Opera Today

Britten War Requiem - Andris Nelsons, CBSO, BBC Prom 47

However, there may be few performances in which environment and context more powerfully merge to such thrilling and heart-rending effect than this account by Andris Nelsons and the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra (who together also gave the 50th-anniversary performance in Coventry Cathedral). Gathered in the cavernous Royal Albert Hall precisely 100 years since the opening of hostilities in Europe, with the 250 members of the BBC Proms Youth Choir massed behind the instrumentalists and rising precipitously into the raked Choir tiers, and with the CBSO Children’s Choir perched aloft in the Gallery, the audience shared a palpable tense expectancy and a sense of the nobility of the occasion. When the soloists took their places - English soprano Susan Gritton isolated in the centre of the choral forces and English tenor Toby Spence and German baritone Hanno Müller-Brachmann seated at the front of the stage, enveloped by the chamber orchestra - it was hard not to imagine the two men as ciphers of past lives lost.

What made the final impact of this performance so surprising, though, was the rather subdued and reticent mood which Nelsons initially cultivated, as he built the climaxes surely and meticulously, the pace steady, the textures and voices always clear. This may have been a sensible approach given the reverberant acoustic of the Hall; but it was also a discerning one, for the release of emotion which marked the start of the ‘Libera Me’ and the stirring drive which accumulated towards the irresolution of the work’s ending, allowed the words, sentiments and passions previously communicated to find a potent and poignant focus at the close.

The ‘Requiem Aeternam’ began softly and discreetly, the young voices sounding fresh and light above tolling tritones of the earthly bells; when they were joined by the CBSO Youth Choir conducted by Marc Hall in the Gallery, the gently floating phrases - ‘Exaudi orationem meam,/ Ad te omnis caro veniet’ (Hear my prayer; to the all flesh shall come) - had an other-worldly quality, as if sent to those below as a message from celestial spheres.

The BBC Proms Youth Choir is formed from young singers drawn from all quarters of the British Isles who, trained in their regions, come together in Birmingham for an intensive course under the directorship of Simon Halsey in the days preceding their now annual (the Choir was founded in 2012) Proms performance. And, what a contribution they made. There were so many special moments but one particularly striking passage was the rhythmically free choral chanting in the ‘Sanctus’, which wonderfully represented the image of totality expressed by the Latin text, ‘Pleni sunt caeli et terra Gloria tua’ (Heaven and earth are full of glory). This preceded a glorious ‘Hosanna in excelsis’; and the asynchronies of the choral murmuring were made still more spine-tingling by their timbral contrast with soprano Susan Gritton’s resonant opening declaration, ‘Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus,/ Dominus Deus Sabaoth’.

Throughout, Nelsons chose to highlight not the minutiae of timbre and colour - although these elements were certainly not neglected and there were some thrilling moments such as the outburst of dazzling tuned percussion at the opening of the Sanctus - but rather the architectural breadth and grandeur of the whole. Rhythms were precise, and there were some superb, crisp polytonal fanfares from the brass and disturbing distorted percussive march-beats - and timpanist Patrick King played no small part in the creation of such an exhilarating rhythmic energy.

Similarly, Nelsons used the fugal passages in the ‘Offertorium’, which border Owen’s/Britten’s account of the parable of Abraham and Isaac, to establish first a buoyant optimism and then, following Abraham’s terrible sacrifice - ‘But the old man … slew his son,/ And half the seed of Europe, one by one’ - an unsettled restlessness, the fugal variants both echoing former Requiem settings and mocking their liturgical and musical ancestors. The CBSO Children’s Chorus added greatly to the irony, through their ethereal opening call to God to deliver the souls of the faithful dead from the pains of hell, and their uncanny ‘Hostias et preces tibi Domine laidis offerimus’ (To thee, O Lord, we offer sacrifice, prayer and praise), which accompanies the recommencement of the uneasy, fragmented fugue.

Nelsons remained in total command of the extensive forces and form. The asymmetrical pulses of the ‘Dies Irae’ and ‘Agnus Dei’ were urgent but controlled, and while the tempi were generally quite slow, the various contrasting sections were skilfully and convincingly crafted into a seamless, inevitable whole.

In this regard, the three soloists strongly conveyed the essence of Britten’s juxtaposition of universal Christian consolation and individual tragedy and experience. Susan Gritton’s consoling soprano rang out warmly and richly above the more delicate choral timbre, the lyrical ‘Lacrimosa’ a particularly touching interruption of the cold tolling bells which frame the movement. In the ‘Libera me’, the drama of Gritton’s single line, ‘tremens factus sum ergo’ (I tremble and I fear’), was ominously complemented by powerful playing by the brass and percussion.

Toby Spence’s appreciation of poetic form and expression was evident from the first phrase of ‘What passing-bells’, which interrupted the choir’s promise of eternal rest with impact but without undue melodrama. Spence’s every word was clear, even those lines which were articulated almost as a whisper. He vibrantly lifted Owen’s words from the page, and sang with affecting emotional commitment; typically impressive was the hauntingly still passage at the end of the ‘Dies Irae’, ‘Move him into the sun -/ Gently its touch awoke him once’, which formed an agonising afterword to the pleas to God of Gritton and the chorus to show mercy at the Day of Judgement.

Baritone Hanno Müller-Brachmann’s first entry was similarly affecting, the hushed sorrow of ‘Bugles sang, saddening the evening air’ delivering a persuasive rebuke to the flashing trumpets which had rung so glitteringly in the preceding ‘Dies Irae’. Müller-Brachmann sang with admirable control and assurance throughout, his noble declamation and rich, smooth tone elegant and unfussy. Though tackling a foreign tongue, he communicated with real directness and the openness of the baritone’s phrasing conveyed conviction and assurance.

Both Spence and Müller-Brachmann proved versatile in their responses to the text, especially in their duets. Conjoining in the ‘Dies Irae’, ‘Out there, we've walked quite friendly up to Death’, they presented a stubborn and bitter obstacle to the subsequent animated assertion of the choral tenors and basses: ‘Confutatis maledictis, Flammis accribus addictis, Voca me cum bendictis’ (When the damned have been confounded an to bitter flames consigned, summon me among the blessed.’

Concluding an eloquently simple rendition of the ‘Agnus Dei’, Spence’s quiet ‘Nobis pacem’ seemed to inspire a new level of emotional immediacy. The slow, sombre opening of the ‘Libera Me’ evoked a funereal tread which grew with gripping intensity into a shattering climax, the huge orchestral cry underpinned by the enormous, tense swelling of the RAH’s organ played by Julian Wilkins, who moments before had swung theatrically into his place in the loft.

Spence communicated the mystery and eeriness of the opening passage of Owen’s ‘Strange Meeting’, but it was with the entry of Müller-Brachmann’s dignified baritone that I found myself literally holding my breath, so hypnotic was the expressive declamation and the retreat to occluded shadows for the grave ultimate verse, ‘I am the enemy you killed, my friend. I knew you in this dark; for so you frowned/ Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed./ I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.’

The two protagonists of Owen’s poem are of course in Hell. When the two choirs and Gritton combined for their final gentle utterances, the bitter irony of their words, ‘In paradisum deducant te Angeli’, was gripping, especially as Nelsons, laying down his baton, coaxed a tone of such comforting quietude from the young voices of his chorus - a tone which was pure, natural and open, and which was so painfully challenged by the work’s final tolling bells.

Bringing his palms together, Nelsons gently silenced the choral ‘Amen’; the conductor, seemingly overcome, as were many, by Britten’s disturbing paradoxes and challenges, remained as if in prayer, for some minutes. The silence of remembrance was absolute throughout the Hall.

Claire Seymour

Susan Gritton, soprano; Toby Spence, tenor; Hanno Müller-Brachmann, baritone; Andris Nelsons, conductor; BBC Proms Youth Choir; City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra.

image=http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/22/Benjamin_Britten%2C_London_Records_1968_publicity_photo_for_Wikipedia_crop.jpg

image_description=Benjamin Britten 1968
product=yes
product_title= Benjamin Britten : War Requiem. Susan Gritton, Toby Spence, Hanno Müller-Brachmann, Andris Nelsons : Conductor, City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra, BBC Proms Youth Choir, BBC Prom 47, Royal Albert Hall, London 9=21st August 2014. A review by Claire Seymour
product_id 26

Il barbiere di Siviglia in Pesaro

The Rossini Opera Festival’s answer to this question was inspired. Its conceit was to stage a semi-staged Barber, stripping the production of any pretense of importance, and avoiding the thankless challenge to some unfortunate stage director of discovering a brilliant new perspective (there are those who remember the Pesaro staging some years ago by Luigi Squarzina — he placed the action in the Teatro Anatomico [the medieval dissection room] of Bologna’s famous, ancient medical school).

So now in Pesaro there was not even a stage director, but a class from the Accademia di Belle Arti di Urbino who conceived, staged, designed and executed the physical production (an un-named professor did admit to some coordination). There were approximately thirty twenty-somes who took a bow.

