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In a recent article in BBC Music Magazine tenor James Gilchrist reflected on the reason why early-nineteenth-century England produced no corpus of art song to match the German lieder of Schumann, Schubert and others, despite the great flowering of English Romantic poetry during this period.
With the New York Premiere of Florencia en el Amazonas, the New York City Opera Steps Out of the Shadows of the Past
Opportunities to see Idomeneo are not so frequent as they might be, certainly not so frequent as they should be.
Not merely Don Carlo, but the five-act Don Carlo in the 1886 Modena version! The welcomed esotericism of San Francisco Opera’s extraordinary spring season.
The early summer San Francisco Opera season has the feel of a classy festival. There is an introduction of Spanish director Calixto Bieito to American audiences, a five-act Don Carlo and two awaited, inevitable role debuts, Karita Mattila as Kostelnička and Malin Bystrom as Janacek's Jenůfa.
Now that the curtain has long fallen on the third and last performance of
the Ring cycle at the Washington National Opera (WNO), it is safe to
say that the long-anticipated production has been an unqualified success for
the company, director Francesca Zambello, and conductor Philippe Auguin.
Most of the attention during this revival of Daniele Abbado’s 2013 production of Nabucco has been directed at Plácido Domingo’s reprise of the title role, with the critical reception somewhat mixed.
My first Tristan, indeed my first Wagner, in the theatre was ENO’s previous staging of the work, twenty years ago, in 1996. The experience, as it
should, as it must, although this is alas far from a given, quite overwhelmed me.
Four years ago, almost to the day (13th to 12th), I saw Melly Still’s production of The Cunning Little Vixen during its first Glyndebourne run. I found
myself surprised how much more warmly I responded to it this time.
This recital celebrated both the work of the Park Lane Group, which has been
supporting the careers of outstanding young artists for 60 years, and the 90th
birthday of Joseph Horovitz, who was born in Vienna in 1926 and emigrated to
England aged 12.
Headed by General Director Luana DeVol, a world-renowned dramatic soprano, Opera Las Vegas is a relatively new company that presents opera with first-rate casts at the University of Las Vegas’s Judy Bayley Theater. In 2014 they presented Rossini’s The Barber of Seville and in 2015, Puccini’s Madama Butterfly. This year they offered a blazing rendition of Georges Bizet’s Carmen.
Ever since a friend was reported as having said he would like something in
return for modern-dress Shakespeare (how quaint that term seems now, as if
anyone would bat an eyelid!), namely an Elizabethan-dress staging of Look
Back in Anger, I have been curious about the possibilities of
‘down-dating’, as I suppose we might call it. Rarely, if ever, do
we see it, though.
Leading a very muscular Dutch Radio Philharmonic, Principal Conductor Markus
Stenz brilliantly delivered Alban Berg’s Wozzeck with a superb
Florian Boesch in the lead and a mesmerising Asmik Grigorian as Marie his
Edouard Lalo (1823-92) is best known today for his instrumental works: the
Symphonie espagnole (which is, despite the title, a five-movement
violin concerto), the Symphony in G Minor, and perhaps some movements from his
ballet Namouna, a scintillating work that the young Debussy adored.
There can’t be that many operas that start with an extended solo for
double bass. At Holland Park, the eerie, angular melody for lone bass player
which opens Pietro Mascagni’s Iris immediately unsettled the
relaxed mood of the summer evening.
George Souglides’ set for Will Tuckett’s new production of
Rossini’s L’italiana in Algeri at Garsington would surely
have delighted Liberace.
Calixto Bieito is always news, Carmen with a good cast is always news. So here is the news.
Distinguished theatre director Michael
Boyd’s first operatic outing was his brilliant re-invention of
Monteverdi’s L’Orfeo for the Royal Opera at the Roundhouse
in 2015, so what he did next was always going to rouse interest.
Although Bohuslav Martinů’s short operas Ariane and Alexandre bis date from 1958 and 1937 respectively, there was a distinct tint of 1920s Parisian surrealism about director Rodula Gaitanou’s double bill, as presented by the postgraduate students of the Guildhall School of Music and Drama.
The eyes of the opera world turned recently to Dresden—the city where Wagner premiered his Rienzi, Fliegende Holländer, and Tannhäuser—for an important performance of
Lohengrin. For once in Germany it was not about the staging.
02 Nov 2008
The Tsar’s Bride by OONY
What opera contains a terrific overture, a wedding sextet, two murderous magical potions, a mad scene for coloratura soprano, a magnificent a cappella aria for contralto, dozens of glorious melodies and lots of nifty choral writing?
