September 30, 2014
Anna Caterina Antonacci, Wigmore Hall, London
Elegant and restrained, she did not need fancy costumes or extravagant gestures to convince of her star quality; instead, she drew us into the distinct world of each of the thoughtfully selected series of songs - by Respighi, Poulenc, Ravel and de Falla - by means of deeply expressive singing and detailed acting. Resting at times on the piano, she effectively embodied the songs’ personae and voices, and conveyed precise moods and sentiments.
Carl Orff is one of the classical music world’s ‘one-piece’ composers; how many could name any of his compositions other than Carmina Burana? And, those who are familiar with his intense, richly scored scenic cantata would probably find the suggestion that he had anything in common with the Renaissance sensitivities of Claudio Monteverdi an improbably proposition. However, Orff’s Lamento d’Arianna (after Monteverdi), composed in 1925 and subsequently revised in 1940, reveals more shared threads than one might imagine: Orff’s freedom of metre recalls the flexible declamatory style of the Renaissance madrigal and opera, and while their harmonic language may appear incongruous, the directness of the dramatic and rhetorical expression also unites the two composers. Such correspondences were movingly communicated in this rendering of Orff’s own piano reduction of his original orchestral score.The opening bars of Donald Sulzen’s piano introduction were, however, striking and attention-grabbing: grand and opulent statements, encompassing a wide tessitura, alternated with sparser more intimate gestures, creating a dynamic and moving rhetoric.
Indeed, Antonacci sensitively balanced tenderness and magnificence throughout the lament. Dynamics were finely graded and judged: in the first verse Arianna professes her desire to reject life, ‘In così gran martire’ (in such bitter suffering), a line which faded into a whisper, while her impassioned cry ‘O Madre, O Padre mio!’ glistened sonorously. Antonacci tamed her vibrato in the more introverted reflection but allowed the tone to bloom in anguished outbursts of accumulating intensity; Sulzen was an alert commentator, the jagged punctuation and huge spread chords of the final section effectively complementing Arianna’s grief-stricken apostrophising. After a powerful chordal piano postlude, the final, gently placed tierce de Picardie was a surprise: an unexpected note of consolation and peace.
When Orff presented arrangements of Lamento d’Arianna and another Monteverdi composition, Ballo dell’ingrate, the early music revival was just beginning in Europe, and interestingly at this time Ottorino Respighi made his own performing version of Monteverdi’s La Favola d’Orfeo. It was a fitting choice, therefore, to following the Orff with seven songs by Respighi, in which Antonacci frequently floated fine threads of soaring sound. Sulven was sensitive yet always unobtrusive; his precise, clear textures skilfully underscored textual details, as when evoking the translucent rippling waters of ‘O falce di luna’ (O crescent) or when - by means of nuanced harmonic inflections and suspensions, and an oscillating pattern in the middle voice - suggesting the dark hues of the abandoned garden in ‘Crepuscolo’ (Twilight).
Antonacci revealed not just her expansive tessitura but also her multi-coloured tonal variety: in ‘Acqua’ (Water) she modulated the weight and focus of her voice most expressively to convey the soft brushing of the whispering reeds wiggling along the bank (‘Acqua, e, lungh’essi I calami volubili/ Movendo in gioco le cerulee dita’) and a wonderful sense of lyrical freedom captured the fleeting motions of the water (‘Tu che con modi labii deduci’). In ‘Stornellatrice’ (Singer of Stornelli) alternate lines of burnished low mezzo and higher, lighter soprano effectively suggested the singer’s inner conflicts and questioning, before a self-possessed close: ‘Quando poi l’eco mi risponde: mai?’ (When the echo answers me: never?) A highlight of the sequence was ‘Sopra un’aria antica’ (On an old aria): again registral contrasts were employed to powerful effect and Antonacci delivered both the florid melodies and the detailed text emotively. Sulven’s delicate trills conjured a neoclassical air and served to meld old and new.
Poulenc’s seven settings of Paul Éluard which form La fraîcheur et le feu (The coolness and the fire) concluded the first half; these miniatures capture a multitude of moods and the performers moved easily from the fiery drama of ‘Rayons des yeux et des soleils’ (Beams of eyes and suns) to the lyrical expanse of ‘Le matin les branches attisent’ (The branches fan each morning). In the latter Antonacci once more demonstrated her vocal control, steadily withdrawing to suggest the tranquillity of the evening trees, ‘Le soir les arbres sont tranquilles’. In contrast, her glossy soprano swooped luxuriantly in ‘Tout disparu même les même toits le ciel’ (All vanished even the roofs even the sky) to suggest the glistening stars which mimic the singer’s tears, ‘Soeurs miroitières de mes larmes’. Sulven’s jazzy harmonies and parallel chords created drama and depth in ‘Homme au sourire tendre’ (Man with the tender smile), complementing Antonacci’s tone of tendresse.
A languid, silky rendition of Henri Duparc’s La vie antérieure (A previous life) followed the interval; the crescendo and accelerando in the second stanza powerfully conveyed the singer’s growing excitement, as reflected in the swells of the sea which create a ‘mellow music’, portrayed by Sulven’s low, grand gestures. After an impassioned outburst as she recalled her life of ‘sensuous repose’, Antonacci retreated into recollections of ‘Le secret douloureux qui me faisait languir’ (the secret grief which made me languish), her sadness sensitively evoked by Sulven’s long, poignantly unravelling postlude.
Ravel’s Cinq melodies popuiaires grecques were vibrant in their simplicity and directness. The ostinato patterns of ‘Le réveil de la mariée’ (The bride’s awakening) created an excited air of expectation, while the flattened seconds of the modal ‘Là bas, vers l’église’ (Down there by the church) were sensuously nuanced. Antonacci’s folky rhetoric in the unaccompanied ‘Quel galant m’est comparable?’ (What gallant can compare with me?) was delivered with confidence, an affirmation which found equal but contrasting voice in the free vocalise of ‘Chanson des cueilleuses de lentisques’ (Song of the lentisk gatherers). The exuberant repetitions, ‘Tra-la-la!’, and Sulven’s revolving patterns propelled ‘Tout gai!’ (So merry!) to a jubilant conclusion. In ‘Kaddish’, one of Ravel’s Deux melodies hebraïques, Antonacci’s strong mezzo voice captured the rapturous spirituality of the devotional sentiments, culminating in a hypnotic, melismatic ‘Amen’, while 'Vocalise-étude en forme de habanera' showcased her vocal flexibility and virtuosity.
Finally, we turned from Italy and France to Spain, Manuel de Falla’s Siete canciones populares españolas concluding the recital. Antonacci’s dramatic temperament was to the fore in these seven songs: the accusative fury at the end of the ‘Seguidilla murciana’ (Seguidilla from Murcia) was thrilling, while the sentiments of the quiet lament, ‘Asturiana’, were conveyed by Antonacci’s serene presentation of the sorrowful, restrained melodic contours, long even rhythmic values and by the unpredictable dissonances in the accompaniment. The asymmetries of ‘Jota’ (a lively Spanish dance) were playful and the vigorous rhythms were nimbly executed, while in ‘Nana’ (Lullaby) the singer’s melismatic phrase-endings had a charming ‘oriental’ colour. The final song, ‘Polo’, was brisk and passionate, Sulven’s persistent repeating patterns evoking the rhythms of a flamenco guitar, and the final heated and heartfelt ‘Ay!’ serving as a reminder that Antonacci has proven herself an impressive Carmen!
Claire Seymour
Anna Caterina Antonacci, soprano; Donald Sulzen, piano
Orff: Klage der Ariadne (after Monteverdi’s Lamento d’Arianna); Respighi, ‘O falce di luna’, ‘Van li effluvi de le rose’, ‘Sopra un' aria antica’, ‘Stornellatrice’, ‘Acqua’, ‘Crepuscolo’, ‘Pioggia’; Poulenc: La fraîcheur et le feu: Duparc: ‘La vie antérieure’; Ravel: Cinq mélodies populaires grecques, Deux mélodies hebraïques, Vocalise-étude en forme de habanera; Falla: Siete canciones populares españolas
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September 29, 2014
Il barbiere di Siviglia, Royal Opera
There’s not much subtlety but plenty of mayhem and mischief, and this third revival, which brings together familiar faces and new voices, raised many a guffaw — and, for once, the laughter was prompted as much by the shenanigans on stage as by the surtitles aloft.
Making his Royal Opera debut as Count Almaviva, the Italian-American tenor Michele Angelini took time to settle. He seemed a little nervous and tense in ‘Ecco ridente’; the phrasing lacked elegance and there was some gruffness and untidiness. Similarly, ‘Se il mio nome saper voi bramate’ sounded strained at times. Certainly, Angelini has vocal agility — and physical nimbleness too, springing spryly into the branches of the baobab three beneath his beloved’s balcony. In the cascades each individual pitch was clearly defined, but there was some unnecessary ornamentation which could not compensate for a lack of creamy evenness and brightness. Indeed, Angelini over-complicated his Act 2 ‘Cessa di piu resistere’ too, tiring himself out in the process. But, he seemed more at ease in his Act 2 personae and enjoyed some effective comic romping as the billeted squaddie and fawning music master, wheedling himself deftly into his inamorata’s domain.
American baritone Lucas Meachem was more at home as the eponymous coiffeur, even though this was a Royal Opera role debut, and offered a master-class in comic singing and acting. Meachem has a huge voice but knows when to turn on the power and when to hold back, blending easily in the ensembles. Bellowing his arrival from the rear of the auditorium, Meachem then startled the amused audience, stopping to admire a hairdo or two as he strolled nonchalantly down the aisle. In a carefully paced ‘Largo al factotum’ every word of pithy patter rang clearly, delivered to the far nooks of the auditorium as Meachem seemed to make eye-contact will all. Throughout, this barber was irrepressible and engaging; the moments of exasperation and frustration were entirely natural and convincing. And, in ‘Dunque io son’ Meachem and his Rosina, Serena Malfi, relished the comic fun, Figaro ruefully recognising his equal in guilefulness as Rosina shrewdly whipped the pre-composed letter for ‘Lindoro’ from her bodice.
Malfi’s Rosina gave much pleasure. The Italian has a rich, warm mezzo, with a dash of velvety darkness. The coloratura demands were effortlessly dispensed, Malfi’s technical assurance allowing her to focus on communicating the drama. In ‘Una voce poco fa’ the petulance (stamping, pouting and dart-throwing!) were well-judged, and there was a feisty control about this Rosina that left no doubt that she was more than a match for her hapless guardian, Bartolo. Ebullient of character, voluminous of tone, Malfi sparkled in her house debut.
As her crafty custodian, Alessandro Corbelli returned to the role he sang in the 2009 revival and demonstrated that he has lost none of his buffo nous. In ‘A un dottor delta mia sorte’ Corbelli winningly delivered the musical and dramatic tricks; a perfect portrait of preening presumption, this Bartolo’s comeuppance was richly enjoyed.
The sinister edge in Maurizio Muraro’s full bass added vocal interest to Basilio’s ‘La calumnia’, complementing the predatory rage, while Welsh baritone Wyn Pencarreg (another ROH debut) was strong as Fiorello, quickly pinning the characterisation and singing cleanly and mellifluously.
This production indulges in hyperbole, and I found the shrieks and sneezes of Ambrogio (Jonathan Coad) and Berta (Janis Kelly) a bit tiresome; but Kelly charmingly revealed the secret yearnings beneath the housekeeper’s apparent disapproval of the amorous goings-on, in a sweet-toned ‘Il vecchiotto cerca moglie’. Promoted, like Coad, from the ranks of the ROH chorus, Donaldson Bell and Andrew Macnair acquitted themselves very well as the Officer and Notary respectively.
Having conducted the original run in 2005, Mark Elder returns to the pit, leading the ROH orchestra in a detailed, nuanced performance. The overture’s Andante maestoso was stately, perhaps a touch on the slow side, but the textures were clear and there was some lovely playing, and an expertly controlled trill, from the horn. Things picked up niftily, though, at the Allegro vivace and the final Più mosso was not so much a Rossinian acceleration as a Mo Farah-style final-lap kick, a ferocious injection of pace that initially left a few instrumentalists trailing behind.
I’ve seen this production twice before, and on each occasion the Act 1 finale has come adrift with the ensemble between the stage and pit as wobbly as the Keystone-Cop capers on the tilting stage, as the PVC-caped coppers sway and swoon. Elder took things steady — which made the anarchy on stage even more surreal than Leiser and Caurier perhaps intended — but singers and players still parted company. Overall, though, Elder achieved clarity and nuance; the woodwind solos were drawn to the fore and complemented by stylish string playing, with controlled dynamic grading.
All in all, a surprisingly fresh and engaging revival.
Claire Seymour
Cast and production information:
Count Almaviva, Michele Angelini; Figaro, Lucas Meachem; Rosina, Serena Malfi; Doctor Bartolo, Alessandro Corbelli; Don Basilio, Maurizio Muraro; Fiorello, Wyn Pencarreg; Berta, Janis Kelly; Ambrogio, Jonathan Coad; Officer, Donaldson Bell; Notary, Andrew Macnair; Directors, Patrice Caurier and Moshe Leiser; Revival Director, Thomas Guthrie; Conductor, Mark Elder; Designer, Christian Fenouillat; Costume Designer, Agostino Cavalca; Lighting Designer, Christophe Forey; Orchestra and Chorus of the Royal Opera House. Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, London, Friday, 19th September 2014.
image=http://www.operatoday.com/ROH_1413.png image_description=Michele Angelini as Count Almaviva and Serena Malfi as Rosina © ROH [Photo by Tristram Kenton] product=yes product_title=Il barbiere di Siviglia, Royal Opera product_by=A review by Claire Seymour product_id=Above: Michele Angelini as Count Almaviva and Serena Malfi as Rosina © ROH [Photo by Tristram Kenton]September 26, 2014
September 19, 2014
Gluck and Bertoni at Bampton
Required to devise a fitting entertainment to celebrate the second marriage of Archduke Joseph, later Emperor Joseph II, to Maria Josepha of Bavaria, at Schönbrunn in 1765, Gluck offered his regal employerIl Parnaso confuso, a perfectly proportioned single-act setting of a libretto by Metastasio typically drawn from Classical mythology. The action takes place on Mount Parnassus, home of the Muses, where Melpomene (Muse of Tragedy), Erato (Muse of Lyric Poetry) and Euterpe (Muse of Music) lethargically idle the hours away among the sacred groves. The lazy spirits are robustly roused from their lassitude by the arrival of the god, Apollo. With urgency, he shakes them abruptly from their indolence and demands that they compose celebratory entertainments for the earthly marriage of Emperor Joseph and his "stella bavara" (star of Bavaria). Moreover, their creative offerings are required by the very next morning.
Alarmed by the swift invention and resourceful demanded of them, the Muses’ self-doubt is complicated by their competitive drive to outshine each other. And, just when they have put aside their petty jealousies, their brief harmonious collaborations are rudely disrupted by Apollo’s frantic reappearance: the mortal marriage has in fact already taken place and they must present themselves at the matrimonial festivities … now!
Metastasio’s text is atypically ‘light-hearted’, full of topical and self-referential jests: for example, the Muses agonise over the short time available to put the piece together. (Metastasio also takes the opportunity to ridicule two earlier festa teatra by Gluck, Le nozze d’Ercole e d’Ebe and Tetide, the latter having been composed for the Joseph’s first marriage to Isabella of Parma in 1752. Neither had employed a libretto by Metastasio and the Muses resentfully dismiss these works as old-fashioned and uninventive.) It is a perfect vehicle for director Jeremy Gray’s characteristic dry wit. I saw Bampton’s Bury Court performance in August, but — despite the limitations of the stage space and acoustic at St John’s — this performance seemed to me even more persuasive and dramatically engaging.
Orfeo, Euridice, Imeneo and Blessed Spirits
The cuckoo clocks and alpine vistas — a sideways glance at the location of the first performance — inform us that we are in the Swiss Alps; the cool blue lighting casts a glacial glow. The Muses are malingering languidly in a high-altitude hostelry until the arrival of ‘Fritz’ (the dull-witted tavern host, a silent addition to Metastasio’s cast, entertainingly played by Dudley Brewis), bearing a wicker basket of amusements triggers, some self-indulgent frolicking, skipping ropes and chocolate hearts keeping the idle artists occupied. Their trivial inconsequentialities coincide with the commencement of the overture, the bright strains of CHROMA, under the baton of Thomas Blunt, rising from behind stage screens adorned with snowy panoramas.
The idiosyncrasies and foibles of the three Muses — Melpomene (Muse of Tragedy), Erato (Muse of Lyric Poetry) and Euterpe (Muse of Music) were clearly delineated by Gray’s detailed direction and expertly embodied, dramatically and musically, by soprano Gwawr Edwards and mezzo-sopranos Anna Staruskevych and Caryl Hughes, respectively. The demanding, florid writing of Melpomene’s aria, ‘In un mar che non ha sponde’, requires much control, flexibility and stamina. (At the first performance, the four solo roles were taken by four royal princesses — Maria Elisabeth, Maria Amalia, Maria Josepha and Maria Carolina — the youngest of whom was no more than thirteen years old — and Maria Elisabeth, in particular, must have had real vocal talent to meet the challenges of Melpomene’s elaborate arias.) Edwards demonstrated superb breath control, encompassing the long, twisting lines effortlessly, and her gleaming, focused tone conveyed Melpomene’s haughtiness and ‘preciousness’ perfectly. She deftly balanced hauteur and humour, donning fluffy white ear-muffs to drown out her rivalries trivial pursuits and scorning Apollo’s offer of a restorative swig from an outsized tankard; but, Edwards also suggested a genuine melancholic sensibility in the heart of the tragic Muse when, dismayed and morose, she threatened to lay down her pen forever.
Staruskevych engagingly indulged in some mischievous larking about as the happy-go-lucky Erato but complemented blitheness with elegant phrasing and a rich, expressive mezzo tone. After some ham-fisted grappling with Euterpe’s lyre, Staruskevych gracefully communicated Erato’s lyric prowess, supported by a warm, elegant pizzicato accompaniment supplemented by entrancing violas and melodious solo bassoon. Hughes was a resourceful Euterpe, her soprano agile and bright, although occasionally I felt that she was a little under the note. But, she had calm presence in her graceful aria, unflustered by Fritz’s fruitless wrestling with her alpenhorn, and blended well with a lovely oboe obbligato.
