24 Mar 2006
PUCCINI: Turandot
Here is a Turandot to watch with the sound off—not because the singers misfire so badly, although no one really impresses.
Paul Dukas’ Ariane et Barbe-Bleue, first heard in 1907, once seemed important. Arturo Toscanini conducted the Met premiere in 1911 with Farrar and later arranged some of its music for a 1947 recording with his NBC Symphony.
The economics of the recording companies dictate much that is not ideal. Wagner’s operas were not composed as they were in order to permit the extraction of bleeding chunks, even on those occasions when strophic song forms do occur.
Among the recent recordings of Mahler’s Eighth Symphony, Valery Gergiev’s release on the LSO Live label is an excellent addition to the discography of this work.
While not unknown, the songs of Alexander von Zemlinsky (1871-1942) deserve to be heard more frequently.
Recorded on 5 and 6 May 2008 and 17 and 18 January 2009 at the Lisztzentrum (Raiding, Austria), this recent Bridge release makes available the piano-vocal versions of three song cycles by Gustav Mahler, Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen, Rückert-Lieder, and Kindertotenlieder performed by mezzo-soprano Hermine Haselböck, accompanied by Russell Ryan.
Contraltos rarely achieve the acclaim and renown of sopranos. Assigned few leading roles in opera, they are condemned to playing the villain or the grandmother, or to stealing the castrati’s trousers in en travesti roles.
Following their 2011 Decca recording of Striggio’s Mass in 40 Parts (1566), I Fagiolini continue their quest to unearth lost treasures of the High Renaissance and early Baroque, with this collection of world-premiere recordings, ‘reconstructions’ and ‘reconstitutions’ of music by Giovanni and Andrea Gabrieli, Monteverdi, Palestrina, and their less well-known compatriots Viadana, Barbarino and Soriano.
Eternal Echoes is an album of khazones [Jewish cantorial music] for cantorial soloist, solo violin and a blended instrumental ensemble comprising a small orchestra and the Klezmer Conservatory Band.
Michael Tilson Thomas’s recording of Mahler’s Third Symphony is an outstanding contribution to the composer’s discography.
Oliver Knussen burst into British music with an unprecedented flourish. In 1967, the London Symphony Orchestra premiered Knussen’s First Symphony, with István Kertész scheduled to conduct.
Based on performances given in Summer 2010 at the Lucerne Festival, this recording of Beethoven’s Fidelio is an admirable recording that captures the vitality of the work as conducted by Claudio Abbado.
Stanisław Moniuszko (1819-1872) was one of the most popular composers of his day in Poland, and of the many works he wrote for the stage, two are performed from time to time, Halka (1848) and Strazny dwór [The Haunted Manor] (1865).
The Polish alto Jadwiga Rappé is a familiar voice in various stage and concert works, and the recent release of a selection of songs by Stanisław Moniuszko (1819-1872) is an opportunity to hear her performing artsongs.
Originally released on multiple discs in 1981 this reissue on two CDs is a comprehensive collection of art songs by Italian and French composers from the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
An exciting contribution to the discography of this popular opera, the live performance of Richard Strauss’s Salome from the Festspielhaus at Baden-Baden is a compelling DVD.
Released in late 2011, Deutsche Grammophon’s DVD of the new staging of Berg’s Lulu at the Gran Teatro del Liceu, Barcelona is an excellent contribution to the discography of this fascinating opera.
A recent release by the Metropolitan Opera, this two-disc set makes available on DVD the famous performance of Berg’s Lulu that was broadcast on 20 December 1980 as part of the PBS series “Live from the Met.”
The novels of Sinclair Lewis once shot across the American literary skies like comets, alarming and fascinating readers of that era, but their tails didn’t extend far behind them.
Once the province of only the most dedicated opera fanatics, mid-20th century recordings of privately taped live performances have become more widely available.
Flute players in opera orchestra around the world must look forward to the frequent appearances of Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor, knowing that while the stage spotlight in the mad scene will be on the soprano, the orchestral spotlight will be on their instrument.
Here is a Turandot to watch with the sound off—not because the singers misfire so badly, although no one really impresses.
David Pountney’s production offers a succession of amazing stage pictures, but despite the best efforts of a partisan booklet essay writer and Mr. Pountney himself, interviewed in an extra feature, none of his intentions convincingly illuminate Puccini’s opera. Pountney sees Turandot as a depiction of the anti-humanistic world of the ‘20s and ‘30s, but instead of throwing light on the action, his random flashes of inspiration confuse the eye and mind. Trying to view this Turandot as a valid version of the opera becomes an increasingly frustrating exercise. Just sit back and enjoy the pretty pictures.
And what pictures. Turandot appears inside a huge bronze-like head, which cracks open to reveal her standing as if 50 feet tall, inside a golden gown cascading down to the floor. Later, when Calaf solves the third riddle, she collapses and leaves the gown behind, spending the rest of the opera in a nightgown. The citizens of the city go through mechanical motions in row after row of barred cells, as of a prison. In act three, the bronze head has split into two and fallen to the floor, and the characters clamber over its sloping sides.
Why don’t these brilliant tableaus add up to a successful production? Arguably, Pountney has misinterpreted the opera. He even denies, in the interview, that Turandot is a fairy tale, although the first booklet essay lays out its origins as one concisely. He also shrugs off a question about the kitsch element of the opera with a sly grin, which suggests he believes—he comes close to saying so—that kitsch sums up Turandot. Without true faith in the worth of the opera, no wonder Pountney’s flash can’t produce any light.
Pountney also needs to consider the value of movement—despite the visual imagination, too often the singers have little to do. Direction means much more than coming up with brilliant rationales for outrageous stage designs. Sometimes the singers need to be told how to behave and why.
A problematic cast struggles to bring this concept to life. In the extra-feature interview, Gabriele Schnaut looks attractive and speaks with intelligence. Unfortunately, as made-up and costumed here, she makes for a scary, unappealing Princess. Her top notes, always controversial, fly out like pitchless shrieks—neither flat nor sharp, just indeterminate notes in siren mode.
Calaf apparently holds no interest for Pountney—Johan Botha, wandering the set with no particular aim, sings the entire role in a dull gray suit (of considerable size). Botha moves well most of the time, although after climbing on top of the broken bronze head he can be seen gingerly finding his way down. He has ample voice and range for this challenging role—but no beauty. The “Nessun dorma” gets no reception at all, perhaps partly due to the direction, or Gergiev’s momentum, but surely a dynamic rendition would have earned the tenor an ovation.
Cristina Gallardo-Domas takes the signing honors, but Lius so often do. Her petite frame emphasizes the character’s pathos, though it makes one wonder about the wisdom of her attraction to her hefty Calaf. Liu’s devotion to Paata Burchuladze’s Timur also needs some explanation, as his shaggy bass makes for a less than appealing figure.
Some may be drawn to this DVD for its status as the only complete version of Turandot with the recent Berio completion, replacing the Alfano. It may still be early to make firm declarations about the fate of this revised ending; in Pountney’s mise en scene, the eeriness and sparseness of Berio’s work works well enough. For your reviewer, the shift away from Puccini’s exquisitely melodic opulence to the arid world of late 20th-Century composition will probably always remain an unpleasant metamorphosis.
Gergiev’s conducts brilliantly, shifting gears from passion and bombast to lyricism and beauty. With a better cast, one could darken the screen and listen to the DVD with appreciation for Gergiev’s and the Vienna Phil’s contribution.
Sound off or picture off? Not an attractive dilemma. Lovers of this opera should search out another DVD version.
Chris Mullins
Los Angeles Unified School District, Secondary Literacy