If you read the heading of this review, you already know the answer:
Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov’s Tsar’s Bride – one of
the most popular operas throughout Russia, but downright obscure in the West
– it has never been staged in New York (to my knowledge), despite a
huge Russian community who would eat it up and a dozen visits over the years
from three or four of Russia’s leading opera companies wasting our time
with Mlada or Macbeth or far too many Onegins.
Rimsky-Korsakov was in an Italianate mood when he composed
Tsar’s Bride, with its feast of plot complications and
consequent musical situations: licentious boyar Grisha Gryaznoi (heroic
baritone) lusts for Marfa (coloratura soprano), though she is about to wed
her truelove Lykov (romantic tenor). Grisha persuades the tsar’s
sinister German alchemist, Bomelii (character tenor), to concoct a potion
that will make Marfa fall for best man Grisha instead. Complication one:
Grisha’s jealous mistress Lyubasha (dynamite Slavic mezzo) switches the
potion with another one, intended to destroy Marfa’s good looks –
never mind how Lyubasha got the sleazy alchemist to run it up for her (think:
Tosca). Complication two: Just as Marfa drinks the potion on her
wedding day, news arrives that the tsar, Ivan the Terrible no less (sinister
offstage presence), has chosen Marfa as his bride! Too, the potion
– what was in it? – turns out to be poison that drives
her lyrically insane. At curtain’s fall, everyone is either miserable
or dead except the tsar, who remains off stage, singing (we may imagine),
“Next!” (Ivan married more wives than Henry VIII. He once
proposed to Henry’s daughter, Elizabeth.)
Bride is, thus, one of those operas (like Don Carlos or Don
Giovanni or L’Africaine) where no single character grabs
our attention all night; we are involved with the dilemmas and desires of
many, and follow them through to a general catastrophe. One reason the opera
may be rare over here may be the sheer number of great voices who are
required to sing beautiful arias and ensembles in the true, flavorful Russian
manner. Lyubasha calls for a grand low-voiced lady, with a voice from the
vaults of the earth; it has long been a signature role for Borodina, and she
graciously returned to sing it with Queler a second time. Marfa’s
father, Sobakin, is a Russian bass from the old church-trained tradition,
like Boris or Prince Igor or Prince Gremin. Marfa herself
is an all-stops-out coloratura, whose lovely final scene is one of
Rimsky’s handsomest tunes. And first and last there is the devilish
Grisha Gryaznoi, whose outward brashness conceals inner torment, selfishness,
crime and, finally, a (very Russian) orgy of guilt. Half a dozen minor roles
have major parts to sing in solos and ensembles.
The problem is that it’s hard to bring in a worthy performance (and
O.O.N.Y.’s was a very worthy performance) unless you have dozens of
great Russian singers at your disposal – but that doesn’t prevent
anyone in the West from staging Boris Godunov or even the far less
theatrically promising Khovanshchina or Prince Igor –
all three of which, by the way, might never have captured the stage at all
had it not been for Rimsky-Korsakov’s now discredited editing.
Happily, Eve Queler and her Opera Orchestra of New York threw caution to
the winds and brought this wonderful piece back to Carnegie Hall for the
first New York hearing in twenty years. Olga Borodina, new in town at that
previous performance, is now a grande dame and local favorite, but she
retains the plummy low notes that make Lyubasha appealing, her disastrous
passions touching. Borodina is one of the rare Russian singers (her husband,
Ildar Abdrazakov, is another) who has no trouble singing Italian music
idiomatically, without the voiced vowels and Slavic curlicues that make so
many Russian opera singers a little risible in western song, but back in her
native element there seem to be depths of tragic character lurking in the
rounded shadows of her singing.
Alexey Markov made an exciting impression chewing up the stage as the
narcissistic Grisha. He is a fine singing actor, with a plush, endearing
baritone – and it is necessary that this character make himself a
lovable scamp in the great narrations of the first act or his hideous
behavior for the rest of the evening will only depress you. Yeghishe
Manucharyan sang ardently and deft phrasing as Marfa’s hapless true
love, but John Easterlin nearly stole the tenor honors with a Bomelii at once
forceful and melodramatically harsh. You did not need a libretto to know
which of these men was the lover and which the villain, and Easterlin made a
villain it was a delight to hiss. Christophoros Stamboglis, as Marfa’s
understandably confused father, had a good time with one of those stirring,
from-the-depths-of-the-Russian-earth bass arias – only the last, very
lowest note eluded him. There were many excellent young singers in minor but
important roles (housekeeper, sister, mother – impossible to tell them
apart as the electric titles often broke down and there was no printed
libretto), and such poignant bits of music-making as the lovely wedding
sextet (the last happy moment before the potion is drunk and Tsar
Ivan’s messenger arrives) were revels in the bosom of vocal art.