Aoife O’Sullivan was outstanding as Apollo, boisterously interrupting the slothful Muses with a flourish of gold cape and a rousing call for creative ingenuity. O’Sullivan’s sweet-toned soprano is relaxed and warm across a wide register and she sensitively shaped the vocal phrases, especially when supporting the higher-lying line of Edwards in their closing duet. O’Sullivan can spin a mean trill too: and was no less adroit when whizzing the alka-seltzer to accompany Edwards’ own sparkling cadential embellishments.
The Orfeo myth may most immediately bring Gluck’s own 1762 opera, but on this occasion it was Bertoni’s 1776 account of the musical demi-god’s mythic mission which completed the operatic pairing on this occasion. In fact, it was at the behest of the castrato Gaetano Guadagni who had created the title role in Gluck’s opera that Bertoni commenced composition of the work; he acknowledged the debt he owed to Gluck, and there are some familiar moods and musical echoes.
Starushkevych was the eponymous quester and O’Sullivan the Euridice whom he pursues and seeks to restore to life; and the two principals and chorus (Edwards and Hughes were joined by tenor Thomas Hereford and baritone Robert Gildon and additional actors) beautifully captured the tenderness and solemnity of Bertoni’s score. The directorial details of the opening scene also did much to convince and engage the listener: sombrely attired mourners have gathered in a subdued chapel to grieve for the lost Euridice, and when Orfeo’s anguish overcomes him a fellow mourner imperceptibly intervenes to steer their choral lament to a consoling conclusion. In this instance the venue was an asset, the imposing columns and cool, shadowy reflections lending an air of restrained formality.
But, despite the gloom, there were flashes of directorial wit and visual gags to temper the despondency: a street new-seller hopes the day’s headline - ‘Snake Death: The Verdict!’ — will tempt a few passers-by, while Orfeo encounters not a raging Styx on his descent to Hadean realms but a team of road-diggers bearing ‘No Entry’, ‘One Way’ and ‘Narrow Road’ signs. A simple lighting design, contrasting infernal red and Elysian green, neatly underpinned the musical narrative.
In the title role, Starushkevych demonstrated why she won the 2012 Handel Singing Competition and also Bampton’s own inaugural Young Singers’ Competition in 2013. She exhibited excellent musico-dramatic nous and vocal stamina. This was a moving performance, in which the mezzo soprano drew upon her wide range and rich tone — her middle register is especially warm and firm — to inspire pity and affection; particularly moving was Orfeo’s third-act lament, accompanied sensitively by oboe, horns and strings. As Euridice, O’Sullivan sang with effortless ease: her airs danced freely and captured Euridice’s purity and innocence. The protagonists’ voices melded affectingly in their Act 3 duet. At Bury Court I had found Hereford’s characterisation of the role of Imeneo (in this production, a priest) a little understated, but here he was more animated — a wise and patient spiritual advisor, consoling and inspiring the bereaved Orfeo. Hereford also projected more effectively than at Bury Court, thus giving greater credibility to his role.
The entire cast communicated Gilly French’s economical and direct translation clearly. The diction was especially clear in Gluck’s secco recitatives which were stylishly accompanied by harpsichordist Charlotte Forrest. Placed behind the stage-screen panels which formed the simple set (in the second half, cold, grey bricks replaced the Alpine ice-peaks), conductor Thomas Blunt and the musicians of CHROMA maintained very good ensemble with the singers in the Gluck, although the Bertoni was less precise in this regard. Perhaps the cast tired a little, or maybe the more complex musical structures and accompanied recitative adopted by Bertoni presented fresh challenges.
But, once again, Bampton Classical Opera made a typically persuasive case for these neglected rarities, skilfully balancing wry irony with serious music-making.
Claire Seymour
Cast and production information:
Aoife O’ Sullivan, soprano; Gwawr Edwards, soprano; Caryl Hughes, mezzo soprano; Anna Starushkevych, mezzo soprano; Thomas Herford, tenor; Robert Gildon, baritone; Jeremy Gray, director/designer; Thomas Blunt, conductor; CHROMA. Bampton Classical Opera. St John’s Smith Square, London, Tuesday 16th September 2014.
image=http://www.operatoday.com/Ba%3Bmpton_2014_02.gif image_description=Apollo, Euterpe, Melpomene (Gwawr Edwards) and Erato product=yes product_title=Gluck and Bertoni at Bampton product_by=A review by Claire Seymour product_id=Above: Apollo, Euterpe, Melpomene (Gwawr Edwards) and EratoPurcell: A Retrospective
The eight singers (two sopranos, three tenors and three basses) assumed a variety of solo roles during the evening — roles which made contrasting technical demands and required a range of vocal registers and colours — and also united to form the ‘chorus’. The sixteen instrumentalists proved similarly chameleon in providing diverse accompanying textures and material in order to capture a gamut of dramatic moods. Christophers himself was the embodiment of musical joyfulness, guiding his players with lightness and grace.
The principal work presented was Purcell’s The Indian Queen which is usually termed a ‘semi-opera’. In fact, it contains much less music, dancing and spectacle than the composer’s other semi-operas, such as King Arthur, and is perhaps better described as incidental music for a play. Theatre politics and rivalries were responsible for the less elaborate form: the underpaid and disgruntled actors of the United Company (which, in the preceding few years, had staged Dioclesian, King Arthur and the Fairy Queen to great acclaim), led by Thomas Betterton, petitioned the King for permission to set up their own breakaway company. Ironically, their licence was granted by Sir Robert Howard, monitor of theatres for the Crown, who had been promised a revival of one of his dramatic works if he denied the rebels their request; as a consequence, the text of The Indian Queen was heavily trimmed, resulting in a much less satisfactory drama than Howard and his brother-in-law, John Dryden, had created 30 years earlier.
Set in Mexico (the Indies of the title) and Peru, it tells the tale of Montezuma’s ascent to the throne of Mexico, a convoluted path to power which embraced both fierce military battles and intense amorous rivalries. Some sprightly instrumental dances — played with clean, airy textures and sprightly rhythms — and a catch, ‘To All Lovers of Music’, introduced the sung Prologue in which an Indian girl and boy wake to find their country at war. Framed by a bright Trumpet Tune, the interchanges between tenor and soprano were supple and there was an easy fluidity as the individual sections unfolded. In the Act 2 masque of Fame and Envy, in which the Indian Queen Zempoalla’s inner conflicts are given outward expression — as her glory is eroded by jealousy and remorse — was characterised by the crystalline counterpoint of strings, recorder and trumpet and the harmonious choral blend supporting the solo voices.
Ismeron’s impressive Act 3 prayer, sung by a bass, presented an impressively diverse array of moods; initially the high-lying declamatory lines were embellished by David Miller’s elaborated theorbo continuo, but as the incantatory passion mounted, expressive word-painting (‘Earthy dun that pants for breath’) and flowing melisma (‘That along the cliffs do glide’) conveyed the growing intensity of feeling. The chromatic ascent, ‘From thy sleeping mansion rise/ And open thy unwilling eyes;’ was beautifully controlled and sensitive. Yet more new colours evolved in the ensuing soprano aria, ‘God of Dreams’, the walking bass of the bassoon providing a composed foundation for the oboe’s counter-melodies. After a contrapuntal Trumpet Overture, the duet for Aerial spirits was one of the highlights of the evening, the pure, glowing sopranos of Julie Cooper and Kirsty Hopkins complementing each other melodiously: dignified and elegant, the sopranos drew forth the telling nuances of the score, such as the shift to the minor tonality and slight pause in the phrase, ‘Cease to languish then in vain/ Since never to be loved again’.
Following the symphonic Air (Act 4), the final chorus of Act 5 was exquisitely crafted, inspiring pity and compassion for the historical sacrificial victims. Throughout, the choral passages were notable for clean textures and a seamless interplay of voices; diction was uniformly superb. Both singers and instrumentalists observed Purcell’s sometimes idiosyncratic rhythms precisely, but without rigidity; there were affecting contrasts between passages of legato grace and the vibrant syncopations of the scotch-snaps — the latter were repeatedly complemented by bite and brightness in the violins.
Born the son of a musician in Charles II’s retinue, Purcell himself went on to serve a series of regal employers — Charles II, James II and William and Mary — as chorister, organist, assistant organ builder, keeper of the King’s instruments, and supplier of festive anthems and odes for royal coronations, birthdays, weddings and repatriations. The first half of the concert presented some of these court commissions.
‘Swifter, Isis, swifter flow’, written to celebrate the return of Charles II to London from his annual sojourn at Newmarket, was only the second ode Purcell wrote. Once again, changes of tempi and mood were convincingly rendered; after the solemn opening symphony, with its subtly inflected falling chromatic harmonies, the fleet instrumental runs were agile and vibrant. The two recorders accompanying the bass solo ‘Land him safely on her shore’ evoked a wistful mood; the tenor air ‘Hark, hark! Just now my listening ears’ was especially engaging, commencing with a ringing vocal appeal, foreshadowing the bells which welcome back the returning monarch: ‘Let bells ring, and great guns discharge,/ Whilst numerous bonfires banish the night.’ The text of the concluding couplet of ‘Welcome, dread Sir, to town’ — ‘Your Augusta [London] will never be/ From your kinder arms debauched’ — was sensitively conveyed, such delicacy contrasting with the imperious and Italianate florid bass recitative of the subsequent air, ‘But with as great devotion meet’. An even, flowing legato enhanced the duet ‘The King whose presence’, the vocal lines once again underpinned by a smoothly running instrumental bass. The rich, grand chorus, ‘Then since, Sir, from you all our blessings do flow’, made for a grand, triumphant closing cry: ‘Long live the King!’
A sombre soprano duet ‘O dive custos Auriacae’, composed on the death of Queen Mary, followed; once again the soprano melodies mingled and rippled silkily, the surprising discords and angular lines adding piquancy to the sentimental lament. At its first performance The Indian Queen was followed by Daniel Purcell’s The Masque of Hymen. Here, the order was reversed, the masque ending the first half of the concert; ribald comedy — the married couple complain to the God of matrimony: ‘You told us indeed you’d heap blessings upon us,/ You made us believe you, and so have undone us.’ — preceding touching tragedy.
The concert was initiated in rousing fashion by cellist Joseph Crouch leading his fellow instrumentalists in a boisterous rendition of the catch ‘God save our sov’reign Charles’, an animated song which wryly refers to Charles’s dislike of his brother James, a Roman Catholic convert, who was exiled by Charles: ‘Preserve York’s duke, our King’s illustrious brother:/ Who to his pious votes denies his hand, I pray for him too, but wish him out o’ th’ land’!
Purcell was only 36 years old when he died; as with Mozart, Schubert and other prodigious musical talents of the past, we can only wondered ‘might have been’ had his musical voice not been so prematurely silenced. Yet, despite this, Purcell’s legacy is unique in English music and on-going; on this delightful occasion, Christophers and his musicians — the singers placed behind the instrumentalists but projecting efficiently — unquestionably communicated the delicate beauty and affecting power of his music.
Claire Seymour
Programme and performers:
Henry Purcell: ‘God save our sov’reign Charles’; ‘Swifter, Isis, swifter flow’ (Welcome Song for King Charles II); ‘O dive custos Auriacae domus’; Daniel Purcell: The Masque of Hymen; Henry Purcell: The Indian Queen.
The Sixteen Choir and Orchestra. Conductor, Harry Christophers; Violin, Sarah Sexton, Huw Daniel, Graham Cracknell, Daniel Edgar, Jean Paterson, Sophie Barber; Viola, Martin Kelly, Stefanie Heichelheim; Cello, Joseph Crouch, Imogen Seth-Mith; Oboe/Recorder, Anthony Robinson, Catherine Latham; Bassoon, Sally Jackson; Trumpet, Robert Farley; Harp, Frances Kelly; Theorbo/Lute/Baroque Guitar, David Miller; Organ/Harpsichord, Alastair Ross; Soprano, Julie Cooper, Kirsty Hopkins; Tenor, Jeremy Budd, Mark Dobell, Matthew Long; Bass, Ben Davies, Eamonn Dougan, Stuart Young. Wigmore Hall, London, Wednesday 17 th September 2014.
image=http://www.operatoday.com/Henry_Purcell.jpg image_description=Henry Purcell [Source: Wikimedia] product=yes product_title=Purcell: A Retrospective product_by=A review by Claire Seymour product_id=Above: Henry Purcell [Source: Wikimedia].jpg){kind=link}
Mahler: Symphony no.3 — Prom 73
Unfair, because it would ignore the excellence of the playing and singing from the combined forces of Gerhild Romberger, the Leipzig Gewandhaus Children’s Choir, the ladies of both the Leipzig Gewandhaus Choir and the Leipzig Opera Chorus, and the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra; but not because it would seriously misrepresent my impressions of Alan Gilbert’s conducting, nor indeed of his remarks in a programme interview. Mahler withstands, indeed rejoices in, a good number of interpretative options, and one should always be one’s guard, lest one reject, Beckmesser-like, something new, simply because it is something new. However, that does not mean that anything goes. The Achilles heel of Gilbert’s performance throughout was his lack of structural understanding, or at least his inability to communicate such understanding in performance. He seemed, indeed, to have taken Bernstein at his word — as opposed to following Bernstein’s excellent practice as a conductor — in the claim cited in that interview: ‘I heard Leonard Bernstein … rehearsing it once and he said: “You know what? Finally, after all these years, I’ve found the answer to this piece. It’s like a nightmare of marches. You shouldn’t try to connect them but just live in the moment.’ Perhaps you can do that once you have internalised the piece sufficiently, but, lack of score notwithstanding, Gilbert’s understanding seemed only superficial. As for his bizarre claim in that interview that there was no Viennese tradition of performing Mahler prior to Bernstein…
The first movement, then, sounded rather like Gilbert heard Bernstein described it, save for the fact that it was not very nightmarish. The Gewandhaus Orchestra played with greatly impressive attack, but seemed encouraged to sound brasher than usual, almost as if it were being asked to ape Gilbert’s — or Bernstein’s — New York Philharmonic. What was entirely lacking here was the formal inevitability — form should be understood in dynamic, not static, terms — one hears or has heard from conductors as different asAbbado, Boulez, Haitink, Horenstein, or indeed Bernstein. (I could have done without the Big Bird-style conducting gestures too; at one stage, I thought Gilbert was about to launch into flight. O for the elegance, the economy of the first three named of alternative conductors!) At least there was, for much of the movement, a strong sense of rhythm, even if its connection with harmony appeared to elude the conductor. That dissipated, however, with some unconvincing rubato and tempo changes later on, signalling instability in very much the wrong sense. Doubtless this will all be lauded as ‘exciting’ in some quarters, but without structural command, the excellence of the orchestral playing could not make a symphony out of what sounded more akin to a very lengthy suite. The rush to the finish, however, well executed by the players, was straightforwardly vulgar — as opposed to harnessing apparent vulgarity to higher ends.
The second movement strayed closer still to Simon Rattle territory (or rather recent Rattle territory). Necessary lilt soon became unduly moulded, variations in tempo excessive. Some material was taken very fast indeed, to the extent that it sounded almost balletic. Mahler as Delibes? A point of view, I suppose, but that is the best that can be said. The third movement veered weirdly between such ‘balletic’ tendencies and imitation Bernstein ‘house of horrors’, which would have been better left for the Seventh Symphony. The problem, really, was that they arose from nowhere, and that the whole movement was more than a little rushed. At least the post-horn solos were played beautifully — as indeed was everything else.
Gerhild Romberger gave an excellent rendition of ‘O Mensch!’ though she sounded very much a mezzo rather than a contralto. Hers was nevertheless a performance of compelling honesty, in which words and music amounted to considerably more than the sum of their parts. Gilbert’s conception, though restrained, I think, in the light of the soloist’s presence, seemed unduly ‘operatic’, missing the essential simplicity, however artful in reality, of this song. The fifth movement opened with as much coughing and shuffling as singing but, once that audience contribution was out of the way, the excellence of singing and playing alike could register. (That said, Romberger’s diction was noticeably less good here.) It was taken quickly, but at least it was not unduly pulled around.
Finally, the great Adagio — well, strictly speaking, Langsam — which came off surprisingly well. At least some of the time, it appeared to speak ‘for itself’. The Leipzig strings were wonderfully warm in tone, with the necessary depth to let Mahler’s harmony tell. Although it was not always as rhythmically solid as it might have been, the performance was a definite improvement upon most of what had gone before. And the sound of this great orchestra remained a wonder in itself.
Mark Berry
Gerhild Romberger (mezzo-soprano); Leipzig Gewandhaus Children’s Choir (chorus master: Frank-Steffen Elster); Ladies of the Leipzig Gewandhaus Choir (chorus master: Gregor Meyer); Ladies of the Leipzig Opera Chorus (chorus master: Alessandro Zuppardo); Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra/Alan Gilbert (conductor). Royal Albert Hall, London, Thursday 11 September 2014.
image=http://www.operatoday.com/gustav_mahler.png image_description=Gustav Mahler product=yes product_title=Mahler: Symphony no.3 — Prom 73 product_by=A review by Mark Berry product_id=Above: Gustav MahlerLos Angeles Opera Opens with La traviata
On September 13, Los Angeles Opera opened its 2014-2015 season with a revival of Marta Domingo’s updated, Art Deco staging of Giuseppe Verdi’s La traviata. It starred Nino Machaidze as Violetta, Arturo Chácon-Cruz as Alfredo, and Plácido Domingo as Giorgio Germont. The conductor was Music Director James Conlon. During the overture a gentleman offered to accompany a rather reluctant lady standing under a streetlight. Then the curtain rose on Violetta’s opulent home. The contrast was enormous.
Machaidze looked gorgeous in her white 1920s “flapper” gown. Both she and tenor Chácon-Cruz started off slowly, but they came into top form in the Garden Scene of Act II. By that time they had relaxed and their voices blossomed. His “Deh miei bollenti spiriti” was smoothly spun out and he sang the cabaletta as if even its highest notes were easy for him. As the elder Germont, Domingo was stern with Violetta at first but showed his character’s softer side in a quiet moment. We missed his sun-drenched high notes, but he made a fine dramatic impression as a baritone.