The production, and it was a fully staged semi-staged production, alternated between hijinks, caricature, slapstick, assault, nonsense and genius utilizing every inch and orifice of the Teatro Rossini to get us through the score we know so well. Most of it occurred on the floor of the platea (the orchestra section), deftly finding its way onto the stage apron for the big arias. “Largo al Factotum” and “Una voce poco fa” for example were delivered concert style but in magnified visual relief — Rosina clothed/costumed in a discrete concert black dress, Figaro decked out like an adventurous audience member clothes horse.

The big ensembles of course occurred on the stage, presentationally, and lest we forget that we were observers we watched a lone observer, patently passive, eternal, seated on the stage watching as well. The boxes in the walls of the Italian horseshoe theater were integrated into the action, audience so seated had to get out of the way when the action trampled through their box, the walls of the tiered horseshoe even transformed themselves into lighted scenery making the world a stage.

The staging was a series of lazzi (commedia dell’arte visual tricks) blown up to supersized proportion, and you were in the middle of it. This was the concept and it worked marvelously. It was a masterpiece of casting —excellent, matched singing actors who animated the Rossini magic of great music working through the age-old comic process — youth outsmarting age. And this production was just that — the creativity and exuberance of these Urbino students dismissed the experience, perspective and intelligence of a metteur en scène.

It was also the limitation of this extraordinary evening.

It was platinum casting. Young French baritone Florian Sempey may as well be named Giacomo Rossini. He is the spit and image of the twenty-four year-old Rossini of 1816, overflowing with musical energy and unfettered fun. His Italian was perfection, his patter exceeded the speed of light. In short he is the Figaro of your dreams. Upstaged, and then only briefly by Italian bass Alex Esposito as Basilio who in a simple black cossack fingering his rosary oiled his way onto the stage to deliver “la calunnia” knelt in fervent prayer, roaring divine strength and terror to Dr. Bartolo, confessionally kneeling as well. The Basilio of your dreams.

Italian baritone Paolo Bordogna achieved unusual presence as Bartolo, and won us over to a real understanding of a man obsessed by the delights of his table and his fear of germs. He was a not too old, not too ugly, just a fully humanized Bartolo whose obsessed patter too exceeded the speed of light, But he was foiled by the truly dumb antics of his coltraltino (a light voiced, high Rossini tenor) competition — what operatic tenors lack in intelligence they make up in fervor. This was Argentine tenor Juan Francisco Gatell who obliged Rossini’s idea of articulate, gurgling youth to the maximum.

Rosina, Sicilian mezzo Chiara Amarù, needless to say stood in box overlooking the stage (displacing its inhabitants) while she was serenaded by Almaviva. She wore a big post-adolescent smile all evening, except when she sang, and then it was replaced by deadly serious, positively astonishing coloratura. The depth of casting included a sixty-some Berta, that of sixty-some Italian soprano Felicia Bongiovanni, and even a strong voiced Fiorello, Andrea Vincenzo Bonsignore, who displayed intimidating smarts and later, as the Ufficiale, entered the auditorium astride the full-sized rolling horse we saw in the lobby as we entered the theater.

Not to forget the male chorus, members of the local amateur chorus, the Coro San Carlo di Pesaro, who filed on and off the stage, concert style, to wheezily debunk whatever possible sense of fancy opera that might still be present. This wonderful Coro completed the sense of community — Rossini, artists, audience — that the perpetrators of this evening succeeded in creating.

It was finally an evening about words, every word of the comedy clearly articulated and understandable. This was made possible by the perfection of the pit. Young Italian conductor Giacomo Sagripanti coaxed the members of the orchestra of the Teatro Comunale di Bologna to an always comfortable level of delirium that supported and completed the delirium of the singers and the staging. This careful balance in fact made the young Rossini the true star of the show.

Michael Milenski

Cast and production information:

Figaro: Florian Sempey; Rosina: Chiara Amarù; Count Almaviva: Juan Francisco Gatell; Bartolo: Paolo Bordogna; Basilio:Alex Esposito; Berto Felicia Bongiovanni; Fiorello: Andrea Vincenzo Bonsignore; Ambrogio: Alberto Pancrazi. Orchestra of the Teatro Comunale di Bologna. Coro San Carlo di Pesaro. Conductor: Giacomo Sagripanti; Concept/projections/scenic elements/stage movements/video/costumes: Accademia di Belle Arti di Urbino. Teatro Rossini, Pesaro, August 14, 2014.

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Barber_ROF1.png

product=yes
product_title=Il barbiere di Siviglia at the Rossini Opera Festivall
product_by=A review by Michael Milenski
product_id=Above: Juan Francisco Gatell as Almaviva, Chiara Amarù as Rosina [All photos courtesy of the Rossini Opera Festival]

Armida in Pesaro

The San Carlo was the world’s most important theater at that time. Its legendary caffe waiter turned opera impresario Domenico Barbaja had not only the famous mezzo-soprano Isabella Colbran (his mistress, later Rossini’s wife) on his roster but also three splendid baritenori [literally baritone tenors] — the baritenore, the contraltino and the tenore di grazia represent the Italian high tenor voices of the time. Plus the San Carlo possessed a sizable stable of dancers, an accomplished orchestra with excellent solo players, and, not least, a stage endowed with the latest in technical innovations!

With Elisabetta (anticipating Sir Walter Scott) and Otello (Shakespeare) Rossini had ventured into dramatic territory new to opera. Two masterpieces resulted. But in Armida Rossini returns to the imaginary world of chivalry and its heros, specifically the knight Rinaldo and his captor, the beautiful witch Armida (the late-Renaissance poet Tasso’s intense version of Ariosto’s Alcina, both derived more or less from the Ariadne myth we know so well from the Richard Strauss opera).

Like Tasso Rossini plays the emotive strains of rapture and rage in gloriously rich language — Tasso in word and Rossini in music. The Teatro San Carlo’s librettist was one Giovanni Schmidt who gave Rossini lots and lots of syllables to transform into sublime vocal lines — the inimitable Rossini flights of vocal delirium. Schmidt’s libretto is indeed long on affect (and quite short on action and situation) giving Rossini ample opportunity, maybe too much opportunity to exploit his voices and to explore the affective potentials of the musical instruments in his pit — horns of course and also the extreme treble range of the cello as examples.

Even without the complex ensembles that burst forth so magnificently in many of the Neapolitan operas there is potentially just enough of the Rossini genius in Armida to thrust it into the masterpiece sphere. This did not occur just now in Pesaro.

The conductor was Carlo Rizzo, well known to big house audiences for the grand repertory. His Rossini credentials seem to be that he will conduct Mosé in Egitto and Guillaume Tell at the Scottish Opera a couple of years from now. This maestro’s intention seemed to be to layer the moods and colors of late Romantic music onto Rossini rather than to energize and illuminate the Rossini vocabulary and gesture. The Rossini score did not support this stylistic transposition and left us indifferent to the orchestral playing and much of the singing.

In fact the sole ecstatic ovation of the evening occurred for the ballet (normally there are many extended periods of applause and foot stomping that Pesaro audiences use to release their excitement, though intelligence from opening night reports that that audience released its disappointment with considerable booing)! Just when you thought that opera ballets were unique to France you found a thirty or so minute ballet in Naples, and two years later there is an extended dance scene in Mosé in Egitto as well. Throughout its years of patronage by the Bourbon dynasty the Teatro San Carlo fulfilled these rulers’ love of dance.

In the Act II finale Armida conjures an allegorical vision of a young warrior succumbing to the pleasures of the senses. Rossini composed an orchestral theme and variations that choreographer Michele Abbondanza exploited to the fullest with eight or so quite athletic and accomplished dancers from his Compania Abbondanza/Bertoni (his collaborator is the dancer/choreographer Antonella Bertoni) backed up by what seemed to be about ten, maybe twelve able and willing supernumeraries. Mr. Abbondanza’s movement vocabulary was advanced, at once inventive and highly controlled. It was complex, ornamental and inexhaustibly evolving. It was an absolutely over-the-top feat of theater. In short it was everything you want from a Rossini performance.

Choreographer Abbondanza is a teacher at the Scuola di Teatro Giorgio Strehler. The director of this school of such prestigious name is octogenarian Luca Ronconi who was not so coincidently the metteur en scène of this Armida together with his septuagenarian collaborator Ugo Tessatori.

The Rossini Festival assigned Armida to the Adriatic Arena, a venue that has seen over-the-top mise en scènes in recent years, its vast spaces transformed into massive scenic installations supporting brilliant concepts. Thus expectations were high. Long time Ronconi collaborator Margherita Palli created the scenery. It was a crumpled brown paper-like background against which floor to ceiling display cases slid on and off, plus there was a hidden conveyor belt that weirdly transported actors on and off the stage but oddly only three or four times over the long evening. It would have been more appropriate scenery in Pesaro’s traditional Teatro Rossini.

