange Todorovitch; Elvira: Eduarda Melo; Zulma: Carol García; Mustafa: Alex Esposito; Lindoro: Frédéric Antoun; Taddeo: Marc Barrard; Haly: Patrick Delcour. Orchestra and Chorus of the Opéra de Marseille. Conductor: Giuliano Carella; Stage Director: Nicola Berloffa; Set Design: Rifail Ajdarpasic; Costume Design: Nicola Berloffa; Lighting: Gianluca Antolini. Opéra de Marseille, January 2, 2013.

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Photos by Christian Dresse courtesy of Opéra Municipal de Marseille

Echoes of Venice

Monteverdi’s ‘Sí dolce è’l tormento’ (‘So sweet is the torment’) perfectly expresses the Renaissance paradox of the exquisite pain of love. An ambitious, extensive instrumental ground accompanies a largely unadorned vocal line. Fittingly the fresh, open simplicity of Sampson’s floating high notes were complemented by a slightly more enriched lower register. But, although the sentiment of the text was supremely captured, and nuances of tone employed to convey the peaks of intensity — ‘Per foco e per gelo/ Riposo non ho’ (‘between fire and ice/ I have no rest’) — it was a pity that Sampson so neglected the consonants; for her ornamentation was delicate and judicious, complementing the theorbo’s more dramatic inflections and articulation, and she and Wadsworth built to a deep, affecting warmth for the pining lover’s final expression of hope that his passion will one day be reciprocated.

The first half of the recital was dominated by the music of Barbara Strozzi, a singer and the composer of eight volumes of, chiefly secular, vocal music published in Venice between 1644 and 1664. Sampson and Wadsworth made a convincing case for her to be considered more than a ‘historical novelty’, revealing the grace and spontaneity of Strozzi’s style, the musical motif and form responding naturally and intuitively to the text. In ‘Rissolvetevi, pensieri’ (‘Resolve, thoughts’), the poet-speaker’s troubled restlessness is conveyed by the vocal repetition of melodic and rhythmic phrases, as Strozzi frequently repeats small units of text creating a complex, lengthy aria. Sampson’s vibrato-light soprano nimbly tumbled with lucid fluidity through falling triadic shapes above Wadsworth’s searching, wandering bass line.

Although the title-pages of all but one of Strozzi’s books of madrigals announce their contents as ‘arie’, ‘ariette’ or ‘cantate’, in fact her works employ a diversity of style and form and the extended ‘L’amante segreto’ (‘The secret lover’) — its refrain built on a descending tetrachord — is more ‘operatic’ in impact. A richly inflected recitative-like idiom, as the singer urges herself to have courage and fortitude in the face of fear, contrasted powerfully with the quiet stillness of Sampson’s admission, ‘Ma io voglio morire/ Piuttosto ch’il mio mal venga a scopire’ (‘But I would rather die/ than that my sickness come to be discovered’). Wadsworth was not afraid to signal such changes of mood with surprising sharpness of attack and dynamic variation. The concluding entreaty to Cupid to throw down his mighty arrows revealed the moving rich depth of Sampson’s mezzo, which she also put to excellent use in ‘Che si può fare’ (‘What can be done’). In the latter, the performers obviously enjoyed the increasingly piquant dissonances — as the singer laments what can be done if heaven refuses to relieve her suffering and the planets rain down disasters — before such restless anxiety was ultimately resolved in a sweet tierce de picardie.

‘Che si può fare’ shares its lengthy ground with Giovanni Kapsberger’s ‘Passacaglia’ from the Libro quarto d’intavolatura di chitarrone, and Wadsworth effected a seamless transition between the preceding instrumental number and Strozzi’s song. This was one of several instrumental interludes interspersed between the vocal items, and while such repertoire is somewhat limited in expressive range, the toccatas, chaconnes and dances of Kapsberger and Alessandro Piccinini offered a pleasant contrast. Wadsworth’s decorative traceries were articulated with relaxed ease, as melodic motifs came to the fore and then were subsumed once more within the elaborate accompanying textures, suggesting hidden mysteries. Piccinini’s ‘Corrente terza’ was particularly notable for Wadsworth’s light, rhythmic finger work and the effective use of contrasting registers.