Act III is the focal scene of this production and it was interesting to see the LA Opera Chorus dancing choreographer Kitty McNamee’s version of a Charleston to Verdi’s opening measures. Soloist Louis A. Williams, Jr. danced with spectacular height and spot-on landings. Here Machaidze, the “Twenties Violetta,” was in her element singing with silvered sounds, occasionally allied with the lustrous mezzo tones of Peabody Southwell, the Flora. As the enraged Alfredo, Chácon-Cruz showed his ire, but when castigated by his father, he collapsed into a heap on the floor. He and Domingo gave a fascinating portrayal of the relationship of a father to a grown son who still needs parental approval, whether he wants to admit it or not.
Louis A. Williams, Jr. (dancer)
Machaidze was at her best in the final scene. Her reading of the letter and rendition of “Addio del passato” was heart wrenching. The audience felt the full meaning of her words, “è tardi” (it’s late). The letter came much too late for the fragile courtesan. When Alfredo finally comes to Violetta, she has only one moment of pure joy before lapsing into unconsciousness.
Vanessa Becerra, who sings a leading role on the recording of Daniel Crozier’s new opera, With Blood, With Ink was the caring attendant. Bass Solomon Howard, who will make his Metropolitan Opera debut as the King in Aida later this season, was an impressive Dr. Grenvil.
Music Director James Conlon conducted with great regard for the needs of the singers. Chácon-Cruz’s voice is not very large but it has a sweet, lyrical tone. Conlon made sure that the orchestra never covered his sound. The work of the Los Angeles Opera music director is one of the best reasons for attending the company’s performances. He makes each production of a popular opera say something new, no matter how many times it has been played.
After this evening’s performance, the opera presented Los Angeles County Supervisor Zev Yaroslavsky with an award for his service to the company. Since he had conducted the National Anthem, there were numerous jokes about his conducting ability, but he had earned the award by helping the opera get much needed funding from the city, which it has since paid back.
Maria Nockin
Cast and production information:
Conductor, James Conlon; Director, Marta Domingo; Lighting Director, Alan Burrett; Chorus Director, Grant Gershon; Choreographer, Kitty McNamee; Violetta, Nino Machaidze; Alfredo Germont, Arturn Chácon-Cruz; Giorgio Germont, Plácido Domingo; Flora, Peabody Southwell; Gastone, Brenton Ryan; Baron Douphol, Daniel Mobbs; Marquis d’Obigny, Daniel Armstrong; Dr. Grenvil, Solomon Howard; Annina, Vanessa Becerra; Solo Dancer, Louis A. Williams, Jr.
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image_description=Arturo Chácon-Cruz as Alfredo and as Plácido Domingo as Germont [Photo by Craig Matthew]
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Photos by Craig Matthew
Stars of Lyric Opera at Millennium Park, 2014
The concert featured works that will be part of the new season as well as selections of works that showcase the talents of the season’s singers and the Lyric Opera Chorus. Sir Andrew Davis conducted the Lyric Opera Orchestra on this evening, and the Lyric Opera Chorus was prepared by its director Michael Black.
The first half of the program featured two works that form part of the new season’s schedule: the Lyric Opera Orchestra played the overture to Tannhäuser (Dresden version) and a roster of six soloists performed the finale to Act II of Mozart’s Don Giovanni. In the overture the introductory alternation of brass and string parts was controlled smoothly; the transition to the solo for the first violin was especially well played, just as an overall tension built into the middle segment of the piece. In the concluding part of the overture Davis emphasized a unified, lush backdrop of strings while stately declamations from the brass led to the ending of the concert overture. The remainder of the concert’s first half introduced an ensemble of singers in Don Giovanni, which will open the 2014-15 anniversary season later this month, just as it began the first season sixty years ago. Mariusz Kwiecień sings the Don and Kyle Ketelsen his manservant Leporello; Donna Anna and Donna Elvira are sung by Marina Rebeka and Ana María Martínez; Don Ottavio was sung for this concert by John Irvin in place of an indisposed Antonio Poli; Zerlina and Masetto are performed by Andriana Chuchman and Michael Sumuel; the Commendatore / statua is sung by Andrea Silvestrelli. From the start of this ultimate scene and finale from Act II of the opera it was clear that an exciting, committed cast has been assembled for this new production. The interaction of Mr. Kwiecień’s Don, praising the banquet meal arranged for his epicurean taste, with Mr. Ketelsen’s Leporello assuring devoted service was entertaining and vocally taught. Kwiecień’s upper register was effective in suggesting an imperious and willful master, whereas Ketelsen’s deeper pitches in, e.g., “… che barbaro appetito!” underscored an amusing commentary. Indeed, as the other soloists joined in these final moments of Don Giovanni’s earthly existence, the multiplicity of emotions and personal destinies was interwoven into a large, vocal canvas. The efforts of Ms. Martínez to save her former seducer are expressed in yearning tones with appropriate embellishment as she pleads “L’ultima provo dell’ amor” [“The final test of love”]. When Giovanni refuses to reform, Elvira’s declarations of “Cor perfido” [“Faithless heart”] are sung by Martínez with credible forte pitches leading into a shriek when she, as the first, encounters the statua, or return of the slain Commendatore. This Don Giovanni’s cultivated, flippant tone in relation to both Leporello and Elvira changes, of course, when facing the challenge of the Commendatore. In the latter role Mr. Silvestrelli’s booming demands of “Risolvi!” [“Decide!”], and “Pentiti” [“Repent”] are a chilling ultimatum to the title character. Kwiecień responded with an acceleration of excited pitches in the vocal line culminating in his final shout of damnation. The concluding sextet reunites the two couples of Donna Anna and Don Ottavio, Zerlina and Masetto with Leporello and Donna Elvira. Both Ms. Rebeka and Mr. Irvin are fine exponents of Mozartean style; Mr. Irvin’s melodic line in “Or che tutti … vendicati” [“Now that all avenged”] was an excellent lead to Ms. Rebeka’s lyrical decorations in “Lascia, o caro” [“Allow me, my dearest”]. Both voices blended ideally in their verses “Al desio di chi m’adora” [“To the desires of one who adores me”]. Ms. Chuchman and Mr. Sumuel sang likewise in a convincing suggestion of renewed harmony. During the final lines of the sextet the female voices were especially well matched with a firm bass line sung by Ketelsen as a fitting backdrop.
The second half of the concert was introduced, just as the first part, with remarks delivered by the General Director Anthony Freud. The opening selections now featured the Lyric Opera Chorus in a familiar and in a less familiar excerpt. The latter piece, “Son Io! Son Io, la Vita!,” the Hymn to the Sun from Mascagni’s Iris with its locale fixed in legendary Japan. Touching lines, indicating sentiments such as “Through me the flowers have their scent,” alternated with lush, full scoring. The Chorus was well rehearsed throughout and it easily swelled upward to a glorious conclusion. The somber mood of “Patria oppressa” [“Oppressed homeland”] from Act IV of Verdi’s Macbeth was surely well captured in the second selection for the Chorus. A certain tension is, however, missing when the piece is not followed immediately by its usual, accompanying tenor recitative and aria (“O figli, o figli miei” [“O my children”]).
The two excerpts which concluded the evening brought onto the stage additional soloists as well as several from the first half of the concert. In the conclusion to Act I of Puccini’s Tosca Mark Delavan sang Scarpia’s final scene, “Va Tosca!,” together with the concluding Te Deum. John Irvin delivered the lines of Scarpia’s minion Spoletta. Mr. Delevan’s resonant baritone was fraught with emotion as he visualized the possible seduction of the singer Floria Tosca. As he repeated and lingered on the line “Va Tosca!” slight shifts in color indicated the growing anticipation of his desire. During the Te Deum in the church Delavan’s Scarpia was powerfully audible as he traced the line together with the Chorus. In the final selection, the last act from Verdi’s Rigoletto, Delavan sang the title role with Ms. Rebeka returning to sing the part of his daughter Gilda. The assassin Sparafucile and Maddalena were performed by Andrea Silvestrelli and J’nai Bridges. The Duke of Mantua was covered by Robert McPherson, who arrived in Chicago just before the performance to replace an ailing Mr. Poli. The trio of father, daughter and Duke made a promising start with McPherson sounding polished and at ease in “La donna è mobile.” He shows a good use of legato in the aria and sings excellent scales with decoration including an appropriate diminuendo; McPherson also holds the note on “pensier” without sounding forced. Ms. Bridges performed impressively as Maddalena both in her duet with Sparafucile and as part of the famous quartet. The volatility of the character Maddalena’s emotions is well suited to Bridges’s vocal range with ringing top notes used in pleading for the Duke’s life while her secure lower register was emphasized in rapid passages. The final scene between Rebeka and Delavan, as Gilda dies in Rigoletto’s arms, was movingly sung with ethereal, soft pitches suggesting indeed the daughter’s rejoining her mother in heaven.
The vocal splendors shared on this evening as a prelude or “appetizer” in Mr. Freud’s words certainly anticipate a fulfilling anniversary season to come at Lyric Opera of Chicago.
Salvatore Calomino
image=http://www.operatoday.com/LYR140906_069.png
image_description=(L.-R.) Kyle Ketelsen/Leporello, John Irvin/Don Ottavio, Marina Rebeka/Donna Anna, Sir Andrew Davis, Ana Maria MArtinez/Donna Elvira, Andriana Chuchman/Zerlina, Michael Sumuel/Masetto, from Don Giovanni finale [Photo by Todd Rosenberg]
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product_id=Above: (L.-R.) Kyle Ketelsen/Leporello, John Irvin/Don Ottavio, Marina Rebeka/Donna Anna, Sir Andrew Davis, Ana Maria MArtinez/Donna Elvira, Andriana Chuchman/Zerlina, Michael Sumuel/Masetto, from Don Giovanni finale [Photo by Todd Rosenberg]
September 18, 2014
Susannah in San Francisco
It is an opera some of us may now find to be a naive or simplistic artifact, nevertheless emblematic of those years.
Vanessa (1957), West Side Story (1957), The Saint of Bleecker Street (1955), and Susannah (1956) are the survivors from that decade. Like Vanessa, Susannah is a morbid short story though Vanessa is urban, subtle and twisted while Susannah is rural, obvious and brutal. At first Susannah may seem a bit like verismo, Cavalleria Rusticana for example, but it lacks the single physical blow and emotional resolution, dissolving instead into a sea of musically unsupported judgmental ironies.
Like West Side Story, Susannah is musical theater moreso than it is pure opera. It is a series of relatively brief, showy musical numbers that each illustrate a single emotion or situation. Its few action scenes are in elaborated recitative that is not integrated into larger musical structures.
West Side Story and The Saint of Bleecker Street are urban Americana composed by sophisticated New Yorkers (Bernstein and Menotti). These were the plights of poor immigrant Americans with strong ethnic accents, and music that eschewed the then current European complex serialism in favor of popular idioms and traditional forms.
Susannah composer Carlisle Floyd was born in South Carolina. He was a tenured professor at Florida State University and later founded the Houston Opera Studio. He writes about the American south (both words and music) in verbal declaration for which a strong regional accent is taken for granted. His musical idiom combines easy flowing tonal music with a big folksy overlay (hymns and mountain tunes) spiced with a bit of glowing dissonance.
Susannah may be the second most performed American opera but there is an immense gulf between the artistic intelligence and power of Porgy and Bess and the blatant moralism of Susannah.
Neither Gian Carlo Menotti nor Carlisle Floyd pushed the artistic envelope sufficiently to be discussed in Alex Ross’ history of music in the twentieth century, The Rest is Noise (2007). But make no mistake, along with these other works Susannah too is an operatic masterpiece in its way, and it is a quite modest way.
Patricia Racette as Susannah, Raymond Aceto as Blitch
Susannah was composed for the reduced circumstances of post WWII and as a populist work of art consistent with the socialistic artistic politic of the time. Premiered in Florida it quickly made its way first to the New York City Opera, “the people’s opera” and then to the 1958 Brussels World’s Fair where it represented American culture. One can only question the wisdom behind the choice of specific, ugly content to portray American life to the world at large.
Just now San Francisco Opera rolled out a handsome new production that filled the War Memorial Stage. Canadian stage director Michael Cavanagh with his designer Erhard Rom created splendidly realistic expanses of southern mountains with scrims and projections. These lovely photographic impressions of nature were at odds with a modernistic cross, a huge, neon lighted (it seemed) cross typical of modern suburban mega churches that loom over the revival meetings. It screamed naiveté of concept.
Roaymond Aceto as Reverend Blitch
A similar conflict arose in the stage direction, Mr. Cavanagh alternated between the presentational naturalism of the hayseed presences of Susannah, her brother Sam and the church elders, and clumsy solutions to managing the presentational needs of the crowd scenes at the picnics and in the church. Also clumsy were the several times a character was asked to silently act out conflicting emotions while we musically waited from him to make up his mind. Mr. Cavanagh is less to blame for these unsuccessful moments than Carlisle Floyd.
Soprano Patricia Racette, long a Carlisle Floyd heroine, still pulls it off, even in this latter day essay as Susannah. Because la Racette is usually associated with the great roles in the grand repertory it seems a waste to cast her in such simple music. The same can be said of tenor Brandon Jovanovich who gave us a superb Sam, Susannah’s brother, his performance utilizing but a tiny percentage of his capability (Lohengrin in 2012 for example). Of the three principals only bass Raymond Aceto as the Reverend Blitch did not find an un-self conscious Americana presence, his performance was purely big house look-at-me opera singing and acting. The smaller roles were well cast.
This little opera can pack quite a wallop in the right circumstances. Susannah simply does not blow up to grand opera proportions.
Michael Milenski
Casts and production information:
Susannah Polk: Patricia Racette; Sam Polk: Brandon Jovanovich; Rev. Olin Blitch: Raymond Aceto; Mrs. Mclean: Catherine Cook; Little Bat Mclean; James Kryshak; Mrs. Hayes: Jacqueline Piccolino; Mrs. Gleaton: Erin Johnson; Mrs. Ott: Suzanne Hendrix; Elder Hayes: Joel Sorensen; Elder Gleaton: A.J. Glueckert; Elder Mclean: Dale Travis; Elder Ott: Timothy Mix. Orchestra and Chorus of the San Francisco Opera. Conductor: Karen Kamensek; Stage Director: Michael Cavanagh: Set Designer: Erhard Rom; Costume Designer: Michael Yeargan; Lighting Designer: Gary Marder. War Memorial Opera House, September 12, 2014, seated seventh row center.
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In Bruges
By John Yohalem [16 September 2014, Parterre Box]
They say that Boston, despite many cultural distinctions, ain’t no opera town, and for some decades—generations?—this has been true. But tides of change will break, even on the shores of the Hub. There is a baroque opera revival, spawned by the Boston Early Music Festival (a Monteverdi trilogy arriving next spring) and leading to hi-jinks at the region’s many schools, and to Boston Baroque, which gives Handel’s Agrippina in April. The somewhat traditional Boston Lyric Opera presents everything from Lizzie Borden (last month) to La Traviata (next month), though confining itself to three or four productions a year.
September 17, 2014
Xerxes, ENO
Receiving its 6th revival on 15 September 2014, revival director Michael Walling, the production is looking as fresh as ever with David Fielding’s designs still bright and crisp. ENO fielded a strong cast mixing experienced singers and newcomers. Mezzo-soprano Alice Coote sang the title role; an experienced Handelian this was her role debut. Having sung Atalanta in the last revival of the production (in 2002) Sarah Tynan moved onto sing Romilda, the more serious dramatic of the two soprano roles. The soubrette role of Atalanta was sung by Harewood Young Artist Rhian Lois, whilst another Harewood Young Artist, Catherine Young sang Amastris. Counter-tenor Andrew Watts sang Arsamenes, with Neal Davies as Ariodates and Adrian Powter as Elviro. Michael Hofstetter conducted.
Hofstetter is the Principal Conductor of the Grossess Orchester Graz and made his ENO debut with La Traviata. But his background is also in early music and he launched the overture at quite a considerable speed. The ENO Orchestra responded brilliantly but I did rather worry about the health of the performance. In fact, I need not have worried and Hofstetter proved a responsive conductor, keeping the show moving but never rushing the singers off their feet.
Whilst the production is in good health, I did rather worry that the general tone had become a little more flippant and satirical than formerly. I was assured by others present that this was not so; Nicholas Hytner was in the audience and reputedly was happy with the revival. It is, after all, 29 years since I saw the opening run with Ann Murray and Valerie Masterson and not only does memory play tricks but my own conception of Handelian opera seria has changed.
Rhian Lois as Atalanta and Andrew Watts as Arsamenes
Not that Xerxes is in any way typical of Handel’s opera. Handel always seems to have had a fondness for using librettos taken from 17th century Venetian operas, but in Xerxes he seems to have kept rather closer to the original. The opera has far more short arias and far fewer extended da capo arias than is general in Handel. And, whilst the piece is not strictly a comedy, it does mix the serious with the satirical in a way which is sometimes downright comic. But getting the tone right is essential. When Act 2 comes, and we have all five principals (Xerxes, Romilda, Arsamenes, Atalanta and Amastris) having problems in love and addressing us in serious tones, it is essential that we believe in them as people. They might get up to comic business, but their emotions are very real. By and large Walling got this right.
Alice Coote’s Xerxes was superbly sung, covering the full range from the short lyric arias through the virtuoso bluff and bluster to the intense pain of the extended da capo arias. Coote has a very personal way with Handel and her performance was a very individual one. Musically she took her time over some things, but showed herself equally capable of bravura passagework. Similarly, in terms of character, she projected Xerxes’ changeability quite brilliantly. Her conception of Xerxes might be rather more flippant than some, but she certainly brought out the idea that living with him was very much living on the edge. You never knew what might happen.
Equally captivating and profoundly poised was Sarah Tynan as Romilda. She started out giving the character a lighter, slightly satirical edge as if she had not left Atalanta behind, but Tynan’s Romilda develop a superb depth. Tynan’s Handel singing is still crystalline and clear, with a lovely sense of style. In fact, the Romilda she reminded me of most was the original one in this production, Valerie Masterson. Tynan didn’t just sing superbly, but brought a real depth to the bleaker moments when Romilda says that if she can’t be with Arsamenes then she will die. Tynan made us believe it, whilst sounding superbly beautiful.
Adrian Powter as Elviro and Catherine Young as Amastris
Rhian Lois, singing her first Handel opera role, was a great delight as Atalanta. Her coloratura was pin sharp and she was wonderfully sparky (perhaps too much so at first) but she also brought out the more serious moments when the mask slipped. And she developed a very vital relationship with Sarah Tynan’s Romilda. Perhaps Lois took a little time to work up a full head of steam, but that is understandable.
