11 Nov 2007
Preparing G.B. Pergolesi’s tercentenary — with a fair advance
A notice for organizers: it’s relatively easy to produce a vocal recital and sell out a large house for two nights in a row.
The Importance of Being Earnest , Gerald Barry’s fifth opera, was commissioned by the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra and the Barbican, and was first performed in concert, Thomas Adès conducting the London premiere.
‘Beauty is the one form of spirituality that we experience through the senses.’ In Thomas Mann’s, Death in Venice, Plato’s axiom stirs the hopes of the aging, intellectually stale poet, Gustav von Aschenbach, that he may rekindle his creativity.
There is a sense in which it all began in London, Puccini having been seized in 1900 with the idea of an opera on this subject after watching David Belasco’s play here.
The tenor that the audience most wanted to hear, Plácido Domingo, opened the vocal program with “Junto al puente de la peña” (Next to the rock bridge) from La Canción del Olvido (The song of Oblivion) by José Serrano. He sounded rested and his voice soared majestically over the orchestra.
Tucked away somewhere in the San Francisco Opera warehouse was an old John Cox production of Così fan tutte from Monte Carlo. Well, not that old by current standards at San Francisco Opera.
Rossini's Maometto Secondo is a major coup for Garsington Opera at Wormsley, confirming its status as the leading specialist Rossini house in Britain. Maometto Secondo is a masterpiece, yet rarely performed because it's formidably difficult to sing. It's a saga with some of the most intense music Rossini ever wrote, expressing a drama so powerful that one can understand why early audiences needed "happy endings" to water down its impact
I suppose it was inevitable that, in this Britten Centenary year, the 66th Aldeburgh Festival would open with Peter Grimes.
Die Entführung aus dem Serail at Garsington Opera at Wormsley isn’t Mozart as you’d expect but it’s true to the spirit of Mozart who loved witty, madcap japes.
What a pity! On a glorious — well, by recent English standards — summer’s day, there can be few more beautiful English countryside settings than Glyndebourne, with the added bonus, as alas much of the audience appears to understand it, of an opera house attached.
Described by one critic as “cosmically gifted”, during her tragically short career, American mezzo-soprano Lorraine Hunt Lieberson amazed and delighted audiences with the spellbinding beauty of her singing and the astonishing honesty of her performances.
“I wrote it almost without noticing.” So Verdi declared when reminded of his eighth — and perhaps least frequently performed, opera, Alzira. One might say that, since he composed the work, no-one else has much noticed either.
Just when you thought the protagonist was Hoffmann! Who, rather what stole the show?
When is verismo verily veristic? Or what is a virginal girl dressed in communion white doing in the two murderous acts of the Los Angeles Opera’s current production of Tosca? And why does she sing the shepherd's song?
Wagner’s Lohengrin is not an unfamiliar visitor to the UK thanks, in the main, to Elijah Moshinsky’s perennial production at Covent Garden.
Philip Glass's The Perfect American at the ENO in London is a visual treat, but the libretto is mind-numbingly anodyne.
Jonathan Dove's Mansfield Park, with libretto by his regular collaborator Alasdair Middleton, has the remarkable distinction of being the first completed operatic adaptation of any Jane Austen novel to be staged.
London’s two principal opera companies have offered a baffling near-silence as their response to Wagner’s two-hundredth anniversary.
If a recent trio of musically superlative performances at Canadian Opera Company is indicative of their norm, the casting director should get a hefty bonus.
Just when you imagine you’ve got the operatic time-line fixed in your mind in a clean sweep of what goes where and when and how, you hear another work from another forgotten corner of the repertory that upends one’s conclusions.
Nothing inspires fable quite like defeat. The great riddle of Spanish history is how the Christian Visigoths managed to lose the Iberian peninsula to the Moors in one small battle in 711 and took eight hundred years to get it back.
A notice for organizers: it’s relatively easy to produce a vocal recital and sell out a large house for two nights in a row.
All you need is three (good) singers and a youth orchestra that, with a bit of a squeeze, can be fitted into an estate car. Plus, of course, a starry conductor, a living myth whose very presence on the podium is enough to make news. After several cancellations due to his state of health, old glory Claudio Abbado is back again from a convalescence of two months in sunny Sardinia, apparently in good shape and in a relaxed state of mind. On November 6-7, at Bologna’s Teatro Manzoni, he led an all-Pergolesi recital inaugurating the extended celebrations for the birth tercentenary of the ‘Neapolitan’ master, who actually saw the light of day on Jan 4, 1710, rather far from the Vesuvius: in Jesi by Ancona, then a part of the Papal States and a hot district for opera. In fact, motors of the venture are the Jesi-based ‘Fondazione Pergolesi Spontini’ (thus named for both composers, who were born only a few miles apart) and Bologna’s Orchestra Mozart, since 2004 Abbado’s pet creature.
Halfway between chamber and symphony ensemble, the Orchestra Mozart includes some forty instrumentalists aged 17-25, plus five experienced principals. A selection of 17 players — budding professionals from several countries who are still practising, with some residual degree of compromise as to strings and bows, on period instruments — tackled the Concerto in B flat for violin, strings and continuo, one among the handful of instrumental works whose Pergolesi authorship has been validated by recent research. Curiously, it’s written in a Venetian style closely resembling Vivaldi’s; so Giuliano Carmignola, the concert master who ranks as a specialist in the field, sounded quite at ease in his most familiar territory, despite a venial slip at the very start.
Until this point, Abbado kept a non-committal attitude, mostly mirroring Carmignola’s tempo choices with smiling nods and subtle gestures that seemed to highlight the structural framework just for the audience’s benefit. He definitely took the lead in the following Salve Regina, featuring soprano Julia Kleiter in the solo part. Though not an adept of flamboyant singing, Kleiter commands crystal-clear uttering, fine legato, sensitive dynamic, precise intonation even in treacherous chromatic passages (such as those found at ‘misericordes oculos’). Her weak point resides in the passage to the upper register, ending in explosive high notes after a transient black hole.

Two terrific primadonnas then stepped in for the celebrated Stabat Mater: soprano Rachel Harnisch and alto Sara Mingardo. Widely diverse in their looks, the skinny, nervous Austrian brunette and the motherly Italian newly donning henna-colored hairdoes and professoral spectacles, share panache, deep understanding of the sung text and sophisticated technical strokes. Harnisch, notable for her sustained clarion tones throughout, ignited trills and downward appoggiaturas of penetrating dramatic strength, such as in the famed ‘pertransivit gladius’. Mingardo deployed her bronze-polished centers in all their might, stretching down without apparent effort to cavernous bassoon-like notes and then soaring backward to the highest peaks. (A non-written cadenza in ‘Fac ut portem Christi mortem’ was particularly astonishing to that respect).
Without ever stealing the show, Abbado kept the primadonnas together in strict duo textures, while launching vigorous contrapuntal sections with his typical blend of passion and clarity, all in the right places. The final chord in the ‘Amen’ fugue plunged the spellbound hall into silence for a seemingly endless while. Ovations, stamping and (unfulfilled) calls for encores ensued. Yet, after a moment of such perfection, little could be added to the experience.
Carlo Vitali