May 29, 2014
Dmitri Hvorostovsky in Los Angeles
Hvorostovsky along with pianist Ivari Ilja, had been touring the United States with this and an alternate all Russian program. Though reviewers agreed that their programs were unvaryingly gloomy, the glamorous and sonorous Hvorostovksy received glowing reviews and attracted large audiences - particularly Russian speakers - wherever he appeared. Likely, he is the only classical vocalist who could have succeeded with such a dark, single language program. Hardly anything new can be added to the myriad descriptions of the dark velvety texture of Hvorostovky’s voice, or to the repeated raves about his breath control and legato singing. Yet perhaps he was a bit worried about introducing all that gloom to Southern California. As though his natural good looks, silver hair and easy smile might not be enough to carry Angelinos through two hours of minor keyed laments on lost loves, anger and death, the baritone appeared in an outfit on the Liberace side of stage wear: a form fitting tuxedo with long glitter-paved lapels. A flashing pendant and ring added to his sparkle.
He didn’t need it. His presence and voice were enough. Where a powerful baritone voice, such as Hvorostovsky possesses can be fully released in opera houses in roles such as Iago, in Otello or di Luna in Il Trovatore, song recitals are more intimate affairs. They require more varied gradations of sound and subtler techniques to communicate the meaning of every word, every musical phrase. Few opera singers have this gift. Hvorostovsky is able to move his audience’s emotions with the slightest gradations of sound, the most minimal motion of head, or hand. However, for this performance, most unusually for a recitalist, (and distractingly, for his audience), he kept an enlarged score on a music stand, to which he referred throughout the program.
The composers the Pushkin songs ranged from Glinka, a Pushkin’s contemporary to Sviridov, who was born in 1915 and lived until 1998. I have no idea of the quality of any of the Pushkin poems in Russian. One has to assume they were meaningful enough to inspire composers. However, many of the unattributed translations in the program were surprisingly lackluster and unpoetic and Hvorostovky’s interpretations for whatever reason, echoed this impression. The music of the earliest of these composition, particularly, seemed almost a warm up for the baritone. The more harmonically elaborate later songs by Nicolai Medtner and Sviridov were more compelling both for the singer and his audience. The Medtner songs too, offered the first of many opportunities for Ivari Ilja to display his virtuosity.
Shostakovitch came upon Michelangelo’s sonnets in 1974, shortly after they appeared in a Russian translation by Avram Efros. Many of these poems, written in the Italian artist’s late years, reflected the composer’s own regrets, angers and the despair he was suffering during the last years of his own troubled life. Shostakovich chose eleven sonnets, which he titled “Truth” “Morning”; “Love” “Separation” “Anger,” “Dante,” “To an Exile,” “Creativity,” “Night,” “Death” and “Immortality.” He scored them starkly for piano and bass voice, and once described the suite as consisting of “lyricism, and tragedy, and drama, and two ecstatic panegyrics in honor of Dante.” Although Shostakovich is said to have told composer Aram Katchaturian that he did not intend to orchestrate the work, he did so just before his death in August 1975, and never heard the orchestral version. Dark and depressing, even angry as these songs are, they grip the soul. The Chandler Hall audience was not asked to withhold its applause at any time during the program and rewarded each and every one of Hvorostovky’s Pushkin songs enthusiastically While the lyricism, intensity and devotion to text that Hvorostovsky brought to the Shostakovich-Michelangelo suite could not restrain the baritone’s devoted fans from responding to each song, the applause was pallid, brief and restrained as though they were torn between wanting to express their joys at hearing an adored artist, and awareness of the somber message he was delivering.
Hvorostovsky rewarded his adoring public with three encores, an impassioned Iago’s Credo, the lyrical Valente-TagliagerriPassione, and an a capella rendering of Goodbye Happiness, a Russian folk song. Each displayed a different aspect of Hvorostovsky’s artistry and stirred his audience to wild cheers, but did nothing to elevate the evening’s downbeat philosophical message.
Estelle Gilson
image=http://www.operatoday.com/_MG_6282.png image_description=Dmitri Hvorostovsky [Photo © Pavel Antonov] product=yes product_title=Dmitri Hvorostovsky in Los Angeles product_by=A review by Estelle Gilson product_id=Above: Dmitri Hvorostovsky [Photo © Pavel Antonov]Annapolis Opera’s 26th Annual Vocal Competitions
His military mother encouraged him to develop his talents, and, Coleman, 26, rewarded for his captivating performances of Verdi and Gershwin, sparkled as he sang at the Annapolis Opera’s 26th Annual Vocal Competition Finals May 3 and 4 at Maryland Hall.
And, it was Huanhuan Ma, Peabody Institute student clad in a lamé gown, performing “Morro, ma prima in grazia from the opera “Un ballo I maschera” and “Il es doux, il est bon” from the opera “Herodiade,” with “lyricism and a lovely legato,” said Ronald J. Gretz, Annapolis Opera Artistic Director. Ma, who stole the spotlight when she won the Grace Marion Gelinas Clark Memorial grand prize award of $2,500, “looked like a singer who could sing,” said Dr. William Ray, judge and former opera star. Ma also won the $1,000 Director/Conductor award.
Huanhuan Ma [Photo by Michael Teems]
The Annapolis Opera Competition, supported by the Helena Foundation, held every year and free to the public, is open to singers ages 20 – 35, culled more than 76 singer applicants from the mid-Atlantic who stun and soothe with warm expression and wonderful breath control for the semi-finals. Semi-finalists and judges proficient in the music world would then participate in a pick of eight outstanding voices who sing on that Sunday and then leave with the top prizes.
Ariana Wehr, wearing a purple gown and winner of the $2,000 2nd Prize Marie Crump Award, said that her adjustment in attitude “altered my perspective in auditions and competitions from ‘It’s an honor to be nominated’ to ‘I could actually win this thing.’”
Soprano Marina Costa-Jackson, accompanied by Eileen Cornett on piano, had a warm and beautiful voice, that soared and spun as she sang Leoncavallo’s “Stridono Lassu” from Pagliacci. The judges are looking for a “varied and knowledgeable approach in language, diction, and the ability to switch between the sad and upbeat.”
Judge and mezzo-soprano Patrizia Conte, an internationally acclaimed opera star, said that the “level of performance has been excellent this year.” Conte, who lives in Annapolis, Maryland said it is a “wonderful competition,” that is done every year. “They actually use the winner,” she said of the AO first place singer.
The finalists included a stunning Baritone Brian Major, $1,500 3rd Prize Hughes Award winner, Costa-Jackson, $750 Links of Annapolis Study Award winner, Kevin Wetzel, $600 Severn Town Club Study Award winner and Wei Wu, John Viscardi and Coleman, who all won the $500 Study Awards. The charismatic Viscardi also won the $500 Audience Choice Award.
Wehr, who sang with specific dramatic intentions, complimented the seven other singers. “All of the finalists were incredibly talented and had a unique sound,” she said.
Maureen L. Mitchell
image=http://www.operatoday.com/AnnapolisOperaComp%20.png image_description=Brandon Coleman with mother and friend [Photo by author] product=yes product_title=Annapolis Opera’s 26th Annual Vocal Competitions product_by=By Maureen L. Mitchell product_id=Above: Brandon Coleman with mother and friend [Photo by author]May 27, 2014
Schubert Liederabende, Wigmore Hall
We began with five settings of Ernst Konrad Schulze. A tormented dreamer, Schulze delved into the world of folklore and fairy tales, reportedly remarking of himself, “I lived in a fantasy world and was on the way to becoming a complete obsessive.” The same might be said of his unrequited devotion to the sisters Adelheid and Cäcilie Tyschen which inspired the hundred poems of the Poetisches Tagebuch (Verse Diary), in which the volatile Schulze poured out his passion.
The impact of the early death of Cäcilie can perhaps be felt in ‘Im Frühling’ which depicts the poet-speaker’s love for an unattainable beloved. The hushed opening — Drake’s gentle quavers delivered with the merest touch of hesitant restraint — established a whimsical air, fitting for the nostalgic recollections which followed. Bostridge sang with tender fluency, but there was an ever-present intimation of unrest — moments of earnestness in stanza three when the poet imagines plucking a flower from a branch from which she has picked a bud, urgent off-beats in the minor key stanza, slightly unsettling rhythmic asymmetry in the final verse — which could not be quite assuaged by the beautiful shine that the tenor brought to the concluding wistful reminiscence: ‘Den ganzen Sommer lang.’
‘Über Wildemann’ was more turbulent, driven by obsessive love and the poet’s exuberant response to the mountain vista before him. The contained violence of Drake’s pulsing accompaniment was unnerving, left hand octaves and pounding triplets never overwhelming the voice. Bostridge made much of the contrast between the low register of the opening verse and the poet’s enraptured reflections on the natural beauty of his surroundings. Above Drake’s delicately shimmering starry reflections, the broad phrases of ‘Der liebliche Stern’ were wonderfully mellifluous and the pianissimo close magically floated, translating the poet deep into imaginative realms: ‘Dem lieblichen Sterne mich nah’n!’ (Let me draw near to that lovely star!)
‘I have lost all peace of mind’ (‘Ich bin von aller Ruh geschieden’) mourns the poet in ‘Tiefes Leid (Im Jänner 1817)’, and Bostridge did indeed seem almost overwhelmed by the depth of the speaker’s sorrow. The piano’s withdrawn dynamic at the start of the final verse created a troubled expectancy; the tenor used the text with characteristic rhetorical judiciousness to convey the chasm between the poet’s suffering and the beloved’s silence. Drake brought clarity and spaciousness to the moto perpetuo of ‘Auf der Brücke’, (On the bridge), and stylishly articulated the details embedded in the accompaniment, such as the low trill which hints at the young maidens’ twinkling eyes. Bostridge’s wide-ranging phrases spoke of the poet’s confidence although the climactic rise in the final verse suggested underlying disquiet and doubt.
Schubert’s settings of two of Johann Mayrhofer’s ‘Heliopolis’ poems followed. The low unison between voice and piano at the start of the first song perfectly captured the cold stillness of the ‘rauhen Norden’ (raw north), before a wonderfully consoling blossoming with the move to the major tonality upon the poet’s vision of the flower. Bostridge’s lyricism beautifully conveyed the speaker’s honest simplicity, supported by Drake’s steady crotchets, at times sensitively enriched. After the brief rhythmic fury and heroic energy of ‘Heliopolis II’, ‘Abendbilder’ (Nocturne) painted a broader dramatic canvas, from the gentle, breezy undulations of Drake’s opening triplets, to the elegance of the nocturnal raven’s flight through fragrant airs, to the rhapsodic outpouring of Philomel’s magic song. Drake led us through the night-time land, from tolling bells to starry skies; there was a certain weariness in the inevitable return to the opening melody, underpinned by the diminished harmony of the piano’s rocking triplets. Tenor and pianist mastered the technical and interpretative challenges of the final verse, Bostridge exhibiting impressive control through the extremely long lines and Drake convincingly delivering the declamatory postlude.
This haunting intimation of mortality at eventide was followed by just a single verse of the intimate ‘Ins stille Land’ (To the land of rest) which perfectly expressed the Sehnsucht that Schubert instructs. ‘Totengräbers Heimweh’ (Gravedigger’s longing) brought the first half to a close. Nicolaus Craigher de Jachelutta’s somewhat melodramatic poem describes a gravedigger increasingly seduced by the lure of the burial places he digs for others. But, while there was force and anger in Bostridge’s frustrated cries at the start, there was no undue exaggeration in the performer’s depiction of mental distress and decline. The weaving semiquavers of the second stanza were skilfully controlled, the mood first elegiac then more restless and exposed. Drake’s transition to the slower third stanza was eerie, an apt prelude to the mysterious, mournful unison which follows, the latter disturbed by the piano’s rustling ornaments. As the gravedigger’s energy gradually dissipated, Bostridge increasingly withdrew: indeed, so introspective was his longing for release — ‘O Heimat des Friedens,/ Der Seligen Land!’ (O homeland of peace, land of the blessed!) — that there was a rare rhythmic error which Drake subtly resolved. A remarkably hushed sense of heavenly yearning infused the arcing lines, the piano’s diminished harmonies suggesting an unearthly transmutation. Bostridge’s final cries had an uncanny, sweet lightness; the extreme registral contrasts of the piano postlude evoked the expanse between man and celestial realms.
We returned to the mountaintop after the interval, with ‘Auf der Riesenkoppe’ in which the poet Theodor Körner reflects with pride on the highest peak in the Riesengebirge range. Bostridge and Drake were suitably operatic in approach to the song’s dramatic contrasts of mood and manner, the concluding verse possessing an especially translucent beauty reflecting the ‘sacred longing’ with which the homeward-bearing poet is seized. Two Rückert settings, ‘Sei mir gegrüsst’ (I greet you!), and ‘Daß sie hier gewesen’ (That she was here), were among the highpoints of the evening. The soporific sway of Drake’s introduction to the first song built persuasively and progressively to the vehement yearning of the conclusion: ‘Ich halter dich dieses Arms Umschlusse’ (I hold you closely in my arms). The almost imperceptible pianissimo of the second song conveyed the pain of absence and elusiveness, while Bostridge’s eloquent declamation brought expressive structure to Schubert’s fragmented lines culminating in a soothingly warm cantabile at the reassuring ending.
The well-known ‘Die Forelle’ (The trout) had a delightfully swaggering lilt, while the strophic ‘Des Fischers Liebesglück’ (The fisherman’s luck in love) communicated the emotional complexity and range of Leitner’s verse, the successive verses moving from glimpses of hope to blissful fulfilment. Drake’s attention to detail did much to convey the narrative, while Bostridge demonstrated excellent control of breath and security at the top. ‘Fischerweise’ (Fisherman’s song) was a rare moment of unambiguous ease, the hearty energy of the counterpoint and busy accompaniment conveying the cheerful ebullience of the working fishermen.
‘Atys’, the first of three more Mayrhofer settings, returned us to more sombre territory. Inspired by Catullus, the poem depicts the tragedy of the eponymous shepherd who, abducted by the goddess Cybele longs to return to his homeland and, in despair, throws himself to his death from the top of Dindymus, the mountain of the goddess. Bostridge and Drake struck a plaintive note in this reticent song, the accompaniment dreamily rocking, the vocal line softly swooning. The recitative-like central section injected agitated drama; here Bostridge demonstrated his impressive vocal range, while the ensuing chromatic wanderings showed a sure intonation. Drake’s long postlude was a superb delineation of the composer’s intense emotional engagement with this strange myth. ‘Nachtviolen’ (Dame’s violets) possessed a more simple elegance; ‘Geheimnis’ (A secret) effortlessly passed through the evolving melodies, Drake’s ornamentations evoking a Mozartian grace.