Also singing her first role in Handel opera, Catherine Young made a strikingly tall Amastris. She has a lovely soft-grained voice which you sense will become a great asset in a number of trouser roles; a Xerxes in the making. But Amastris was written for a robust contralto voice and there were moments when, though singing musically and intelligently, Young lacked the necessary heft.
Arsamenes is one of the characters in the opera who gets virtually no comic moments. Andrew Watts was suitably intense and, in the more lyrical arias with great beauty and a lovely sense of Handelian line. But in the more stressful arias, he had a tendency to push his voice too much so that a hardness crept in and there were rather too many acuti which would have been better missed out. This was a shame, because this was a performance of great strength and intensity.
Adrian Powter made a delightful Elviro with good comic timing. He gamely appeared in a dress for act two (definitely not on the original production) and with his beard and long hair, looked startlingly like Conchita Wurst. Neal Davies made what he could of Ariodates giving him a bluff idiocy which was entirely apt and singing the more bravura moments finely.
Hofstetter and the orchestra were on fine form throughout the opera, providing a crisp and nicely historically informed accompaniment.
This was an admirably strong revival, showcasing some extremely fine Handel singing and a production in robust health. Here’s to another 30 years.
Robert Hugill
Cast and production information:
Xerxes: Alice Coote; Romilda: Sarah Tynan; Atalanta: Rhian Lois; Arsamenes: Andrew Watts; Amastris: Catherine Young; Ariodates: Neal Davies; Elviro: Adrian Powter. Director: Nicholas Hytner; Revival Director: Michael Welling. Conductor: Michael Hofstetter. English National Opera at the London Coliseum, 15 September 2014.
image=http://www.operatoday.com/ENO-Xerxes--Coote_Tynan.gif image_description=Alice Coote as Xerxes and Sarah Tynan as Romilda [Photo ENO / Mike Hoban] product=yes product_title=Xerxes, ENO product_by=A review by Robert Hugill product_id=Above: Alice Coote as Xerxes and Sarah Tynan as RomildaPhotos © ENO / Mike Hoban
September 15, 2014
San Diego Opera Opens 2014-2015 Season
This performance was at the Balboa Theater, a reconditioned movie house with good acoustics. The auditorium was full and the applause greeting Carol Lazier, President of the Board of Directors, and Nicolas M. Reveles, Director of Education and Community Engagement, was almost as loud as the sounds that were heard last spring when the company almost disbanded.
On Friday evening September 5, 2014, tenor Stephen Costello and soprano Ailyn Pérez gave a recital to open the San Diego Opera season. After all the threats to close the company down as was the wish of former General Director Ian Campbell, it was a great joy to great San Diego Opera in its new vibrant, if slightly slimmed down form. This performance was at the Balboa Theater, a reconditioned movie house with good acoustics. The auditorium was full and the applause greeting Carol Lazier, President of the Board of Directors, and Nicolas M. Reveles, Director of Education and Community Engagement, was almost as loud as the sounds that were heard last spring when the company almost disbanded. San Diego was willing to let everyone in the world know it needed its opera company. That’s why it got contributions from all over the globe.
Stephen Costello and Ailyn Pérez had just released a new compact disc Love Duets and San Diego was the first stop on their tour of the United States. With collaborative pianist Danielle Orlando, Pérez entered in an exquisite scarlet-lined pink dress to sing lines from Act I of Verdi’s La traviata. Costello soon joined her as he might have had the scene been staged. His stage deportment has improved markedly since the last time I heard him and his “Un di felice” was as beautifully phrased as I have ever heard it.
She continued with songs by Reynaldo Hahn and he returned with Jake Heggie’s Friendly Persuasions, a group of songs that pay homage to Francis Poulenc. In one song Wanda Landowska worries about his giving her a concerto to learn the last minute. In another Pierre Bernac describes Christmas in 1936. Poulenc remembers Raymonde Linossier saying that his notes “like iron filings are pushed and pulled by the magnetic force” of Paul Eluard’s words. Costello’s French diction was laudable and the colors of his tones conveyed at least as much meaning as the words. These are wonderful songs and I hope more singers will soon perform them.
Pérez then sang a charming excerpt from Massenet’s Manon and her voice blossomed with silvered tones. Costello reminded this audience of the performances of Faust they performed together with “Salut demeure chaste et pure” which he ended with an exquisite, well controlled pianissimo. They brought the recital to intermission with an amusing duet from Donizetti’s L’elisir d’amore.
After the interval the couple and their accompanist returned to perform the well-known duet from Mascagni’s L’amico Fritz, for which Pérez’s Suzel wore some very form fitting polka dots. She followed the duet with seven de Falla songs: El Paño Moruno speaks of stained cloth as a metaphor for a young girl of loose morals. In the Seguidilla Murciana Perez speaks of male inconstancy while in her other songs the colors of her voice and the textures of her music told of universal human conditions that are as true today as they were in the composer’s time.
Costello’s solo contributions were a combination of well known and lesser-known songs by Paolo Tosti. Most of the audience knew his Ideale, but his Non t’amo piu and Goodbye were new to many. The latter was actually written in English. Perez and Costello brought the recital to a close with Bernstein’s One Hand, One Heart, and its close was greeted with thunderous applause for them and for Orlando, their most capable accompanist, Their possessive audience would not let them go without three encores: Youmans’ Without a Song, Obradors’ Del cabello más sutil, and Rogers’ If I Loved You.
Maria Nockin
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image_description=Ailyn Pérez and Stephen Costello [Photo courtesy of Warner Classics]
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Otello at ENO
David Alden’s new production of Verdi’s Otello is a stirring exercise in chiaroscuro. Boito may have omitted Shakespeare’s first Venetian Act but the jarring opposition the inflammatory imagery which Iago hurls at Brabantio — ‘an old black ram/ Is topping your white ewe’ — is powerfully embodied in the bold juxtapositions and gargantuan shadows of Adam Silverman’s superb lighting design, in the electrifying musical contrasts conjured by conductor Edward Gardner, and in the incontrovertible opposition of the murderous Otello’s black attire and Desdemona’s white night-gown.
There is little colour. Designer Jon Morrell has constructed a claustrophobic, monochrome set: high stone walls tower over dusty grey cobblestones, shutting out the exterior world, although the imposing portico occasionally slides aside to give a glimpse of distant sunsets. Costumes are similarly muted: Otello’s dull mustard war-coat is soon cast aside for anonymous black worsted (indeed, there is little to distinguish this Otello visually from those around him); Iago dons heavy, dark leather; Desdemona is shrouded in flowing black folds. Only Cassio’s bright blue uniform and Emilia’s rust-brown coat and cloche hat alleviate the subdued palette. Tellingly, there is a flash of fire, and it is sparked by Iago’s dropped cigar at the start of the raucous drinking song — by these means, he ignites his Machiavellian plot. The small flaming brazier returns in the final scenes: Iago’s evil has kindled the flames of jealousy to their tragic climax.
Stuart Skelton as Otello and Jonathan Summers as Iago
There is much to admire in this production, not least some fantastic singing from chorus and soloists alike. In Act 1, the ENO Chorus roared with exhilaration when their triumphant commander’s sail was espied and greeted Otello’s arrival with a thrilling outburst of excited passion, as Turkish flags were unceremoniously shredded. But, the decision to have the Cypriots’ hymn of praise to the beautiful, pure Desdemona sung off-stage was somewhat odd, necessitating extra dancers to bestow gifts upon Desdemona, the strewn ragwort suggesting a garden milieu.
Peter Van Hulle’s Roderigo was a portrait of preening solipsism, his smooth tenor aptly mellifluous. Roderigo’s dandyish white suit and Panama hat presented a sharp foil to the prevailing darkness, as he flopped foppishly in the margins. As Cassio, Allan Clayton sang with sincerity, the warm sound open and full, the phrasing elegant and lyrical. Cassio’s essential grace and goodness — as Shakespeare’s Iago admits, ‘He hath a daily beauty in his life/That makes me ugly’ — was powerfully communicated. Barnaby Rea had real stage presence and imperious dignity as the Venetian senator, Lodovico, while Charles Johnston was a resonant Montano.
Pamela Helen Stephen’s strait-laced costume made Emilia seem rather reserved; and as there was little attempt by Alden to establish any sense of the relationships that Emilia has with her brutish husband or with her noble mistress, Stephen was left on the periphery dramatically. But, the mezzo-soprano sang with characteristic clarity and vividness, particularly when Emilia’s angry despair finally found passionate voice in the closing moments, and Stephen made the most of every opportunity there was for dramatic nuance.
Leah Crocetto has a big voice and she sang with unforced power and much lyric beauty as Desdemona, in what was her UK debut. Crocetto’s Desdemona had grace and refinement; she demonstrated a fine feeling for a Verdian line, although at times I found the wide vibrato overly mature — Desdemona has, after all, barely left childhood. Initially calm and self-assured, Crocetto suggested that she might serve as a path to redemption for Otello; indeed, this inference was strengthened by Alden’s inclusion of a recurring visual motif — an altarpiece Madonna which reminded us of Desdemona’s chasteness and angelic purity, as well as recalling the Roman Catholic Italy where the opera was composed. And, thus, in Act 3 when Iago dupes both Cassio and the concealed Otello, the darts that he flung at the icon cemented his demonic status.
Crocetto modulated her tone effectively during the ‘Willow scene’ and in her tragic tussle with the deluded, deranged Otello, as she strained to assert her innocence, candour gave way to resignation. Why, therefore, was this tragic dénouement not more affecting? One problem is the setting: Alden retains the outdoor locale of the previous three Acts, and the murder takes place not in the bedchamber but in the street. This weakens the trajectory of Shakespeare’s play, which moves progressively, with a gradual tightening of the dramatic focus, from large public spaces to ever more claustrophobic private interiors, culminating in the domestic bedroom.
Moreover, in both play and opera, Desdemona has been banished by Otello to this bedroom — that the tragedy occurs in a matrimonial chamber emphasises the nature of Otello’s weakness: honoured, esteemed and mighty martial leader he might be, but he is also ‘Rude … in my speech, And little bless'd with the soft phrase of peace’ — it is his inexperience in matters of the heart and home which allows Iago to deceive and manipulate his commander, for dishonour in his marriage will blemish Otello’s reputation and thus destroy the public persona that is his edifice against racial discrimination and abuse. It is true that the conflict in Verdi’s Otello has almost no racial dimension; but, this alteration does remove an important element in the characterisation. And, there are still anomalies which result from Alden’s alfresco setting, chiefly the absence of the bed upon which Desdemona bids Emilia to lay her marriage sheets and nightgown, and upon which she dies.
In their despair, Desdemona and Otello clutched at facing walls, as Iago perched on a be-shadowed chair, watching his handiwork unfold; thus Alden, by sending the protagonists to the extreme reaches of the stage, emphasised their emotional separation but this also distanced us from their suffering.
Indeed, Alden conveyed little sense of the all-consuming love which must have existed for Otello and Desdemona to dare to defy paternal, social and cultural mores. In the title role, Stuart Skelton sang with marvellous lyricism and expressive range, finding soft tenderness in his end-of-Act 1 duet with Desdemona (‘Già nella notte densa s'estingue ogni clamor’) and heroic anger in his Act 3 vengeance duet with Iago (‘Sì, pel ciel marmoreo giuro’), in which the garish smearing of the men’s faces with blood made for a striking and ironic image of brotherly loyalty and love. But, Skelton’s Otello was overwhelmingly a man alone, and the tragic tangle of relationships was only sketchily drawn. Despite the booming vocal sonority of his first entrance, and his impressive physicality, even at the start Skelton did not capture the majesty and stately grandeur of the man entrusted to lead the Venetians to victory over the Turks. (Perhaps English, ‘We have triumphed!’, doesn’t quite have the magnificent ring of Italian, ‘Exultate!’?) Instead, Otello seemed distracted and withdrawn, and the signs of impending disintegration were evidence from the first. Psychologically and socially, this Otello was above all else an outsider and there was throughout a Grimes-ian angst and instability in the flashes of violence (the chairs strewn around the stage were a reminder of Otello unpredictability) and, as he tossed his papers of state furiously into the air, his indifference to social authority and judgements. (The reference to the Pleiades in Tom Phillips’ translation only seemed to underscore the parallels.)
It seems that focusing on Otello’s existentialism was a deliberate directorial decision; in a programme interview, Alden explained, ‘I think the portrait of Otello in the opera is a very interior one. It’s not so much about the social context but rather about the life of this man’. But surely, as for Grimes, it is the simultaneous desire to belong and defy that is Otello’s undoing? Removing him from his context weakened our understanding of Otello’s feelings and our empathy for his anguish.
One who did convey the full range of his character’s emotional flaws and twisted motivations was Jonathan Summers as Iago. Summers found a different vocal timbre for each of Iago’s ‘masks’: gruff soldier, loyal ensign, suave trickster and violent, malicious malefactor. There may have been only brief snatches of Verdian poetry, but this was fitting for a man who has no poetry in his soul. Having closing the shutters to block out the light, Summers also delivered an angry, bitter Credo that convinced of the blackness of his heart. But, no sooner had his master reappeared, than this ensign was amiably and smoking a cigar, a relaxed façade veiling his inner depravity and crookedness.
Gardner summoned wonderful playing from the ENO orchestra, sweeping forward in a whirl of Verdian melodrama. Despite the excellence of many of the parts, this Otello did not quite add up to a complete and compelling whole, but it’s still an impressive and thought-provoking show.
Claire Seymour
Cast and production information:
Stuart Skelton, Otello; Leah Crocetto, Desdemona; Jonathan Summers, Iago; Allan Clayton, Cassio; Pamela Helen Stephen, Emilia; Peter Van Hulle, Roderigo; Charles Johnston, Montano; Barnaby Rea, Lodovico; Director, David Alden; Conductor, Edward Gardner; Designer, Jon Morrell; Lighting designer, Adam Silverman; Movement director, Maxine Braham; Orchestra and Chorus of English National Opera. English National Opera, London, Saturday, 13th September 2014.
image=http://www.operatoday.com/Otello_ENO_2014_01.png image_description=Stuart Skelton as Otello and Leah Crocetto as Desdemona [Photo by Alastair Muir] product=yes product_title=Otello at ENO product_by=A review by Claire Seymour product_id=Above: Stuart Skelton as Otello and Leah Crocetto as Desdemona [Photo by Alastair Muir]September 14, 2014
Anna Nicole, back with a bang!
My initial impression of the performance on February 17, 2011 was somewhat disappointing. Mark Anthony Turnage's opera is funny, yes, deliberately and ostentatiously rude. It subverts everything traditional opera stands for in its glitzy celebration of the vacuous, but on first acquaintance it seemed disappointing, if only because Turnage's previous output had been so impressive.
Time has been kind, or perhaps it is just that on repeated experience more presents itself to the listener. At the time of its premiere, Anna Nicole garnered far more media attention than your run-of-the-mill contemporary opera generally receives. Proximity in time of the events portrayed played a huge part, of course, and Turnage, , composer of the acclaimed Greek and Three Screaming Popes, had a reputation to live up to.
But the music in Anna Nicole is not all that shocking. Rather, it is slickness in sound, a demonstration of just how talented Turnage is. That slickness was rendered magnificently by the Orchestra of the Royal Opera House under Antonio Pappano, not a conductor one associates with new music or big band sound, jazz and showy choruses, but that just adds to the joy of the experience. Turnage's famous references to jazz and popular music heard within the umbrella of his contemporary style are there, but so are full-scale musical numbers (a memorable chorus on the subject of “tits”, for example - and why not?, They are, after all, central to Anna's story). There are also clear references to Copland, causing the audience's musical instincts to veer Statesward. It is all superbly constructed. Turnage's inspiration seems to flow more freely in the second act, but one can't help but wonder if that impression might be stood on its head by another three-year gap before the Royal Opera House stages it again. Whatever the case, Turnage's orchestration is masterly, with textures, sometimes complex, clear as crystal. He handles his problematic subject matter beautifully - so that it all seems so natural that Anna Nicole giving birth would be on Pay-Per-View. Talk show host Larry King makes an appearance (wonderfully taken here by Peter Hoare).
Many of the roles are reprised with singers from the original production, with one major change: the part of the lawyer, Stern, was originally taken in impressive, confident style by Gerald Finley, here replaced by American baritone Rod Gilfry (Gilfry has also sung the role for New York City Opera). It is not a particularly happy substitution. Gilfry does not have Finley's presence, and while his voice is good, it does not have that special individuality of Finley's.characterization.
The one role which surely could not have been substituted is intact, and for that we must be thankful: Eva-Maria Westbroek returns as the gal herself, telling the story of waitress turned billionairess via marriage to a man vastly older in years than herself and the ensuing wranglings after J. Howard Marshall's demise. Westbroek has effectively made the role her own, so much so that it seems impossible to imagine anyone else in it. Vocally she was in superb form, clearly having a ball and yet conveying all the pathos of the work's final stages. The piece ends with Anna Nicole zipping herself into a bodybag ! . In terms of pure stamina this role is an achievement; Westbroek realizes there is a terrific amount to Anna Nicole, and gives her all.
Almost as important a role as the titular role is Anna Nicole's husband, J. Howard Marshall II. Alan Oke is no stranger to contemporary music (he sang Hiereus for the Royal Opera's staging of Sir Harrison Birtwistle's The Minotaur, for example), and he seems entirely at home in Turnage's writing and on-stage demands. He is absolutely believable as the old man who wants love, yet also wants a stereotype. The parallels between Anna Nicole and Marilyn Monroe are inescapable.
The part of Anna Nicole's mother, Virgie, is once more taken by the supremely experienced Susan Bickley. We feel her pain, and become fascinated by her character, and by what Turnage leaves unspoken. It was wonderful to see the commanding Rebecca Du Pont Davies once more amongst the cast, here as Aunt Kay. All of the smaller roles are taken with aplomb, with Andrew Rees' Doctor Yes as particularly noteworthy. Despite the clear central character, there is also a real feel of ensemble opera about this piece. Perhaps the large-scale choral numbers, impeccably delivered on this occasion, contribute to this.