Signor Palli’s credits include installing shows at various museums over the years. Perhaps this experience led to the production concept which seemed to be that we should see this old opera as artifact rather than as living, breathing art. Costumer Giovanna Buzzi cooperated by dressing her soldiers in clumsy, oversized armored vests and blousey shirts that visually stultified all sense of movement. Armida, the only female singer, was in abstract bird-like, intensely colored gowns, solid red for her final scene of first supplication, then revenge. The demons were dressed as bats in costumes that reeked of naiveté to our modern eyes, further quoting antique style costuming and further creating the sense of artifact that Sigg. Ronconi and Tessatori apparently sought.

Armida was sung by young Spanish soprano Carmen Romeu, an ambitious assignment she completed honorably if without distinction. Armida is a role for a star — for the Spanish mezzo-soprano Isabella Colbran as example. It demands a magnetic performer and a great singer. At this point in her career Signorina Romeu is still an aspiring artist who boasts clean and careful, finely wrought coloratura. But the role as well requires considerable full voice singing in the lower soprano register where Sig.na Romeu sometimes lacked the support necessary to maintain accurate pitch. One does however appreciate the conceit of casting a Spanish soprano in this Colbran role.

Dmitry Korchak as Carlo, Antonino Siragusa as Rinaldo, Randall Bills as Ubaldo

The high point of the evening was when Rossini’s compositional virtuosity exploded in the third act three tenor trio, “In quale aspetto imbelle” — Rinaldo sees himself reflected in a warrior’s shield as a disarmed lover. The knights Ubaldo and Carlo encourage him in his struggle to sacrifice love to glory. The lover Rinaldo was sung by Italian tenor Antonino Siragusa, a veteran of many roles in Pesaro, usually villains. It was a stretch of imagination to see him as the romantic hero. He is a very fine singer with all the secure, ringing high notes Rossini demands, and exquisite, beautifully voiced coloratura. He offered the finest vocal pleasures of the evening.

Russian tenor Dmitry Korchak cut a fine figure first as Gernando, a French knight who was outraged when Rinaldo was elected as leader of the French forces, and then as Carlo, a knight sent to rescue Rinaldo from Armida. Mr. Korchak possesses the baritonore voice, a darkly colored high voice. While he did manage his few high notes, barely, he created none of excitement with them that he achieved in his coloratura. American baritenore Randall Bills was asked to portray Goffredo, the commander-in-chief of the Christian forces. He is a slightly built, fine young artist with a lovely, warm tone. He was dramatically far more successful later in the opera when he had become the French knight Ubaldo and contributed significantly to the overwhelming beauty of the tenor trio.

Michael Milenski

Cast and production information:

Armina: Carmen Romeu; Rinaldo: Antonino Siragusa; Goffredo/Ubaldo: Randall Bills; Gernando/Carlo: Dmitry Korchak; Idraote/Astorotte: Carlo Lepore; Eustazio: Vassilas Kavavas. Ballet: Compagnia Abbondanza/Bertoni. Orchestra and chorus of the Teatro Comunale di Bologna. Conductor: Carlo Rizzi; Metteurs en scène: Luca Ronconi and Ugo Tessitore; Choreographer: Michele Abbondanza; Scenery: Margherita Palli; Costumes: Giovanna Buzzi, Lighting: A.J. Weissbard. Arena Adriatica, Pesaro, August 13, 2014.

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Armida_ROF1.png

product=yes
product_title=Armida at the Rossini Opera Festivall
product_by=A review by Michael Milenski
product_id=Above: Carmen Romeu as Armida [All photos courtesy of the Rossini Opera Festival]

Santa Fe Opera Presents an Imaginative Carmen

Georges Bizet composed his opera, Carmen, to verses by Ludovic Halévy and dialogue by Henri Meilhac. Based on Prosper Mérimée’s novella of the same name, the work was first performed at the Opéra-Comique on March 3, 1875. The Comique audience was accustomed to seeing performances that did not reflect any of the serious issues of the day and the low class characters seen in Carmen surprised many people. Local reviews were not positive, but the opera soon gained popularity from performances outside France. When it returned to Paris eight years later, it was already well on its way to becoming a major success.

Santa Fe opera has presented Carmen in various productions since 1961. This year’s version by Stephen Lawless takes place during the recent past in Northern Mexico near the United States border. The performance on August 6, 2014, featured Ana Maria Martinez as a monumentally sexy Gypsy who was part of a drug smuggling group. Because of the updating and change of setting, Jorge Jara’s costumes were smartly styled in bright colors except for the first act where Carmen and her colleagues wore factory smocks that they left open in front because of the summer heat.

Benoit Dugardyn’s Act II Tavern had a disco ball and microphones for Carmen’s nightclub act, the Chanson Bohème. His striking third act set put all but the most athletic smugglers behind the high fence that marked the border, so it was not until the last act that the audience got to again see the leading characters’ facial expressions. When we did see his face, Jose had become a dangerous, broken man who stalked his former lover.

Conductor Rory Macdonald began the performance with crisp, sprightly tempi that immediately set him apart as a force to be reckoned with. He caught the essence of Bizet’s work while allowing the singers enough room to interpret their individual parts as he drew fine playing from the orchestra. An enchanting seductress, Ana Maria Martinez was a Carmen to remember whose interpolated high notes added considerable interest to her vocal interpretation.

Tenor Roberto De Biasio was a passionate Don José who sang his role with ease except for the notably difficult final pianissimo of the Flower Song. As his original lover Micaëla, Joyce El-Khoury’s smooth legato and silvery high notes told of her plight in dangerous times. Kostas Smoriginas was a charismatic bullfighter who took over Carmen’s nightclub audience with his virile, resonant bronzed tones.

Amanda Opuszynski’s Frasquita had bell-like high notes, but low notes of Sarah Larsen, the Mercédès, were hard to hear. The strong voices of Dan Kempson as Le Dancaïre, and Noah Baetge as Le Remendado completed the group of smugglers. Surprisingly, for the beginning of the quintet, Director Lawless placed Carmen upstage, away from the others and there were a few unsynchronized notes.

TOP ROW: SARAH LARSEN (MERCÉDÈS) + DAN KEMPSON (LE DANCAÏRE) + AMANDA OPUSZYNSKI (FRASQUITA) BOTTOM ROW: ROBERTO DE BIASIO (DON JOSÉ) + ANA MARÍA MARTÍNEZ (CARMEN) + NOAH BAETGE (LE REMENDADO)

This production incorporated an unusual conception of this fascinating opera that worked well and gave the audience a new look at a most familiar piece. Musically, Martinez was an outstanding soprano Carmen who moved the gypsy into modern times.

Maria Nockin

Casts and production information:

Carmen, Ana Maria Martinez; Don José, Roberto De Biasio; Escamillo, Kostas Smoriginas; Micaëla, Joyce El-Khoury; Frasquita, Amanda Opuszynski; Le Dancaïre, Dan Kempson; Le Remendado, Noah Baetge; Morales, Ricardo Rivera; Zuniga Evan Hughes; A Vendor, Rebecca Witty; Conductor, Rory Macdonald; Director, Stephen Lawless; Scenic Design, Benoit Dugardyn; Costume Design, Jorge Jara; Lighting design, Pat Collins; Projection Design, Jon Driscoll; choreographer, Nicola Bowie; Chorus Master, Susanne Sheston.

image=http://www.operatoday.com/SantaFe_Nockin1.png

product=yes
product_title=Carmen at Santa Fe Opera
product_by=A review by Maria Nockin
product_id=Above: Ana Maria Martinez as Carmen and Roberto de Biasio as Don Josè
[Photo by Ken Howard courtesy of Santa Fe Opera]

The great classical music swindle - and why we're better off now

By Tom Service [6 August 2014, The Guardian]
Some aperçus and soupçons based on those of Paul Morley, with whom I was talking recently for a film I’m making for BBC4 on Mozart. As well as Paul’s Mozartian epiphany - thanks to a darkened room and a Google-lottery of K numbers, but you’ll have to wait until the autumn for more on that - Morley suggested something that got me thinking: that today’s era of technological fluidity, flexibility, and almost-instant access to an entire world of musical possibility suits classical musical culture better, potentially, than it does rock and pop.
[More....]

Elgar Sea Pictures : Alice Coote, Mark Elder Prom 31

The violins dashed flamboyantly through the brilliant opening passage-work of Berlioz’s overture, Le corsaire, initiating a vibrant - perhaps at times bombastic - account of this impetuous, playful score. Composed during a sojourn in Nice in 1844 (and originally entitled "La Tour de Nice"), the imaginative instrumentation and material of the overture prompted a reviewer of the first performance, at the Cirque Olympique on 19 January 1845, to remark that the work was ‘perhaps the strangest and most peculiar composition to have been created by the imagination of a musician’. If the Hallé did not quite find the requisite timbral brilliance, there was still much exuberance and some fine playing.