The pictorial and prophetic vastness of Schubert’s setting of Friedrich von Schlegel’s ‘Im Walde’ brought the recital to an imposing end. Full of tension and surprise, the song was richly suggestive of the diversity of the forest’s mysteries, but always propelling forwards, swept onwards by Drake’s unceasing semiquaver flow. Bostridge revealed the operatic vivacity of Schubert’s writing for the voice, ever responsive to the nuances of the arioso qualities of the melody and the sensitive text-setting. The boldness of this song was thrilling. Often in this recital Bostridge’s voice took on a baritonal quality as the lieder roved through the lower realms of the tenor’s range; here the plummeting lines — ‘Tief in dunkler Waldesnacht’ (deep in the dark night of the forest) — matched the woodland’s shadowy depths. This most astonishing of Schubert's longer songs was a fitting conclusion to a programme of audaciousness and commitment.
Claire Seymour
Performers and programme:
Ian Bostridge, tenor; Julius Drake, piano. Wigmore Hall, London, Thursday 22nd May 2014.
Schubert: ‘Im Frühling’, ‘Über Wildemann’, ‘Der liebliche Stern’, ‘Tiefes Leid (Im Jänne 1817)’, ‘Auf der Brücke’, ‘Heliopolis I & II’, ‘Abendbilder’, ‘Lied (Ins stille Land)’, ‘Totengräbers Heimweh’, ‘Auf der Riesenkoppe’, ‘Sei mir gegrüsst’, ‘Daß sie hier gewesen’, ‘Die Forelle’, ‘Des Fischers Liebesglück’, ‘Fischerweise’, ‘Atys’, ‘Nachtviolen’, ‘Geheimnis’, ‘Im Walde’.
image=http://www.operatoday.com/Ernst_Schulze.gif image_description=Ernst Konrad Friedrich Schulze (1789-1817) by Ernst Riepenhausen [Source: Wikipedia] product=yes product_title=Schubert Liederabende, Wigmore Hall product_by=A review by Claire Seymour product_id=Above: Ernst Konrad Friedrich Schulze (1789-1817) by Ernst Riepenhausen [Source: Wikipedia]May 22, 2014
You say you want a revolution (Figaro times two)
Micaela [Likely Impossibilities, 22 May 2014]
Like the ending of Don Giovanni, the finale of Le nozze di Figaro restores order and hierarchy. But, with the benefit of hindsight, we know that this peace between master and servants is a tenuous one, and only a few years later the underclass would not be so placated. Today, its title characters’ suggestions of insurrection may be less incendiary than they were at the opera’s premiere but they are instead indexical—well, sometimes, at least.
LA Opera: The Monk vs. The Courtesan
Composer Jules Massenet and librettist Louis Gallet constructed the opera Thaïs from the 1890 novel of the same name by Anatole France. France based his book on the life of St. Thaïs of Egypt, a fourth century convert to Christianity. Massenet’s comédie lyrique was first presented at the Opéra Garnier in Paris on March 16, 1894, starring the California-born soprano for whom he wrote the title role, Sibyl Sanderson. Sanderson, known for her physical beauty as well as for her vocal interpretations, appeared at a rehearsal wearing a scanty costume made of net. Members of the orchestra were enchanted, but the company insisted she revert to wearing more a conservative outfit that would not attract the police.
Nine years later, on October 17, 1903, Lina Cavalieri sang the Italian premiere of Thaïs at the Teatro Lirico Internazionale in Milan. In 1907, Mary Garden made her American debut at the first United States performance of the opera. Later interpreters of the role of Thaïs include: Anna Moffo, Beverly Sills, Leontyne Price, Renée Fleming, and Elizabeth Futral.
Thaïs is Massenet’s third most often performed work. It follows his Manon and Werther and has never been a constant in the operatic repertoire. One of the reasons for this may be that the hero is a baritone instead of a tenor. Also, the most famous piece from this opera is not an aria. It is the Méditation, a short work for violin and orchestra. On the other hand, the role of Thaïs has been a showpiece for sopranos like Cavalieri, Garden, and Moffo whose looks were as attractive as their singing.
On May 17, 2014, Los Angeles Opera presented a production of Thaïs by Nicola Raab that was originally seen in Scandinavia. The costumes and settings by Johan Engels were colorful and evocative of luxury for the first two acts, but they did not set a definite time nor did they define the Cenobite monks with the expected garb. Only Placido Domingo as Athanaël wore an outfit that resembled a monk’s habit. Act I showed the luxury of Alexandria in bold shades of red and gold. The small box set for Act II was exquisite, while Act III showed the desolation of a bleached-out desert. All of these scenes were bathed in Linus Fellbom’s mood-influenced lighting.
Nino Machaidze as Thais with Paul Groves as Nicias
Soprano Nino Machaidze was a lovely Thaïs who sang with a bit of vibrato in the first act. After that she came into her own, however, and created a memorable characterization of the fourth century saint who turned from a life of sinful pleasure to the asceticism of the convent. In the first and second acts, the role of Athanaël lies quite low so we did not hear any of Domingo’s golden toned top notes until late in the show. However, his acting was at its best when he angrily destroyed the courtesan’s favorite erotic statue. Most importantly, he created a realistic monk who was ostensibly tempted to disregard his vows. The audience knew that had Thaïs lived longer, he would have thrown his immortal soul into the wind.
Paul Groves was a hedonistic Nicias who looked every inch the noble and sang with bronzed resonance. As the Abbess, Milena Kitic sang with dulcet tones as she welcomed Thaïs into the company of sisters. Domingo-Colburn-SteinYoung Artist Program Member Valentin Anikin sang Palemon with deep toned lyricism while fellow members Hae Ji Chang as Crobyle and Cassandra Zoé Velasco as Myrtale enchanted the audience with their visual and vocal talents. As with many French operas, the chorus plays a part. Grant Gershon’s group sang with luscious harmonies. Concertmaster Roberto Cani played the Méditation with jewel-like tones. Conductor Patrick Fournillier brought all the wide branching strands of this performance together with a firm hand but he allowed the singers enough room to sculpt their characters with the music.
Maria Nockin
Cast and production information:
Thaïs, Nino Machaidze; Athanaël, Placido Domingo; Nicias, Paul Groves; Palemon, Valentin Anikin; Crobyle, Hae Ji Chang; Myrtale, Cassandra Zoé Velasco; Abbess Albine, Milena Kitic; Cenobite Monks: Omar Crook; Reid Bruton; Todd Strange; Gregory Geiger; John Kimberling; Servant, Kihun Moon; Conductor, Patrick Fournillier; Director, Nicola Raab; Design, Johan Engels; Lighting, Linus Fellbom; Concertmaster Roberto Cani; Chorus Master, Grant Gershon.
image=http://www.operatoday.com/TH-PD-N-NINO-ACT-3-4302p.gif
image_description=Placido Domingo as Athanael and Nino Machaidze as Thais [Photo by Robert Millard]
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product_id=Above: Placido Domingo as Athanael and Nino Machaidze as Thais
Photos by Robert Millard
LA Opera Presents Powerful Streetcar Named Desire
From 1920-1948 New Orleans Streetcars ran on a route called the Desire Line. In Tennessee Williams’s play, Blanche says, "They told me to take a streetcar named Desire, transfer to one called Cemeteries and ride six blocks and get off at Elysian Fields!" The ride brings her to the Kowalski home where the action in both the play and the opera take place.
In 1947, the premiere production of Tennessee Williams’s play A Streetcar Named Desire opened on Broadway to begin a two-year run. Directed by Elia Kazan, it starred Marlon Brando, Jessica Tandy, Kim Hunter, and Karl Malden. At the close of the first performance, the audience applauded for almost thirty minutes. The next year it won the Pulitzer Prize for Drama.
In 1949, Laurence Olivier directed the London production of Streetcar starring Vivien Leigh. The 1951 film adaptation of the play directed by Kazan featured Brando, Malden, and Hunter reprising their stage roles. Vivien Leigh replaced Jessica Tandy as Blanche. The movie won three Academy Awards for acting: Leigh for best actress, Malden for best supporting actor and Hunter for best supporting actress. Brando was nominated for best actor but lost.
Composer André Previn and librettist Philip Littell wrote the opera A Streetcar Named Desire in 1995, but it was not staged until 1998. Then, San Francisco Opera mounted it in a production by Colin Graham starring Renée Fleming as Blanche, Rod Gilfry as Stanley, Elizabeth Futral as Stella, and Anthony Dean Griffey as Mitch. On May 18, 2014, L A’s purple clad jacaranda trees bloomed as forcefully as magnolias bloom in the Deep South. The warm weather and colorful display put the California audience in the right mood for librettist Philip Littell and composer André Previn’s musical version of the Williams play. Brad Dalton directed L A Opera’s production, which featured effective costuming by Johann Stegmeir and atmospheric lighting by Duane Schuler.
Renée Fleming and Anthony Dean Griffey repeated their roles of Blanche and Mitch; Ryan McKinny was Stanley; Stacey Tappan, Stella; Victoria Livengood, Eunice; Joshua Guererro, Steve; and Cullen Gandy, the Young Collector. Making his debut at L A Opera, Evan Rogister conducted with a broad style that easily encompassed Previn’s allusions to various forms of music not often heard in opera. Previn gives us jazz, blues and even a touch of Richard Strauss.
Ryan McKinny as Stanley Kowalski yells “Stel-lah”.
Instead of placing the orchestra in the pit between the audience and the action, Stage Director Dalton put the Kowalski’s tenement apartment up front with the orchestra behind the singers. Although the locals are in work clothes, Blanche wears a party dress and a flower in her hair when she is not monopolizing the bath. Fleming sang her role with a sultry air. Her smooth, creamy tones revealed her character’s ultra-refined dream world as she told of having once been married to a gay man.
The moment when Blanche met Stanley was electric. From that first second, the audience knew he hated everything she valued. Ryan McKinny was an evil but believable Stanley who exuded strength and macho sexuality. Although he had no aria, he made a firm impact with his excellent diction. Stacey Tappan’s Stella was so totally attached to Stanley that his violent nature did not discourage her. She was a slave to his sexual instincts and sang her most affecting refrain about his lovemaking. The Los Angeles Opera audience had seen Tappan in smaller parts, but this was her first leading role. Expect to see her as many more important characters.
Anthony Dean Griffey reprised his role as Mitch, the “mama’s boy” who does not know how to talk to a young lady. His character’s gaucheries provided a bit of necessary levity for this dramatic piece and his resonant tenor sound rang out with burnished colors. As Eunice, Victoria Livengood was the last person to turn against Blanche. At the end, however, it was Eunice who gave the unwelcome guest to the doctor because she thought there was nothing else to do. At the final moment, Blanche stands next to the ghost of the dead husband who has haunted her all through the opera. This was a spellbinding performance of an important modern work that should appear on many more stages.
Maria Nockin
Cast and production information:
Blanche Dubois, Renée Fleming; Stanley Kowalski, Ryan McKinny; Stella Kowalski, Stacey Tappan; Harold "Mitch" Mitchell, Anthony Dean Griffey; Eunice Hubbell, Victoria Livengood; Steve Hubbell, Joshua Guerrero; A Young Collector, Cullen Gandy; A Doctor, Robert Shampain; A Nurse, Cynthia Marty.
image=http://www.operatoday.com/SCD-FL-N-MCK-2137p.gif
image_description=Stanley (Ryan McKinny) tears the dress off Blanche (Renée Fleming) [Photo by Robert Millard]
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product_id=Above: Stanley (Ryan McKinny) tears the dress off Blanche (Renée Fleming)Photos by Robert Millard
English Concert, Wigmore Hall
Led by their current Artistic Director, Harry Bicket, The English Concert invited one of their regular guest soloists, soprano Lucy Crowe, to explore cantatas and arias composed by Georg Frederic Handel during his Italian sojourn of 1707-09, framing the vocal numbers with Antonio Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. For Handel, this was a period of astonishing creative energy and musical invention, and the selected works demonstrated the melodic grace, rhetorical power and innate dramatic judgement that characterises the operas and oratorios composed in the subsequent years.
‘Dietro l’orme fuggaci’ dates from late May 1707, when Handel was resident at the Ruspoli family’s summer villa in Vignanello. Adapted from Tasso’s Gerusalemme Liberata, it tells of the sorceress Armida’s fury, forgiveness and suffering after her lover Rinaldo has deserted her. Swift movement through a sequence of recitative (with extended use of accompagnato) and florid arias creates a tense dramatic energy.
Lucy Crowe seemed uncharacteristically out-of-sorts, however, with the tempos and transitions between movements unsettled and hasty. The opening recitative, in which a narrator establishes the situation and introduces the bitter, grieving Armida, lies quite low, and the thin accompanying texture didn’t offer Crowe much support. As she vented the sorceress’s wrath in the succeeding aria, ‘Ah! crudele, e pur ten’ vai’, Crowe seemed to skate over the elaborate runs and flights rather than sing through them; and the pitch was not always fully centred, particularly in the passages where chromatic nuances and twists depict Armida’s anguished love. Despite some melodic inaccuracies, idiomatic ornaments and some imaginative re-interpretations embellished the da capo repeat.
The secco recitative in which Armida laments her unwavering devotion was more controlled, and the headlong rush into the orchestral outburst which commences the accompagnato, ‘O voi, dell’incostante’, full of excitement. But, once again, the haste with which Crowe sped through the final words, ‘Ah! no, fermate’ , as Armida retracts her request to the gods to send sea monsters to consume her betrayer, risked turning melodrama into farce. The large leaps of the ensuing aria, ‘Venti fermata’, demonstrated Crowe’s vocal agility and she negotiated the disjunct line fluently, the flowing triplets mimicking the rolling waves which threaten to submerge Rinaldo. At phrase endings, the soprano chose at times to rise an octave higher than notated, her bright clear tone highlighting Armida’s tenderness and emotional ambivalence.
The orchestral lilt was quite subdued in the closing Siciliana, above which Crowe glistened, applying judicious decorations and dissonant appoggiaturas to the cantabile line. The higher register felt more comfortable, and as the movement gradually quietened, closing with just ripieno strings, Crowe demonstrated her ability to sing softly and purely at the top. Her final call to the God of Love to free her from her devotion to the traitorous Rinaldo was moving, but overall Crowe did not quite master the psychological ambiguity of this cantata.
After the interval, ‘Alpestre montre’ saw the soprano back on form. Written in Venice during the winter of 1708-09, the cantata presents a desperate man, alone in a mountain forest, searching for the beloved to whom he yearns to confess his love, consoling himself that death may at least end his torment.