Francesca Caccini, the daughter of the virtuoso singer and composer, Guilio, was probably the most prominent and successful female musician of the period, and her ‘Lasciatemi qui solo’ followed the interval. ‘Leave me here alone’ begins the singer, and this was indeed an intimate, restrained rendering, the stillness only occasionally enlivened by gentle expressive flourishes. A brief moment of energy — ‘Felicissimi amanti/ Tornate al bel diletto’ (‘Happiest lovers,/ return to fair pleasure’) — gestured by a sudden change in the accompaniment texture, immediately gave way to languid minor-key yearning for death, Sampson’s final colourless whisper, ‘Gia sono esangu’e smorto’ (‘I am already bloodless and pale’), seemingly fulfilling the poet’s desire.

Despite the similarly despairing title of Benedetto Ferrari’s ‘Voglio di vita uscir’ (‘I wish to leave life’), a joyful lightness characterises this song and betrays the poet-speaker’s insistent avowals as a deliberate ploy to win his lover’s affection, and it offered a welcome moment of playfulness. Strozzi’s ‘L’Eraclito amoroso’ (‘Amorous Heraclitus’), a dramatic ‘scena’ was notable for the flexibility of Sampson’s recitative and the rich sheen of the more lyrical moments. Here, as throughout, there was an impressive degree of communication before the performers.

Playing straight from the heart, Sampson and Wadsworth presented a thoughtful, enchanting selection of little-known seventeenth-century music, always alert to nuances of phrase and colour, but never mannered or overly ostentatious. The performers’ evident pleasure in this music was undoubted matched by the charmed Wigmore Hall audience.

Claire Seymour

[Monteverdi ‘Sí dolce è’l tormento’; Strozzi ‘Rissolvetevi pensieri’; Piccinini Toccata X, Ciaccona in Partite Variate; Strozzi ‘L’amante segreto’; Kapsberger Passacaglia from Libro quarto d'intavolatura di chitarrone; Strozzi ‘Che si può fare’; Caccini ‘Lasciatemi morire’; Ferrari ‘Voglio di vita uscir’; Piccinini Toccata VI, Partite variate sopra quest’ aria francese detta l’Alemana, Corrente terza; Strozzi ‘L’Eraclito amoroso’.]

Carolyn Sampson, soprano; Matthew Wadsworth, theorbo; Wigmore Hall, London
Thursday 3rd January, 2013

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Hugo Wolf Songbooks, Wigmore Hall, Kirchschlager, Henschel, Drake

The logic behind the song selections revealed itself as the recital progressed, but the evening started with five Mörike songs which Kirchschlager sings so well. Her distinctive, warm timbre adds depth to Wolf's songs, bringing out the sensuality fundamental to their interpretation. When Kirchschlager sings Wolf, there's nothing precious or effete, even when, as in Erstes Liebeslied eines Mädchen, the girl is so young that she cries "Grief ich eine Schlange" while less innocent ears know what she's really snared in her net. Kirchschlager's forte is natural graciousness. She's ideal in Wolf because she's subtle, capturing the delicate charm beneath which Mörike shields dangerous thoughts. In Das verlassene Mägdlein, Wolf writes turbulence into the piano part, expressing the emotional tempest the servant girl feels even though she's attending dutifully to her job. On this occasion, Kirchschlager was singing into words, as if the songs were a vehicle for hochdramatischer grand opera. She's good enough that she was still enjoyable, but it's not her usual style, nor one particularly suited to these songs.

Perhaps this concert was an experiment in turning Wolf's songs into theatre. It's perfectly reasonable to group Wolf's settings of Goethe's Wilhelm Meister poems into a kind of narrative. The saga is so well known that most listeners understand where the songs belong. Kirchschlager, Henschel and Drake presented the three Harfenlieder songs (plus Spottlied) with the three Mignon songs, withPhiline and Kennst du Das Land.

This was a welcome chance to enter into the world of the strange old harper and Mignon. Mignon is very young, but has a horrible backstory of abuse. Kennst du das Land is one of the most beautiful songs ever written, but part of its impact comes from the intense emotions it evokes, emotions almost too extreme to be expressed by a child. Sorrow is central to her personality. "Nun wer die Sensucht kennt, weiss, was ich leide!". The rcihness of Kirchschlager's voice suggests that there are mysteries to Mignon's personality which we may never know. When she sings the downward phrases at the end of Mignon 1 ("und nur ein Gott"), her voices seems to swoon. Julius Drake shows how the phrase is replicated in the piano part, the piano reinforcing what Mignon cannot tell.