Richard Jones' production is faultless, as are the sometimes cartoony set designs of Miriam Buether. A gaudy display of tastelessness moves straight through the comedic to the sad, while dancers with television camera for heads remind us about the superficiality of our media-driven society. On one memorable occasion these “cameras” overwhelm us, over-populating the stage. Anna Nicole's life is not her own (again, that Pay-Per-View birth seems so telling). This is a major achievement. Anna Nicole's marriage might have been controversial, but there is a true marriage of minds in Mark-Anthony Turnage and his expert librettist, Richard Thomas. I look forward to the next revival …
Colin Clarke
Cast and production information:
Eva-Maria Westbroek: Anna Nicole; Susan Bickley: Virgie, Anna’s mother; Jeremy White: Daddy Hogan, Anna’s father; Rod Gilfry: Stern; Rebecca De Pont Davies: Aunt Kay; Wynne Evans: Mayor of Mexia; Damian Thantrey: Deputy Mayor of Maxia ; Loré Luxenberg: Shelley; Grant Doyle: Billy; Alan Oke: J. Howard Marshall II; Andrew Rees: Dr Yes; Andrew Gilbert: Young Daniel; Young Daniel: Mungo Reoch; Dominic Rowntree: Teenage Daniel; Peter Hoare: Larry King (A Television Journalist). Sir Antonio Pappano, conductor. Richard Jones, director.
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September 12, 2014
Norma in San Francisco
Not much more is known about Druid ritual than what Vincenzo Bellini documents in his operatic version of an ancient mistletoe ceremony. He and his librettist Felice Romani then considered what might have happened if this fertility drug had begotten two adorable children and therefore doomed (in this production) an entire civilization to extinction. Their conjecture is complicated by a very human, operatically volatile tangle of fidelity and infidelity.
Make no mistake. Norma is not about human nature. It is about singing about human nature, and if you are the singer it is finding your way out of Romani’s mess by singing long enough, and singing beautifully enough. It got complicated in San Francisco.
Most of all the singing was loud enough, and that is important for a huge theater like La Scala where the opera began (2800 seats) and the War Memorial (3200 seats) where Norma now may be heard as it has never been heard before.
As usual when conductor Nicola Luisotti is in the pit the opera is about the maestro and the pit. The singers are usually lined up across the front of the stage to fall under the direct control of the maestro. He does not hear Norma as bel canto — long, dramatically graceful melodies that soar — but as overwrought emotional outpourings composed to challenge the techniques of big artists. It is big canto, and not only for the singers but also the orchestra who sang out Bellini’s simplistic harmonies as if they were those of Richard Strauss.
Surprisingly Bellini and the audience endured all this (unless as a bel canto purist you were so offended you walked out — though I saw no empty seats after intermission). The orchestra loudly declaimed bel canto subtleties meant to be subtle, and the singers rose magnificently to the challenges of deadly slow tempos or break-neck, ear splitting speed. Just when you thought it was all for nought Norma and Adalgisa, complicit with the maestro, gave a musically splendid duet “Sola, furtiva al tempio,” lines interwoven at a tempo that was at least melodically coherent, if unusually fast.
The second act generally sank under the musical weight imposed by the pit, until the concerted finale “Deh! non volerli [my children] victime.” Here the maestro found enough dramatic resolution occurring on the stage to support the massive energy coming from the pit. And when Pollione, the fickle tenor, declared “O mio dolore” and continued with “contento il rogo [the pyre] io ascenderò” it was spine tingling to the end.
Sondra Radvanovsky may be the epitome of Norma’s in recent history. Not the proto type bel cantista who slides through the intricacies of the role and easily overcomes its roadblocks but the mature priestess, distraught mother, and discarded lover who has a lot of uncomfortable things to sing about. La Radvanovsky has the powerful, luminous spinto voice to color the character, and the range and technique to take on the challenge of accomplishing mature bel canto. Here in San Francisco she accepted the risks perpetrated by the maestro, delivering the “Casta Diva” as melodic stasis, the physical act of vocal production (air moving forward) pitted against frozen motion from the pit (like frozen time in Berlioz’ Les Troyens love duet). Incredibly among the literally thousands of moments when her tone might break during this epic singing event a crack occurred only twice.
Marco Berti as Pollione, Jamie Barton as Adalgisa
Soprano Jamie Barton took on the challenges of Adalgisa. This young artist, already well credentialed in this role, made a coherent dramatic and vocal contrast to the mature presence of Mme. Radvanosky. She brought appropriate virginal voice and presence that validates the casting of a young artist for artistic reasons (in this case like the original 1832 production) rather than for pecuniary reasons. Mlle. Barton displayed a technique well able to cope with Bellini and luckily has already gained sufficient sea legs (stage legs) to cope with this maestro.
Italian tenor Mario Berti sang Pollione. Mr. Berti is not a subtle artist, nonetheless he is a fine artist. Perhaps most importantly he brings true Italianate voice and flair to the War Memorial and the sense that San Francisco Opera may be an international house after all. Without really the range and agility to bring off this role (most glaring in his initial aria
“Meco all'altar di Venere”) he later exhibited some very effective descents into his chest voice plus he succeeded, surprisingly, to sing softly a couple of times. Not to forget the tenorial coglioni that made the final moments of the opera a tenor showpiece (like Calaf in Turandot for example). Following this performance San Francisco Opera announced the Mr. Berti is being replaced by Russell Thomas, a recent graduation of the Met's young artist program, for the five remaining performances.
It is a big, new production by American director Kevin Newbury to be shared with Barcelona, Toronto and Chicago. Mr. Newbury has worked operatically primarily in Minneapolis and Houston. But he works also in theater and most recently in film. The production, created with designer David Korins (whose program booklet biography includes restaurant interiors), reflects this range of experience.
The set seemed to be the front of a stage proscenium (a stage within a stage), but also an old fashioned back stage, a mid-western barn, the Old Globe, off-Broadway, a fantasy film and Epic Theater. All these elements crowded at once onto the stage.
The concept seemed to be that maybe the Romans (who wanted the British Isles) snuck a general into Druid country to seduce a high priestess. This dreamed up, far fetched treachery made Messrs. Newbury and Korins think of the Trojan Horse. Since there were already bulls in the Druid mistletoe ceremony the production creators perhaps thought that a Trojan Bull might be constructed (long slats that seemed to be rolled up venetian blinds were carried across the stage from time to time). A huge slatted bull was rolled on stage at the end (explaining those wooden slats) and set afire, Druid soldiers and Norma and Pollione having climbed inside. The barn doors at the back of the stage (wooden) had been barred, trapping the the remaining Druids within the conflagration.
Given the fertility claims of mistletoe one suspects that Messrs. Newbury and Korins tripped out over the word “trojan.” Make no mistake, all this made for an amusing evening.
Michael Milenski
Casts and production information:
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product_title=Norma in San Francisco
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product_id=Above:Sondra Radvanovsky as Norma [all photos by Cory Weaver, courtesy of San Francisco Opera]
Joyce DiDonato starts Wigmore Hall new season
And, if the second half of the programme - 20th-century American classics with the odd folky diversion - did feel a little like a prolonged encore (which was followed by three further suavely delivered numbers complete with mischievous banter and musical high-jinks), this did not lessen the musical and theatrical accomplishment or the evident delight of the Wigmore Hall audience, although I confess to feeling a bit of a sugar-rush …
We began in loftier realms, with Haydn’s dramatic cantata Arianna a Naxos. DiDonato slipped effortlessly into the persona of the troubled woman who has been abandoned by her lover, Theseus - the latter has sailed off to embark upon great deeds - conveying Ariadne’s passion, anger, frustration and despair with directness and impact. Pappano, too - and not surprisingly for an esteemed conductor of opera - revealed his theatrical nous, injecting a light-hearted, almost playful tone into the introductory bars and thus conveying Ariadne’s delusions; throughout the cantata Pappano captured the expressive quality of the accompaniment, the dynamic contrasts and idiomatic textures suggesting the engaging tone qualities of the fortepiano for which the music was composed (Haydn had intended to orchestrate the work but this re-scoring was never completed).
In Haydn’s first recitative, which depicts Ariadne’s realisation of her desertion and impatience for Theseus’s return, DiDonato mingled insouciance with flashes of displeasure. The subsequent aria, ‘Dove sei, mio bel Tesoro?’ (Where are you, my treasure?), allowed her to indulge her sensuous tone, but lyrical effulgence gave way to more impassioned utterances, as Ariadne’s anxieties refused to be quelled. DiDonato’s control of the fragmented phrasing was impressive and both performers used the unexpected key changes to dramatic effect. In the subsequent recitative, ‘Ma, a chi parlo?’ (But to whom am I speaking?), the mezzo-soprano modulated vocal timbre in response to the unpredictable changes of tempo and mood. Pappano’s accompaniment was a perfect embodiment of orchestral accompagnato - I could hear the varied instrumental colours and sense the acumen of a sympathetic and insightful conductor.
DiDonato’s comfortable and wide registral compass brought poise and dignity to the Larghetto, ‘Ah, che morir vorrei’ (Ah, how I should like to die); but, in the concluding Presto she allowed her indignation to erupt: the repetitions of the phrase ‘Chi tanto amai’ (He whom I loved) acquired intensity with each restatement.
Two Rossini arias followed. ‘Beltà crudele’ (Cruel beauty) drew forth a warmer vocal tone from DiDonato (although here, and elsewhere during the evening, I felt that there was an occasional drift sharp-wards in the more animated, forceful upper-range phrases), and the long lyrical phrases were engagingly shaped and impressively sustained. The Italian diction was excellent - a professional linguist was my guest for the evening, so I can declare this with assurance! - especially in ‘La Danza’
in which the singer scarcely has time to draw breath. Here, too, DiDonato’s vocal agility and comic timing were put to impressive use.
Four songs from the early 20th century by the Italian composer Francesco Santoliquido were affectingly delivered. ‘L’assiolo canta’ (The horned owl sings) show-cased DiDonato’s voluptuous middle register and Pappano’s fluent communicative skills, as contrasts of figuration and timbre were used to expressive effect. ‘Tristesse crepuscolare’ (Twilight sadness) was particularly dramatic and impulsive, while ‘L’incontro’ (The encounter) permitted a more serious, subdued ambience. Ernesto De Curtis’s ‘Non ti scordar di me!’ (Don’t forget me!) concluded the first half of the recital, DiDonato’s sympathetic vocal colourings and inflections, combined with Pappano’s unassuming yet detailed piano commentary, easing us in relaxed fashion into the interval.
Joie de vivre probably sums up the post-interval sequence of American songs by familiar and less well-known song-scribes: Stephen Foster, Jerome Kern, William Bolcom et al. DiDonato - sporting her second glamorous Vivienne Westwood gown of the evening - was in her element, and Pappano matched her for humour and spirit. The impressionist textures of Foster’s ‘Beautiful Dreamer’ were hypnotically engaging; while in Kern’s ‘The Siren’s Song’ from Leave it to Jane (1917) Pappano’s lilting transitions and careful handling of the contrasting registers and airy textures spoke eloquently; DiDonato’s pianissimo conclusion brought a note of pathos and nostalgia to this song. In ‘Go little boat’ from Oh, My Dear (Kern, 1918) DiDonato revealed a kaleidoscopic array of vocal colours above Pappano’s full, profound chordal textures; next, the folk inflections of the Irish composer Havelock Nelson’s ‘Lovely Jimmie’ were winningly engaging.
Celius Dougherty’s Five Views of Love saw a shift to ‘cabaret’: theatrical props - thick-rimmed specs and a dusty leather-bound tome - supplemented DiDonato’s extrovert rendering of ‘Love in the Dictionary’ (echoes of Britten/Auden’s ‘Tell Me the Truth About Love’?), while spoken interjections enlivened Kern’s ‘Life upon the wicked stage’ (from Show Boat) - perhaps Pappano should swap the orchestral pit for the stage? The rhythmic complexities and irregularities of William Bolcom’s ‘Amor’ from Twelve Cabaret Songs (1977-8) were superbly executed, while the repeating rhythmic motif of Villa-Lobos’s ‘Food for thought’ (from Magdalena, 1948) was shaped to create an imperious air. The latter two songs were preceded by a wonderful interpretation of Jerome Moross’s ‘Lazy Afternoon’ (from The Golden Apple, 1955). Concluding the prescribed programme was a sequence of three songs sub-titled ‘Compulsions’: Kern’s ‘Can’t help lovin’ dat man (Show Boat, 1927) was enriched by Pappano’s superb piano voicing and intense rhetorical flourishes, while in Richard Rodgers' ‘My funny valentine’ (Babes in Arms, 1937) DiDonato made wonderful use of a veiled tone and low, husky register.
Whatever she sang - from Haydn’s Italianate cantata to ‘Somewhere over the Rainbow’ - communication and immediacy were central to DiDonato’s purpose; and she was matched and aided by Pappano, whose innate ability to embody musical sentiment and instinctive desire to communicate were wonderfully revealed during the evening. It went down a treat with the Wigmore aficionados - and if I felt as if I’d over-dosed on saccharine at the close, this did not diminish the technical and expressive power of the performance.
Claire Seymour
Programme:
Haydn, Arianna a Naxos; Rossini, ‘Beltà crudele’, ‘La danza’; Santoliquido ‘L'assiolo canta’, ‘Alba di luna sul bosco’, ‘Tristezza crepuscolare’, L'incontro’; de Curtis, ‘Non ti scordar di me’; Foster, ‘Beautiful dreamer’ (arr. David Krane; )Kern, ‘Siren's Song’ from Leave it to Jane, ‘Go little boat’ from Oh, My Dear! ; Nelson, ‘Lovely Jimmie’; Dougherty, ‘Love in the Dictionary’; Kern, ‘Life upon the wicked stage’ from Show Boat; Moross, ‘Lazy Afternoon’ from The Golden Apple’ William Bolcom, ‘Amor from 12 Cabaret Songs’; Villa-Lobos, ‘Food for Thought’ from Magdalena: A Musical Adventure’; Kern, ‘Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man’ from Show Boat Trad. (arr. David Krane); Rodgers & Hart, ‘My Funny Valentine’ from Babes in Arms; Robert Lowry, ‘How Can I Keep From Singing?’ (arr. David Krane). Joyce DiDonato mezzo-soprano, Sir Antonio Pappano piano.
image=http://www.operatoday.com/JoyceDiDonato_McQueen_24May14_4.png
image_description=Joyce DiDonato. Stella di Napoli. [Photo by Pari Dukovic]
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September 7, 2014
Great Expectations: A New Season Of New Music
By Tom Huizenga [NPR Music]
Musicologist and pianist Charles Rosen once quipped: "The death of classical music is perhaps its oldest continuing tradition." But it's tough to see much gloom when faced with the diversity of premieres and provocative programming around the country in the 2014-2015 season.
Aida at Aspendos Opera and Ballet Festival
Built during the reign of Marcus Aurelius some 120 years after the arena of Verona, this spectacular structure in ancient Anatolian Pamphylia was less concerned with accommodation for lions, exotic African creatures or reluctant mortal-combatants than is usually evident in the subterranean labyrinths of its more famous Italian counterparts. Nevertheless being a Roman entertainment venue, performances were definitely not limited spectacles of the thespian, calliopean or terpsichorean kind.
In fact protection from escaping beasts (or even more agile leaping slaves) in the form of a parapet was added in front of the cavea (today’s stalls or parterre seating) sometime in the 3rd century. This was probably wise as the closest seats were always reserved for the crème de la crème of the Roman Empire and it would have been very bad PR for the theatre if any of its A-List patrons were eaten during the show.
Aspendos is recorded as having been in regular operation through Roman, Byzantine, Seljuk and Ottoman times and after two millennia of usage, despite a short period when the precipitous slope was somehow converted into a palace (it must have been a nightmare to design vertigo-free accommodation on all those steps) it is today rightly considered as the finest example of an ancient Roman theatre in existence. So apart from whatever summer divertissement happens to be on offer (Aida seems to be a verging on the ubiquitous but is limited to only one performance) during the balmy months, a visit to Aspendos is very much recommended, regardless of the quality of the performance and regrettable absence of gladiatorial combat.
The opening of the 21st Aspendos Opera & Ballet Festival this year may have lacked the black-tie and ball-gown elegance of first night at Glyndebourne or the Met, but in its natural al fresco informality, it was the astounding theatre itself which rightly deserved the highest panegyrics. Being somewhat distant from any neighbouring town or village, flotillas of tour busses, private conveyances and assorted forms of non-chariot transport converged on the impressive site about an hour before the performance was scheduled to begin.
Although reputedly at one time seating anything from 10,000-15.000 spectators, due to the closure of the uppermost rows due to crumbling stone and safety concerns, around 5,000 opera enthusiasts were anticipated in the theatre, and judging by the language of most of the excited conversations in the car-park, the majority appeared to be of German origins. Only one small entrance was available through which, in ‘eye of the needle’ fashion, the large audience had to pass, but with commendable Teutonic self-discipline, the long line of opera enthusiasts remained impressively self-controlled with nary a queue-jumper or furtive advancer taking advantage of the general bonhomie of the evening. Turkish Airlines should encourage such civility in its immigration queues at Atatürk International and Sabiha Gökcen airports.
On finally entering the splendid ancient edifice, several oddities immediately presented themselves to the seasoned opera-goer. Firstly, there were no programmes available for purchase or inspection to enlighten the audience as to cast or plot; secondly there was virtually no crowd control or ushers to supervise the rush for the best places (tickets being unnumbered); thirdly the necessity for some kind of ‘bring your own padding’ (enterprising cushion renters outside the theatre were doing a brisk trade) to protect 21st century posteriors from incommodious 2nd century stone ledges; and finally the need to observe extreme caution when negotiating the precipitous and almost vertiginous unevenly spaced steps to reach the perch of one’s choosing. As there is clearly no concept of public liability or codified Health and Safety regulations in Turkey, a false step could easily result in an unlucky opera-goer falling headlong into a timpani or creating havoc with other members of the orchestra. Admittedly this would be preferable to former times when the end of one’s tumble could have been the mouth of a lion, but nevertheless extreme caution, especially in conditions of dim or non-existent lighting is most assuredly required.
Hopefully the opera loving tourists in the audience were familiar with the work, for although sung in the original Italian, the ‘side-titles’ in screens situated on both sides of the broad stage area, were only in Turkish.
As for the superb auditorium itself, without recourse to sophisticated 21st century computer-assisted acoustic expertise, keeping Hellenistic traditions of utilizing the rear hillside to form a symmetrical shell shaped steeply raked seating area and using only limestone of virtually marble-like quality, the Greek architect Zeno was able to build a theatre with arguably perfect acoustics. Perhaps the acoustical engineers of the Sydney Opera House should have made a visit to Turkey before they made a blancmange of Jørn Utzon’s peerless exterior.