The dry staccato quavers of the two obbligato violins at the opening of the first aria, ‘Io so ben ch’il vostro orrore’, evoked the unending onward tread of the wanderer. Reflecting on the shadowy gloom of the forest, which mirrors his inner desolation, Crowe produced sostenuto singing of great eloquence, sustaining an unfailingly legato line and using melisma expressively. Bicket made much of the nuanced accompanying textures, with their motivic echoes and shifting colours. In the following short recitative, Crowe’s sensitive declamation emphasised the composer’s impressive heightening of the text.
I found the tempo of the second aria, ‘Almen dopo il fato mio’, in which the young man longs for death, much too fast, although the string timbre was mellifluous. Crowe exhibited superb breath control, singing richly through the expansive lines and spanning the large leaps cleanly.
Things went from good to better in the final vocal contribution: three arias from Handel’s second Italian opera, Agrippina (1710). In Poppea’s ‘Vaghe perle’ Crowe acted with body and voice, flirtatiously batting her eyelids and casually spilling stratospheric ornamentations and trills, as the sensuous Poppea admires herself in a looking-glass. Agrippina’s scheming confidence presented a dramatic contrast in the following ‘Ogni vento’; the accompanying triplet rhythms were assured, the string tone full, and together with the exuberant vocal line conveyed Agrippina’s faith that her murderous plan will run smoothly.
‘Se giunge un dispetto’, in which Poppea warns that she is a woman not to be scorned, saw both singer and ensemble take furious flight, in some incredibly long and florid melismas and supporting passagework. Crowe’s technique was flawless: superbly controlled coloratura, imaginative adornments in the da capo, and a bright resonance at the top.
The concertos which form Vivaldi’s Four Seasons framed the vocal items, and were similarly uneven. While Simon Standage and the players of The English Concert produced stylish playing that was tasteful and never mannered, there was little to excite in ‘La Primavera’ or ‘L’Estate’, and the Largo of the former was marred by over-enthusiastic viola interjections, the repeated down-bow punctuations overly aggressive and intrusive. Perhaps the recordings of Kennedy or Fabio Biondi and the Europa Galante have familiarized the ear to greater rhetoric and dynamism, but Standage, though technical impeccable, seemed to lack presence. Eloquent cello contributions and the bright timbre of Alex McCartney’s baroque guitar enlivened the outer movements of ‘L’Estate’.
‘L’Autunno’ was, by contrast, a revelation, full of rhythmic bite and vitality, with incisive passagework and impressive double-stopping from Standage. Dark sound worlds were conjured in the Adagio molto — as the harvesters all lulled to sleep by the breeze. Overall, the ensemble was much more convincingly synchronized than in the first two concerti. Similarly engaging, and unnerving, was the dry coldness of the opening staccato quavers of ‘L’Inverno’. Both Standage and the accompanying instrumentalists displayed remarkable agility and clarity in the plummeting scalic runs with which the concerto concludes.
So, it was an oddly uneven concert; but Poppea’s feisty audacity was worth waiting for.
Claire Seymour
Performers and programme:
The English Concert: Harry Bicket, director, harpsichord; Simon Standage, violin; Lucy Crowe, soprano. Wigmore Hall, London, Wednesday 21st May 2014.
Handel — Cantata: ‘Dietro l’orme fuggaci’ (‘Armida abbandonata’) HWV105; Cantata: ‘Alpestre monte’ HWV81; Arias from Agrippina HWV6; Vivaldi — The Four Seasons
image=http://www.operatoday.com/Lucy_Crowe_2581.gif image_description=Lucy Crowe [Photo © Marco Borggreve] product=yes product_title=English Concert, Wigmore Hall product_by=A review Claire Seymour product_id=Above: Lucy Crowe [Photo © Marco Borggreve]May 19, 2014
The Met’s ‘La Cenerentola’ a winning ensemble of music and comedy
In opera, as in sports, winning efforts are generated not so much by superstars as by good old fashioned teamwork. Such is the case with Rossini’s bel canto lyric masterpiece, La Cenerentola — an ensemble opera whose success depends more on the precise timing and execution of its rapid patter numbers than its flashy solo arias.
Credit superstars Joyce DiDonato and Juan Diego Floréz for filling the hall at Lincoln Center Saturday, not to mention thousands of theaters across the globe picking up the live feed from New York in this, the final HD simulcast of the season. But it was ultimately the chemistry among the seven principal singers that made the difference in this reprise of the company’s 1997 production. From start to finish, this Cenerentola was pure fun and entertainment.
The story, as adapted by librettist Jacopo Ferretti from the Charles Perrault tale, parallels the Cinderella legend but with several twists. Gone are the supernatural elements, the iconic glass slipper (it’s a bracelet here) and pumpkin-turned carriage. The fairy godmother is now philosopher Alidoro (Luca Pisaroni), advisor to the handsome Prince Charming (Don Ramiro, played by Juan Diego Floréz). The mean old stepmother is now the just-as-ornery stepfather, Don Magnifico (Alessandro Corbelli). Add to this confection the light and fluffy melodic invention of Rossini and you have an amiable listening experience likely to keep you smiling for some three and a half hours.
Like Mozart’s Cosi fan tutte, which the Met had simulcast just a few weeks ago, Rossini’s La Cenerentola stands out for its engaging vocal ensembles. Rossini plants a garden in which duets quickly sprout into trios — and before long, quartets, quintets and sextets. And for all its for coloratura-saturated solo arias both for mezzo-soprano and tenor, Cenerentola shines most brightly on these ensemble numbers.
DiDonato and company forged a delightful mix of characters whose timing and execution were remarkably precise. Among the highlights in this production were the brilliant first-act quintet Nel volto estatico, the exciting ensemble finale to Act 1 and the metronomic second act sextet,Questo è un nodo avviluppato. My personal favorite is the tongue-twisting Act 1 patter duet between Dandini and Ramiro, Zitto, zitto; piano, piano (which soon blossoms into an equally delightful quartet once the two sisters take stage). This effervescent number bubbles over with joy, and the speed and precision in both pitch and diction between Floréz and Spagnoli was, for me, the highlight of the production.
Cesare Lieve’s production team scored some hits — and misses. Among the things that went well were the never-ending comedic visuals, which somehow never grew stale. I especially enjoyed the ensemble finale to Act 1, as all seven principal characters prepare to seat themselves at a long dinner set carrying only six places and chairs — culminating in a continuous game of musical chairs. I also appreciated the staging of the slow, staccato-like sextetQuesto è un nodo avviluppato in Act 2 — where the prince uses a ribbon to tether the other five characters together in a “a tangled web” (“nodo avviluppato”), in-sync with the pulse of the music.
Perhaps the cleverest touch is when the two sisters, standing at opposite sides of the stage, serve a volley of angry commands at Cinderella — demanding that she retrieve their clothes and jewelry, while the chorus turns its head side-to-side like spectators at a tennis match.
Still, Lieve’s curious and annoying touches of surrealism in this production seemed rather out of place for a lighthearted comedy such as this. The expressionless faces pasted on the all-male chorus, each man standing stiffly at attention in a formal tie, dark suit and bowler hat — looked like clones of the creepy “Oddjob” character from the James Bond thriller, Goldfinger.
Juan Diego Floréz, who missed the beginning of the production run due to illness, was in top form Saturday. Hisleggiero tenor, light and crystal clear in even at the softest, most whisper-like moments, is perfectly suited to bel canto. Floréz’s flexible high register reaches the heavens with great ease of delivery, and his sustained his high C at the end of his virtuosic signature Act 2 aria Si, ritrovarla io guiro went on seemingly forever. (A clearly delighted audience would not permit the show to go on until Diego, breaking character, returned for a lengthy solo bow.)
Joyce DiDonato seemed to focus her efforts beyond the vocal acrobatics (which she had long ago mastered) and on to her character’s subdued sense of tenderness and joy. This was at once apparent when she first sets eyes on Prince Ramiro (dressed as a lowly servant) in the duet Un soave non so che. Here, DiDonato uses Rossini’s coloratura in this “love at first sight” moment not to flaunt her talents, but to evoke a sense of stunned bewilderment — a sexual awakening, perhaps, from her repressed life as the family outcast. DiDonato’s final aria of forgiveness (Non più mesta), sung standing in front of the magnificent wedding cake as she prepares to throw the bouquet over her shoulder, was as meaningful as it was handsome.
It’s difficult to avoid making comparisons in this role to another great artist, Elīna Garanča — who sang Angelina in the Met’s earlier HD simulcast of Cenerentola, in 2009. I love both mezzo sopranos pretty much equally, but there are noticeable differences between the voices. Garanča’s mezzo is darker and more pronounced than DiDonato, with rich alto colors. DiDonato, whose voice is brighter and leans more towards a lyric soprano than it does a mezzo, remains unsurpassed in the sheer flexibility of her coloraturas — which she delivers not with overt virtuosity but with a delicate sense of ease and comfort.
As the befuddled grouch, Don Magnifico, Italian baritone Alessandro Corbelli is a fine comedic actor who by his second act aria Sia qualunque delle figlie had thoroughly endeared himself to the listener. To this I’ll add that Corbelli’s rapid sixteenth-note patter in his arias Miei Rampolli Femminini and Sia qualunque delle figlie was truly “magnifico.” Still, I wished there had been more depth and resonance to his voice that might have allowed him to capture the necessary degree of affected pomposity. After all, this role calls for a basso buffo — and if you don’t think it matters I urge you to listen to a true bass, such as Paolo Montarsolo. Corbelli’s voice is simply too lean to carve a credible Magnifico.
Sporting a well-trimmed moustache and carrying an air of aristocracy that evokes the image of John Barrymore in the epic 1932 film Grand Hotel, Pietro Spagnoli crafts a convincing character of Dandini, valet to Prince Ramiro. Dandini, asked by the prince to exchange identities temporarily, relishes his royal look in tails and magnificent blue sash and plays up the masquerade to the extreme. When he first enters the Magnifico mansion, Spagnoli ceremoniously drops his cloak, scarf and gloves — standing patiently until the real prince, now disguised as the valet, reluctantly peels them off the floor.
Spagnoli turned up the volume on these affected mannerisms in the comic aria Come un’ape, as Dandini — presumably combing the town in search of a suitable mate — likens himself to a bee looking to pollinate the perfect flower. Spagnoli handled the coloraturas in this cavatina with great flexibility, and navigated the quickly moving 16th-notes in the concluding cabaletta with consummate ease.
Luca Pisaroni as Alidoro doesn’t get as much time onstage as the others, and that’s a shame. Pisaroni’s handsome baritone, nicely colored in its pedal tones (as was evident in his signature aria Là del ciel nell’arcano), reminded me of Samuel Ramey in his prime.
Maurizio Balò’s box set, which is well suited to the comedic elements of this production, projects the bruised image of Don Magnifico’s once-proud mansion that, like the family fortune, has fallen into a serious state of disrepair. The main prop on the set is a three-legged couch that shifts forward whenever anybody sits on it — a continuous source of belly laughs throughout the show. Mostly, though, the set acts as a backdrop for the continuous sight-gags on the part of cantankerous sisters Clorinda (Rachelle Durkin) and Tisbe (Patricia Risley).
The dueling siblings drew laughs every 10 seconds or so, as they constantly battled one another competing for the attention of the rich and handsome prince. And make no mistake about it, competition was fierce. (At times I thought I was watching the final two contestants duke it out on the ABC Television reality series, The Bachelor.) Durkin and Risley also excelled in the rapid parlando numbers, such as in the quartet Zitto, zitto; piano, piano, where the pair’s sixteenth-note patter came off cleanly and accurately. I was especially impressed with Durkin, whose looks and comedic mannerisms bear strong resemblance to those of Carol Burnett. Durkin’s voice is quite lovely, as well — as could be heard in the second-act ensemble Donna sciocca! Alma di fango.
Conductor Fabio Luisi’s tempos were uniformly quick and sprightly, capturing the energy and sheer joy of Rossini’s whimsical writing. The daring tempos led to some flashy moments in the ubiquitous patter sections, particularly during the second act finale. The Met Opera Orchestra was up to task, keeping the music light and crisp, and showing the way for the singers in the sharply dotted eight-note figures that permeate the score. The wind section was especially delightful in its alert articulations and tonguing passages, which I suspect are designed to mimic the singers’ patter. The nicely executed second act orchestral storm scene (and all good Rossini operas have a storm scene) afforded the listener a welcome moment of serious drama along an otherwise sea of fluff.
During the Overture, as the cameras panned the pit, simulcast audiences could read the white tags pinned on each player that read “Met Orchestra Musicians, Local 802 AFM” — an obvious act of solidarity on the eve of what promises to be a very contentious contract bargaining session this summer with Peter Gelb’s management team.
Not to be outdone by the orchestra, the Met Opera Chorus in its first entrance managed the heavily dotted rhythms alertly and with razor-sharp precision in O figlie amabali, as the prince’s courtiers announce to the sisters that the prince will soon be calling upon them.
This performance, special in so many ways, was even more so because of DiDonato’s announcement that she is hanging up mop, apron and bracelet for good. And indeed, her final performance as Angelina proved a fitting farewell to a role she had done — and so remarkably well — for the past 17 years.
How fortunate, too, that a worldwide audience was there to witness the send off.
This review first appeared at CNY Café Momus. It is reprinted with the permission of the author.
image=http://www.operatoday.com/CEN_4768a.gif image_description=Joyce DiDonato as Angelina [Photo by Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera] product=yes product_title=The Met’s ‘La Cenerentola’ a winning ensemble of music and comedy product_by=A review by David Abrams product_id=Above: Joyce DiDonato as Angelina [Photo by Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera]Così fan tutte at ENO
All goes well until a summer outing to the bustling resort of Budmouth-Regis. Amid the sand and sea, the couples are inclined to re-align, and the ensuing erotic entanglements have a melancholy outcome: the pleasure-seeking pair sail to their deaths, while the remaining couple marry and, as the narrator pointedly remarks, ‘fulfil their destiny according to Nature’s plan’.
In Phelim McDermott’s new production of Così fan tutte,there are similar ironic reversals on the boardwalk of 1950s Coney Island. But, while there is much entertainment on the esplanade, there is little of Mozart’s ambiguous operatic psychology, or of Hardy’s cynicism, in McDermott’s light-hearted seaside farce.
Nattily uniformed naval officers Ferrando and Guglielmo are on shore leave, enjoying the fun of the fair with giggly sisters, Dorabella and Fiordiligi. Over a night cap in the nightclub, they are challenged by sleazy magician, Don Alfonso, to prove the loyalty of their beloveds. So, after a tearful farewell and re-embarkment, they swap their lieutenants’ epaulettes for rockers’ leathers and return incognito to test the girls’ devotion and dependability.