I did not feel that Elder was entirely successful in stitching together the various musical ideas into a tight, coherent form, but the slow introduction had a more reflective dignity which contrasted effectively with the ostentation of the principal Allegro theme. There was a breathlessness about the rapidly succeeding moods and idioms, canons giving way to dances, both interrupted by brief reiterations of the thunderbolt chords of the opening. The brass were given free rein at the close and their brazen roar was perhaps indicative of the joyful satisfaction which Berlioz experienced as he looked from his turret room ‘perched on a ledge of the Ponchettes rock, and feasted myself on the glorious view over the Mediterranean and tasted a peace such as I had come to value more than ever’, and as recorded in the composer’s Memoirs. Despite the Byronic resonance of the title, there is no direct link between the poet and Berlioz’s piratical overture, but Elder ensured that a resolute Byronic spirit of invincibility shone through.

A similar richness of experience was conveyed by mezzo-soprano Alice Coote in a nuanced, highly thoughtful performance of Elgar’s Sea Pictures, in which clear, expressive communication of the five poetic texts was matched by ever-modulating vocal tones and shades perfectly attuned to the poetic sentiment.

Sea Pictures, nestled between the Enigma Variations and The Dream of Gerontius, was commissioned by the Norwich Festival for performance in 1899. It is the composer’s only song-cycle for voice and orchestra, and the orchestral version was not written until after Elgar’s first rehearsal with the then up-and-coming contralto, Clara Butt, in August 1899. Butt reputedly wore a dress resembling a mermaid; Coote preferred a beautiful blue-green coat-dress more suggestive of Prospero’s island-magic than a maritime nymph, an effect enhanced by the aquamarine glow from the stage-bordering frieze. She certainly employed her vocal alchemy to enchant and transfix all present.

From the opening bars of ‘Sea Slumber-Song’ (text by Roden Noel) the Hallé powerfully evoked the ebb and flow of the unknowable deep, and it was from this surging wash that Coote’s rich mezzo emerged, an organic extension of the lapping orchestral waters. The low hushed phrases, as the ‘Sea murmurs her slumber song, on the shadowy sand’, were warmly projected and a mood of peace was established by the lullaby-rocking and rich vocal hues. Coote’s full, glowing middle and lower register easily countered Elgar’s, at times, weighty brass and wind orchestration.

Matching Coote’s attentiveness to textual detail, Elder encouraged picture-painting from the Hallé, glissandi flourishes from the harp and decorative sextuplet from the violins and flute evoking ‘this elfin land’ and soft timpani trembling echoing the distant, rolling waves. The concluding repetitions, ‘Good night’, were beautifully shaped and placed, and Elder left us elusively chasing a glistening, rising wave.

‘In Haven (Capri)’ was similarly hypnotic and consoling, the siciliano rhythm lulling and relaxed, the gentle accompaniment lightly articulated and effectively supporting the simple text penned by Elgar’s wife, Alice. Coote’s charming vocal line was poised and graceful, coloured by instrumental interjections emerging from the transparent texture. Only in the third stanza - ‘Kiss my lips and softly say:/ “Joy, sea-swept, may fade today;/ Love alone will stay.’ - did the voice swell with emotion, complemented by sonorous playing from the violins.

‘Sabbath Morning at Sea’ (Elizabeth Barrett Browning) was by turns more turbulent and more grandiose, Coote responding affectingly to the enlarged tessitura and dynamic range of the song. Elder manipulated the tempo flexibly and the suggestion of unsettled currents was enhanced by crisp triplets from the brass. The impassioned climax was powerful - “And, on that sea commixed with fire,/ Oft drop their eyelids raised too long/ To the full Godhead’s burning!”, the strings rolling forcefully through the wave-like motif from the opening ‘Sea Slumber-Song’.

Graceful woodwind solos complemented Coote’s in ‘Where Corals Lie’ (the verse is by the prodigious Pre-Raphaelite Richard Garnett the younger), particularly at the start of the second stanza, and the closing cadence was imbued with a sense of peace and hope.

Coote’s ability to control the expressive and dramatic form of the Sea Pictures was apparent in the final song, ‘The Swimmer’ (text, Adam Lindsay Gordon) which built from the dramatic orchestral pedal which opens the movement, through fluid recitative and stormy, impassioned song to an ardent climax, as the mezzo avowed her faith in a place ‘where no love wanes’. There was great intensity, suggestive of a yearning for transfiguration in death, and Coote’s soaring, glossy upper register cut effortlessly through thick orchestration which includes percussion and organ. This was a consummate and enthralling performance

In the second half of the concert, an expansive yet vigorous account of Beethoven’s 'Eroica' was prefaced by Near Midnight by the Associate Composer to the Hallé Orchestra, Helen Grime, which was receiving its London premiere having first been heard in May 2012, conducted by Elder, at the Bridgewater Hall.
Taking its inspiration from a poem by D.H. Lawrence, ‘Week-night service’, Grime summons a restless mood, ceaselessly manipulating the orchestral colours in a manner reminiscent of Oliver Knussen:

"The five old bells
Are hurrying and eagerly calling,
Imploring, protesting
They know, but clamorously falling
Into gabbling incoherence, never resting,
Like spattering showers from a bursten sky-rocket dropping
In splashes of sound, endlessly, never stopping".

There is much tumult - the brass section’s strident recurring fanfares were superbly executed and the ostinato repetitions had a disturbing, mechanic brittleness - as well as gloomy shadow and melancholy. The undulating rumblings of double basses and low harp and brass, supplemented by bells, at the start were particularly redolent of nocturnal misgivings. Nonetheless, the quieter third section which is the most moving of the work’s various parts. Here, the tender, meandering string line is supplemented by expressive flourishes from woodwind, harp and celeste The final section, too, sombre and reflective, laden with the static stillness of midnight, brought forward touching solos from the oboe, clarinet, bassoon and muted trumpet. I should very much like to hear this composition again.

Elder had little time for period ‘authenticity’ in an account of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 3 in E flat major , 'Eroica', which winningly combined majesty and vitality. There was momentum but not haste; romantic feeling but judicious restraint. The scalic and arpeggio-based melodies had eloquence and lyricism, and there was an appropriate bite to the rhythmic motivic development. The ‘Funeral March’ was especially heart-felt and show-cased some wonderful solo-playing by oboist Stéphane Rancourt. The driving motifs of the Scherzo were crisply and cleanly articulated, and dynamic contrasts were used effectively to supplement the feeling of unstoppable forward motion. Throughout the sound was full and resonant, with antiphonal violins and the cellos and double bass sections also separated and spatially opposed. Once more, Elder let the horns rip through the end of the Finale (four of them rather than Beethoven’s indicated trio of valve-less horns); a majestic, celebratory ending to a super evening of music-making.

Claire Seymour

Alice Coote, mezzo-soprano; Mark Elder, conductor; Hallé Orchestra
Berlioz, Overture, Le Corsaire; Elgar, Sea Pictures; Helen Grime, Near Midnight; Beethoven, Symphony No.3 in Eb major, Eroica.
Photo: Sir Mark Elder, courtesy Ingpen & Williams

image=http://www.ingpen.co.uk/_system/wp-content/themes/ingpen_desktop/assets/application/libraries/resizer/image.php?src=http://www.ingpen.co.uk/_assets/elder-2.jpg&q=90&zc=1&w=450&h=240
image_description=Sir Mark Elder, courtesy Ingpen & Williams
product=yes
product_title= Berlioz, Elgar, Grime, Beethoven : Sir Mark Elder, The Hallé, Alice Coote, BBC Prom 31, Royal Albert Hall, London 9th August 2014. A review by Claire Seymour
product_id 26

Berio Sinfonia, Shostakovich, BBC Proms

Petrenko did a reasonable job in Berio; however, I could not help but wonder how often he had conducted the work before. It was certainly a swift, driven reading, but that seemed to reflect a head more than usually stuck in the score (understandable, given the circumstances).The opening of the first movement was promising indeed: aethereal, its harmonies unmistakeably announcing an ‘Italian’ flavour - both Dallapiccola and Nono springing to mind - whatever the undoubted internationalism of Berio’s outlook. It is a great piece for the European Youth Orchestra, not only in terms of that ‘internationalism’ but also because, like Mahler (if only we could have had his music in the second half!) a large orchestra is employed, but sparingly, smaller ensembles drawn therefrom to wonderful, magical effect. It was a pity Petrenko drove so hard, but the movement recognisably remained itself.

The second movement came across almost as a ‘traditional’ slow movement, albeit again with sparing, almost soloistic use of the orchestra. An appropriately geological and river-like sense characterised the third movement. Mahler’s Second Symphony was the bedrock, of course, but I was also fascinated by the thoughts of memory and its tricks that the Rosenkavalier references provoked. If anything, Strauss and Hofmannsthal proved the more resonant on this occasion, though whether that was simply a matter of my frame of mind, or was in some sense owed to the performance, I am not sure. At any rate, the combination - and conflict - between the EUYO and London Voices made it seem, especially in the context of Petrenko’s once-again driven tempo, almost as though one were trapped within a human mind, and a witty one at that. Mathieu van Bellen offered an excellent violin solo. The typically varied vocal references included one to ‘Shostakovich’s Fourth Symphony’, concluding with a ‘Thank you, Mr Petrenko’. Amplification perhaps seemed a bit heavy in the fourth movement, though perhaps it was more a matter of the acoustic; nevertheless Berio’s imagination continued to shine through. I wondered whether the final movement might have smiled a little more - no such problem with the voices - but all was present and correct, and often rather more than that.