Sadly the flawless acoustics of Aspendos are a double edged sword. While the smallest vocal or instrumental pianissimo can easily be heard in the very back tier of the vast coliseum, it also means that the slightest glitch in intonation or pitch is cruelly revealed. The hushed 1st violin opening bars of the brief prelude to Aida were certainly not the optimal way to beguile the perfect-pitch or tone-sensitive members of the audience. With scratchy, patchy, variable intonation and bereft of any kind of agreeable string tone, things were off to a very wobbly start. For some reason the string section of the orchestra, with the occasional exception of the double basses in forte tutte, sounded thin, non-resonant, timbre-less and flat (even though the concert mistress tended to play slightly above pitch on several occasions).
Interestingly the instruments which worked best in these superb bright acoustics were those more closely related to instruments of antiquity — flutes, trumpets, horns, drums, general woodwind and percussion. The tone colour of the first clarinet was particularly pleasing.
The conductor, Argentinean born but Izmir resident Tulio Gagliardo certainly made a big impression on his entrance. Wearing a white calf-length overcoat (not a vented tails or frack coat but a voluminous manteau usually associated with rabbit-producing magicians) he raised his baton in the manner of a magic wand from which one almost expected multi-coloured silk ribbons would at any moment appear. It would seem that this rather peculiar attire is his personal fashion statement, as his website shows numerous pictures of him wearing the same striking habiliments.
The originality of such sartorial elegance was made even more obvious by the fact that the rest of the orchestra were in smart black trousers/skirts and open back shirts. In fact Maestro Gagliardo’s whole appearance was reminiscent of a cross between David Copperfield and a hirsute Uri Geller.
One only wished that he could have bent a bit more accuracy in pitch from most of the string section. As mentioned, the concert mistress was less than pristine in intonation, the first cellist worse and the first double-bass downright appalling.
According to his website, Maestro Gagliardo has conducted Aida 24 times, including performances in Carcassonne and Nimes so it is no surprise that he was clearly familiar with the score. He directed both musicians and singers with minimal theatrics (apart from the dreadful white overcoat) and with a refreshingly clear, uncomplicated baton technique. One suspects he is as much a regular feature with Aida in Aspendos as the opera itself and he certainly received a thunderous ovation during the endless curtain calls.
His handling of the potentially tricky large ensembles was crisp and precise, even if his tempi in the Sù! del Nilo al sacro lido chorus sounded more oom-pah-pah brass-bandish than the stirring musical-military pageant one is accustomed to hear under Toscanini, Abbado, Muti or von Karajan. A gentle rubato and well measured accelerando for flutes in the sacred dance of the priestesses in Act I Scene II in the Temple of Vulcan was particularly well played.
The singers were all Turkish and members of the Izmir State Opera and Ballet company. Although Turkey once had an outstanding diva in the internationally acclaimed Leyla Gencer whose illustrious career spanned more than 30 years and who also sang Aida at La Scala, her eminence as the greatest opera singer in the country’s history was not challenged by any of the principles in this production.
The Radames, Enrique Ferrer had a small, thin, bleating tenor voice which admittedly improved after he had got through the terrifyingCeleste Aida aria but never managed to fully project across the orchestra; the attractive Aida of Evren Ekṣioǧlu had some nice spinto moments in the O patria mia aria although she was less convincing in the dramatico demands of Ritorno vincitor; the Amonasro of Tamer Peker was powerful in the triumphal scene but a bit barky in the great Act III Nile scene confrontation; the King of Egypt, Hasan Alptekin was diminutive in stature, voice and presence (in fact he looked more like some kind of pharaonic court jester in an enormous gold dunce hat than the omnipotent successor to Rameses II); and the Amneris of Eena Gabouri, although definitely a favourite with the audience, managed to milk everything she could from the role using tuba-like chest notes and a vibrato-laden upper register which in the Act IV Judgement scene ( Sacerdoti, compiste un delitto) owed more to Ethel Merman than Guiletta Simionato. The dramatic effect was somewhat spoiled however when in despair she sought an obelisk on which to lean her not so large corpus — only to have the supposedly 10 tonne column slide away on first touch. Amneris turned Super Woman. Unfortunately the costumer designer Ayṣagül Alev was also not so kind to La Gabouri in the Triumphal Scene when her shimmering auric lamé outfit was complimented with such a high golden headdress she looked more like a gold-foil wrapped Easter bunny than a pharaoh’s daughter.
In consideration of the performance as a whole, it would be entirely unreasonable to expect a local Izmir based orchestra to play like theWiener Philharmoniker or a provincial Turkish opera company to rival il Teatro alla Scala. That is not the point of the occasion or the raison d’être of attending the Aspendos Festival. The value of the experience is to enjoy a more than acceptable performance of a great opera in a setting which is both unique, magical, historically fascinating and the pinnacle of acoustic excellence.
One feels that Verdi would have been much more happy had he been commissioned by the musically enlighted Ottoman Sultan Abulazziz to create a new ‘Entführung aus dem Serail’ rather than the opus reluctantly written for the rather dull and definitely pushy Isma’il Pasha, Khedive of Egypt. At least in Aspendos he would have had the most impressive theatre of antiquity in which to have his grandest of grand operas performed.
All that said, this Luddite of a music reviewer must confess to being no great enthusiast of opera in the fresh outdoors. With the possible exception of the extraordinary and wonderfully atmospheric Savonlinna Castle in central Finland, bucolic settings are much more suitable to the racing of horses and dogs, bear-baiting, football, pig-sticking, bocce, kite-flying, and sundry Olympic and less demanding sporting activities than anything of a purely musical nature.
Somehow the legacy of Monteverdi, Mozart, Verdi and Wagner in proscenium-less stages is not ideally suited to noisy traffic and the inebriated hubbub of late night revellers (Verona); wafting aromas of dead fish (Torre del Largo) off-pitch frog warblings in the lake reeds (Bregenz); distracting shadows of passing birdlife (Orange); passenger planes roaring overhead (Caracalla) or ferry hootings and fruit bats (Sydney Opera on the Harbour). Then there is also the added annoyance of rain. Clearly Messrs Stradivari and Guanieri did not intend their instruments for sub-aqueous usage.
In this case the enormously high back wall to the stage in Aspendos is able to eliminate most non-musical distractions and one has the feeling of sitting in a stone based open-ceilinged cocoon under the stars. The only unsolicited exterior distraction in the proceedings came almost at the end of the opera when a passing Pegasus Airlines plane left an off-pitch sostenuto from the wake of its jet engines. But at least the timing was apt — Radames and Aida were singing “O terra, addio.”
Jonathan Sutherland
image=http://www.operatoday.com/Aspendos.gif image_description=The Roman theatre in Aspendos product=yes product_title=Aida at Aspendos Opera and Ballet Festival product_by=A review by Jonathan Sutherland product_id=Above: The Roman theatre in AspendosSt Matthew Passion, Prom 66
Originally created in 2010 and directed by Peter Sellars, this was far more than a concert staging; it was a fully dramatic production which sought to wring every last ounce of emotion out of Bach's epic work.
There was a strong cast and all but one had appeared in the original production, with Christian Gerhaher as Christus, Mark Padmore as the Evangelist, and Camilla Tilling, Magdalena Kožená, Topi Lehtipuu and Eric Owens as the soloists. Almost as important was the choral contribution from the Berlin Radio Choir, singing off the book like the rest of the cast.
The first surprise was how few forces Rattle was using. Each orchestra had just 15 strings in it and the choirs numbered 30 people each. The sound was lithe and light, fluid and flexible, with a nice bounce to it. But this was a very modern sound, giving the Bach a smoothness and surface polish which does not exist in period performances as the instruments die away faster. This was modern symphonic Bach, with intelligent nods to historical performance but without throwing out everything we might expect from the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra. Needless to say, all of the many instrumental obbligatos were superbly played, often from memory as the instrumentalist stood out from the orchestra and joined the vocal soloists creating a real sense of duets and chamber music. Despite the large size of the Royal Albert Hall, this performance had many moments of intimate, chamber communication.
The choirs and orchestras were ranged round the edge of the stage, up onto the ramped seating. There were boxes for the singers to sit on (rarely used as they were often in motion), and the central stage area had an array of larger boxes (the biggest doubled as last supper table, bier and even massage table). All participants were in black, with the female soloists in gowns but with bare feet. My companion complained about the cut and fit of Padmore's trousers, and I noted that he was wearing brown shoes.
My problem with the staging was that it was never quite clear who these people are, and why they were reacting in such an extreme manner. Mark Padmore's Evangelist not only narrated the story but took on the role of Christ, enacting all of the drama, whilst Christian Gerhaher's Christus remained separated from the drama and never participated. That this was a re-enactment rather than a dramatisation was clear from the amount of meta-narrative. From the opening it was clear that the choirs were reacting to events which had already happened, but which the drama had not yet described. The solos were staged as being part of the drama, I lost count of the number of times Magdalena Kožená (singing the alto solos) had to rush on tossing her hair looking anxious, to run distractedly round the stage and sing a consoling aria to Mark Padmore. The arias were sung not as contemplations and meditations on the drama, but as part of it.
And this was the problem, everyone was reacting all the time, everyone was emotional all the time and there was a great deal of stage movement. Whilst, for some members of the audience it was clear that Sellars' dramatic narrative helped them appreciate Bach's work, for me it got in the way. There were many times during the performance when I simply closed my eyes and listened to the music.
There was indeed much to enjoy. Camilla Tilling made a poised soprano soloist, her cool demeanour belying the emotionalism in her voice. At times she sounded a little pressed, but then according to Sellars' narrative, she had every right to be. 'Blute nur' was sung with slim-line, elegant tones whilst there was a lovely dancing quality to 'Ich will dir mein Herze schenken' with some lovely perky wind solos. In 'Aus Liebe will mein Heiland sterben' the sense of a duet with the flautist, who stood on stage next to her, was palpable and the two combined with a profoundly expressive sense of line.
Whilst I might have found Magdalena Kožená's dramatics rather distracting, she was truly wonderful as the alto soloist. Her voice has a slight, interesting edge to it which I found very appealing and which made the quieter numbers profoundly expressive. From her first aria,'Buss' und Reu' she displayed a fabulous technique, singing the passagework smoothly and evenly (even though in that first aria she was giving Mark Padmore a massage). Here, and elsewhere, the music was always very light on its feet. 'Erbarme dich' was thankfully a quiet pause, with Kožená stationary on stage (for once) and joined by the violinist for a sublime duet. However, during Kožená's intensely intent account of 'Konnen Tranen meiner Wangen', Mark Padmore was distractingly in agony (he'd just been scourged) the whole time, and Kozena seemed to be cleaning his back.
The problem for me was that, here and elsewhere, the music is not a dramatic reaction to the events just proceeding but a personal contemplation, albeit a highly emotional one. By the time we reached 'Sehet! Sehet! Jesus hat die Hand', I was growing tired of Kožená's emotionalism.as she ran around hugging everyone. But if you closed your eyes, the aria was musically sublime.
The duet for soprano and alto at the end of part one, 'So ist mein Jesus nun gefangen' was expressive but lacked the contemplative poise which others have brought to it. Instead it was staged as high drama, with the two soloists rushing around the stage, giving an emotionalism which found its way into the music as well.
Topi Lehtipuu's tenor seemed to be having a slightly edgy day, there was a tense quality to the upper part of his voice which did not always lend itself to the music. But there was still a great deal to enjoy in his performance. He brought a nicely dramatic edge to 'O Schmerz' and 'Ich will bei meinem Jesu wachen' and sang the recitative 'Mein Jesus scheigt' direct to the audience which gave it intensity, though the aria 'Geduld, Geduld', was sung to the solo gamba player, with the tenseness in his voice giving the aria a nicely nervy quality.
Eric Owens was the new member of the cast, replacing Thomas Quasthoff who had appeared in the 2010 production. Owens gave a committed, highly emotional and expressive performance but I found that his voice had a tightness and a dryness to it which did not appeal. Mind you, he had quite a physical role; during 'Gerne will ich mich bequemen' he was physically manipulating the prone Mark Padmore. In 'Gebt mir meinen Jesum wieder', the solo violinist almost took the lead, playing aggressively at the prone Eric Owens.
Christian Gerhaher was a subtle and moving Christus, but he was placed behind the orchestra at the top of the ramped seating, and did not take part in the action. For part two he sang from various parts of the auditorium effectively a disembodied voice. I have great admiration for Gerhaher and have heard him give some superb performances. In the context of a simple concert performance of the work, his Christus would have been intensely moving, but he didn't stand a chance in Peter Sellars' highly emotional world and effectively he was repeatedly upstaged by Padmore and the rest of the action.
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Mark Padmore was simply a miracle as the Evangelist. Whatever you thought of Sellars' staging, it was apparent that Padmore did everything that Sellars wanted. He created an intense, highly emotional almost overwrought protagonist which was played out in the music too. Padmore still has the apparently effortless control of his high register and the ability to colour notes, so that his Evangelist was highly communicative and able to fill the Royal Albert Hall with a whisper. I have heard Padmore sing the role before, and no doubt will do so again, but this was truly a performance like no other.
The singers of the Berlin Radio Choir were called upon to fully participate in the drama. They were not innocent bystanders simply commentating, they were there. The result was a highly dramatic and highly emotional performance, one that was visually, rather wearing, but which reaped rich rewards in the highly engaged vocal performance from the singers. This was some of the most intent, vivid Bach singing I have heard in a long time. not just in terms of dramatics, but in the quiet moments to. Some of the turbae were truly shocking, whilst some of the chorales were hushed and simple. For the opening and closing choruses of part one, they were joined by the choristers (both boys and girls) from Wells Cathedral and Winchester Cathedral.
The smaller solo roles were all well taken by members of the Berlin Radio Choir, each creating a little moment of drama. Jorge Schneider was Judas, Soren von Billerbeck was Peter, Axek Scheidig was Pilate, Christine Lichtenberg and Holger Marks were the Witnesses, David Stingl and Thomas Futzner were the Chief Priests, Isabelle Vosskuhler and Christina Bischoff were the Maids and Bianca Reim was Pilate's wife. The instrumental soloists were Daniel Stabrawa and Daishin Kashimoto (violins), Emmanuel Pahud and Michael Hasel (flutes), Albrech Mayer and Andreas Wiggman (oboes and oboes d'amore), Domink Wollenweber and Christoph Hartmann (oboes di caccia), Stefan Scheigert and Markus Weidmann (bassoons), Ulrich Wolff (viola da gamba) and the continuo group was Martin Lohr (cello), Lynda Sayce (lute), Raphael Alpermann and Jorg-Andreas Botticher (organs), Matthew McDonald (double bass).
My problem with the performance was that Sellars was forcing us to think about Bach's work in a particular way. Rather than universalising it, he was making us view it through his eyes. This was typified by the way the ending was staged, forcing the audience to sit in reverent silence at the end rather than being able to burst into applause.
Robert Hugill
Christian Gerhaher: Christus, Mark Padmore: Evangelist; Camilla Tilling, Magdalena Kozena, Topi Lehtipuu, Eric Owens; Berlin Radio Choir, Wells Cathedral Choristers, Winchester Cathedral Choristers. Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra. Sir Simon Rattle: conductor, Peter Sellars: director. BBC Proms at the Royal Albert Hall, 6 September 2014.
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September 3, 2014
Theatre of war: new-found patriotism meets old-school propaganda in a Russian opera about Crimea
By Amelia Glaser [2 September 2014, The Calvert Journal]
This year, Russia has revelled in grand demonstrations. If Sochi’s opening ceremony is now a distant memory, the annexation of Crimea has offered a theme for mass spectacle to rival those of the Soviet Union. The Night Wolves motorcycle club (Russia’s Hells Angels) recently hosted their annual bike show in Sevastopol in Crimea, dedicated to the defenders of the fatherland from 1941 to 2014. Poems celebrating Russia’s historical struggle for Crimea were interspersed with black-clad “fascists” dancing to soundbites from Barack Obama and Angela Merkel. President Vladimir Putin sent a greeting; Steven Seagal made an appearance. These larger-than-life images of a triumphant fatherland, venerated leader and glorious history suggested a new return to Socialist Realism, albeit with a post-socialist twist.
The Classical Cloud
By Alex Ross [8 September 2014, The New Yorker]
Recently, while moving my CD collection to new shelving, I struggled with feelings of obsolescence and futility. Why bother with space-devouring, planet-harming plastic objects when so much music can be had at the touch of a trackpad—on Spotify, Pandora, Beats Music, and other streaming services that rain sonic data from the virtual entity known as the Cloud?
September 2, 2014
Glimmerglass: Butterfly Leads the Pack
Such was the case with the wholly persuasive Glimmerglass staging of Madame Butterfly devised by Francesca Zambello. The director has presented this same interpretation at other houses and in this case, familiarity has bred (near-) perfection.
Set designer Michael Yeargan has provided her with a cinematic playground of possibilities. Instead of a picture postcard house with a harbor view, cherry trees and japonaiserie, he has set crucial scenes in the waiting room of the American consulate. Goro shows Pinkerton a scale model of the house, rather than the usual on-site terrain walk. The women’s chorus for Butterfly’s entrance is comprised of American ex-pats gorgeously attired in white Edwardian dresses. Throughout, Anita Yavich‘s costumes were beautifully realized.
To be sure, Cio-Cio-San’s relatives and servants are there as well. And when the Bonze appears behind a scrim in front of an angry ancient sculpture, the consulate wall (upon which is printed the pledge of allegiance) flies out, the cast carries off the furniture and in a split second dissolve we are in a no man’s land of the psyche. As the curse recedes into a diminuendo, simple screen panels descend to suggest an abode. Pinkerton and Cio-Cio-San demurely remove clothing behind separate panels before uniting for a touching wedding night.
Act II finds the heroine back in the Consulate until such time as the cannon goes off in the harbor. Another dissolve reveals three ships in silhouette up left on the raked stage, like ghosts in the mist. In another vivid effect, the stage is completely bare for the Flower Duet and when the piece begins petals cascade down from the flies like a warm shower, blanketing the floor. Then, little Sorrow walks the whole perimeter of the stage strewing fistfuls of blossoms from a basket. Magic. The act ends with Butterfly facing far up stage center, framed by a searing golden light. (It is hard to over-praise the superb contribution of the chiaroscuro lighting by designer Robert Wierzel.)