Randall Bills, Marcus Farnsworth and Roderick Williams
Predictably, heads and hearts are turned amid the hedonistic pursuits of the pleasure garden. These are convincingly and enchantingly displayed by McDermott and his designer, Tom Pye, whose attention to detail is impressive. The flashing neon-sign of the aptly named Skyline Motel is framed by a vista of distractions and diversions: the gentle gyrations of the ferris wheel, the heady heights of the wooden rollercoaster, the whizzing slides of the helter-skelter. Nostalgically painted in innocent primary colours, the scene is depicted with tender irony: seagulls on sticks twirl around the esplanade lampposts, stiff flags ‘flutter’ in the breeze.
The low-rise, post-war motel is itself neatly designed. Three rooms, whose doors face an interior corridor, spin and rotate to allow the lovelorn ladies to flounce from bedroom to bedroom, their histrionics espied by the maid Despina — sparkling in a canary-yellow dress to match the Marigolds — through the Venetian blinds. However, with the appearance of the overly ardent ‘greasers’ the spinning through the connecting doors becomes something of a ‘Carry On’.
In his magical fairground, strikingly tinted by Paule Constable’s gleaming red, green and blue beams of colour, spiv Don Alfonso promises to fulfil any desire — however daring and dangerous. Banners proclaim the pleasures on offer, from Sweet Marie, to Louis the Undead and Kora the Depraved. Fantasies are fashioned and indulged. Lovers float dreamily in oversize swans, framed within red light-bulb hearts. There is much passion but little sincerity: in the final scene, Don Alfonso’s trunk of tricks is expediently transformed for matrimonial purpose by a speedily supplied altar-cloth.
It’s all very entertaining, but the profundity of Mozart’s psychological comedy remains unexplored: laughter and sympathy, comedy and tragedy should be held in perfect, ambivalent balance. Here, there is unalleviated light, but little shade. Expect, that is, when Don Alfonso’s deception is finally revealed, and anarchy breaks loose: partners are swapped at random, and the quartet pair up briefly with assorted freaks and mutants, before equilibrium is restored. McDermott seems, like Hardy’s cool narrator, to suggest that surface differences are superficial and there is no natural ‘order’ or destiny at all.
In fact it is the panoply of circus freaks which provides the thread which hold the fantasy together. As the overture commences, before a shimmering gold lamé curtain swathed in Constable’s gleaming light, master-of-ceremonies Don Alfonso accompanied by his showgirl assistant, Despina, wheel out a chest of curiosities from which climb — and somersault — a cast of eccentricities and oddities: short and tall, strong man and sword-swallower, bearded lady and fire-eater. The placards they bear announce the attractions of the vaudeville to come. The curtain-raising trailer promises ‘Lust’, ‘Power’, ‘Entertainment’, ‘Politics’, ‘Big Arias’ and ‘Chocolate’ among other titillating delights; and the billboards are re-arranged into various applause-raising permutations — an amusingly wry device but sadly, on this occasion, the arising laughter and ovation obliterated much of the overture.
As the show rolls on, this troupe of peculiars play their part in Alfonso’s plotting: as bunny girls dishing up cocktails in the casino — as strong men heaving props on and off, as spinners of Dr Magnetico’s fantastical, life-restoring, firework-erupting contraption; or as circus side-kicks levering Fiordiligi’s hot air balloon aloft. Throughout they contribute to the carnivalesque and ensure slick stage business and nifty transitions between scenes.
Kate Valentine, Christine Rice and Mary Bevan
And so to the cast. Kate Valentine’s self-satisfied Fiordiligi and Christine Rice’s more self-knowing Dorabella are well-matched. Valentine displayed much bombast in ‘Come scoglio’, coping with the peaks and plummets, and showing the unappealing side of Fiordiligi’s pride in a haughty lower register. In her second aria, the mock majesty was replaced by real emotion; Valentine showed that she can truly act with her voice in a fluent, intense, and thoughtfully phrased ‘Per pietà’ Unfortunately, any genuine pathos that the soprano evoked was destroyed by the staging. Fiordiligi must yield to her desires while struggling to resist; there is real emotional turmoil here, as she is deeply troubled by the fragility of her fidelity. But, her inner conflict was rather bathetically rendered by the rise and fall of a hot air balloon.
Mezzo-soprano Rice demonstrated a rich, creamy tone, and a sharp facility for comic nuance —mimicking her sister’s indignation but eventually getting fed up with her fickleness. Rice communicated directly, both musically and theatrically, and the over-blown torment and solipsism of ‘Smanie implacabili’ won both affection and gentle mockery.
Young British baritone Marcus Farnsworth was excellent as Guglielmo; he fitted comfortably into the role, and like Rice balanced comedy with psychological perception. The manly attributes professed in ‘Non siate ritrosi’ may have raised a doubtful eyebrow, but the tone was unfailingly warm and the phrases well-shaped, so it was no surprise that Guglielmo’s attempt to win Dorabella’s heart was ultimately successful. Their ensuing duet ‘Il core vi dono’ was seductively sweet, so that we might forget the rapidity with which devotions had been reassigned.
Making his UK and ENO debut as Ferrando, American tenor Randall Bills was somewhat disappointing; tense and taut in ‘Un'aura amorosa’, particularly at the top, and generally sounding strained. Perhaps it was first-night nerves but Bills seems to lack the Mozartean relaxation required to make us sympathise with the scheming would-be seducer: Ferrando is genuinely hurt to learn that Dorabella’s have given away the medallion with his portrait so quickly to her new paramour, but Bills’ tight edginess and lack of gradation and colour was uninviting.
Roderick Williams’ light baritone was characteristically pleasing, but not sufficiently weighty to suggest Don Alfonso’s world-weary cynicism or the force of character that could bait, goad and manoeuvre all those around him. Despite his spangly red tuxedo, this Alfonso was surprisingly low-key. In contrast, Mary Bevan’s Despina — whether bee-hived chalet-maid, or be-wigged mesmeriser — had more commanding stage presence. One felt that it was Despina who was the real maestro of manipulation: she accepted the magician’s bouquet, but his snatched kiss earned him a slap. Light and bright of voice, Bevan slipped convincingly into any costume, and any accent, delivering the text with clarity and perky projection.
There were so many on-stage shenanigans — and much accompanying noise and spontaneous audience appreciation — that at times it was easy to overlook what was going on in the pit. ENO composer-in-residence Ryan Wigglesworth led the ENO orchestra in a somewhat lacklustre performance, the tempi often in disagreement with the stage, and the ensembles rather ragged. Wigglesworth also played the fortepiano piano recitatives, which moved swiftly and fluently onwards.
After his successes with Philip Glass’s Satyagraha and The Perfect American, here McDermott once again demonstrates that he can put on an entertaining show, serving up a visual and theatrical treat. It certainly didn’t matter that a technical hitch rendered surtitles unavailable, as the cast’s enunciation was uniformly crisp, making Jeremy Sams’ translation clearly audible.
McDermott makes the slide from realism to fantasy utterly convincing; everyone and everything is in a spin, as the tea-cup dodgems suggest. This is certainly a show which will delight the punters, if not the purists.
Claire Seymour
Cast and production information:
Fiordiligi, Kate Valentine; Dorabella, Christine Rice; Ferrando, Randall Bills; Guglielmo, Marcus Farnsworth; Don Alfonso, Roderick Williams; Despina, Mary Bevan; Conductor, Ryan Wigglesworth; Director, Phelim McDermott; Set Designer, Tom Pye; Costume Designer, Laura Hopkins; Lighting Designer, Paule Constable; Orchestra of English National Opera. English National Opera, Coliseum, London, Friday 16th May 2014.
image=http://www.operatoday.com/6377.gif image_description=Kate Valentine, Randall Bills, Marcus Farnsworth, Christine Rice, Sally Reeve [Photo by Mike Hoban] product=yes product_title=Così fan tutte at ENO product_by=A review by Claire Seymour product_id=Above: Kate Valentine, Randall Bills, Marcus Farnsworth, Christine Rice, Sally ReevePhotos by Mike Hoban
Verdi’s Macbeth of the Living Dead
As such luck would have it, director Sebastian Welker set the whole piece alternately in a cemetery and a Mafia-infested Long Island funeral home. Mr. Welker has lots of different ideas about Macbeth. I would have settled for one. During the prelude, Malcolm as a boy, toy-sword fights with Fleance on a raked square of lawn. An open grave is far upstage, awaiting the coffin that is down center. Boys being boys, curiosity prompts them to open the coffin. (Did I mention that Malcolm is clothed in pure white with a full American Indian headdress of feathers?) Three catatonic young girls in white dresses and hair bows (refugees from “The Shining”) are the spookily mute witches, with the chorus women providing the vocals from the pit.
There is nothing wrong with the quality of Friedrich Eggert’s set designs, which are professionally executed. If you like funeral parlors, Mr. Eggert’s elaborate setting that impressively flies in with green walls, white molding, and chrome/white modern furniture embraces the highest professional standards. The many uses and change-outs of the recessed upstage bier-platform area are fluidly handled. No one is credited with the haunting lighting design, but it is restless and moody, and helps to focus the action and ground the emotional content of any given scene.
The internment of the recently departed Thane’s coffin in the first scene is the last realistic occurrence of a production that begins an inexorable (and often entertaining) descent into a macabre phantasmagoria. There are some truly chilling effects, witness the creepy appearance of the silhouettes of the three ‘witches’ behind the opaque glass in the closed doors of the upstage viewing room. There are some almost workable moments, like having the banquet stand-in as a wake, which are then reduced to silliness as the cater waiters become Banco’s assassins and Fleance cowers behind a buffet table.
Olafur Sigurdarson, Melba Ramos, Fjölnir Ólafsson and János Ocsovai
Some ideas are plain goofy, like having Duncan’s coffin brought in ceremoniously, but then having the pall bearers dump it with a laugh-provoking thud just as UN-ceremoniously. The party scene is complete with silver tinsel decorations, and a practical champagne class tower. The King is dead, long live the . . .Konzept.
At times the director is inconsistent with his own decisions. Having established the witches as mute girls, suddenly all the ladies chorus comes on (as Verdi intended) in Act III, all of them dressed in white dresses and bows and brandishing stuffed animals like talismans. A teddy bear is forced on Macbeth. (“Go on, take the teddy bear, take it. Take. The. Flippin’. Bear!”) He is helpless to resist. He takes it. (Oh, the horror!) A bit later, Macduff takes up the poor little Gundt, and tears the living stuffing out of it as he sings his aria, leaving little white bear balls all over the stage. BTW, Macbeth and the Missus stayed on the stage until the end (hope they pee’d at intermission), witnessing the tenor aria, dying by turns in, and next to the Le Courbusier, then being led by the girls in white to their own matching coffins upstage. (Whoever has the coffin concession in town must have had an uptick in business.) But I digress: meanwhile back with the refugees, the chorus is convened in the pit (second in ‘miserable surroundings’ to homelessness, I suppose). While Chorus Master Jaume Miranda’s fine ensemble sings some of the opera’s most affecting pages, the three witch girls make plenty of noise on stage playing skip rope, playing tag, until one by one, they vomit up blood and die. Talk about being upstaged. . .
Have I mentioned the costumes? My God, what a riot of styles and imagination designer Doey Lüthi hath wrought. For all of their excesses, they were colorful, thought-provoking, well-tailored, and individually apt for the characters. I am not sure they always functioned well as a unit, but there was much to admire. That said, there was one serious misfire with Lady Macbeth’s bold neon magenta gown. It sparkled, it blinded, it commanded the stage, and it hugged the figure. I mean, it huuuuugged. The flared tulle floor length ruffle skirt that gathered at the knees, made an attractive, short soprano seem shorter, in spite of the huge wig upswept to Greenland with its over-the-top tiara.
Hiroshi Matsui as Banco
When the Lady in Waiting and Doctor help her out of this puzzlingly garish creation for the Sleepwalking scene, and the Lady stands momentarily in a flattering black satin slip, it was a visual relief. She is a good-looking Lady! And then they proceeded to dress her in a sparkly black number that made you suspect she was about to launch into “My Man.” She dies in the (non-electric) chair, perhaps of fashion mischief.
In an odd sequence when the audience is curiously flooded with white light, Macbeth sings Pietà, rispetto, amore directly to his wife, then acts surprised when it is announced she is dead. Hmmmm. Maybe he thought she fell asleep in front of the television as usual? Having fatally hugged the tenor a ‘little’ too enthusiastically the ol’ Macduffer will have no more of it and stabs the baritone who staggers to joins his wife.
Then, in a “Ding-Dong-the-Witch-Is Dead” sort of revelry, Malcolm enters inexplicably carrying ‘himself as a boy’ on his shoulders, the crowd totes cartoonish pig head helium balloons (no kidding), and the bowed and buttoned chorus strews glitter confetti worthy of a Mummers Day parade.
Olafur Sigurdarson gave an assured reading in the title role. His substantial baritone had bite and plenty of volume. Perhaps too much. While his delivery would be terrific for Hagen and the like, Mr. Sigurdarson lacks true Italianate fluidity, and his relentless forcefulness caused him to tire a bit by opera’s end. I liked everything about Melba Ramos spunky Lady Macbeth, except perhaps that her truly lovely voice is a smidgen too small (and arguably, too darned pretty) for the anti-heroine. Still, Ms. Ramos favored us with sparkling high notes, clean coloratura, and a characterization informed by a superb musical intelligence. La luce langue could have benefitted from a bit more body in the sound, and Vieni! t'affretta! (secure, if not seething) was not helped by having Macbeth stand right next to her and recite the text of his letter, robbing her of her entrance ‘moment.’ She was at her considerable best in the ruminations of the Sleepwalking Scene, capped with an exceptional, secure high D.
Fjölnir Ólafsson and Herdís Anna Jónasdóttir
As Banco, Hiroshi Matsui boasted a particularly rich, sonorous bass that made for a solid musical presence. His resonant Come dal ciel precipita was a high point of the evening. Jevgenij Taruntsov brought a tightly pointed delivery to his Macduff, but sang much of the time at ‘forte’ and beyond. Mr. Taruntsov has a secure instrument that might benefit from some volume control allowing the voice move to more fluidly.
As Malcolm, János Ocsovai’s pleasant lighter tenor and his stylistically secure performance made me wish the role were larger. Young bass Fjölnir Ólafsson showed great promise with his well-schooled delivery that enhanced several small solo roles, including the Doctor.