As for Shostakovich: well, his apologists hail this symphony as a masterpiece, but an opportunity to hear it had the rest of us wish it had remain ‘withdrawn’, not on account of any dangerous ‘modernism’ - Stalinist ‘socialist realism’ truly was insane! - but because it is such a dull, frankly un-symphonic work. For the most part, Petrenko and the EUYO did all they did to convince, although string playing sometimes went awry. The first movement opened with Lady Macbeth-style Grand Guignol, perhaps more interesting than anything that followed. Precision and attack were impressive: there was a chilling mechanistic quality to the performance, but alas, the work ensured that returns diminished, Shostakovich’s threadbare invention rendered all too apparent after a while. The second movement is at least shorter, but from the outset, one felt, as so often with this composer, that one had heard it all before, and it still seemed too long.

Oft-drawn comparisons with Mahler seemed as incomprehensible as ever. They made a little more sense in the final movement - so long as one bore in mind Boulez’s observation that Shostakovich offers at best a ‘second pressing’ in olive oil terms - but surely nothing justified the lack of variegation and indeed the sheer tedium of this piece. Petrenko and the orchestra rendered the movement’s Largo opening nicely creepy. Various woodwind took the opportunity to shine within the confines of generally unrelieved lugubriousness. There could, however, be no papering over the formal cracks. How I longed for a little invention: Haydn, Webern, Mahler, Berio, just about anyone! Is it not about time that we abandoned puerile Cold War attitudes and considered whether this music is actually any good, rather than merely sympathising with the autobiography of an alleged ‘dissident’?

Mark Berry

mage=
image_description=

product=yes
product_title= Luciano Berio : Sinfonia, Dimitri Shostakovich : Symphony no 4. Vassily Petrenko, European Union Youth Orchestra, London Voices, BBC Prom 26, Royal Albert Hall, London 5th August 2014. A review by Mark Berry-
product_id 26

Four countertenors : Handel Rinaldo Glyndebourne

For their first revival of the production, Glyndebourne brought back conductor Olivier Dantone, and assembled a cast which showcased the modern counter-tenor revival by including a total of four in the cast. . Unusually for a modern performance of a Handel opera, all the male characters were played by men. Iestyn Davies was Rinaldo, with Tim Mead as Goffredo, Anthony Roth Costanzo as Eustazio and James Laing as the Christian Magus. Christina Landshamer was Almirena, Karina Gauvan was Armida and Joshua Hopkins was Argante. The designer was Gideon Davey, lighting was by Robert Carsen and Peter Van Praet, movement director was Philippe Giraudeau and the revival director was Bruno Ravella. The Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment was in the pit.

The basic premises of the staging were set out during the wonderfully crisp and involving account of the overture. A young schoolboy, Rinaldo (Iestyn Davies) was being bullied by his fellows and tormented by a pair of teachers. Suddenly a group of knights appear (dressed in a combination of school uniforms and breast-plates). For the rest of the opera, the setting is the school; Armida's domain is the dormitory, the Christian Magus is the chemistry master. But the action is pure schoolboy fantasy. The Knights are led by the sympathetic teacher, Goffredo (Tim Mead), whilst the two bad teachers, Armida (Karina Gauvin) and Argante (Joshua Hopkins) have a cohort of furies who seemed to be girls from St. Trinian's on LSD. Rinaldo's love interest was a fellow school girl, Almirena (Christina Landshamer).

Any production of Rinaldo needs to be entertaining and spectacular. The plot is full of holes and the way that Handel brought in arias from previous works means that we have some superb music often in unsuitable places. Carsen and Davey brought in spectacle, albeit in unusual ways. The blackboards in the school sported magic writing, and repeatedly seem to form portals to the magic world. Armida made her first entrance through one, and as did the the vision of the sirens.

But sometimes the desire for spectacle and humour got in the way of the opera; the finale of act one, Rinaldo's "Venti turbini" was accompanied by the Knights preparing their steeds, bicycles, to great comic effect. Davies sang the final section riding a bicycle mid-air. A great visual effect, and very funny, but somehow at odds with Handel's music. The long action sequence in act three clearly caused problems, Handel wrote some terrific music here but what we saw was visually uninteresting, though sometimes very funny, and the culminating battle was a bizarrely funny football game. Carsen's stagecraft was not in doubt and but the production seemed to highlight the deficiencies of the drama rather than help them.

The only really fully rounded character in Handel's opera is the evil sorceress Armida. Here Karina Gauvin was in great form and went well on the way to stealing the show. Re-invented by Carsen as an evil, leather clad dominatrix, Gauvin's Armida used all the voluptuousness of her leather-clad fuller figure, but combined this with some spectacular singing. From the moment of her first entrance, "Furie terribili", Gauvin's singing had passion and energy, combined with a strong technique. All the details in the arias were there; not only the profound beauty and poignancy of "Ah Crudel" when Davies's Rinaldo rejects her in act two, but the vivid rage aria "Vo' fa guerra". With some singers, there could have been a danger that the highly coloured theatrical concept of the character might overshadow the musical elements, but not with Gauvin. What we got was a wonderfully integrated, and brilliantly sung performance. This Armida was someone you loved to hate and thrilled to listen to.

The other large role is the title role, Rinaldo with eight arias and a duet with each of the sopranos. Davies's performance was a dramatic and musical tour de force, completely matching Gauvin and ensuring that the drama was balanced. Davies showed himself entirely adept at coping the demands of the rather uneven libretto. When Armida kidnaps Almirena, Davies has a pair of arias almost back to back both essentially covering the same emotional ground (the entirely wonderful "Cara sposa" and the different but still lovely "Cor ingrato". But you never felt that Davies was doing so, he brought a wonderful variety of tone and emotions to them. The virtuoso act one finale was brilliantly done even though Davies spent part of the aria on a flying bike. Rinaldo's later arias are equally spectacular, and Davies acquitted himself brilliantly, being wonderfully martial in "Or la tromba". Almost as importantly, he brought light and shade to the character. In this version of the story Rinaldo is unbelievably moral, he is never tempted by Armida and this is the story's weakness (Carsen's re-invention with Armida as the evil teacher works well here). The beauty of Davies's Rinaldo was that we never really noticed this weakness, he created a complete character.

Joshua Hopkins was a wonderfully vivid Argante, stitching the character's arias (taken from a variety of sources) into something like a coherent character. His opening aria was finely and arrestingly done, much cloak twirling accompanied the equally vivid account of the vocal line. Argante might not be the most well drawn of villains, but Hopkins made him almost believable and a good foil for Gauvin.

It was not Christina Landshamer's fault that Handel's original Almirena was clearly a singer of minor talents, so that the heroine of the opera gets so few arias. But the fact that Carsen and Davey dressed her in such an unflattering costume (a girl's pinafore dress which becomes voluminous and sweeps to the floor, looking four sizes too big), and had a preference for staging her arias with the singer a long way up stage, meant that for the first two acts Almirena hardly registered as a character. That said, Lanshamer was musically superb in her showpieces; the act one "Augelletti" was full of brilliant trills and sung with just the right amount of charm, whilst Act Two's "Lascia io pianga" was superb and brought a tear to the eye. Only in the last act did this build into something like a sense of character.Landshamer made you realise that in another opera, she could be a very powerful Handel heroine. Her duet with Davies in act one had great delight and charm, and here we could appreciate the naivety of two teenagers in love.

Tim Mead made a fine upstanding Goffredo, singing his arias with poise and polish. He has the voice, bearing and physique for such a fine upstanding role, unfortunately Handel and his librettist never really allow the character to come off the page, and Carsen's staging did not help here. Mead did his best and was noble and upstanding in just the right way, and sang with great beauty of tone and an admirable firmness.

It says a lot of Anthony Roth Costanzo's personal abilities that he managed to charm as Eustazio, a role which is entirely superfluous. You could probably cut Eustazio's arias and not lose an inch of dramatic coherence. Costanzo has a bright, quite narrow focussed timbre but he used it well and captured our attention in his arias. James Laing was the Christian Magus, and had great fun with his jaunty aria.

The smaller roles were all taken by members of the Glyndebourne Chorus, Niel Joubert was the firm toned Herald. Anna Rajah and Rachel Taylor were the delightful Sirens in one of the loveliest numbers in the opera when the Sirens tempt Rinaldo, whilst Charlotte Beament was a Woman.