In some repertoire, a voice like Dietrich Henschel's is an advantage. Recently he sang Bernd Alois Zimmermann's Ich wandte mich um und sah an alles Unrecht (Ecclesiastical Action) for Vladimir Jurowski at the Royal Festival Hall (read review here) where the harsh, apocalyptic subject requires a singer who can sing forcefully, often in tricky, disjointed phrases. Henschel sang that well, but singing Wolf is a different prospect.. Henschel was acceptable in the Harfenspieler songs, because Goethe deliberately contrasts the ravaged Harper with the angelic Mignon. In the earlier part of the recital, with other Goethe settings, like Prometheus and Grenzen der Menscheit his singing as marred by excessively wide dynamics. Phrases were pulled out of shape, harsh vibrato overcompensating for dry tone. It didn't help that Julius Drake pounded ferociously. He's one of the best pianists for song but here gave his singer no quarter. Henschel's good enough to know when things aren't going well for whatever reason. When Kirchschalger finished singing Philine, Henschel remarked on the final lines "Jeder Tag hat seine Plage, und die Nacht hat ihre Lust". Everyone has bad days sometimes. He then approached Spottlied with gruff good humour, defusing some of the bitter envy in the text, which is a perfectly valid interpretation.

Hugo Wolf been called the "Wagner of the Lied" but this refers to the way he rethought the relationship between poetry and song. Indeed, Wolf's sensitivity to miniature nuances precludes Wagnerian treatment. While it was good to hear the Wilhelm Meister songs together, they aren't music theatre but songs to be sung as lyrically as is reasonable. The encore was Leopold Lenz (1803-62) Nun wer die Sensucht kennt., for two voices and piano.

Anne Ozorio

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Wigmore Hall, London, 6th January 2012
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In the Shadow of the Opéra

This was an extremely ambitious programme. A friend, who has been going to the Wigmore Hall for 40 years, exclaimed "Some of this material we don't know!" There was so much to take in that it will take time to fully sink in.

Johnson divided his recital into four main themes : On Wings of Song (Love in flight), Mélodies and arias, Vers le sud (Exoticism) and Seascapes and Landscapes. The first two sections focussed on form, the last two on subject matter.

First, he focussed on lyrical mélodies like Charles Gounod's Tombez mes ailes! The image is of a butterfly in joyful flight, but to protect her offspring, she must tear off her own wings and die. It's a metaphor for the artist who must struggle and sacrifice in order that art might grow. The gravitas of the final line undercuts the flightiness that's gone before. Christopher Maltman sang the final line "Il faut vieller, et travailler" with great force. Just as Maltman's voice is dark, Lucy Crowe's voice is every light and sweet, good for a 19th century heroine. In this section she sang light-hearted uieces like Massenet's Le sais-tu? and Reynaldo Hahn's Si mes vers avaient des ailes. This made Maltman's songs have stronger impact : Georges Bizet's La Coccinelle (to a poem by Victor Hugo) gave Maltman a chance to show his skills as a character actor. The ladybird has such personality she could become a role in music theatre. Songs like Lucien Hillemacher's Villanelle lay too high for him, but the point was made : there's more to singing than getting the notes right.

Théodore Dubois (1837-1924) was one of the most successful composers of his day, but was despised by the young Gabriel Fauré, one of Pauline Viardot's inner circle. Johnson pertinently laced Dubois's Madrigal with Fauré's Fleur jetée. Dubois' delicate lyricism outclassed by Fauré's pounding rhythms. Ironically, Madrigal is more conventionally a piece for the theatre and Maltman dramatized it well. Dubois's poet, Henry Murger, inspired Puccini's La bohème. Fleur jetée, however, is by far the more distinctive piece in musical terms, which is why it's fairly well known and a favourite of many high sopranos. But it's not really a piece for big houses, and Lucy Crowe's voice was challenged by the loud crescendo in the final line. Johnson followed the song with Fauré's La chanson du pêcheur, which Maltman delivered in an almost conversational style. This you could imagine embedded in a larger work. Debussy's Apparition (Mallarmé), with its watery imagery and sparkling piano textures, suggested Pelléas et Mélisande, though it was written as early as 1884. It's even less sympathetic to voice, set extremely high in the style of the time. Massenet had the last laugh though, with a splendid duet Horace et Lydie (1886) to a poem by Albert de Musset. Mélodie or aria? The song describes Horace and Lydie's past romance, the voices deftly cutting across each other. At the end, they resolve their dilemma and sing in harmony.

