13 May 2009
Paris: Mostly Verdi Good Indeed
The Scottish Play’s ability to conduit bad luck is apparently not limited to the spoken stage, witness the new Paris Opéra production of Verdi’s Macbeth.
Philippe Jaroussky lends poetry and poise to the sounds of nineteenth- and twentieth-century France
At this start of the year, Classical Opera embarked upon an ambitious project. MOZART 250 will see the company devote part of its programme each season during the next 27 years to exploring the music by Mozart and his contemporaries which was being written and performed exactly 250 years previously.
The Concordia Foundation was founded in the early 1990s by international singer and broadcaster Gillian Humphreys, out of her ‘real concern for building bridges of friendship and excellence through music and the arts’.
An opera dealing with — or at least claiming to deal with — the events of 11 September 2001? I suppose it had to come, but that does not necessarily make it any more necessary.
On April 10, 2015, Arizona Opera ended its season with La Fille du Régiment at Phoenix Symphony Hall. A passionate Marie, Susannah Biller was a veritable energizer bunny onstage. Her voice is bright and flexible with a good bloom on top and a tiny bit of steel in it. Having created an exciting character, she sang with agility as well as passion.
This second revival of Patrice Caurier and Moshe Leiser’s 2005 production of Rossini’s Il Turco in Italia seems to have every going for it: excellent principals comprising experienced old-hands and exciting new voices, infinite gags and japes, and the visual éclat of Agostino Cavalca’s colour-bursting costumes and Christian Fenouillat’s sunny sets which evoke the style, glamour and ease of La Dolce Vita.
English Touring Opera’s 2015 Spring Tour is audacious and thought-provoking. Alongside La Bohème the company have programmed a revival of their acclaimed 2013 production of Donizetti’s The Siege of Calais (L’assedio di Calais) and the composer’s equally rare The Wild Man of the West Indies (Il furioso all’isola di San Domingo).
Mary Zimmerman’s still-fresh production is made fresher still by Shagimuratova’s glimmering voice, but the acting disappoints
When WNYC’s John Schaefer introduced Meredith Monk’s beloved Panda Chant II, which concluded the four-and-a-half hour Meredith Monk & Friends celebration at Carnegie’s Zankel Hall, he described it as “an expression of joy and musicality” before lamenting the fact that playing it on his radio show could never quite compete with a live performance.
This year’s concert of the Chicago Bach Project, under the aegis of the Soli Deo Gloria Music Foundation, was a presentation of the St. John Passion (BWV 245) at the Harris Theater in Millennium Park.
It is not an everyday opera. It is an opera that illuminates a larger verismo history.
On March 26, 2015, Los Angeles Opera presented Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro). The Ian Judge production featured jewel-colored box sets by Tim Goodchild that threw the voices out into the hall. Only for the finale did the set open up on to a garden that filled the whole stage and at the very end featured actual fireworks.
Gotham Chamber Opera’s latest project, The Tempest Songbook, continues to explore the possibilities of unconventional spaces and unconventional programs that the company has made its hallmark. The results were musically and theatrically thought-provoking, and left me wanting more.
Nixon in China is a three-act opera with a libretto by Alice Goodman and music by John Adams that was first seen at the Houston Grand Opera on October 22, 1987. It was the first of a notable line of operas by the composer.
It is thanks to Céline Ricci, mezzo-soprano and director of Ars Minerva, that we have been able to again hear Daniele Castrovillari’s exquisite melodies because she is the musician who has brought his 1662 opera La Cleopatra to life.
Lyric Opera of Chicago, in association with the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, has staged a production of Richard Wagner’s Tannhäuser with an estimable cast.
Puccini and his fellow verismo-ists are commonly associated with explosions of unbridled human passion and raw, violent pain, but in this revival (by Justin Way) of Moshe Leiser’s and Patrice Caurier’s 2003 production of Madame Butterfly, directorial understatement together with ravishing scenic beauty are shown to be more potent ways of enabling the sung voice to reveal the emotional depths of human tragedy.