The orchestra played idiomatically for Maestro Marzio Conti, once past an unfocussed and slack prelude. While a bit slow to warm up, once they hit their stride midway in Act I, the musical elements went from strength to strength, the final chorus ripping along with conviction and fire. Moreover, Maestro Conti partnered his soloists with a unified dramatic intent.
Whatever its excesses, this Macbeth was never boring, never less than competent, and was one of “those” productions I will not soon forget. Truth in advertising: the local, loyal audience was wildly appreciative of the night’s effort and called the cast back well past the planned number of bows.
James Sohre
Cast and production information:
Duncan: Gaetano Franzese; Macbeth: Olafur Sigurdarson; Banco: Hiroshi Matsui; Lady Macbeth: Melba Ramos; Lady in Waiting: Herdís Anna Jónasdóttir; Macduff: Jevgenij Taruntsov; Malcolm: János Ocsovai; Servant/Murderer/Messenger/First Apparition/Doctor: Fjölnir Ólafsson; Fleance/Second Apparition: Dimitrij Pyrozhkov; Boy Malcom/Third Apparition: Gustav Jänicke; Witches: Marlene Järkel, Feliciana Solander, Mira Yazici; Conductor: Marzio Conti; Director: Sebastian Welker; Set Design: Friedrich Eggert; Costume Design: Doey Lüthi; Chorus Master: Jaume Miranda.
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image_description=Melba Ramos as Lady Macbeth and Olafur Sigurdarson as Macbeth with Opernchor des SST [Photo by Thomas M. Jauk]
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product_id=Above: Melba Ramos as Lady Macbeth and Olafur Sigurdarson as Macbeth with Opernchor des SST [Photo by Thomas M. Jauk]
Birtwistle at 80 — Gawain
This was something no one present is likely to forget: a masterpiece, whose absence from opera houses, not just in this country but across the world, stands as a devastating indictment to all concerned, was given a ‘concert staging’ to match the finest efforts of any established house. Last year’s Salzburg staging — incredibly, the only one since Covent Garden’s premiere and revivals — performed a signal service in bringing Birtwistle’s opera to an international audience, but a questionable production detracted somewhat from the impact of an excellent musical performance. Here, John Lloyd Davies’s unfussy direction did all that was necessary — or at least seemed to be necessary — with the support of excellent lighting. Quite whether the projections were necessary, I have my doubts, but they did no especial harm either.
A happy surprise was the reinstatement of the full version of the Turning of the Seasons, which I had never heard before. What utterly magnificent music this is — and, equally to the point, musical drama which strongly reinforces the power of ritual in this opera. Gawain’s year-long journey reminds us of the crucial importance of the passing of time; actions are not here merely repeated, revisited, viewed from different standpoints. There is surely a strong comparison to be drawn here with Siegfried’s going out into the world, ‘zu neuen Taten’, and of course both Wagner and Birtwistle question, indeed deconstruct the notion of heroism. As the disillusioned Gawain insists, he is not, almost certainly never was, that hero the court, the world had imagined him to be. That unnerving experience of returning to a place, to people, and it, they having carried on without one registered all the more powerfully, even chillingly. A stronger sense of the passing of time was gained, then, but so was a stronger sense of the sheer power of ritual, in this case of the calendar and of man’s relationship to it, ambivalently positioned as it is in this case between Church and something closer to paganism. Speaking to other audience members during the interval, some, though by no means all, seemed to have struggled with the consequent greater length of the first act. I did not feel that at the time, but admit to noting thereafter a certain imbalance with respect to the first and second. That need not necessarily be a bad thing, but I could not help but wonder whether a second revision might be in order. Perhaps the Turning of the Seasons could become a second act tableau in itself; perhaps it might be split between the two acts, for, as Birtwistle has noted, many of his works have a tendency to ‘stop’ rather than to ‘end’. (I am not sure that that is really the case with this work, which is in many ways more conventionally operatic than many give it credit for, but the point may still stand in general.) At any rate, experiencing this additional music for the first time was an overwhelming experience in itself; moreover, it permits more to be heard from Guinevere, Bishop Baldwin, and the chorus. I understand — I think — the case for the revised version, but I should now never wish the cuts to be reinstated. In practice, though, I shall have to take what, if anything, I am given.
Martyn Brabbins led a superlative performance from the BBC Symphony Orchestra, the splendid BBC Singers (conducted offstage with equal excellence by Andrew Griffiths) and what I suspect may be the finest cast the work has yet received. The BBC SO’s contribution was almost beyond praise, every inch the equal of its Vienna counterpart last summer. It is perhaps all too tempting to resort to ‘national’ stereotypes, and maybe this was as much a matter of staging and venue, but I think I perceived a more generally internationally modernist Klang from the ORF Vienna Radio SO, and a more deeply English — but certainly not remotely nationalist — melancholy from the BBC orchestra. That is not to say that the violence of Birtwistle’s score did not register; it most certainly did, to searing effect. Nor that the powerful Stravinskian antecedents did not register. One may hear a fascinating struggle between a world born of Symphonies of Wind Instruments and one born of The Rite of Spring: doubtless an over-simplification, but perhaps not entirely gratuitous. The welding together of primitivism, mediævalism, and (Northern) English landscape was perhaps achieved still more idiomatically by Brabbins than by Ingo Metzmacher, matching the distinguished contribution by Elgar Howarth on the CD recording from the Royal Opera House. (Alas, that was made at a revival, so has the revised version of the score, but it remains an absolute ‘must’ for anyone who remotely cares about twentieth-century opera.) The brass — including three tubas and a euphonium — proved as powerful as any more celebrated section, but with none of the brashness one sometimes encounters from American orchestras in particular. A battery of percussion unleashed its fire at times, yet also offered true delicacy, not least in the guise of that unforgettable cimbalom part. Uneasy magic was conjured up — the observed and observing malevolence of Morgan le Fay? — from the woodwind, whilst the strings worked over-over-time throughout: incisive and, yes, at times beguiling. Courtly love and eroticism were given their due; one cannot deconstruct without in some sense having constructed.
Such was also the tale of the vocal performances. Leigh Melrose summoned up memories of his fine ENO Wozzeck as Gawain, and yet went further still. Very human choices, fears, and disappointments made the descent — or should that actually be ascent? — from his initial swagger all the more affecting. Sir John Tomlinson was his inimitable self, a true force of nature, if the more or less unforgivable cliché may be forgiven, as the Green Knight. An ‘objective’ review would have to mention the indulgence that needs to be offered to his higher range, here not so often employed, but frankly such cavils seem irrelevant in the face of so all-encompassing a dramatic assumption. The day will come — at least, we hope it will, if our opera houses will listen — when another bass will have to take on the role, but for the moment, the archetypal, apparent timelessness of this performance makes it impossible to imagine. For Tomlinson, moreover, there was no need for a score. Jennifer Johnston made a glorious impression as Lady de Hautdesert the wife of his alter ego: rich, even voluptuous, of tone, nicely ambiguous of purpose, and yet imparting something very important concerning the human and perhaps especially the female condition as constructed here. Laura Aikin was equally magnificent as Morgan le Fay. The cruel demands of the role clearly hold no fears for her; far more than ever before, I had the sense of her as a real character, as the moving force of events. Perhaps the longer version played a role in that; her manipulative appearance onstage — unseen to the hero — when Gawain arrived at the Hautdeserts certainly did. It was, however, an interpretative consequence too, born of vocal strength and palpable musical intelligence.
Jeffrey Lloyd-Roberts and Rachel Nicholls made for an excellent royal couple, as attentive to words as to vocal line. William Towers made more of the role of Bishop Baldwin — again, doubtless partly a matter of the version, but not only that — than I had previously heard. His is a virile counter-tenor, put to piercing, perhaps sanctimonious use here. I certainly found myself asking more about the character, his role, his motivations, than I had done so before. John Graham-Hall fully inhabited the role of the Fool; there was an entirely appropriate correspondence with King Lear to be made in this case. Ivan Ludlow and Robert Anthony Gardiner offered finely sung portrayals of Agravain and Ywain. There was not a weak link in the cast, just as there was not in the evening as a whole. A resounding triumph! Now which company will do its duty and give us a properly thought-through new staging?
Mark Berry
Cast and production information:
Gawain: Leigh Melrose; The Green Knight, Sir Bertiak de Hautdesert: Sir John Tomlinson; Morgan Le Fay: Laura Aikin; Lady de Hautdesert: Jennifer Johnston; King Arthur: Jeffrey Lloyd Roberts; A Fool: John Graham Hall; Guinevere: Rachel Nicholls; Bishop Baldwin: William Towers; Agravain: Ivan Ludlow; Ywain: Robert Anthony Gardiner. Sound Intermedia (sound design)/Aqamera (projections)/John Lloyd Davies (director). BBC Singers (conductor: Andrew Griffiths)/BBC Symphony Orchestra/Martyn Brabbins (conductor). Barbican Hall, London, Friday 16 May 2014.
Click here for the complete text of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.
image=http://www.operatoday.com/Birtwistle_-_2_HanyaChlalaA.gif image_description=Harrison Birtwistle [Photo by Hanya Chlala] product=yes product_title=Birtwistle at 80 — Gawain (concert hall staging) product_by=A review by Mark Berry product_id=Above: Harrison Birtwistle [Photo by Hanya Chlala]May 18, 2014
Strauss: Der Rosenkavalier, Glyndebourne 2014
“My father loved Der Rosenkavalier”, said Gus Christie. “I think he would have liked this production”, he added with a wink, “Though he would, as always, have had a lot to say about it”. He’s right. The more we care about an opera, the more we get from fresh perspectives. This 2014 Glyndebourne Rosenkavalier is provocative because it focuses on Baron Ochs and what he stands for. Richard Strauss polishes surfaces so glossy that we’re too dazzled, blinded to the sinister depths that lurk within to think of meaning.
Think about what Der Rosenkavalier might mean. The Marschallin lives in luxury, but she’s not fooled. Like Sophie, she herself was traded in marriage like a consumer product. Baron Ochs symbolizes a system that places more value in crass commerce than on human values. The Marschallin, Kate Royal, appears in a nude suit, rising from her bath like Venus. It’s audacious, but absolutely to the point. She’s flaunting her wares. Her bedroom is invaded by merchants, each flogging some product. One is an Italian Singer (Andrej Dunaev). His song is sweet but banal. Strauss is sending up art calculated to please the marketplace. Baron Ochs (Lars Woldt) is right in. He’s come to buy a bride, but he’ll grope any woman available, even if the “woman” is a man. Only when the Marschallin is alone can she be herself. As Kate Royal sings her last lines at the end of the First Act, the yellow and grey designer wrapping paper decor is transformed by light into silver and gold.
Octavian (Tara Erraught) presents the silver rose to Sophie (Teodora Gheorghiu).but the ritual goes wrong. They fall in love. The audience howled with laughter when the lovers locked foreheads and rocked together in unison, but the naivety contrasts well with the devious machinations going all round them. Humour is a key into Richard Strauss. This Richard Jones production is lively but it contributes greatly to this Richard Strauss anniversary year because it shows how Strauss uses wit as a weapon against mindless conformity. Der Rosenkavalier isn’t superficial, it’s satire. There’s glamour, and romance, but it has a core of solid silver.
If there’s a moral in Der Rosenkavalier, it might be “Things don’t have to be the way we think they should be”. The Marschallin gives up her dream of love so Octavian and Sophie can have a future. She concocts a plot to expose Ochs for what he is: ox by name and nature. Ochs is lured to an inn so garish that anyone with real taste would be screaming to escape from it. Ochs’s favourite song “Ohne mich” is a tune anyone can hum, but that doesn’t make it good music. He’s also easily fooled by fake peasant costumes. Och’s knows what he likes, but that’s the problem. He doesn’t take any one else into consideration. Lars Woldt’s performance is outstanding, one of the sharpest Ochs I can remember offhand. He’s not a comic parody but all too believable. This type inhabits all walks of life, including the opera world. Woldt defines each word with precision, observing the changes in pitch with clear deliberation. Woldt acts well too, moving with animal agility. Ochs is not a buffoon but a man who gets his way by selfishness and cunning. That’s why he’s so dangerous. He knows how to use the system against those less ruthless. There aren’t enough Marschallins around.
The words “Papa! Papa!” ring with shrill accusation. When Ochs is trapped, the stage fills with those whom he’s harmed or could harm if he could. Strauss operas are often “busy” with numerous characters whose moment may not last long but who are integral to the plot. In this production, even non-verbal parts like Ochs’s eldest son and the black servant are given “voices” that define their role perceptively. Ochs’s son can never inherit, and the black servant can’t dream of winning the Marschallin, but they deserve dignity, too. Big on stage ensembles pose problems in any staging. Here, Jones and his Movement Director Sarah Fahie choreograph the interactions between those on stage and the sounds from the pit with such detail that it feels that the score is literally coming to life. Robin Ticciati’s first performance in his new role was somewhat tentative in places, but in the last act everything came together, and the music shone in glorious savagery.
Despite the many superb Der Rosenkavalier productions of the past that have shaped our memories, performances are generally good all round. Kate Royal, a perennial house favourite, won great applause. She’s so beautiful she seems almost too idealized for the part, but I liked the wry grit with which she sang her final benediction to Octavian and Sophie.Tara Erraught’s Octavian was robustly acted with earthy glee. Jones developed Sophie with more personality than the part often receives, so Teodora Gheorghiu could sing it with charm. Glyndebourne’s budget doesn’t run to megastars so lesser roles are often extremely well cast. Michael Krauss’s Faninal was extremely well presented — nice, firm singing and poise. Christopher Gillett and Helene Schneiderman sang Valzacchi and Annina with great character. Robert Wörle and Scott Conner sang The Innkeeper and the Police Commissioner. Even smaller parts were thought through carefully and presented with conviction. Richard Jones’s style (with designs by Paul Steinberg and Nicky Gillibrand) isn’t usually my taste, but his is a production filled with well thought out detail and definition. Ochs might not like it, but I and most of the Glyndebourne audience got it.
Anne Ozorio
For more details please see the Glyndebourne website. This production will also be broadcast live online and in cinemas on 8th June 2014.
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Barbiere Comes to Sin City
Soloists include Daniel Elijah Sutin, Peter Strummer, Philip Cokorinos, Renee Tatum, and Victor Ryan Robertson. Conducting the performance is Met Maestro Gregory Buchalter, who also serves as Artistic Director for Opera Las Vegas.
Barber has certainly stood the test of time, as attested to by the impending 200th anniversary of its premiere. For opera aficiandos, as well as those who have never experienced opera, The Barber of Seville is the perfect choice for a delightful evening’s entertainment. "We are so pleased to bring Barber and professional opera to the Las Vegas community," states Opera Las Vegas General Director Luana DeVol. DeVol, an internationally renowned soprano. "Through the vision and contacts of Maestro Buchalter of the Met, we have the unique opportunity to secure the most promising singers. As the public decides to try opera, we believe the extraordinary quality of our main productions will build an enthusiastic fan base for opera here at home."