One of the key themes in French culture is Orientalisme. It was a means of exploring "unknown territory" in many ways. Orientalism garbed ideas in strange, alien ways, so artists could express unusual thoughts in dramatic context. Strangely, there was no Délibes in this recital but we had Hector Berlioz Zaïde (1845) a florid narravtive song set in Granada and the palace of Aladdin "qui vaut Cordovie et Séville!" More Gounod, too. Maltman sang Maid of Athens (1872) partly in English because the text is Lord Byron, but the chorus is in Greek, reflecting Byron's passion for Greek independence. Two "exotic" languages in one song. Giacomo Meyerbeer's Mina (1837) is a jolly piece, fine for music theatre. Perhaps I'm the only person to have discovered Meyerbeer through his songs (excellent recording by Thomas Hampson) but at least that made me appreciate how interesting his work can be.

Xavier Leroux (1863-1919) was a new discovery for me, because Le Nil (1890) is a gorgeous song, intensely atmospheric. Lucy Crowe sang the mysterious introduction quietly, just above a whisper, so we could imagine we were floating along the Nile at night in a small boat. The poet, Armand Renaud, contrasts the bacarolle with the image of the Great Sphinx and the wide plain beyond the river. Thw lovers and their moment of happiness dwarfed by vast historic forces, A beautiful song I'd like to hear again. Two songs about guitars completed the section - Eduard Lalo's Guitare (1885) and Camille Saint-Saëns Guitarres et mandolines.

Operas on the grand scale can evoke huge panoramas of time and space. But so can song. Bizet's Douce mer (1867 )(Lamartine) and Fauré's Les Bercaux (1879) (Proudhomme), are charming mood pieces, the former embellished with an exotic cry which suggests that the Mediterranean setting might even be North Africa. Debussy's Nuit d'étoiles was perhaps the best known song in the recital, pleasantly done, if the phrasing and intensity wasn't quite up to the standards of, say, Véronique Gens or others who have made it a trademark. Massenet's Joie (1868) (Camille Distel) ended the evening on a cheerful note, but Johnson and his singers wisely chose to repeat Saint-Saëns Viens! (1855) (Victor Hugo) as an encore. It's an enjoyable duet where the voices intertwine rather like traditional rounds. So perhaps folk song got its way into this programme after all.

Anne Ozorio

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Wigmore Hall, London, 4th January 2012
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Mahler: Symphony No. 8

Gergiev’s conception of the first part, the Latin hymn Veni creator spiritus (tracks 1-6) conceived symphonically, is convincing and well-thought. The balances between textures, tempos, and dynamic levels represent the score faithfully in a dynamic reading of this piece. The choruses are notable for their refined sound, and clear diction, as evident from the start. It is a convincing performance that warrants attention among other recordings of the piece issued in the last few years.

As to this performance, the sense of musical narrative emerges readily as the extroverted opening “Veni creator spiritus” section is followed by the contrasting sections, which Gergiev delineates incisively. The architecture of this large-scale work becomes audibly apparent in this performance, with the various and shifting forces required for the “Accende lumen sensibus” section (track 4 on this recording) coming together with exceptional clarity. From that point, the movement drives forward, with the resulting sound evoking the composer’s synaesthesic comment to Willem Mengelberg about worlds and planets in motion. This exciting performance has the momentum that makes it stand out among recent recordings as a powerful and authoritative presentation of Mahler’s Eighth Symphony.

The second part, Mahler’s setting of the concluding section from Goethe’s Faust (tracks 7-18) is equally powerful. In contrast to the broad gestures required for the concluding “Gloria patri” of Veni creator spiritus, Gergiev is effective in presenting the more intimate structure of the opening of the piece, with the Anchorites’ music highly evocative. The orchestral details are nicely shaped, with the textures almost palpable as the music emerges from the almost imperceptible sounds of the first measures to the rich orchestral textures later in the section. This sets up the aria of the Pater Ecstaticus, and the vocal exchanges that follow. Here Gergiev’s deft approach to the orchestral accompaniment is apparent, as it supports the vocal line and also brings forward motifs with a sense of their function in the score. The result has the refinement of a studio recording while also conveying the dynamic qualities of a live performance. The prominent miking of the soloists allows them to be heard clearly in this recording, without overbalancing the result, especially in the richly textured choral sections.