Rarely, very rarely does a Tosca come around that you can get excited about. Sure, sometimes there is good singing, less often good conducting but rarely is there a mise en scène that goes beyond stock opera vocabulary.
The Nash Ensemble’s 50th Anniversary Celebrations at the Wigmore Hall were crowned by a recital that typifies the Nash’s visionary mission. Above, the dearly-loved founder, Amelia Freeman, a quietly revolutionary figure in her own way, who has immeasurably enriched the cultural life of this country.
On March 7, 2015, Arizona Opera presented Dan Rigazzi’s production of Die Zauberflöte in Tucson. Inspired by the works of René Magritte, designer John Pollard filled the stage with various sizes of picture frames, windows, and portals from which he leads us into Mozart and Schikaneder’s dream world.
The Scottish Play’s ability to conduit bad luck is apparently not limited to the spoken stage, witness the new Paris Opéra production of Verdi’s Macbeth.
But let’s start with the “good luck” portion of the evening, shall, we? Make that “very good luck,” for musically there was not only a great deal to admire, but specifically, Violeta Urmana served notice that she is now to be numbered among the great vocal interpreters of the cruelly difficult role of Mrs. Macbeth. Announced as indisposed, she nevertheless sang up a storm, displaying her usual rich, creamy tone; searing high notes; thundering chest tones; and a well-judged sleepwalking scene in which she admittedly took a sightly lower (but no less effective) option in the final rising arpeggiated phrase. This was splendid singing with “La luce langue” as gorgeously presented as you are ever going to hear it, a perfect marriage of artist and aria.
We were almost as fortunate with our Macbeth, for Dimitri Tiliakos’s warm and sympathetic baritone was enormously engaging in mezzo forte passages, of which there are thankfully many. When Mr. Tiliakos pushed the volume in upper stretches, however, his rapid vibrato caused the unfortunate effect of not always being on any one specific pitch, but rather in the general vicinity of the vocal line, a minor shortcoming that disappeared when the voice turned over into those forte pitches above, say, “f.” To be fair, our baritone’s technique was eerily similar to the renowned Leo Nucci, who also has a tendency to get riled up and bully the upper middle a bit, not a bad role model since Leo seems to have managed a “decent” career!
Dmitry Ulyanov’s commanding Banquo was richly voiced with rolling orotund delivery. The Parisians seemed to get more excited about Oleg Videman’s Macduff than did I, his stentorian presentation of the heartbreaking aria seeming more appropriate to an audition for the Forging Scene, albeit one with exceptionally pleasing steely tone.
The Malcolm of Alfredo Nigro was so nicely sung that I half wished he had been the one given a go at “A la paterno mano”. As Lady Macbeth’s Attendant, Letitia Singleton offered more vocal presence than usual, and Yuri Kissin was the wholly competent physician.
The best musical news of the night is that conductor Teodor Currentzis seems to have redeemed himself after last season’s disastrously slipshod Don Carlo (which I still consider one of the worst led performances I ever hope to hear). Perhaps less mature Verdi suits the young Maestro’s flash-bang, flailing, hair-flying, semaphoric gyrations, but whatever the reason, this was a highly individual, nuanced reading from an orchestra and chorus in top form (Allessandro Di Stefano was the effective chorus master).
To be sure, there were some Sinopoli-esque curiosities with occasional tempi slower or faster than are traditional. The great chorus “Patria oppressa” seemed comprised of attractive bits and pieces, instead of an unbroken arc. And the final scene became too deliberate, when a steadier tumble to the denouement was to be desired. But it cannot be denied that Teodor’s take on Macbeth was controlled, vibrant, and fiercely theatrical, a feat that was rewarded with a tumultuous ovation at final call.Scene from Macbeth [Photo courtesy of Paris Opéra]
In light of the rich musical splendors, it seems a pity to have to report at all on the turgid and uninspired physical production. No doubt where the blame lies, for Dmitri Tcherniakov was in charge of stage direction, sets, and costumes. True, Gleb Filshtinsky did the competent lighting but at crucial moments, Tcherniakov managed to keep the characters’ faces out of it anyway.