Count Almaviva is played by American tenor Victor Ryan Robertson, whose versatile singing ability and style allow him to cross between genres from classical and contemporary classical repertoire to pop and Broadway. The Cleveland Plain-Dealer newspaper noted Robertson's "voice is fresh, his personality alive." He recently debuted at the Royal Albert Hall in London as Rodolfo in Francesca Zambello's production of La Boheme, to wide acclaim. Robertson has portrayed Almaviva with the Minnesota Opera, Opera Carolina and Arizona Opera.
Baritone Daniel Elijah Sutin will be making his role debut as the titular barber. This season at the Metropolitan Opera Sutin sang the leading role of Wozzeck with great success. In 2013 he performed Giorgio Germont in LaTraviata with the Savonlinna Opera Festival and the title role of Rigoletto in Hong Kong. Future engagements include his return to the Lyric Opera of Chicago and a debut with the Hawaii Opera as Sharpless in Madame Butterfly. A native of Albany, New York, Sutin holds undergraduate and advanced degrees in Voice at the Julliard School.
The role of the comically garrulous Dr. Bartolo will be assumed by one of America's foremost character bass-baritones, Peter Strummer. He has been acclaimed for "giving a role maximum impact" by the Toronto Star and for his "warm, firm and agile voice" by Opera News. The Denver Post recently wrote: "Strummer is one of the most meticulous performers." He has played Bartolo previously, but is an artist who constantly reworks his roles and expands the breadth of his repertoire through appearances at the Metropolitan Opera, San Francisco Opera, Houston Grand Opera, Washington Opera, Dallas Opera, New York City Opera, Opera de Montreal, Canadian Opera Company, as well as working 15 years in German and Austrian houses.
A member of the Metropolitan Opera roster for more than 27 years, bass-baritone Philip Cokorinos takes on the role of Don Basilio. He has appeared upon numerous occasions in Met productions of Tosca, La Boheme, The Nose, The Gambler, Die Meistersinger, Don Carlo, Macbeth, Manon, and played Basilio previously at the Met. Cokorinos has been praised for his singing, acting and a combination of the two. In addition to the Met, he has performed with Opera Santa Barbara, the Lyric Opera of Kansas City and with the Chautauqua Opera.
California native Renee Tatum was described as having a "commanding and dramatic presence" by Opera News Magazine. Mezzo-soprano Tatum returned to the Metropolitan Opera for the 2013-2014 season for productions of The Magic Flute conducted by Jane Glover, Rusalka, led by Yannick Nezet-Seguin, and Die Frau ohne Schatten with Vladimir Jurowski. She has performed with the Houston Grand Opera, the Orange County Philharmonic Society , Chicago Opera Theatre, Santa Fe Opera, among others. Ms. Tatum has won numerous awards and competitions, including the regional finals in the Metropolitan Opera National Council Auditions. Renee Tatum will be making her role debut as Rosina.
Maestro Gregory Buchalter of the Met serves as Artistic Director of Opera Las Vegas , Opera Fairbanks and Opera Camerata of Washington. During his tenure with these companies, he has brought in many internationally renowned singers, including Paul Plishka, Sondra Radvanovsky, and Richard Bernstein. He was the first American to conduct with the Kazakhstan State Opera. Buchalter conducted Salome at Finland’s Savonlinna Opera Festival and has been Chorus Master with the Santa Fe Opera, Bregenz Festival (Austria) and Theater des Westens (Berlin). He is currently a cover conductor at the Metropolitan Opera, where the position of Maestro di Banda was created for him. He served as Met Chorus Master for several productions, including the telecast of Franco Zeffirelli's Don Giovanni and Gershwin's Porgy and Bess. Buchalter has prepared several world premiers at the Met: John Corigliano's The Ghosts of Versailles, Philip Glass' The Voyage, and John Harbison's The Great Gatsby.
Local artists performing in the Opera Las Vegas production include Stephanie Weiss, currently pursuing her doctoral degree from UNLV and who enjoyed a long association with the Deutsche Oper Berlin where she appeared in roles such as Frasquita in Carmen, Musetta in La Boheme, and Overseer in Elektra. At the Staatsoper Berlin she sang the First Lady in Mozart's Magic Flute, and Musetta at the Oper Frankfurt.
Dr. Henry Price (Pepperdine University) will direct Il Barbiere di Siviglia. Before turning to teaching and directing, Henry Price was a much sought after tenor, himself an acclaimed Almaviva, having appeared in many notable stagings, including the “Live from Lincoln Center” telecast of Barber with Beverly Sills.
Lighting Designer is Ginny Adams, KA technical support professional. She is an in-demand Vegas technician, and has served as lighting designer for many local theater groups and shows. The set originates with the Utah Festival Opera, with costumes provided by Toronto-based Malabar Limited.
The performance will be sung in Italian with English Supertitles. Tickets are $95, $75 and $55, available through the UNLV Box Office, 702-895-2787.
INFORMATION ABOUT OPERA LAS VEGAS:
Opera Las Vegas is a non-profit organization established 15 years ago with the mission to promote interest in operatic music and to produce related productions. Its objective is to serve the community and region by providing high-level operatic performances.
Prior to Barber, Opera Las Vegas hosted two private events featuring opera legends Denyce Graves and Julia Migenes earlier this year. Following Barber, Opera Las Vegas' next main-stage production will be the family/children's opera, "Meanwhile, Back at Cinderella's," slated for the first weekend in December at Ham Hall on the UNLV campus.
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La clemenza di Tito at Lyric Opera of Chicago
The title character was portrayed by Matthew Polenzani, Vitellia, daughter of the late Emperor Vitellius by Amanda Majeski, Sesto by Joyce DiDonato, Annio by Cecelia Hall, Publio by Christian Van Horn, and Servilia by Emily Birsan. Sir Andrew Davis conducted the Lyric Opera Orchestra and Michael Black prepared the Lyric Opera Chorus.
The overture to the opera was led in the dignified and richly variegated spirit of Mozart’s late symphonic orchestrations. Toward the close of this introduction soldiers dressed in black, who had passed across the stage during the overture with measured discipline before the bust of an imperial figure, depart from the scene with a staircase appearing as an axis for a series of confrontations en ensemble. In dialogue preceding the first duet Sesto and Vitellia pursue an ongoing dispute concerning the position of the Emperor Tito. Because his current plans to marry the Eastern princess Berenice are perceived as a slight by Vitellia, she demands that Sesto participate in a plot to assassinate the ruler. Sesto’s protestations of the nobility of Tito cannot move Vitellia in her demands for revenge. In their ensuing duet, “Come ti piace, imponi” (“Command and control my every move”) Ms. DiDonato and Ms. Majeski elaborate on these sentiments, yet now Vitellia has clearly won over the loyalty of her admirer. Majeski’s impassioned portrayal of the wounded Vitellia is a marvel of vocal and dramatic artistry. Her sensitive use of vibrato and chest notes emphasizes her character’s determination and her assured position vis-à-vis Sesto. In the latter role DiDonato alternated hesitancy with committed declarations of steadfastness in keeping with the character’s vacillations in loyalty. She drew on appropriate decorations, such as appoggiatura, to underscore Sesto’s introspection and difficult choices. Almost immediately Annio appears to announce the departure of Berenice, since the Senate has refused to support the Emperor’s choice of a wife. Vitellia sees her chances open again, expressed in the aria “Deh si piacer mi vuoi” [“Now if you wish to please me”] followed by “Chi ciecamente crede” [“He who blindly believes”]. Majeski showed heightened enthusiasm in the line “Lascia sospetti tuoi” with an extended melisma on ‘Lascia.” In the second part of the aria her impressive embellishments and use of rubato in the repeat reinforced the character’s quick-edged instability. While taking advantage of Vitellia’s departure, Annio reminds Sesto that he wishes to wed Servilia, sister of Sesto. The duet of friendship, “Deh prende un dolce amplesso” [“Let me embrace you”], sung by the two mezzo sopranos Ms. Hall and Ms. DiDonato, was touching and suggested a foil of innocence in contrast to the previous scenes with Vitellia. The entrance of Tito immediately afterward was celebrated in this production with a ballet of swordsmen coordinated with the military march. Interspersed with choral responses and the nobly delivered recitative passages of Christian Van Horn’s Publio, Tito makes the unexpected announcement that he will himself marry Servilia before day’s end. Although shaken by the news, Annio departs with disciplined resolve, as was well illustrated here by Hall’s portrayal. In Tito’s first aria laying claim to the generosity inherent in his position, “Del più sublime soglio” [“Of the highest office”], Mr. Polenzani’s enthusiasm caused him to overstate the Emperor’s determination by singing much of the piece forte with little variation. His second aria, “Ah si fosse intorno al trono” [“Ah, if everyone near to my throne”], settled into the spirit and style in keeping with the scene depicted. After being informed by Annio that she is the chosen bride of Tito, Servilia approaches the Emperor in his palace. Her protest that she cannot retrieve her heart from Annio is answered by Tito’s aria. Here Polenzani introduced tasteful decoration on the line “ma saria felicità” [“would bring me happiness”], and sang the repeat with truly accomplished effects to emphasize the ruler’s gratefulness for Servilia’s honesty. At Vitellia’s re-entrance Majeski projected an especially unhinged character as she goaded Sesto to determined action against the Emperor. In the showpiece aria, “Parto, parto” [“I am going, I am going”], DiDonato’s Sesto showed a flawless technique and a fine sense of Mozartean style. Her pure top notes and accomplished trills supported by clarinet solo were addressed to the manipulative Vitellia in attempts to mollify the noblewoman’s recurring mistrust. In the second part of this aria beginning at “Guardami” [“Look at me”], DiDonato moved from a piano expression of tenderness to rapid runs alternating with rubato passages in her continued pledges of romantic loyalty and forthcoming action against the Emperor. Once Sesto has indeed departed as announced in his aria, Vitellia learns that Tito has had a change of heart and wishes to make her his bride. Majeski punctuated Vitellia’s shifts of temperament so that they contrasted noticeably with the calm innocence projected by Annio and Publio. In the last scene of the act Sesto’s monologue leading into a quintet of principals enhances the tumult [“tumulto”] of a threat against the Emperor’s life. While paying homage to the glory of Rome, DiDonato’s Sesto pleaded through extended vocal embellishments for guidance in saving the city’s splendor despite this ill-advised deed against Tito. As part of the final ensemble the presumed death of the Emperor was lamented with stately poignancy.
Act Two begins with the revelation by Annio to Sesto that Tito has not perished in the assault on the palace. While urging Sesto to remain in Rome and to request forgiveness from the Emperor, Hall gave an impassioned performance of Annio’s aria, “Torna di Tito a lato” [“Return to Tito”], which she concluded with silvery top notes. As Sesto vacillates between this advice and Vitellia’s declarations that he should flee, Publio enters and declares him under arrest for his deeds against the Emperor’s authority. During the brief scene of strategic confidence between Tito and Publio, Mr. Van Horn sang with ultimate artistry the featured aria for Publio, Captain of the Guard, “Tardi s’avvede d’un tradimento” [“Only too late does he become aware of betrayal”]. As his voice rose with noticeable, effortless excitement Van Horn embellished the close of the first part with melismatic decorations blended into a seamless line. His address to Tito was vocally fervent in the repeat. Before Sesto and the Emperor meet in conflict and reconciliation, Annio pleads again for Tito’s clemency. Hall sang “Tu fosti tradito” [“You were betrayed”] with commitment and increasingly emphatic projection as the danger for the captive Sesto becomes more serious. The subsequent private confrontation between Tito and Sesto, during which their mutual loyalties and political transformations are aired, was a dramatic focal point in this production. At its conclusion both characters express the difficulties of their personal choices in solo numbers. Tito’s renowned “Se all’ impero, amici Dei, necessario è un cor severo” [“If a severe heart is necessary to the empire, o gods”], was well conceived by Polenzani. He showed the character’s self-reflective state by emphasizing piano the repeat of “necessario,” while the second part of the aria sowed a nice sense of modulation, rising tones, and a final trill on “un altro cor” [“another heart”]. Before the ultimate pardon by Tito of all those involved in a conspiracy Vitellia sings her last aria of self-recrimination, “Non più di fiori vaghe catene discenda Imene” [“No longer will Hymen descend from the heavens to weave bridal chains”]. Majeski’s performance of this piece was outstanding, her range and dramatic descent from top to low chest notes on “veggo la morte ver me avanzar” [“I see death advancing upon me”] emphasizing the terror felt by her character in the face of undeniable guilt toward the Emperor. As a capstone to Majeski’s performance throughout the production, this aria and scene compensated for the questionable dramatic choice to close the opera with the Imperial Guard challenging Tito’s decision to grant clemency in the final part of the act.
Salvatore Calomino image=http://www.operatoday.com/DiDonato_Sesto_Chicago.gif image_description=Joyce DiDonato as Sesto [Photo by Todd Rosenberg] product=yes product_title=La clemenza di Tito at Lyric Opera of Chicago product_by=A review by Salvatore Calomino product_id=Above: Joyce DiDonato as Sesto [Photo by Todd Rosenberg]
May 8, 2014
Baden-Baden: Proficient Puccini as Easter Treat
Everything about this production was lavished with the highest production standards. The stars were first tier. The staging and designs were fresh and eye-catching. The pit was peopled with some of the best musicians in the world. So then, why was I left somewhat wanting at curtain fall? Hmmmm.
Perhaps it was that the assembled forces worked so hard at ‘play-acting’ the fire of passion, that they forgot to put any real firewood in the stove. Much of what was on display seemed ‘busy’ and externalized, when the youthful score cries out for internalized commitment and sincerity to complete it. Too, re-setting the story during the German Occupation of France, while not really damaging, did little to ground it in the proper emotional frame of reference.
Disclaimer: I adore Eva Maria Westbroek. Ever since I thrilled to her triumph at the Paris Opera in Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk (one of the greatest performances I have ever experienced) I have been won over by every subsequent encounter. And Ms. Westbroek certainly does well enough by Manon. Her full-bodied, generous soprano has an über-feminine appeal that communicates especially well once past the naiveté of Act I. She is a fearless actress, entering into each confrontation scene or sexual encounter with abandon. She invests her lines with dramatic coloring, and she can crest over the orchestra one minute, and scale down to sweet piano phrasings the next, although the voice occasionally loses pliability coming off high volume singing. Eva is a consummate vocal actress, and the coloring in the death scene was profound.