With the waiting Butterfly immobile up center, Act III begins with a flashback of Pinkerton and Kate courting. Then, in another brilliant touch, a gangplank descends from the downstage right leg, with sailors and Lt. and Mrs. Pinkerton disembarking in Yokohama. A stage-filling configuration of rice paper panels form an overwhelming American flag that fills the stage. These give way to fewer and fewer white panels with finally only one front and center, behind which Cio-Cio-San prepares for her death.
In a final ‘coup de theatre,’ just as the doomed heroine does the deed, the panel flies out, and a deep red curtain falls from the heavens behinds her. Pinkerton shouts his “Butterfly’s” from behind it, then rips it down and rushes to cradle the corpse in a sea of blood red cloth. The goose bumps return even as I write this. I will never see this scene again without comparing it to this moment of unparalleled pathos. I have long been an admirer of Francesca’s fertile creative thinking, and this production found her at her considerable best. After decades of considering the clever Corsaro version at NYCO as the gold standard, this is my new benchmark for innovative illumination of this perennial favorite.
Still, whatever staging innovations may be put forth, the show ultimately rises or falls on the success of the leading soprano, and I can happily report that Yunah Lee was just tremendous. I am not sure what other current exponent of this demanding role is singing this part with such absolute security, freshness, and understanding. Ms. Lee’s well-schooled spinto is a bit (just a bit) on the metallic side, but she knows how to color and couch every phrase to maximum effect. She fully understands the role and gets comfortably under its skin. Every ‘Big Moment’ is thrillingly, memorably delivered. Moreover, Yunah is wholly believable as the 15-year old Geisha even in the proximity of the small Alice Busch theatre. For her overwhelmingly moving, impeccably sung performance, Yunah Lee deservedly earned the most vociferous ovation of the festival as the audience leapt to their feet as one to roar their approval at her curtain call.
Dinyar Vania’s Pinkerton was competent and perfectly acceptable, with his physical appearance suggesting Jerry Seinfeld as a Navy Officer. Mr. Vania effects a somewhat covered sound that delivers better in mid-range than at the top, where it can get just a bit effortful. He sounded best (which is to say very good indeed) at full voice and in ensembles. While Dinyar fully understood the motivations of the cad, he also brought some measure of conflict and remorse to it creating a fleshed out character.
As Sharpless, Aleksey Bogdanov commanded a handsome dark quality wedded to a solid baritone. He brought a slight officiousness and strong presence to the genial consul, not at all the oft-encountered conflicted milquetoast. Mr. Bogdanov’s rich singing and effective stage presence actually made the role memorable. Diminutive Kristen Choi was physically right for Suzuki, and her powerful, pointed mezzo brought astonishing power to her crucial moments.
Ian McEuen had many nice moments as Goro, and shows real promise. Sean Michael Plumb boasted a fine bass as Yamadori, Thomas Richards had the imposing vocal presence and threatening delivery that was needed as Bonze, and Erica Schoelkopf was an assured Kate Pierton. Louis McKinny (Sorrow) threatened to steal every scene whether saluting on cue, playing with his dad’s hat, adjusting his knickers, or even scratching his head. He was beautifully coached, deeply affecting and simply adorable.
Under Joseph Colaneri’s masterful baton, the orchestra played with such style and elasticity, such sensitive to the singers’ every phrase, that they seemed definitive partners in the drama. Even in a slightly reduced orchestration, Maestro Colaneri elicited a reading that was rich with detail and ripe with vibrant colors.
Christian Bowers as Clyde Griffiths
What a treat it was to experience the revised version of An American Tragedy, a complex and rewarding piece composed by Tobias Picker to a libretto by Gene Scheer. Having not seen the premiere production at the Met, but having listened to the duo’s pre-performance lecture, it appears that their fine-tuning of the love triangle and the elimination of material they found extraneous yielded a taut, lean and mean theatrical piece that was absorbing, emotionally engaging, and wholly persuasive.
An American Tragedy was fully realized both as a gripping piece of theatre and as a complicated, jittery, moody, smoldering musical composition. George Manahan conducted an incisive account of the score and the orchestra had its finest hours (of many) lavishing Picker’s score with playing of real distinction. The composer has provided no hiding place from the demands for virtuosic instrumental playing and to a person, the band rose to the occasion. Maestro Manahan ensured that sparks really flew in the many segments calling for orchestral brio, and then he settled things down just as easily to an uneasy peace with glowing legato playing during more inward leaning passages.
The cast is peopled almost exclusively with Young Artists, who are essaying meaty and exacting assignments that would tax performers with ten years more experience. As if they knew they were being mightily tested, they apparently harnessed every ounce of their gifts, and handily passed the test. Would that this piece could indeed be mounted again ten years hence with this same ensemble. They are all uniformly fine, and further experience will only make them better.
The central role of Clyde Griffiths is a huge sing and baritone Christian Bowers was every inch the heart of the piece (if you think Clyde has a heart!). Mr. Bowers over-sang his first pages and his buzzy, well-schooled baritone retaliated for being pushed by sounding (just) a little dry. As Christian relaxed into the part his instrument took on an inviting glow, and he found a good balance of bluster and conversational charm. His attractive presence embodies the social climber with aplomb. Throughout a tireless assault of musical demands, from the extremes of range, to the angularity of the phrases, to the shifting character development, Christian Bowers succeeded on every level. He is surely ready for whatever next big assignment comes his way.
Playing Roberta Alden, Vanessa Isiguen capitalized on the opportunity to be the show’s most sympathetic character and she had us in the palm of her hand. The ache we felt for her was not only because of her function in the plot, but also because she imbued her pristine singing first with love and elation, then later with pathos and desperation. Hers is a radiantly clear high lyric soprano that falls attractively on the ear and is trained to a fare-thee-well. Ms. Isiguen’s total immersion in the character’s plight evoked pity, and raised the stakes of the game.
Cynthia Cook also turned in a very fine impersonation as Sondra Finchley. As the spoiled rich girl with the (eventual) heart of gold, she was physically perfect and vocally secure. Mr. Picker has given the character some of the score’s most extended set pieces, filled with enormously elaborate leaps and melismas. Ms. Cook never faltered, although her generous vibrato sometimes got in the way of her good intentions. Held notes did not always want to behave, and there is some finessing to be accomplished with her technique to tame a tendency to fluttering. Still, Cynthia demonstrated admirable musicianship and considerable intelligence in her traversal of the role.
Daniel T. Curran was spot-on as a spoiled brat of a cousin (Gilbert Griffiths) and his bright tenor was sturdy, pointed and responsive. The matriarch Elizabeth Griffiths was well-taken by Jennifer Root, who contributed a mellow, mature sound that posed a nice a balance. Aleksey Bogdanov lent his well-modulated baritone in good service to Samuel Griffiths. Thomas Richards used every measure of vocal finesse in his arsenal as prosecutor Orville Mason to craft an accusatory cross-examination that built inexorably to a thrilling climax. Meredith Lustig made Bella all she could be and sang with an attractive, limpid tone.
Patricia Schuman came on rather late in the game as the controlling mother Elvira Griffiths and almost stole the show. This seasoned pro showed us how it was done as she strode on and took total command of the stage, acting with searing focus and singing with a ferocious intensity as the Jesus-Mom-from-Hell. Some of the vocal effects she effortlessly deployed were jaw-droppingly successful. Ms. Schuman totally nailed it.
The spare staging was mesmerizing in its simplicity. The basic structure featured a U shaped elevated platform with movable stair components. When a collage of white shirts on hangers flew in as backdrop and legs to suggest the factory, the startlingly apt artistic effect merited applause. Other pieces and two-story wagons were simply and fluidly introduced as needed. The all important boat effect (to enable the theatrical moment of Roberta’s drowning) was marvelous, a bare metal frame of a rowboat on an elevated structure; with a stage width eight foot high “water” cloth in front, lit with undulating waves, and concealing the stagehands operating the effect. The boat containing Clyde and Roberta is on a pivot point that allows it to “capsize,” spilling both up stage. Clyde clambers back on the upended vessel, while Robert drifts far upstage, flailing and drowning as she calls for help in a chilling, well-crafted, piercing musical moment. Erik Teague’s costumes captured the characters and the period.
Peter Kazaras’ sensitive direction was so effective it was barely noticeable. He facilitated well-motivated movement with the actors who were always perfectly placed to sing front. Nothing was done to excess, nothing called attention to the stagecraft, all was characterized by seeming spontaneity. Mr. Kazaras also made good use of the crowds in the church and the factory. And he (and accomplished lighting designer Mark McCullough) masterminded a beautiful opening to the piece, the love triangle personages in individual spots, with Clyde onstage stage center, and his two women towering above on the front platforms right and left. The piece ends with the same stage picture, only this time Clyde is strapped to a chair in the gas chamber. As the music stopped and he sucked in the fumes over and over, and the light finally abruptly snapped out, there was one more gasp. . . from a stunned audience. This was potent writing, well-served by a thoughtful production.
The cast of the Zambello production
After Francesca Zambello’s definitive staging of the Puccini, I had hoped for the same experience with the totally different Ariadne in Naxos. The “in” is the key to the approach, since it is not set “on” the island of Naxos in the “opera” portion, nor in a Viennese private theatre for the “prologue” portion. Rather Ms. Z and company have set it in a fictitious town in rural upstate New York.
The concept seemed to spring from the cliché: “My folks have a barn, let’s put on a show,” for the unit set is indeed a barn. Who the wealthy patron is, and why (s)he would engage these artists to perform in this venue is not clear, or perhaps, plausible. Team Z tried very heard to make it work, or at least to distract from the fact that it didn’t. Set designer Troy Hourie provided a workable enough structure with its weathered wood, practical doors and makeshift platform; and he littered this “found space” with bales, farm implements, and all manner of improvised “scenery.” The New York state map painted on the barn’s façade looked intentionally home made and was characterized by red stars that marked the major cities, the most prominent star reserved for Naxos.
Erik Teague’s potpourri of colorful costumes mostly ranged from riotous to the point of garish, with a generous helping of “caricature” mixed in. Fair enough, since the commedia and operatic characters were indeed “standard issue” and needed to be immediately recognizable. Mr. Teague triumphed with his splendid second act gown for Ariadne, a superb achievement that was glittering and alluring and slimming all at one time, calling on an accomplished styling skill that used to transform divas of the immediate past.
Mark McCullough came up with a lighting design that was more functional than atmospheric, although I liked the strands of rudimentary carnival lights hung over the stage that characters could fan out for a drape-like effect. When the Nymphs unhooked and returned them to their original position during their last trio, they seemed like fluffy Norns weaving the fate of the world. Or at least, the barnyard.
As the production began tripping over its concept the most distracting element was arguably the English translation. In an effort to turn it into cheeky vernacular, when Hofmannsthal’s text didn’t suit the gag of the moment, hey, they just changed it! The stuffy Viennese hauteur that informs and drives the piece was nowhere in evidence. To its credit the staging, while busy, was never unfocussed. It just refused to settle down from its manic energy.
In Act Two (the “performance”) the opera was performed in German, with the commedia elements still in English. Such a variation can work as it certainly did in the fresh City Opera staging of the 1970’s which played the prologue in English and the second part in German. But mixing the languages just kept reminding us of the gags of Act I which were now past their sell-by date. By having Ariadne continue to do schtick, to pay attention to the spoilers, and to get engaged by them, neither comedy nor tragedy were heightened by contrast. The principals stubbornly remained Six Characters in Search of a Laugh.
Conductor Kathleen Kelly led a tight, propulsive performance of this Straussian jewel, although the opening instrumental statements were drowned out by the cast entering noisily down the aisles and, once on stage, scuffling their feet and moving set pieces. I was getting ready to turn and shush the people talking in the audience until I realized it was the cast!
I had previously admired soprano Christine Goerke’s work, but I had not heard her since she reinvented herself in her new dramatic Fach. First, she is a game and effortless comedienne. Ms. Goerke now has an imposing, warm tone that is especially rich in the middle voice, but it seemed like almost every phrase was treated as a grand gesture. While she is hailed as one of the current great Elektra’s, Ariadne is a different girl, benefitting from a dash of playfulness and elastic conversational utterances. That Christine has a major talent is not in question. I would only urge her to pull back from forte more often to discover all the nuance and character that are in the role.
I quite liked Catherine Martin’s firm, throbbing mezzo as the “female” Composer. She sang with great passion and a forcefulness that sometimes compromised the spin in those demanding high-pitched arching phrases. The gay romance contrived between this lady musician and Zerbinetta was interesting but ultimately extraneous, and having them remain on stage at the “piano” until the very end subverted the impact of the finale. The creators have given the Composer and Zerbinetta their big moments earlier in the show. The final kiss the coupled shared at the very button of the show pulled the focus entirely from Bacchus and Ariadne who should be having their moment.
Corey Bix managed a Bacchus that was every bit was as well sung as any I have heard. Every tenor must seek his own way to negotiate around the pitfalls of some cruelly difficult writing, and Mr. Bix has found a pleasing way to deliver the big moments with a voice of considerable heft that has a pleasant ring. The slight, almost imperceptible darkening at the top helps him skillfully scale the heights.
Young Artist Carlton Ford has one of the most uncommonly beautiful lyric baritones I have heard in many a year. His Harlekin completely dominated the quartet, the rest of whom were perhaps a season away from making the most of these opportunities, offering more potential and enthusiasm than accomplishment. The tricky section after Zerbinetta’s showpiece really needs seasoned pros to sing the daylights out it for it to be anything other than anti-climactic filler as it was here.
Zerbinetta is one of the Everest’s of the coloratura repertoire to be sure, an exhausting role with repetitive effects that call for no-fail execution Rachele Gilmore is a lovely and fearless performer, and has a beautifully trained instrument that possesses a real sheen. Ms. Gilmore did herself proud, especially since she was not helped by the English translation. Her lengthy aria had a good deal of variety and was enthusiastically received. That said, the endless duplicative roulades and arpeggios and trills and runs and acuti and, and, and, call for a wider variety of execution that is not “quite” yet hers to completely command.
Of the myriad small roles, John Kapusta (Dance Captain) had an appealing voice and an animated presence, and Adam Cioffari’s confident baritone made for a pleasing take on the Composer’s “Agent.” The three nymphs were well matched: Jacqueline Echols’ (Echo) plush soprano was a real treat; Beth Lytwynec served up a commendable account of the low-lying Dryad; and Jeni Houser handled Naiad’s high-flying phrases with skill, although when she pushes the volume the tone can turn acidic.
Ryan McKinny as Billy Bigelow
Since the season is over, I don’t have to issue a spoiler alert: Carousel has no carousel. And therein lay the crux of the problem with director Charles Newell’s staging. I can accept that there may be other meaningful ways to suggest the carousel, which is required for the pantomimed exposition that gets the whole show, um, spinning. But Mr. Newell and choreographer Daniel Pelzig did not find the means to serve that moment, to clarify the set-up, to establish the character relationships.
Instead, a pissed off chorus sets out to do some physical gesticulating that looks like River-Dance-Meets-Mark-Morris-Meets-Occupy-Wall-Street. What was all that anger about? Eventually, after principal characters mill around and pretty much go unnoticed, the men assemble in a circle, women jump and ride side saddle on the outside male hip, and the boys tote the girls in a circle like a sack o’ spuds, while the lone suspended carousel horse dips down into the scene, lit with pulsing colors like Disco Donkey.
Perhaps the team thought everyone knew the piece by now, but I had to explain what should have gone on in the opening waltz to my seat partners who had never seen it before and couldn’t figure it out. It is not surprising then that the first real book scene took a long time to jell. With no groundwork lain as to the general relationships of these characters, we stumbled onward as we pieced it together.
Once you forgive the failure of the carousel effect, there was much to admire in john Culbert’s handsome unit set. The layers of three successive walls lined with weathered planks, cut in undulating shapes to suggest waves was quite evocative. The back lighting that was made possible through the gaps in the slats was judiciously used by the multi-tasking Mark McCullough. After the chorus filed in a funeral procession for Billy, the candles they carried in small hurricane lamps got hung on the upstage wall to suggest stars as complemented by the star curtain cyclorama. The platforms and piers afforded for good use of levels and variety of placement.
Best of all, I loved the door in the up center wall/wave. We could tell there was a door there, but as the show progressed it didn’t get used. Act Two began and progressed and it still didn’t get used. And then, in a well-calculated touch, it finally opened to reveal the Starkeeper in a blaze of light. And the show finally came to life. Jessica Jahn mostly eschewed color in her well-realized costume design, and the use of white for the heavenly denizens was effective. Costumes were well-researched and the contrast between haves and have-nots was subtly realized.
What to say about the performance overall? Carousel seemed like a very fine college production staged by an experimenting grad student director. There was precious little chemistry or heat between the actors. It was not until Louise (the excellent Carolina M. Villaraos) and Carnival Boy’s (ditto Andrew Harper) ‘pas de deux’ midway in Two that there was any passion. This dance was a haunting, impressive, straight-forward and traditional piece of staging that more than redeemed Mr. Pelzig for the muddled opening and the rather pat cuteness of such numbers as Blow High, Blow Low. Too bad the finale of the ballet was truncated.
The presentational style kept vacillating all night. Many times, applause was discouraged and ignored at usual opportunities, and at others, it seemed invited. It is hard for the audience to get engaged if the rules keep shifting.
Ryan McKinny brought such a magnetic presence, smoldering sensuality and powerful delivery to last years Dutchman that anticipation was high for his Billy Bigelow. Alas, he couldn’t translate his success into Carousel. Billy calls for a high, bright lyric baritone, and Mr. McKinny is a mellifluous, smoky bass-baritone. Ryan could not decide whether to keep his placement in a natural Broadway ‘talky’ mode, or elevate the focus and make it 'operatic.' The audience was pleased with his Soliloquy even though he kept shifting gears (not always successfully) and semaphored his way through it. I would urge him to just sing the meaning and find one vocal style. He is movie star handsome, for sure and perhaps the movies’ Robert DeNiro has inspired that puzzling accent. Overall, the carefully scripted accents are all over the place.
If Billy comes off as more frat boy than sexy ne’er-do-well, he is ably abetted by frat brother Jigger, aka performer Ben Edquist. Mr. Edquist sings honorably but his fresh-faced villain had no inherent menace and Blow High lacked panache and a sense of debauchery. Andrea Carroll’s Julie Jordan was fairly staunch, not quite melancholy enough although she sang with a winning tone. I appreciate wanting to not represent Julie as the willing victim she is, but Ms. Carroll came off so strongly at times that she would likely have hit him back!