The act curtain consisted of a swirling computer driven video projection of an aerial view of small modern town. The cursor at times scrolled over and selected a house or square for closer view and the video took us on a bird’s eye trip to the new locale. It was sort of a mix of that annoying projected scenery from Webber’s Woman in White and an Architectural Digest HBO Special.
The opening scene featured not witches nor a mysterious locale (Plot? What plot?) but an open courtyard lined with houses that inexplicably looked like seaside homes. The entire chorus, presumably residents of this square, simply milled about haphazardly, and there was no dramatic focus at all to the important predictions (we don’ need no stinkin’ plot).
The Macbeth’s live in a 19th Century mansion, and the sitting room (with working fireplace, Morris chair, and later, dining table) had sets of front drapes (one scrim, the other damask) that got pulled open and closed by our principals at various unmotivated junctures, rendering the room a stage within a stage. The fact that the picture frame around this playing space cut the actors off mid-calf was a constant, and avoidable visual annoyance.
And that sums up the entire set concept. We kept coming back to the quad for the outdoor scenes, and to the mansion for all the indoor scenes. Oh, except that the final battlefield scene was actually in the sitting room with Macbeth standing atop the table holding a hard copy of the city map in front of him. As he began “Pieta, rispetto, amore” he cast the map aside to reveal that, save his black DKNY boxer briefs, he was naked from the waist down. Thus he sat and lounged and stretched out and finally assumed a fetal position on the table, writhing in what remained of his formal wear.
The chorus burst in, and Macbeth ran off through the door, to be drug back on in a bloodied shirt for the not-oft-used death scene (very affectingly sung). But as he died, everyone left, and the great final chorus (including the Malcolm-Macduff solos) was sung offstage, slightly amplified, while salvos crashed through the Styrofoam walls destroying the house in a noisy assault that mercifully subsided for the final soaring choral statement.
Such directorial misjudgments were many and depressingly frequent. Lady M’s somnambulism was not allowed to be the usual solo act, oh no. Here she had to interact with the doctor and her servant, fighting, threatening, struggling, and even strangling her servant all the while; and at scene’s end, the focus was directed to the Lady in Waiting who was given the final word by sobbing hysterically. Can I tell you something Dmitri, just between us directors? This aria is not about the doctor nor the servant!! Not at all!! Not a bit!!!! It is about a great diva moving us with a great scena!!!!! (Whew. . .I feel better now).
The list could go on. Macduff came in to announce Duncan’s murder with his hand held to his forehead throughout in a way that suggested he was trying to stem a nosebleed. Then our poor tenor later had to sing his lament seated in a toy-cluttered child’s playpen. As if singing the “Brindisi” is not challenge enough, The Divine Lady M was asked to perform party magic tricks all during the aria, knotting silks and pulling them out of a top hat that she was made to carry with her later as a sleep walker. All of the apparitions simply failed to “appear” on stage at all(!), including Banquo’s ghost, asking way too much of Macbeth as an actor, and indeed way too much of the audience to know what the hell was going on.
The worst offense by Tcherniakov The Designer was arguably the pedestrian contemporary costuming, which reached criminal proportions (word carefully chosen) in the unflattering attire for Ms. Urmana, who sadly looked more like the leading man’s Wal-Mart shopper mom than his political and sexual equal. Are the days gone forever when gifted costumers and make-up artists and wig makers could fabulously glamorize full-figured artists like Joan, Leontyne, Marilyn, Montserrat? A pretty woman, and a major star soprano, Violeta deserves far far better.
At the end of the day, though, the utter nonsense of the staging was triumphantly swept aside by the conviction of as well-judged a musical reading of Macbeth as is likely possible today. A heads up in case you are Russia-bound: this is a co-production with the Opera of Novosibirsk where Teodor Currentzis is in charge, but where the available musical assets may not be of the same high quality. Just didn’t want you to wander in unaware.