That said, the timbre of the voice is not quite the right fit for this particular heroine. The silver and cream that are needed to limn such passages as In quelle trine morbide are not hers to command. And she was not well-served by her costumes, a pity since otherwise Fotini Dimou designed uncommonly fine attire for the production. Ms. Westbroek has a somewhat generous figure, and the period silhouette was not as flattering as another era may have been. Puccini’s Minnie (Fanciulla) proved a fine match for the talented soprano. His Manon Lescaut seems less so, and while she is incapable of giving less than 110%, I wonder if she will continue to pursue the part. All the admirable craft was on full display, but the final sheen was missing.
As Des Grieux, Massimo Giordano has a lot going for him. He is HD-telecast-Poster-Boy handsome, cutting a lean and youthful figure. If only his tenor were not also ‘quite’ so lean. He was never ineffective, and his Italianate lyric sound was bright and clean. I feared for his success at the start when his conversational delivery was nearly inaudible. By the time he launched into Tra voi, belle, brune e bionde, Mr. Giordano was on firmer ground, and the voice grew in confidence and stature as the act progressed.
But to an audience of a certain age (that would include me), for better or worse, we have Placido and Luciano in our ears in this role. Massimo is a fine artist with a committed delivery and absolute understanding of the character and how to vary his expression. While he is well-suited to Massenet’s Des Grieux (which he has also performed), Puccini’s big climaxes are ‘just’ beyond his reach. To his credit, he paces himself well, his voice is well-schooled and attractive, and he knows how to approximate the required spinto heft by tightening up his focus and straightening the tone. It works. . .for now.
Lester Lynch was a pleasure to hear as Lescaut. Mr. Lynch has a ravishing, rolling baritone with power to spare, and excellent hook-up from top to bottom. His assured vocalizing was impressive and welcome. As Geronte, Liang Li unleashed a malevolent, dark, searing voice that was not only deployed with craft and power, but was also capable of subtlety and nuance. Young Romanian tenor Bogdan Mihai was boyishly appealing as Edmondo, one of the best-rounded, spontaneous performances of the night. His effortless lyric tenor and coltish, animated stage movement brought considerable life and sparkle to Act I. He was having such a good time as the joking student that it was infectious. All the featured roles were well taken, and in a bit of luxury casting, Magdalena Kožená commanded our attention as the Singer in Manon’s boudoir. Walter Zeh’s chorus was excellent throughout, dramatically engaged and musically precise.
The ‘Festival’ aura was largely provided by the Berlin Philharmonic’s informed reading under the accomplished baton of Simon Rattle. Merely having one of the world’s top orchestras present in the pit is cause for rejoicing, of course, and there is considerable pride in, and buzz about having landed their services. But they earned their prolonged enthusiastic ovations honestly with a performance that revealed colors and gradations that usually get over-looked. Maestro Rattle presided over a well-shaped rendition that not only capitalized on Puccini’s early promise, but also maximized the effect of less well-developed passages. What score doesn’t benefit from virtuosic playing? Manon Lescaut never had it so good.
If the physical production posed more questions than it answered, it was never uninteresting, frequently captivating, and always thought-provoking. We were seldom allowed to forget that France was being occupied, and the looming menace of soldiers intent on enforcing order was ever present.
Rob Howell has designed imposing sets that seem to be a skewed version of French locales as re-imagined in the style of overstated Fascist monolithic architecture. At curtain rise we are bowled over by stage-filling circular stone steps (slightly akimbo), a colonnade atop the stairs with a train station high upstage (yes, Manon arrives on a train to grand effect). Stage right main floor and stair area is filled with students and “citoyens” milling and partying, provoking the soldiers to nervously close ranks whenever the group activity go too synchronized. Stage left there is an Art Nouveau “inn” with practical balcony, and a down stage settee perfect for more intimate moments. Peter Mumford has lit the production beautifully, nowhere more so then in this opening setting with its different areas, and varied interiors.
With his production team, director Richard Eyre has devised some intriguing interpretations. For one, this production is far sexier than usual. Bottoms get grabbed, legs are kissed, petting is encouraged, and breasts are there to be fondled. This inhibition establishes an atmosphere that informs (excuses?) Manon’s fecklessness.
I loved the addition of a tango dancer (Saulo Garrido) in the bedroom entertainment mix. Having him dance first with Manon, and then adding Geronte, titillated us with a ‘three-way’ image, all the while it established that Manon and Geronte were clearly still having an active sexual relationship. When Des Grieux returns to her and the great Act II duet commences, clothes get removed during a seductive cat and mouse game and the pair winds up in bed. I loved Manon’s high-school-girlish taunting of Geronte as he discovers the indiscreet pair.
Mr. Howell’s setting again impressed, the whole founded on another version of big rounded stairs (now stage left), with an entrance door high atop, and a (poorly kept) secret escape door under the staircase down left. The huge painted screen facilitated costume changes, the bed was sumptuously appointed and the floor-to-ceiling windows rising stage right powerfully communicated the wealthy environment. In the direction, there was a lot of playful jostling invented between the heroine and her brother that alleviated her well-established boredom. In fact, Lescaut had much more dimension than usual, and he actually came in wounded in Act III when the gunfire started, adding yet another dynamic.
That dock setting boasted a massive rounded platform above jail cells, with a looming prow of a ship above and behind it all. The ship accommodated a drummer that added good effect to the deportation scene, which was notable for its masterful uses of levels. For that pesky and troublesome “desert” scene, Mr. Eyre’s version was set in the massive ruins of scenic elements we had already experienced, suggesting psychological ruins. A bold stroke that made as much sense as a desert in Louisiana.
All in all then, Baden-Baden’s Manon Lescaut was a formidable achievement. It just seemed curiously to be the wrong one.
James Sohre
Cast and production information:
Manon Lescaut: Eva-Maria Westbroek; Lescaut: Lester Lynch; Chevalier Des Grieux: Massimo Giordano; Geronte de Ravoir: Liang Li; Edmondo: Bogdan Mihai; Innkeeper/Sea Captain: Reinhard Dorn; Singer: Magdalena Kožená; Ballet Master: Kresimir Spicer; Lamplighter: Arthur Spiritu; Sergeant: Johannes Kammler; Tango Dancer: Saulo Garrido; Conductor: Simon Rattle; Director: Richard Eyre; Set Design: Rob Howell; Costume Design: Fotini Dimou; Lighting Design: Peter Mumford; Chorus Master: Walter Zeh
Amsterdam: Arabella’s New Water in Old Glasses
As a shared production, I confess I had been under-whelmed by this staging of Arabella in another (major) theatre, but it took the Netherlands Opera to make a believer out of me that the concept indeed had something substantial to offer. Herbert Murauer’s white box of a playing space that seemed so limiting before, looked expansive and intriguing on the wide stage in the broad auditorium of Het Muziektheater.
Here it functioned beautifully as a blank page with shifting panels upstage that slipped and slid to reveal selected shallow portions of a hotel room that has seen better days, devoid of most furniture except a straight back chair here and there. Mr. Murauer has accessorized the deglamorized quarters tellingly with a lamp on the floor in search of its table, and improvised black ‘curtains’ covering the windows in a desperate attempt to maintain some privacy from judgmental eyes.
The peek-a-boo panels that had seemed so contrived before, now seemed invaluable in framing the action and emotional content, adding a layer to sub-text, and actually helping to define character relationships. Every movement of the panels caused anticipation akin to opening another box on an Advent calendar. Behind this backline of panels , the hotel room did some linear slipping and sliding of its own, at once unsettling and fascniating. At one time the living room was center stage, the next it was far to the right, having sidled to draw Arabella’s denuded bedroom into view. I have to say, that whatever my first impression may have been, this use of the dis-orienting reveals proved perfectly in service to the drama, even enhancing the slender plot.
Act II’s party scene in the ante-chamber of a chandeliered ballroom was elegant and practical, its central beige marble staircase and banquettes of sofas allowing for varied levels and meaningful compositions. The segue that followed ‘Zdenko’ and Matteo into the men’s room was funny and inventive. The permanent white box framing the extreme front of the stage became a sort of no man's land of collective consciousness wherein principals not only came to grips with their own introspections, but also interacted with other characters without distraction.
In a brilliant decision, the entire final conflict and confrontation scene was enclosed in that box, with characters almost literally bouncing off the boundaries liked caged animals. When the up left panel opened a crack to uncover a cramped group of eavesdroppers, it was as though a veil had been lifted on the characters’ psyches, suggesting a disturbing breach of privacy and decorum.
Christof Loy has, on this occasion, found a consistency of approach, created telling stage pictures, nurtured detailed character interaction, and invested the whole affair with considerable wit and imagination. I will not soon forget Zdenka revealing herself as a female by tearing off her shirt and pulling down her pants to reveal the black dress she wore for the seduction, then hobbling comically about the stage with her pants around her ankles. Funny yes, but also truthful. Even the stretches of solos directed through the fourth wall seemed to have found dramatic purpose, and emotional states were always well-communicated.
Converse to injecting fresh humor into certain moments, Mr. Loy managed to bring darkness to the usual flippant antics of the ball scene, with a doped up Fiakerlmilli being abused, Matteo attempting a suicide with a pistol, and wasted young revelers tumbling and rolling about with waning motor function. In another masterful (and not disruptive) invention, the director injected a loooooooooong silent pause in Act III just before Zdenka confesses all, a wrenching moment that held us rapt as the girl grappled with the truth in anguish. Very moving. Perhaps my change of heart lies largely with the capabilities of a cast that could hardly be bettered.
In the title role, the radiant Jacquelyn Wagner’s flawless account announced to the world that she owns the part for the foreseeable future. Ms. Wagner is an ideal Arabella, with a gleaming, warm soprano that has body and sheen in every register and at every volume. She is a lithe and lovely actress, effortlessly elegant, yet capable of sass and sparkle for stage bits like her contentious relationship with her fur coat, or her chucking the goddam roses on the floor in frustration. Best of all, while she is highly adept at thrillingly expansive vocalism, she can also effectively handle the required smaller moments of self-doubt, all the while flat out “singing” them with body and point. Not for Jackie the mewing, cooing, sotto voce posturings and affectations of other “interpreters.” She just sings the damn’ thing! Gloriously. You heard it from me: Jacquelyn Wagner is the must-have Arabella of the moment. The Dutch public embraced her success with a “fortississimo” ovation.
No less remarkable was the (let me just say it) best-sung Mandryka I will ever likely hear. James Rutherford has a singularly beautiful instrument, manly, buzzing, robust, warm, substantial, and well, Terfel-ish. Mr. Rutherford has been assuming Wagner roles in smaller, acoustically friendly houses (to include Bayreuth) but I have no doubt he has the fire-power and stamina to conquer any stage he visits. His rolling bass-baritone is hooked up from top to bottom, and James also really sings the part, quite a departure from the barking, hectoring prats that we too often encounter. He has an easy “bear” presence on stage, and made a crackerjack of an entrance when he strode on stage in an ostentations rustic coat made from fur of an animal(s) he might have killed himself. (The apt costumes are also by Mr. Murauer). When Mandryka’s grievous error is revealed, Mr. Rutherford just crumbles, and his appeal is such that we grieve for his heart-wrenching humiliation. If it got any better than this my heart couldn’t take it. Another star on the rise.
Nor to imply that those two stars over-shadowed Zdenka, because Agneta Eichenholz simply knocked it out of the park. Ms. Eichenholz sports a full-bodied lyric soprano with plenty of sparkle and thrust, deployed with lots of heart and superb artistry. The character arguably takes the biggest journey over the evening, and Agneta conveyed it beautifully, all the while singing with secure legato and plenty of fire. She also paired gorgeously with Arabella, both sopranos able to imbue their duets with a haunting, inviting quality that had seamless appeal.
Susanne Elmark’s slender, fluty soprano was absolutely rock-soild, projected cleanly, and was possessed of meticulous coloratura. The musical excesses and extremes of the role held absolutely no terror for her as evidenced by her assured musical performance. She was all the more remarkable for executing all the fireworks while impersonating a drug-impaired, loose-limbed good time girl, who gets more than she bargained for.
Will Hartmann’s Matteo provided many happy moments when his compact tenor soared over the orchestras, but during a couple of quieter patches his tone experienced a mite of unsteadiness, making me wonder if there was some ‘heft’ being imposed on a more lyrical instrument which made for difficulties when he changed gears. Still, Mr. Hartmann was dramatically involved and affecting. Marcel Reijans as Count Elemer, showed off a light but shining tenor, and displayed a bright, engagingly boyish timbre. Rogert Smeets’s Dominic was typically secure and reliably solid; while the handsome Thomas Dear succeeded as Lamoral, entertaining us with a dark and pleasing bass, used with pointed gravity.
Local girl Charlotte Margiono can do no wrong, and indeed, she proved to be luxury casting as Adelaide. The accomplished soprano still has a sumptuous roundness, plenty of heft, and admirable clarity. Ms. Margiono savored her turn in the spotlight, especially during the naughtier bits where she proved there is fire in the old girl yet. She (and we) had a blast. Alfred Reiter proved to be a perfect foil as the willful Count Waldner His big, biting voice may be more imposing than appealing at this point in his career, but it served the character well. While her name is almost longer than the role, Ursula Hesse von den Steinen knocked our socks off at the top of the night, with a socko turn as the Fortune Teller that had real fire, commitment, a blazing chest voice and a searing top. She took the stage, seized the moment, and boy, did she get our attention!
Under Marc Albrecht’s baton, the Netherlands Philharmonic was dazzling, on fire with a virtuosic intent that swept every element of the production along with it. Maestro Albrecht led a propulsive, richly detailed reading that seemed inevitable yet carefully controlled. The winds were especially vivid, the brass statements verged on the profound, and the sumptuous strings could provide a lush bed of sound second to none. From ‘tutti’ ensemble playing to lean, exposed accompaniment, nothing eluded this inspired groups of players. Their and Mr. Albrecht’s triumph earned the day’s most vociferous acclaim.
James Sohre
Cast and production information:
Count Waldner: Alfred Reiter; Adelaide: Charlotte Margiono; Arabella: Jacquelyn Wagner; Zdenka: Agneta Eichenholz; Mandryka: James Rutherford; Matteo: Will Hartmann; Count Elemer: Marcel Reijans; Count Dominic: Rogert Smeets; Count Lamoral: Thomas Dear; Fiakermilli: Susanne Elmark; Fortune Teller: Ursula Hesse von den Steinen; Welko: Richard Meijer; Servant: Richard Prada; Conductor: Marc Albrecht; Director: Christof Loy; Set and Costume Design: Herbert Murauer; Lighting Design: Reinhard Traub; Netherlands Philharmonic Orchestra
May 7, 2014
The Marriage of Figaro, Royal Opera
They are everywhere: carrying crates, polishing panes, dusting drapes. Silent and insidious, they see all and hear all. And, they are choreographed to perfection! — although, this is perhaps not so surprising given the regularity with which McVicar’s tried-and-tested crowd-pleaser seems to have frequented the Covent Garden stage of late.