Sharin Apostolou was an enthusiastic and girlish Carrie Pipperidge, and her characterful musical comedy style was the best realized of the evening. If she sometimes came off as too ditzy, she was consistent and appealing. And she did find some determined spunk in Jigger’s attempted seduction scene that made hers the best-rounded character. Joseph Shadday had high notes for days as Mr. Snow but he was too placid. Perhaps he is just too young to have acquired the patina of eccentric charm that usually informs this part.
If, in general, the acting was played to the balcony, Rebecca Finnegan’s harridan of a Mrs. Mullins was at first playing to the outside porch. She settled in to a subtler reading as the show progressed. I quite liked her as the Heavenly Friend although the doubling was visually a bit confusing when she and Billy bounded onstage in white, as if it were a flashback of him cavorting with Mrs. Mullins. Wynn Harmon contributed a notable turn doubled as the Starkeeper and Dr, Seldon. Deborah Nansteel’s stylish Nettie Fowler was an asset.
God bless the hard-working Young Artists that formed the chorus. They sang diligently and were well schooled at moving from grouping to grouping cleanly and with purpose. They executed all that was asked of them within a stylized theatrical representation that was well managed but hollow.
On this occasion, Conductor Doug Peck seemed off form in the pit. Perhaps it was the torrential rain and high humidity that caused the orchestra to start slightly out of tune with a few scrappy woodwind licks. Once the famous waltz tune emerged things hummed along amiably enough. But some of the tempi for charm songs, like the lilting When the Children Are Asleep seemed sluggish, and ignored the possibility to keep the sprightly opportunities moving so that they contrast with the impending drama.
I do appreciate the thought of doing musicals acoustically with full orchestra, but truth to tell they have been the least effective productions of the last four festivals.
Next summer should bring a better fit with Bernstein’s Candide which has often been successfully co-opted by opera companies. Rounding out the 2015 Glimmerglass offerings are a new The Magic Flute, Verdi’s Macbeth (with Eric Owens in his title role debut), and a Vivaldi rarity, Cato in Utica. Ms. Zambello’s pre-show announcement of that title always garnered applause and laughs since the local opera-goers seemed unaware that Cato had ever been in (nearby) Utica.
James Sohre
Casts and production information:
Madame Butterfly
B.F. Pinkerton: Dinyar Vania; Goro Ian McEuen; Suzuki: Kristen Choi; Sharpless: Aleksey Bogdanov; Cio-Cio-San: Yunah Lee; Cousin: Jacqueline Echols; Mother: Aleksandra Romano; Aunt: Vanessa Isigeun; Uncle Yakuside: Christian Bowers; Imperial Comissioner: Chris Carr; Official Registrar: Adam Cioffari; Bonze: Thomas Richards; Prince Yamadori: Sean Michael Plumb; Sorrow: Louis McKinny; Kate Pinkerton: Erica Schoelkopf; Conductor: Joseph Colaneri; Director: Francesca Zambello; Set Design: Michael Yeargan; Costume Design: Anita Yavich; Lighting Design: Robert Wierzel; Hair and Makeup Design: Anne Ford-Coates
An American Tragedy
Gilbert Griffiths: Daniel T. Curran; Clyde Griffiths: Christian Bowers; Elvira Griffiths: Patricia Schuman; Roberta Alden: Vanessa Isiguen; Elizabeth Griffiths: Jennifer Root; Bella Griffiths: Meredith Lustig; Samuel Griffiths: Aleksey Bogdanov; Sondra Finchley: Cynthia Cook; Reverend McMillan: John Kapusta; Orville Mason: Thomas Richards; Conductor: George Manahan; Director: Peter Kazaras; Choreographer: Eric Sean Fogel; Set Design: Alexander Dodge; Costume Design: Anya Klepikov; Lighting Design: Robert Wierzel; Hair and Makeup Design: Anne Ford-Coates
Ariadne in Naxos
Prima Donna/Ariadne: Christine Goerke; Zerbinetta: Rachele Gilmore; Composer: Catherine Martin; Tenor/Bacchus: Corey Bix; Harlequin: Carlton Ford; Master of the Estate: Wynn Harmon; Agent: Adam Cioffari; Dance Captain: John Kapusta; Naiad: Jeni Houser; Echo: Jacqueline Echols; Dryad: Beth Lytwynec; Brighella: Brian Yeakley; Scaramuccio: Andrew Penning; Truffaldino: Gerard Michael D’Emilio; Officer: Cooper Nolan; Wig Maker: Thomas Richards; Farmhand: Matthew Scollin; Conductor: Kathleen Kelly; Director: Francesca Zambello; Choreographer: Eric Sean Fogel; Set Design: Troy Hourie; Costume Design: Erik Teague; Lighting Design: Mark McCullough; Hair and Makeup Design: Anne Ford-Coates
Carousel
Carrie Pipperidge: Sharin Apostolou; Julie Jordan: Andrea Carroll; Billy Bigelow: Ryan McKinny; Nettie Fowler: Deborah Nansteel; Enoch Snow: Joseph Shadday; Jigger Craigin: Ben Edquist; Mrs. Mullins/Heavenly Friend: Rebecca Finnegan; Louise: Carolina M. Villaraos; Carnival Boy: Andrew Harper; Starkeeper/Dr. Seldon: Wynn Harmon; Conductor: Doug Peck; Director: Charles Newell; Choreographer: Daniel Pelzig; Set Design: John Culbert; Costume Design: Jessica Jahn; Lighting Design: Mark McCullough; Hair and Makeup Design: Anne Ford-Coates
image=http://www.operatoday.com/glimmerglass-karlicadel-mbutterfly-stageorchestra-9980.png
image_description=A scene from Madame Butterfly [All photos by Karli Cadel/The Glimmerglass Festival]
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product_id=Above: A scene from Madame Butterfly [All photos by Karli Cadel/The Glimmerglass Festival]
Operalia, the World Opera Competition, Showcases 2014 Winners
On August 30, Los Angeles Opera presented the finals concert of Plácido Domingo’s Operalia, the world opera competition. Founded in 1993, the contest endeavors to discover and help launch the careers of the most promising young opera singers of today. Thousands of applicants send in recordings from which forty singers are chosen to perform live in the city where the contest is being held. Last year it was Verona, Italy, this year Los Angeles, next year London. From those forty, thirteen finalists were selected to perform at the final concert at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion.
Thirty-year-old dramatic soprano Rachel Willis-Sørensen opened the program with “Dich, teure Halle” from Wagner’s Tannhäuser. Her interpretation was well shaped with appropriate dynamics. Her well-focused voice has a good timbre for Wagner and it pierced the orchestral sound with its dulcet tones. After intermission we learned that she had won first prize and the Birgit Nilsson Prize. Her second offering, Federico Moreno Torroba’s “Tres horas antes del dia,” won her a Zarzuela Prize as well.
The second singer on the program was Russian countertenor, Andrey Nemzer, 31, who sang an aria from Glinka’s Ruslan and Lyudmila with resonant, clear high notes. He shared the men’s third prize with American countertenor John Holiday, 29. Holiday sang “Crude furie” from Handel’s Serse with intense, accurate coloratura. Two sopranos also shared the women’s Third Prize: Anais Constans, 26, from France and Mariangela Sicilia, 28, from Italy. Constans sang “O quante volte ti chiedo” from Bellini’s I Capuletti e i Montecchi, and “De España vengo” from Luna’s El niño judio, while Sicilia sang the Poison Aria from Gounod’s Roméo et Juliette. I enjoyed Sicilia’s vocal overtones, and dramatic interpretation, but was disappointed by Constans’s lack of movement in the Luna aria.
Chinese tenor, Yi Li, 30, sang “Pourquoi me reveiller” from Massenet’s Werther with less than perfect security and Russian mezzo-soprano Alisa Kolosova, 27, sang “Cruda Sorte” from Rossini’s L’Italiana in Algeri with less than perfect coloratura.
Then it was time for a blockbuster tenor. Mario Chang, 28, from Guatemala. His well-thought out interpretation of “Ella mi fu rapita” from Rigoletto, combined with his intensity and charisma won him first prize and an Audience Prize. He also won a Zarzuela Prize for his rendition of Sorozábal’s “No puede ser.”
Greek Soprano Christina Poulitsi, 31, sang “Ah, non credea mirarti” from Bellini’s La Sonnambula with problematic coloratura and Spanish mezzo Carol Garcia, 30, sang Angelina’s final aria from Rossini’s La Cenerentola with better coloratura but a lack of resonance on her low notes. Moroccan tenor Abdellah Lasri, 32, sounded as if he had a cold when he sang “Ah fuyez douce image” from Manon.
Then came the second amazing tenor, Mexican-American Joshua Guerrero, 31, who was in the LA Opera Young Artist Program all last year. Singing with well-controlled dramatic tones and a solid technique, he won second prize, the Culturarte Prize, and an Audience Prize for arias from Puccini’s Le Villi and Moreno Torroba’s Luisa Fernanda. American soprano, Amanda Woodbury sang “A vos jeux, mes amis” from Thomas’ Hamlet with clearly separated notes in her coloratura phrases. Easy on the eyes and amazingly talented, she should make a good career. On this evening she won second prize and an Audience Prize.
Not only can the winners be expected to be heard in opera houses around the world, all the finalists will be performing in both big city and regional opera. I hope readers will greet them warmly when they appear with their local opera companies.
Maria Nockin
Operalia 2014 Jury:
James Conlon, Music Director Los Angeles Opera, Ravinia Festival, and the Cincinnati May Festival; Marta Domingo, Stage Director; F. Paul Driscoll, Editor-in-Chief: Opera News; Thierry Fouquet, General Director: Opéra National de Bordeaux; Anthony Freud, General Director: Lyric Opera of Chicago; Jonathan Friend, Artistic Administrator: Metropolitan Opera; Jean-Louis Grinda, General Director, Opéra de Monte Carlo; Ioan Holender, Artistic Advisor, Metropolitan Opera and Tokyo Spring Festival; Artistic Director, George Enescu Festival; Peter Katona, Director of Casting: Royal Opera House, London; Christopher Koelsch, President and CEO: Los Angeles Opera; Grégoire Legendre, General Director, Opéra de Québec; Joan Matabosch, Artistic Director, Teatro Real, Madrid; Pål Moe, Casting Consultant: Bavarian State Opera, Glyndebourne Festival Opera, Opéra de Lille, and Norwegian Opera House; Andrés Rodriguez, General Director, Teatro Municipal de Santiago, Chile; Helga Schmidt, Intendente: Palau de les Arts, Valencia. Prize Winners: First prizes of $30,000: Rachel Willis-Sørensen and Mario Chang; Second Prizes of $20,000: Amanda Woodbury and Joshua Guerrero; Third Prizes of $10,000: Anaïs Constans, Mariangela Sicilia, John Holiday, Andrey Nemzer; The Birgit Nilsson Prize for Wagner/Strauss repertoire: Rachel Willis-Sørensen; The Pepita Embil Domingo Zarzuela Prize of $10,000: Rachel Willis-Sørensen; The Don Placido Domingo, Sr., Zarzuela Prize of $10,000: Mario Chang; Audience Prizes, watches offered by Rolex: Amanda Woodbury and Mario Chang; The CulturArte Prize of $10,000: Joshua Guerrero.
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product_id=Above: Left to right: Andrey Nemzer, Rachel Willis-Sorensen, Mario Chang, Mariangela Sicilia, Placido Domingo, Anais Constans, Joshua Guerrero, Amanda Woodbury, John Holiday. [Photo by Craig Mathew / LA Opera]
September 1, 2014
Elektra at Prom 59
Felicity Palmer was Clytemnestra, Gun-Brit Barkmin was Chrysothemis, Robert Kunzli was Aegisthus and Johan Reuter was Orestes. The concert staging was by Justin Way.
Another day, another Strauss opera; it made fascinating an illuminating listening and watching to be able to hear two remarkable performances of Salome (performed at the Proms on 30 August, see my review) and Elektra. Both have highly dramatic name parts, testing a soprano to the limits, both use large orchestras, but all to such very different effect. Whilst in Salome, Strauss takes eroticism and pushes it to limits which are intensely Freudian, if not positively pathological, in Elektra he makes grisly revenge the subject for a gloriously redemptive ending. In concert, with the orchestra to the fore, the ending of Elektra took on a new light and with the BBC Symphony Orchestra's playing under Bychkov the ending took on a remarkable positive and transfigurative radiance.
Writing the opera Strauss was building, in more ways than one, on the work of Richard Wagner. Not just in the way that the piece is constructed musically, but in the size of the orchestra and range of instruments (over 110 players with instruments including Wagner tubas, a heckelphone, basset horns, bass trumpet and contra-bass trombone), and in his use of voices. Writing the title role Strauss was relying on the development of a cadre of sopranos capable of singing the dramatic roles in Wagner's operas. But the role of Elektra pushes this voice to its ultimate limit and the opera is routinely cut. One of the small niggles about this glorious Proms performance was that, being a one-off festival occasion a way could not have been found to have opened up some of the cuts.
The performance was staged by Justin Way and unlike the Salome of the previous day, all the cast were off the book and we had a coherent yet simple production which rendered the performance highly effective and helped showcased the remarkable Elektra from Christine Goerke.
The American dramatic soprano, Christine Goerke sang the role of Elektra at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden in 2013. I missed these performances so I was pleased to be able to catch up with Goerke's interpretation. Goerke has only started singing Elektra relatively recently (2011) and she is still relatively young for a dramatic soprano in this repertoire (born 1969 according to Wikipedia). All this contributes to an Elektra which is remarkable for its youth and radiance. She is not one of those Elektras who start the opera as demented and raddled. From the opening she projected youth and a certain rapture in the vocal line. Only gradually did you come to realise that this young woman was unhinged. Goerke had a way of smiling to herself which told volumes. What was refreshing about her performance was that, though certainly a very big sing, she did not seem to need to attack every single phrase. There was some profoundly poignant moments and this was one of the most sympathetic Elektras I have heard in a long time. If I have a worry, it was that her German seemed to lack the crispness I would have liked.
The recognition scene, with Johan Reuter's Orestes, was very touching and Goerke was just right in the way she suggested that even here, Elektra was still self absorbed. Not so much interacting with Orestes, but remembering him. Given the fine quality, it was a shame that we did not have the scene complete for once. In the final scenes, Goerke was not so much demented but transfigured. Her performance taking on a remarkable glow which reflected the glorious accompaniment from Bychkov and the orchestra.
Felicity Palmer has been a remarkable Clytemnestra for many years and it was lovely to make he acquaintance again of her vivid characterisation. This was a traditional interpretation of Clytemnestra as neurotic and raddled old woman, wracked by dreams and desperate (the first Clytemnestra, Ernestine Schumann-Heink, was only 48 when she played the role). The way that Goerke's Elektra taunted Palmer's Clytemnestra was masterly and the scene between them fairly crackled. This scene is a gift to two strong singing actresses, and here Goerke and Palmer ran with it in spectacular fashion. We had no glitzy staging to get in the way, just a pair of musically dramatic performances.
The young German jugenddramatisch soprano Gun-Brit Barkmin made a stylish and elegant Chrysothemis. She sang with bright clear tones, and a strong sense of line. Whilst she was touching in the first scene, in the way that she talked about wanting children, she too seemed as touched as the rest of her family. The closing scenes pushed Barkmin's voice to its limits, but she threw herself into the role in an intensely physical way and matched Goerke in creating the scene of transfigured radiance as the closing scenes progressed.
Johan Reuter made a dignified, notable Orestes, his virile baritone giving a sense of the character's nobility and resolve. This was very much an action-man Orestes, silently incapable of understanding the neurotic world in which his sister lived.
The remainder of the cast were all very strong, and contributed to the highly characterful backdrop to the main action of the opera. Robert Kunzli was a suitably old-maid-ish Aegisthus. Miranda Keys was a fearsomely impressive Overseer, physically dominating the chattering Maids of Katarina Bradic, Zoryana Kushpler, Hanna Hipp, Marie-Eve Munger and Iris Kupke. Ivan Tursic was the Young Servant and Jongmin Park was Orestes tutor, whilst the Old Servant and six Maidservants were taken from the BBC Singers who also contributed the off-stage chorus at the end.
Under Semyon Bychkov the BBC Symphony Orchestra showed itself to be in peak form, bringing a sense of fluidity and flexibility to Strauss's mammoth score. There were some powerful moments, how could there not be, and there was a sense that this was an orchestral tone-poem with voices, so riveting and mesmerising did Bychkov and his players make the orchestral argument. With the orchestra ranged behind the singers, balance was always going to be a problem but the results worked surprisingly well and there was never a danger that the voices would be completely covered, despite the fact that at times there felt like a wall of sound coming from the stage; a tribute to the skills both of Strauss as an orchestrator and Bychkov and his players. You kept noticing, that despite the complexities Strauss was essentially a lyric composer and Bychkov's ear for the details was masterly. The ending, as I have said, had a radiance and also a sense of dance, something the Bychkov brought at various points of the score.
This was a radiant and unforgettable evening, the neuroses of the drama were modified by the transfigured performance from Goerke and the warm glow which Bychkov and his players cast on the score, supporting a very fine cast indeed.
Robert Hugill
Cast and production information:
Christine Goerke: Electra, Gun-Brit Barkmin: Chrysothemis, Dame Felicity Palmer: Clytemnestra, Robert Künzli tenor: Aegisthus, JohanReuter baritone: Orestes, Katarina Bradić : 1st Maid, Zoryana Kushpler : 2nd Maid, Hanna Hipp : 3rd Maid, Marie-Eve Munger: 4th Maid, Iris Kupke: 5th Maid, Miranda Keys: Overseer, Ivan Turšić tenor: Young Servant, Jongmin Park bass: Orestes' Tutor. BBC Singers, BBC Symphony Orchestra. Semyon Bychkov: conductor. Justin Way: stage director. Sunday 31 August 2014, BBC Proms at the Royal Albert Hall.
image=http://www.operatoday.com/Christine_Goerke.gif image_description=Christine Goerke [Photo courtesy of christinegoerke.com] product=yes product_title=Elektra at Prom 59 product_by=A review by Robert Hugill product_id=Above: Christine Goerke [Photo courtesy of christinegoerke.com]