In this regard, Gergiev’s soloists are uniform in their delivery, with well-chosen voices covering all the parts. Among the soloists, Sergey Semishkur is especially appealing in the role of Doctor Marianus, with his ringing sound and good diction bringing out the important part of the text. He handles the higher sections of the solo passage with ease and vibrant tone in this passage and in the penultimate “Blikket auf,” Doctor Marianus’s response to the “Komm” of the Mater Gloriosa. The other soloists are also memorable, as the strong principals complement the chorus in Mahler’s musical setting of this important example of Romantic literature. The dramatic qualities in this performance serve as a reminder of the ways in which Goethe’s Faust was an important part of Mahler’s reading and his intellectual world. This recording preserves Gergiev’s effort for future audiences to appreciate, especially the warmly colored “Chorus Mysticus” with which the work concludes. In the matter passage, Gergiev’s attention to details allows the various sonorities, to be heard distinctly. This is partly due to the well-considered tempos Gergiev used in realizing the performance indications and other markings Mahler used in this score. The full sounds of the conclusion resound vibrantly and triumphantly in this convincing reading of the score.

Based on performances given 8-10 July 2008 in St. Paul’s Cathedral, London, this recording benefits from thoughtful sound engineering that offers both the elegant presentation of details and also spacious sound. In addition, the CD includes a concise booklet with the full text of the Eighth Symphony and English translation, along with a full track list. The booklet also includes photos and biographical sketches of the soloists, It is unfortunate, though, that some media players reflect the tracks correctly, but identify the recording with BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra conducted by Donald Runnicles, rather than the LSO with Gergiev. Despite these small problems, this recording of Mahler’s Eighth Symphony is a strong addition to the recorded legacy, and those interested in the work will find much to offer in it. It is a strong and impressive part of Gergiev’s recent Mahler cycle.

James L. Zychowicz

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Mahler8_LSOLive.gif
image_description=LSO0669 [SACD]

product=yes
product_title=Gustav Mahler: Symphony No. 8
product_by=Viktoria Yastrebov, soprano, Ailish Tynan, soprano, Liudmila Dudinova, soprano, Lilli Passikivi, mezzo-soprano, Zlata Bulycheva, mezzo soprano, Sergey Semishkur, tenor, Alexey Markov, baritone, Evgeny Kikitin bass, Choir of Elthan College, Choral Arts Society of Washington, London Symphony Chorus, London Symphony Orchestra, Valery Gergiev, conductor.
product_id=LSO0669 [SACD]
price=$18.99
product_url=http://www.arkivmusic.com/classical/album.jsp?album_id=215089

A New Hall for Tiroler Festspiele Erl

By Frank Cadenhead [Opera Today, 1 January 2013]

A new festival hall has been inaugurated in the small town of Erl in the Tyrolean mountains. This opening, celebrated by Hans Peter Haselsteiner, the President of the festival, featured an concert on December 26 with bel canto arias, two world premieres and Bartok’s opera Duke Bluebeard’s Castle both staged and conducted by the festival’s intendant, Gustav Kuhn.

A New Festival Hall for Erl

This opening, celebrated by Hans Peter Haselsteiner, the President of the festival, featured an concert on December 26 with bel canto arias, two world premieres and Bartok’s opera Duke Bluebeard’s Castle both staged and conducted by the festival’s intendant, Gustav Kuhn.

Not far from Germany’s Bavarian region, the hall, seating 862, will now be the center of the festival, founded in 1998. Continuing to January 6, productions of Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro and Verdi’s Nabucco will be presented. The festival’s website is http://www.tiroler-festspiele.at/

Frank Cadenhead

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Erl%20Festival%20Hall.jpg
image_description=The Passion Play House (left) and the new Festspielhaus in Erl Austria (Tyrol) (Photo: Peter Kitzbichler / Tyrolean Festival Erl)

product=yes
product_title=A new Festival Hall for Erl
product_by=By Frank Cadenhead
product_id=Above: The Passion Play House (left) and the new Festspielhaus in Erl Austria (Tyrol) [Photo: Peter Kitzbichler / Tyrolean Festival Erl]