Bustling busily during the brisk overture, the stealthy staff provide an interesting contextual frame through which to view the actions and attitudes of the shifty aristocracy and their guileful underlings. We, like the servants, enjoy, collude with, and judge the capers.
And, this superb cast provide much to relish. Italian bass Alex Esposito returns to the House following his acclaimed performance as Leporello earlier in the season. Then, I noted that as Don Giovanni’s sleazy servant, Esposito demonstrated suavity and stylishness, and rued that it ‘was a shame that the production does not offer more opportunity for him to showcase his skills as a master of musical comedy and irony’. That was certainly remedied here. Esposito’s naturally exemplary diction was matched by extraordinary clear, bright projection which stamped Figaro’s character indelibly on the proceedings.
This is a Figaro whom we laugh easily with and at; he has testosterone — manfully lunging for Susanna when measuring up the marital bed — and vulnerability: the ‘cuckolded’ valet seemed genuinely hurt by his betrothed’s apparent betrayal in ‘Aprite un po’ quegli occhi’, before angry bluster shored up his wounded pride. Esposito’s confident comic presence endows Figaro’s wit and wiles with convincing self-possession; but, he also playfully punctures the factotum’s smugness. The Finale of Act 2, as Figaro is forced to think on his feet to negotiate the onslaught from an enraged master, a truculent gardener and a pack of scheming fraudsters, wonderfully brought together gleeful triumphs and vexing setbacks.
Esposito’s weighty baritone has startling dramatic power, effortlessly ringing through the auditorium, and at times, despite the credible attraction between the soon-to-be married couple, he overpowered Camilla Tilling’s Susanna. Tilling’s graceful soprano perhaps did not fully convey Susanna’s spirited sassiness and strong nerve and nous; but, in the second Act, her sparkle blended endearingly with the Countess’s emotional edginess, suggesting a hidden fervour. And, the light radiance of her tone added a delicious dash of irony to ‘Deh vieni non tardar’, sung to the unseen and unsuspecting Figaro in Act 4, as she awaits the Count’s arrival.
Gerald Finley, returning to the role that he sang in the initial run in 2006, was an engaging Count. Sliding into the servants’ garret like an unctuous ‘lounge lizard’, Finley was haughtily self-righteous but also touchingly self-aware, knowing that the time-honoured droits were slipping inexorably from his grasp. Gun-wielding and assertive, despite the brusque slap administered to the Countess his threats of violence always seemed more designed to bolster his own wilting ego rather than a genuine menace. Finley looks good and sounds good. ‘Vedrò mentre io sospiro’ was full of vigour and vivacity, a full-bodied complaint rather than the superficial ranting of Act 2, which almost made one feel the sense of injustice was justified. And, the warm tender pleas for forgiveness in Act 4 were convincingly sincere.
Rebecca Evans’s Countess was certainly a woman in torment; her full tone was expressive of deep emotions but unfortunately the overly wide vibrato struck a ‘false note’ in a production where the delivery was characterised by cleanness, crispness and clarity. ‘Porgi amor’ was assured, though; this Countess has real dignity. And, Evans paced herself successfully, revealing musical colours to fit a variety of dramatic situations; the technical challenges of ‘Dove sono’ presented no problem, and in the latter section of the aria, a resoluteness suggested that the Count was foolish to under-estimate his wife’s determination and resources.
If there was a star moment, for me it was Cherubino’s ‘Voi che sapete’ sung with disarming beauty by Italian mezzo-soprano Anna Bonitatibus. If ‘No sò più’ had trembled with pulsing palpitations — Cherubino’s overflowing romantic energies sending him into a whirl of hyper-activity — then, after some preparatory , self-motivating arm-swinging and air-pumping, the page’s well-rehearsed offering of love was a moving embodiment of serene, self-possessed devotion — a foreshadowing of the captivating chevalier that the gauche Cherubino will become.
The smaller roles are all well executed. Marie McLaughlin’s Marcellina is a formidable force to be reckoned with; she makes the role seem dramatically more central than is often the case. The restless fan-fluttering of Don Basilio (Guy de Mey) is indicative of the falsity and hypocrisy of the slimy singing master, and the vocal nuances and timing are well-judged. Don Curzio (Timothy Robinson) and Antonio (Jeremy White) fit neatly into their roles; Jette Parker Young Artist, Serbian soprano Dušica Bijelić sings Barbarina’s aria with wonderful musical character.
In contrast to John Eliot Gardiner (conducting the last revival in September 2013) whose determinedly expeditious tempi at times pushed his singers to the brink, David Syrus was sympathetic to his soloists — perhaps a bit too much so at times, for both Bartolo’s patter (Greek bass Christophoros Stamboglis) and Cherubino’s breathless shudders seemed inclined to push ahead of the baton. Occasionally the ensembles were a little ragged, the Finale of Act 2 disappointingly so, for Syrus’s relaxed tempi were at odds with the innate forward momentum of Da Ponte’s meticulously crafted form with its ‘strepitoso, [the] arcistrepitoso, [the] strepitossossimo, with which last every act commonly ends’. Things may settle down for later performances in the run. But, there were some striking orchestral commentaries: the trumpet’s leaping arpeggio fanfares flashed brightly at the close of Act 1, and the contrast with the deliciously long-breathed, silky clarinet and bassoon coils which introduce the Countess in Act 2 emphasised the shift to a private world far removed from the public posing and posturing of the previous act. The continuo was tasteful and discreet, enriched by some very eloquent cello playing in the accompanied recitatives.
Tanya McCallin’s sumptuous sets retain their sheen — the servants’ sedulous scrubbing and sponging is clearly up to the mark — and Paule Constable’s lighting continues to beguile, most especially in the evocative transformation from Act 3’s imposing interiors to the evocative nocturnal garden of the final act. This is a real company success, all parts contributing equally to a pleasing whole.
Claire Seymour
Cast and production information:
Figaro, Alex Esposito; Susanna, Camilla Tilling; Counte Almaviva, Gerlad Finley; Countess Almaviva, Rebecca Evans; Cherubino, Anna Bonitatibus; Bartolo, Christophoros Stamboglis; Marcellina, Marie McLaughlin; Don Basilio, Guy de Mey; Antonio, Jeremy White; Don Curzio, Timothy Robonson; Barbarina, Dušica Bijelić; First Bridesmaid, Melissa Alder; Second Bridesmaid, Louise Armit; Director, David McVicar; Revival Director, Bárbara Lluch; Conductor, David Syrus; Designs, Tanya McCallin; Lighting Design, Paule Constable; Movement Director, Leah Hausman; Orchestra of the Royal Opera House; Royal Opera Chorus. Royal Opera House, Covent Garden,Friday 2nd May 2014.
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Stéphane Degout, Wigmore Hall, London
He sang Thésée in the Glyndebourne Hippolyte et Aricie and works with conductors like William Christie, Marc Minkowski, Emmanuelle Haïm and René Jacobs. He's also an outstanding Pelléas. Friends of mine admired his singing - and much more - as the "naked" Hamlet at La Monnaie. We were thrilled to hear him sing this wide-ranging programme.
Provocatively, Degout and Lepper began with Schubert Der Zwerg (D771, c 1822), usually the preserve of dark hued German baritones. Nearly sixty years ago, Gérard Souzay and Dalton Baldwin shook the Lieder world with their unidiomatic but brilliant Schubert. Now, Degout and Lepper show how French style can bring out great insight.. Degout's higher, sharper timbre captured the eeriness in Carl Loewe's Edward (Op 1/1 1818) sinisterly underlining the brutality in the poem.
The Wigmore Hall has been wise this year to feature the same group of songs in several different recitals, so we can hear how different artists approach them. In September Bryn Terfel sang Schumann Belsazar (Op 57, 1840), his huge voice emphasizing its vast panorama. Degout's Belsazar emphasized the personal horror that befalls the King at the very moment of his triumph. Luca Pisaroni and Angelika Kirchschlager Franz Liszt's Die drei Zigeuner (S320, 1860), each with their own style. Degout's interpretation highlighted the sardonic wit at the heart of Lenau's poem, somewhat obscured by Liszt's preference for pianistic display. Lepper created Liszt's sounds of the fiddle and cimbalom, but Degout reminded us that the gypsies don't care what the world thinks. "Wenn das Leben uns nachtet, wie man's verschläft, verraucht, vergeigt, und es dreimal verachtet"
Degout connected this Liszt song with Kurt Weill Die Ballade vom entrunkenen Mädchen (1928), employing logic lost on those who don't really know the songs. The drowned girl putrefies. Even God forgets her. The gypsies are poor but they make the most of what they have, while they can. For his encores, Degout chose Hugo Wolf Verborhgenheit and Francis Poulenc's Hôtel. When life is tough, some gloomily philosophize. "We French", said Degout with a sardonic grin, "We light a cigarette" "Le soleil passe son bras par la fenêtre. Mais moi qui veux fumer pour faire des mirages", wrote Apollinaire, distilling vast cultural concepts in a few ironic words.
Thus we were gently positioned to better appreciate the values of French song as an aesthetic subtly different from German Lieder. Degout sang Gabriel Fauré Automne (Op 18/5, 1870) , creating the melancholic mood so beautifully that the sudden crescendo on the last words "avaient oubliées!" intensified the sense of painful regret. When Degout sang Fauré's L'horizon chimérique (Op 118, 1921) , I could hardly breathe lest I miss a moment. This was exquisite singing,his each word elegantly shaped and coloured with intelligence, his precision underlining the emotional freedom the ocean represents. Lepper's playing evoked he rhythm of turbulent waves. so Degout's voice seemed to soar. Agile, athletic phrasing bristling with energy, so the serenity of the moon in Diane, Séléné felt all the more tantalizing. "Et mon coeur, toujours las et toujours agité, Aspire vers la paix de ta nocturne flamme". Degout made each nuance count. When he sang "j'ai de grands départs inassouvis en moi", the delicate balance between emotion and restraint felt almost too much to bear.
Degout followed Fauré with Liszt's Three Petrach Sonnets (S270/1 1842-6). Perhaps his grounding in baroque helps him sing Italian with a clarity one doesn't often here in these songs, but is in accord with the early music aesthetic of Petrarch's era. These songs can be done well in an Italianate fashion, but this showed how universal they can be. Lepper's playing was elegant, Degout's singing divine.
Anne Ozorio
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May 5, 2014
Thebans: World Premiere at ENO
He's always written with a distinctively "visual" personality, translating concrete images into abstract music Thebans may be his first official foray into formal opera, but he's been heading towards it for years.
"Is this a contemporary opera?" asked someone in the audience. A good comment, since "isms" are irrelevant to art. Greek tragedy is universal because it deals with concepts that transcend time and place. Its very power comes from abstraction. Frank McGuinness's text distils the essence of the drama in a concise way so Anderson can tell the story through his music. Orchestrally, Thebans is so vivid that I closed my eyes during the First Act to better absorb how the drama was being created by the orchestra, and the interplay between orchestra and voices. Massive towers of sound suggest the relentless Fate that will destroy Oedipus and his issue. Pierre Audi's staging, with Tom Pye's designs, reflects the music extremely well. Strong horizontals against towering verticals giving form to the structure in the score. The choruses are very well blocked, their movements reflecting the movement, and the tension in the music. Towers filled with rock loom over the stage: Antigone, Oedipus's daughter, will be entombed alive in an insane, sterile parody of the womb of the Earth.
Edward Gardner conducts with savage but tightly controlled ferocity. Gardner chose Anderson's Symphony for his high-profile Barbican concert nearly ten years ago, tellingly combined with Walton's Symphony no 1. He understands Anderson, and his place in British music. Gardner shows how Anderson's textures are created. Gardner is wise to expand his portfolio and seek further challenges in orchestral repertoire. He could perhaps be the "British" conductor of choice, with a new, distictive approach.
The powerful blocks of sound that create such impact are not crude monoliths but built up in carefully delineated levels of density. Anderson knew Gérard Grisey and Tristan Murail. He knows how microtones operate. I also thought of Harrison Birtwistle, specifically Earth Dances, where tectonic planes of sound are shaped by layers of smaller fragments. Birtwistle's syyle is strikingly organic, as if it grows naturally from great depths. Audi's staging again reflects this musical concept. In the Second Act, The Future, lights shine through the towers of rock, highlighting the invisible gaps behind solid objects (probably styrofoam). The lights suggest fire, perhaps volcanic forces rising from the bowels of the planet. Antigone defies oppression. She is the "light" that leads Oedipus who has gouged out his eyes.
The Second Act, which tells her story, is exceptionally well written, worthy of being staged on its own as a stand-alone. A second interval after a 20 minute act would normally kill an opera, but in this case feels necessary: you need to escape the intensity. The writing for the choruses is also very good indeed. Anderson sings in choirs himself. Like Greek choruses, Anderson's chorus pronounce judgement. From way up at the top of the auditorium, the choruses explode, augmented either in numbers or by electronics. : the effect is overwhelming, yet the voice types are not muddled.
In this powerful Second Act, music and visuals glow black, white, indigo, red and gold. This intensifies the desolation at Colonus, the portal of Death. The music becomes sepulchral. At times I caught echoes of plainchant. The devastaion is all the more harrowing because we have just seen how the curse on Oedipus outlasts his death.
Roland Wood sang Oedipus. He has been unwell for some weeks, so we didn't hear him at full capacity, so all the more respect to him. I hope he doesn't harm his voice by pushing it for this premiere, important as it is. Julia Sporsén sang Antigone. Lyrical beauty doesn't necessarily come into this role, so Sporsén created the strength in the part well. Peter Hoare's Creon was superb, helped by the oddly sensual passages Anderson writes for the part. Creon's monolgue in Act Two is disturbingly enticing. Anderson also uses countertenor for good effect, so Christopher Ainslie singing connected to baroque style while also suggesting the surreal intervention of Theseus. The whole Oedipal saga circulates around Jocasta, though she's swiftly despatched fairly early on. Anderson gives Susan Bickley a good aria, and Audi's costume designer Christof Hetzer further illuminates the past by dressing her - alone - in royal blue.
Anne Ozorio
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product_title=Thebans - Julian Anderson, English National Opera, Coliseum, London, 3rd May, 2014
product_by=A review by Anne Ozorio
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