Handel was showing off in the orchestra too, determined to make a great effect on the Londoners in 1711. Under Olivier Dantone, the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment made a big effect . There were some fabulous individual solos but alo a wonderfully vivid and crisply dramatic overall effect. Dantone kept things moving, This was a moderately brisk performance and his singers and instrumentalists could clearly cope with the brilliant tempi; But the more emotional moments relaxed too.

One rather annoying logistical note; quite wisely there were two intervals, but the first interval was short and the second interval was the long dinner interval. This meant that the long interval came late in the evening, just before the short final act; surely not the best place for it.

However grumpy I felt about some of Carsen's comic effects, it was clear that not only the level of stagecraft was very high, but that Carsen's staging hit home with the majority of the audience. Like Handel's original audience, many people around me at Glyndebourne were clearly there to enjoy the total effect rather than to worry about the niceties of Handelian opera seria. So there was only one thing to do, relax and enjoy the show; which I did.

Robert Hugill

Handel Rinaldo
Goffredo: Tim Mead, Rinaldo: Iestyn Davies, Almirena: Christina Landshamer, Eustazio: Anthony Roth Costanzo, Herald: Niel Jouber, Argante: Joshua Hopkins, Armida: Karina Gauvin, Woman: Charlotte Beament, Sirens: Anna Rajah and Rachel Taylor, Christian Magus: James Laing Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenmment, Conductor:Ottavio Dantone, Director: Robert Carsen; Designer: Gideon Davey, Lighting: Robert Carsen & Peter Van Praet; Movement: Philippe Giraudeau; Revival director Bruno Ravella, Glyndebourne Festival Opera
9 August 2014

mage=
image_description=

product=yes
product_title= Handel : Rinaldo, Glyndebourne Festival, Lewes, West Sussex England, 9th August 2014
product_by=A review by Robert Hugill
product_id

Opera star breaks her leg - but completes the performance

[The Telegraph, 5 August 2014]

Opera star Christiane Karg took the old saying "the show must go on" to painful extremes recently when she completed a performance with a broken leg.

[More....]

Santa Fe Opera Presents The Impresario and Le Rossignol

On August 7, 2014, the Santa Fe Opera presented a double bill of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s The Impresario and Igor Stravinsky’s Le Rossignol (The Nightingale). The Impresario deals with the casting of an opera and Le Rossignol tells the well-known fairy tale about the plain gray bird with an exquisite song. Since the same cast sang both operas, it could be inferred that Yussupovich, the impresario, is casting the second opera. Santa Fe’s version of The Impressario is a pastiche that uses other Mozart vocal works to replace dramatic material of the composer’s time that would be meaningless to today’s audience. Included were: K 541, Un bacio di mano; K 256, Clarice cara; K 539, Ein deutsches Kriegslied; the “Champagne Aria” from K 527, Don Giovanni; K351, Komm lieber Zither; K419, No, che non sei capace; and K561, the scatological canon, Bona Nox.

Penny Black translated Gottlieb Stephanie’s original text and Ranjit Bolt added the English words sung to the vocal music listed above. Thanks to the imaginative lighting of Christopher Akerlind and the effective projections of Andrzej Goulding, James Macnamara’s practical set with piano and desk could be used for both operas. Fabio Toblini’s costumes emphasized the caricatures created in the libretto. Director Michael Gieleta had his managers plan covert actions and his artists plant their feet and sing while ballerina Xiaoxiao Wang and five limber male dancers performed Seán Curran’s engaging choreography around them.

As impresario Yuri Yssupovich and manager Otto van der Puff, Anthony Michaels-Moore and Kevin Burdette sang with aplomb as they tried to envision a financially viable opera company. They needed money from Eiler, the unscrupulous banker sung by David Govertson, to get the show on stage. In his aria set to the music of Ein deutsches Kriegslied, Govertson’s patter was perfectly synchronized with the orchestra and he did not miss a single syllable. Meredith Arwady was a thoroughly amusing Chlotichilda Krone but her low notes did not carry as well as the rest of her range. Brenda Rae and Bruce Sledge were Gieleta’s version of an opera “love couple.” They sang wonderfully as individual artists, but in the long run they could not help competing with each other.

The star of the evening in both The Impresario and Le Rossignol was coloratura soprano Erin Morley. She made us laugh as Adellina Vocedoro-Gambalunghi and brought tears to our eyes as the once banished nightingale that returned to sing because the emperor longed for her presence. In both operas, her singing was pure silver as her voice rose to rarely heard heights. With magical projections and lighting effects, the Impresario’s piano turned into a boat from which the Rossignol fisherman, Bruce Sledge, sang with warm tones as he plied his trade.

Brenda Rae was an attentive Cook and Kevin Burdette an officious Chamberlain. Until the end of the story, Anthony Michaels-Moore was an uncomprehending Emperor but his tears finally brought the bird back to sing above the fantastic decor of his early twentieth century palace. Kenneth Montgomery led the Santa Fe Opera Orchestra in exquisite renditions of both of these disparate pieces. His Impresario was elegant and precise while his Rossignol was sensitive and impressionistic. He brought out the essence of each piece and his translucent approach let the audience hear the sonorous beauty of each orchestration. The entire evening was thoroughly delightful.

Maria Nockin
_______________________________________________

Cast and production information:

Conductor, Kenneth Montgomery; Director, Michael Gieleta; Scenic Design, James Macnamara; Costume Design, Fabio Toblini; Lighting Design, Christopher Akerlund; Projection Design, Andrzej Goulding; Choreographer, Seán Curran; Chorus Master Susanne Sheston; Yuri Yussupovich/Emperor, Anthony Michaels-Moore; Otto van der Puff/Chamberlain, Kevin Burdette; Heinrich Eiler/Bonze, David Govertsen; Chlotichilda Krone/Death, Meredith Arwady; Vlada Vladimirescu/Cook, Brenda Rae; Adellina Vocedoro-Gambalunghi/Nightingale, Erin Morley; Vladimir Vladimirescu/Fisherman, Bruce Sledge; Dancers: Anthony Bocconi, Jesse Campbell, Reed Luplau, Shane Rutkowski, Ziaoxiao Wang, Jonathan Royse Windham.

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Rossignol_Nockin.png

product=yes
product_title=Fidelio in Santa Fe
product_by=A review by Maria Nockin
product_id=Above: Erin Morley as the Nightingale, the figure of Death, and Anthony Michaels-Moore (right) as the Emperor of China [Photo courtesy of Santa Fe Opera]

Barber in the Beehive State

At a time when few companies risk devoting resources to lesser-known lyric theatre, this enterprising operation has gambled, and won, with a handsome new production of Samuel Barber’s Vanessa that was characterized by first-rate musical and theatrical values.

Conductor Barbara Day Turner wielded a commanding baton that made the (slightly reduced) orchestration pulse with character and vitality. The top-notch instrumentalists, assembled from near and far, played as one and the Maestra elicited many happy revelations from the rich orchestral writing. She unleashed every bit of passion from the rhapsodic moments, and discovered a beautiful balance with the more straightforward (and sometimes witty) conversational exchanges. Moreover, the conductor was a collegial partner with the singers who were coached to a fare-thee-well. Barbara Day Turner may have just achieved the most accomplished and inspired operatic conducting I have experienced in recent memory.

The musical success was made complete by a highly accomplished cast of singers. In the demanding title role (written for Callas but passed down to Steber), Beverly O’Regan Thiele exuded glamour and elegance, physically and vocally. Hers is an alluring sound and she possesses sound technical ability. She convincingly makes the transition from desperate longing to almost girlish fulfillment. She seems to have a found a rich subtext to Vanessa, and her multi-layered portrayal is fascinating, coupled as it is with well-judged vocal effects. If I had one wish, it would be that she commanded a bit more weight in the lower middle when up against a few moments of thick orchestral texture. But happily, she doesn’t force her beautiful tone beyond its limits and the overall achievement was thoroughly captivating.

Amanda Tarver (Baroness), Andrew Bidlack (Anatol) and Alice-Anne M. Ligh (Erika)

As the opportunistic Anatol, Andrew Bidlack was almost too good to be true. His honeyed tenor was capable of unctuous sweetness, but also had ample reserves for the more spinto romantic urgings. The high soaring phrases held absolutely no terror for him. In addition to his persuasive vocalizing, Mr. Bidlack is handsome as all get-out, and he looks instantly believable as the cad that is young enough to be Vanessa’s former lover’s son. He communicated a calculated electricity with his conquests and one could accept that he might prompt an object of his attention to act against her own best interests.

Alice-Anne M. Light displayed a sumptuous mezzo as Erika, and she won us over early on with a delectably intoned Must the winter come so soon. With a beautifully even tone, a very wide range, and a sound technique already in her arsenal, Ms. Light might loosen up a mite and inject more dramatic color in key phrases. Erika is after all, the most complex occupant here in Dysfunction Junction. And, the most potentially sympathetic. She has all the right qualities and at the end of the day, there is always that splendid instrument. Still, I would hope that future outings will allow her to engage the audience with a deeper embodiment of the girl’s concealed pain. Richard Zuch brought Wotan-like power and Donizettian charm to the character of the Doctor. The only thing he occasionally forgot to bring was consonants. But with a bronze baritone this solid and generous, and a stage demeanor this appealing, Mr. Zuch easily won the audience over. His spinning in a drunken circle to plop on the settee while sustaining a high F-sharp was nothing short of amazing.