At next night’s marvelous Un ballo in maschera, conductor Renato Palumbo’s style could not have been more different. With economy of gesture and a complete, under-stated understanding of how the piece works, the Maestro led a sensitive and sensible account that provided ample support for the first rate soloists and chorus.Scene from Un ballo in maschera [Photo courtesy of Paris Opéra]
Visually, too, there was much to admire in William Orlandi’s handsome period costumes and monumental sets seemingly inspired by Mussolini’s architectural visions. At rise, Riccardo is discovered seated on a pretentious white marble throne, in the center of an amphitheater peopled by the male chorus, and surmounted by a huge marble eagle.
Such iconic images served the work very well indeed, with the gibbet consisting of two large square pillars, topped by menacing ravens, wings spread about to take flight; a mausoleum of a sitting room for Rentao and Amelia; and a perspective of a ballroom defined by a profusion of black marble pillars capped with large, softly lit, Lalique-look glass lamps. Ulrica’s lair seemed more uniquely “American” with its profusion of open flames and bayou voodoo-inspired milieu. Joël Hourbeigt’s evocative and atmospheric lighting could hardly have been bettered.
While the entire costume concept was also black and white, there were well-chosen flashes of color such as Ulrica’s rich red tunic and turban; and less well chosen, with Oscar plumped into a red vest that had the somewhat unfortunate effect of making our cross-dresser look a bit like a white suited Robin Red Breast. Especial praise should be reserved for the vibrantly detailed commedia dell’arte garb worn by the corps de ballets, although Micha van Hoecke’s busy choreography made their effect a little dizzying.
Stage director Gilbert Deflo knew how to tell the story, developed meaningful blocking and visually pleasing stage groupings, maintained excellent focus on the dramatic moments, and mostly appeared to stay out of the way of his exceptional cast. Only the duet scene might have benefited from more specificity of interaction, but that is a minor point in a very fine piece of direction.
This night’s indisposed singer was Ramon Vargas (the French announce this with some drama, with a great pause before . . .“but. . .Mr. Vargas has indeed accepted to perform the role for you”). Although Mr. Vargas chose his battles carefully in selecting which high notes to ring out and which to husband and nurse, my first reaction upon hearing him live is that this is a gorgeous heavy lyric sound. He is also a very fine musician, shaping and coloring his phrases with a fine sense of Verdian line and a good deal of dramatic imagination. His acting is honest and heartfelt. Perhaps his rather short, boyish, round-cheeked appearance does not make him as marketable as other over-hyped tenors, but as an artist this guy easily outclasses many an operatic poster boy. A class act this Senor Vargas.
My other real interest was in hearing Angela Brown, who has emerged in recent seasons as a Verdian of note. Her Amelia did not disappoint. The lovely Miss Brown commands the stage with star presence, and her ripe, dark tone communicates well in all registers and at all volumes, but most especially in the upper reaches at full throttle when she is downright thrilling. If her generous vibrato gets a bit in the way in lower parlando passages, and if she cannot quite float a high note as pristine as say, Mme. Caballe (who can?), this is nevertheless a very sound technique married to well-schooled musical instincts. On a non-musical note, the diva did milk her (solid) ovation a bit too much past the sell-by date. Leave them wanting more, Angela!
Anna Christy contributed a perky, spot-on, clear-voiced Oscar, although I wish she had strutted and play-acted the “boy” a little less. Elena Manistina was a force to be reckoned with as a fine Ulrica with a searing baritonal chest voice that blossomed quite seamlessly into a ripe middle and a secure top. The duo of dark-voiced Etienne Dupuis and Michail Schelomianski were luxury casting as an exceptionally powerful Silvano and Sam, and Scott Wilde presented a decent Tom.
But without a shred of doubt, the night (and the weekend) belonged to the tremendous performance by Ludovic Tezier as Renato. Once every five years you might encounter a Verdi turn with this shock-and-awe factor, and Mr. Tezier thrilled and chilled us the entire night. Having enjoyed his Figaro Count, and even more his Werther Albert, nothing prepared me for the richness, the moxie, the clarity, the size of that great instrument with its manly buzzy tone pinging off the back wall of the Bastille and pinning us in our seats. There is nothing quite like “discovering” a new star Verdi baritone, and wow, what a night he had! Us, too.