Kevin Nakatani made a fine impression as the servant Nicholas, and he wrung every laugh out of his moment of adoration of a guest’s fur coat. The Maids Madolynn Eileen Pressin and Elizabeth Tait had real personalities and executed specific stage business with skill. I especially liked the suggestion that one of them had also been a willing recipient of Anatol’s attention. Amanda Tarver is arguably way too young for the old Baroness, but her physicality was commendable, and it was a treat to hear the role sung with such a fresh, substantial and robust delivery. Ms. Tarver might have been assisted had her age make-up been a little more pronounced and her wig a little grayer.

Beverly O’Regan Thiele (Vanessa), Andrew Bidlack (Anatol), Alice-Anne M. Light (Erika), Richard Zuch (Doctor)

That is not to impugn the overall achievement of the commendable hair and make-up design contributed by Susan Sittko Schaefer. The elaborate costumes created by Wes Jenkins were richly detailed, beautiful to behold, and helped in defining the characters. Jack Shouse designed an imposing mansion’s great room dominated by a massive staircase and balcony. Everything about the look and the accessories conveyed “Old World money.” Christopher Wood’s sensitive lighting was notable for its effective isolated areas, subtle shifting moods, and astonishing accuracy. All evening, the follow-spot contributions were very, very well-executed (did I say “very”?).

If I had to single out a highpoint in an evening plump full of them, it would have to be the final quintet. The placement of the soloists, the fluidity of the illumination, the excellence of the musical writing, the perfection of the singing, the gradual build-up of tension and volume, and then when you thought it couldn’t possibly get any better, the almost unbearably powerful climax with Mr. Zuch cresting the full ensemble’s fortissimo passage with a tremendous outpouring of gorgeous baritone sound.

Daniel Helfgot staged the piece with a sure hand. He used the space and the levels very well indeed, and created believable character relationships with well-motivated movement. I liked the focal point of the landing, midway up the staircase, although initially it did seem to relegate Vanessa to a disadvantageous upstage positioning at curtain rise. Mr. Helfgot knew how to point the dramatic tension, and also injected a good deal of humor into the proceedings. One minor reservation:

Having the front doors burst open to frame Anatol’s initial appearance, backlit and with snow falling was a stunning effect to set up Do not utter a word. But when he subsequently crossed into the shadowy room during the aria, could he have not closed the doors? I mean, it is the frozen tundra out there! It remained a distraction until well after the aria when Nicholas finally rolled his eyes and shut out the cold. This same thing happened when the duo returned from ice-skating. In an evening that was consistently marked by great attention to detail and realism, these two choices seemed out of character.

That minor observation aside, this accomplished Vanessa was a cause for substantial jubilation.

James Sohre

Cast and production information:

Vanessa: Beverly O’Regan Thiele; Erika: Alice-Anne M. Light; Anatol: Andrew Bidlack; Baroness: Amanda Tarver; Doctor: Richard Zuch; Nicholas: Kevin Nakatani; Maids: Madolynn Eileen Pressin, Elizabeth Tait; Pastor: Jon Jurgens; Conductor: Barbara Day Turner; Director: Daniel Helfgot; Set Design: Jack Shouse; Costume Design: Wes Jenkins; Wig and Make-up Design: Susan Sittko Schaefer; Lighting Design: Christopher Wood; Chorus Master: Stephen Carey

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Vanessa_Sohre1.png

product=yes
product_title=Vanessa in Logan, Utah
product_by=A review by James Sohre
product_id=Above: Andrew Bidlack (Anatol) and Beverly O’Regan Thiele (Vanessa)" [All photos by Waldron Creative, courtesy of Utah Festival Opera]

Stravinsky : Oedipus Rex, BBC Proms

The main work in the programme was Stravinsky's Oedipus Rex, which took up the whole of the second half of the concert. The actor Rory Kinnear provided the narration, speaking Deryck Cooke's translation of Jean Cocteau's original. Kinnear was amplified, so that his narration had a rather intimate, confiding quality. It worked very well, but I did wonder whether something more monumentally declamatory might have been more in keeping with Stravinsky's vision.

The chorus plays an important role in the piece, and here the men of the BBC Singers were joined by the men of the BBC Symphony Chorus to provide a very strong choral contribution. Their opening chorus combined monumentality with some wonderfully incisive and crisply controlled rhythms. Oramo kept the fast passages quiet so that the chorus's contribution was intensified, at times almost whispering. Throughout the piece, the chorus commented on the action sometimes with crisp, chugging motifs and sometimes with stronger, darker feelings. When the Messenger (Duncan Rock) came to tell of Jocasta's death, it was the chorus which took over the major role in a bizarrely jolly chorus which the BBC Singers and BBC Symphony Chorus sang with terrifying relish and pinpoint rhythms. The final, powerful chorus was a complete tour de force.

Allan Clayton was a very strong Oedipus, displaying a combination of power, focus and control. The role requires a tenor who can sing with a reasonable amount of dramatic bite, but who can cope with Stravinsky's rather florid writing. Clayton was just about ideal, in the way his tenor rang out over the orchestra but you could hear every detail and appreciate the sense of line. He managed to combine the strongly dramatic moments with some lovely lyric ones, plus a good feel for the language; and his final, short speech was profoundly moving.

Jocasta is a relatively short role, but an important one and Hilary Summers sang her solo with a wonderful combination of directness and her familiar straight tones, but still managed to bring in a seductive element too. Her duet with Clayton's Oedipus was one of the high points of the drama, full of thrilling vocal moments and wonderful orchestral detail.

Brindley Sherratt was admirably firm and trenchant as Tiresias. Juha Uusitalo's Creon was vivid enough, but his tone was rather too blustery for my taste. Duncan Rock made a fine Messenger, with strong, dark tones and powerful delivery. He was joined by Samuel Boden's as a rather pressured Shepherd.

There were moments in the performance when the balance was not ideal, though I realise that this varies depending on where you sit in the auditorium (I was in seat H61, going through door J in the Stalls). Whilst Oramo kept the orchestra under fine control, there was a feeling that the soloists would have had a rather more favourable time if the orchestra had been in a pit, although there is no pit at the royal Albert Hall. .

The orchestra contributed some finely thrilling playing, wonderfully controlled and crisp but still powerful. This period of writing in Stravinsky's career requires performers to combine accuracy with thrilling power, the devil is always in the detail. Here all the details were present, with terrific rhythmic precision and control and some lovely solo details in the orchestra, and combining into an ideal whole.

The concert started with Beethoven's Egmont Overture the best known of the incidental music that he wrote in 1810 for Goethe's play Egmont. Throughout Oramo kept things on a tight rein, and you felt the tension, drama and shimmering excitement. I had a couple of worries, though. With the large body of strings, the balance with the woodwind did not seem ideal and in the louder tutti moments, the strings tended to obscure the wind. The ending, though controlled, seemed a little too buttoned up. I wanted the final bars to let go a bit more.

Also in the first half, Brett Dean's Electric Preludes which was written in 2011-2012 for his friend Richard Tognetti to perform on the electric violin. This is a new instrument, where the instrument functions very much like an electric guitar with the sound requiring amplification and providing scope for a wide range of electro-acoustic effects. The instrument was also equipped with extra strings, taking the sound into the cello territory. Dean has already written a concerto for the conventional violin and this new piece pits the Electric Violin against a string orchestra in six movements with evocative titles, Abandoned Playground, Topography - Papunya, Peripeteia, The Beyonds of Mirrors, Perpetuum Mobile and Berceuse.Dean's work explored the endless possibilities for variations of textures that his combination of solo electric violin and strings gave him. Each of the movements was very much a character piece, exploring a particular mood, and it was mood and texture which were important rather than specific melodic material. I have to confess that I am still not sure about the electric violin as a solo instrument, but Francesco D'Orazio was clearly a virtuoso and was finely supported by Oramo and the BBC Symphony Orchestra.

Robert Hugill

Stravinsky: Oedipus Rex, Beethoven: Egmont Overture; Brett Dean: Electric Preludes
Oedipus: Allan Clayton, Jocasta: Hilary Summers, Creon: Juha Uusitalo, Tiresias: Brindley Sherratt, Messenger: Duncan Rock, Shepherd: Samuel Boden, Speaker: Rory Kinnear
Francesco D'Orazio: Electric violin
BBC Symphony Orchestra, BBC Symphony Chorus, BBC Singers
Sakari Oramo: Conductor
BBC Proms at the Royal Albert Hall, Prom 28, 7 August 2014

image=http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/33/Igor_Stravinsky_LOC_32392u.jpg/256px-Igor_Stravinsky_LOC_32392u.jpg
image_description=

product=yes
product_title= Beethoven, Brett Dean, Stravinsky Oedipus Rex, BBC Prom 28,Royal Albert Hall, London 7th August 2014
product_by=A review by Robert Hugill
product_id=Above: Igor Stravinsky By George Grantham Bain Collection [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Santa Fe Opera Presents a Passionate Fidelio

Ludwig van Beethoven wrote his only opera, Fidelio, to a German libretto by Joseph Sonnleithner who based it on Jean-Nicolas Bouilly’s Léonore, ou L’amour conjugal. Written in 1798, the Bouilly work was also set by Pierre Gaveaux, Simon Mayr, and Ferdinando Paer. Beethoven’s opera had its world premiere at Vienna’s Theater an der Wien on November 20, 1805. Unfortunately, French troops were then occupying the city and most of the prospective audience had long since left for safer places. Thus, the first performance was not a success. After some revisions, the composer brought his opera to the stage of the Kärntnertor Theater in Vienna on March 29, 1806, but he was still not satisfied with the outcome. He made many more changes and added work by librettist Georg Friedrich Treitschke, for performances at the same theater beginning May 23, 1814. Finally, performances of this hard-wrung opera were successful and it has remained in the international repertory ever since.

Santa Fe Opera presented Beethoven’s Fidelio for the first time in 2014. This writer saw it on August 5th. Since the sides of the opera house are open, the audience watched the sun redden the low hanging clouds and set below the Sangre de Cristo mountains while Chief Conductor Harry Bicket led the Santa Fe Opera Orchestra in the rousing overture. At the same time Alex Penda as the title character readied herself for the ordeal to come as she endeavored to rescue her unjustly imprisoned husband.

Since director Stephen Wadsworth updated the story to World War II, Chief Jailer Rocco’s facility bore considerable similarity to a concentration camp. The upper levels of Charlie Corcoran’s set housed offices for Nazi soldiers, including Prison Governor Don Pizzaro whose walls were graced with faux Nazi memorabilia. The lower levels were living quarters for Rocco’s family and Fidelio in Act I, but were shut off by a stone wall for Act II. Camille Assaf’s attractive and practical costumes reflected the time of the Third Reich.

Alex Penda, whose voice is a bit light for the role of Fidelio, was a credible wife dressed as a boy and much of her acting was heart rending. When she whipped out her gun and held it on the villain, Don Pizarro, she had the audience in the palm of her hand. It was the lower-voiced men, however, who had the spectacular voices. Greer Grimsley was an evil Pizarro with wonderfully resonant, well-projected sound. Maestro Bicket did not have to hold down the orchestra for Grimsley’s aria because the bass-baritone has a huge well-focused voice. As Rocco the jailer, baritone Manfred Hemm had a large, warm sound that contrasted well with that of Grimsley and the two men treated the audience to some great music. Devon Guthrie was a bright voiced, perky and efficient Marzelline while Joshua Dennis was a worthy, smooth-voiced Jacquino.

Tenor Paul Groves opened Act II with a smooth, lyrical rendition of the famous aria about darkness and doing the right thing even if the reward is imprisonment. He brought out the composer and librettist’s feelings for those unjustly imprisoned as he sang with controlled emotion. He and Penda were a fascinating couple as she freed him from his chains at the behest of the commanding Don Fernando, Evan Hughes.

Second year apprentices Joseph Dennis and Patrick Guetti were believable prisoners and, led by Chorus Master Susanne Sheston, the rest of the inmates sang with perfect harmony that contrasted with the terrible conditions in which they lived. Harry Bicket gave us a well thought out rendition of this beloved Beethoven opera with strictly controlled tempi and exquisitely played solos by the orchestra’s principals.

Maria Nockin
_______________________________________________

Cast and production information:

Fidelio, Alex Penda; Florestan, Paul Groves; Marzelline, Devon Guthrie; Rocco, Manfred Hemm; Jacquino, Joshua Dennis; Don Fernando, Evan Hughes; Prisoners, Joseph Dennis, Patrick Guetti; Conductor, Harry Bicket; Director, Stephen Wadsworth; Costume Designer, Camille Assaf; Scenic Design, Charlie Corcoran; Lighting design, Duane Schuler; Chorus Master, Susanne Sheston.

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Fidelio_Nocklin.png

product=yes
product_title=Fidelio in Santa Fe
product_by=A review by Maria Nockin
product_id=Above: Alex Penda as Fidelio and Paul Groves as Florestan in Act II of Fidelio [Photo courtesy of Santa Fe Opera]

Die Entführung aus dem Serail @ Hangar-7

Bassa Selim is a Valentino-like dress designer (“BASSA” reads the license plate on his Jeep, and his logo, “BS,” resembles the signature of a sultan). Konstanze is a supermodel (übermodel?) lured from her lover, Belmonte. Blondchen is one of the many seamstresses we see at their machines, working on the new collection. Osmin is a power-lifting major d’omo. Pedrillo works in IT. The entire production was staged for telecast in Hangar-7 of the Salzburg Airport, otherwise a museum for classic Formula 1 race cars and fancy airplanes. Pedrillo sings “Frisch zum Kampfe” in the cockpit of a fighter. “Vivat Bacchus” is sung at a cocktail bar. Ramps and labyrinths crisscross the space, and singers perform their arias while parading up, down and around, always on camera. There is a lighted runway (and four models in statuesque gowns by designer Lena Hoschek to slink along it). And the entire performance appears to be taking place in real time, for television airing, with an audience of Festival-goers following the singers around the huge space.

Somehow the airy sense of this joyful fable never evaporates under what could have seemed a heavy-handed treatment. This is very much to the credit of stage director Adrian Marthaler and video director Felix Breisach: They do not permit the high concept to crush the quicksilver charm of this ever delectable score, the forerunner and pre-echo not merely of Zauberflöte but also of Fidelio and Der Freischütz.

The success is also very much to the credit of the singers. Not only are the cameras “in their faces,” backing down ramps as they sing or intruding on them in dressing rooms, the audience is not sitting in the theater but pursues them all about the set. Too, the orchestra is not present—they’re over at Hangar-8, audible to the singers by visible earphone-microphones of the sort nowadays familiar on Broadway. Presumably, the conductor is visible on screens above the cameras, but following such a trick can’t be a usual part of the opera singer’s skill set—or not until lately. It’s probably very much a skill young singers are obliged to acquire. Too, very rarely do a singer’s eyes look inappropriately away—following the conductor—as happens so often in filmed opera. And all of them look good and act well, though Kurt Rydl, an experienced Osmin, looks neither young enough nor muscular enough for the part as here conceived.

Everybody sings well if not precisely at top star level. Désirée Rancatore (the 27-minute “bonus” film on the making of this project makes clear) was a last-minute replacement when Diana Damrau became pregnant, but she leaped at it and she carries it off, her sorrows and regrets, resisting a genuine attraction to Selim to remain true to Belmonte, visible in her expressions. One has heard more precise “Martern aller Arten”s, but this was a well-shaped performance, and her “Traurigkeit” is melting and moving.

Javier Camarena displays subtler acting chops here than in his self-consciously bumptious appearances at the Met last spring as Bellini’s Elvino and Rossini’s Don Ramiro. Too, the entire quality of the voice, which seemed Latin, almost voluptuous in Bellini and Rossini, is entirely different here, a dignified, well-proportioned German sound. Thomas Ebenstein’s Pedrillo is all grinning Viennese operetta, good-natured and sexy, though his suave tenor is of rather higher quality than operettas usually get these days. The find among the lovers, however, is Rebecca Nelsen, an American unknown to me, whose Blondchen is brilliant when she needs to scatter high spirits to the stratosphere without forfeiting a womanly beauty displayed throughout her range. A pretty woman, a fine actress, and a singer I hope to encounter in the future. The veteran Kurt Rydl, forced to sing his initial ballad while pulling weights, is grayer and less able at his assignment, Osmin—less adept at the fioritura than he was a generation ago but fiery in his torture manifestoes. Tobias Moretti acts proud but conflicted, a man who chooses not to exercise the violence his frustrated passions suggest: The controlled hero Mozart admired. Admirable as he was, one felt, as always, a regret at his having no music to display himself. Couldn’t we borrow one of the pasha’s arias from Zaide for Selim?

Hans Graf and the Camerata Salzburg revel in this wonderful score, and the flow of melodious delight is perfect for any evening’s entertainment.

John Yohalem

Cast and production information:

Desirée Rancatore, Rebecca Nelsen, Javier Camarena, Thomas Ebenstein, Kurt Rydl, Tobias Moretti. Hans Graf: Camerata Salzburg, Salzburger Bachchor “Live from Hangar-7.” Filmed at Hangar-7 of the Salzburg Airport as part of the 2013 Salzburg Festival.

Arthaus Musik 108 102 [Blu-Ray]