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The mysteries and myths surrounding Mozart’s Requiem Mass - left unfinished at his death and completed by his pupil, Franz Xaver Süssmayr - abide, reinvigorated and prolonged by Peter Shaffer’s play Amadeus as directed on film by Miloš Forman. The origins of the work’s commission and composition remain unknown but in our collective cultural and musical consciousness the Requiem has come to assume an autobiographical role: as if Mozart was composing a mass for his own presaged death.
I saw two operas consecutively at Oper Koln. First, the utterly
bewildering Lucia di Lammermoor; then Thilo Reinhardt’s
thrilling Tosca. His staging was pure operatic joy with some
Bernard Haitink’s monumental Bruckner and Mahler performances with
the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra (RCO) got me hooked on classical music.
His legendary performance of Bruckner’s Symphony No. 8 in
C-minor, where in the Finale loosened plaster fell from the
Concertgebouw ceiling, is still recounted in Amsterdam.
Karita Mattila was born to sing Emilia Marty, the diva around whom revolves Leoš Janáček's The Makropulos Affair (Věc Makropulos). At Prom 45, she shone all the more because she was conducted by Jirí Belohlávek and performed alongside a superb cast from the National Theatre, Prague, probably the finest and most idiomatic exponents of this repertoire.
‘Two outrageous operas in one crazy evening,’ reads the bill. Hyperbole? Certainly not when the operas are two of Jacques Offenbach’s more off-the-wall bouffoneries and when the company is Opera della Luna whose artistic director, Jeff Clarke, is blessed with the comic imagination and theatrical nous to turn even the most vacuous trivia into a sharp and sassy riotous romp.
This performance of Britten's A Midsummer Night's Dream at Glyndebourne was so good that it was the highlight of the whole season, making the term ‘revival’ utterly irrelevant. Jakub Hrůša is always stimulating, but on this occasion, his conducting was so inspired that I found myself closing my eyes in order to concentrate on what he revealed in Britten's quirky but brilliant score. Eyes closed in this famous production by Peter Hall, first seen in 1981?
A staged piano recital and an opera as a concert. Pianist András Schiff accompanied the Salzburg Marionette Theater at the Mozarteum Grosser Saal and Anna Netrebko sang Manon Lescaut at the Grosses Festspielhaus.
On August 4, 2016, soprano Leah Crocetto and accompanist Tamara Sanikidze gave a recital at the Scottish Rite Center in Santa Fe New Mexico. A winner of the Metropolitan Opera Auditions and the BBC Cardiff Singer of the World Contest, this year Crocetto was singing Donna Anna in Santa Fe Opera’s excellent Don Giovanni.
On July 31, 2016, against the ethereal beauty of the main hall in the Scottish Rite Center, soprano Angela Meade and pianist Joe Illick gave a recital offering both opera and art songs ranging in origin from early nineteenth century Europe to mid twentieth century America. Many in the audience probably remembered Meade’s recent excellent portrayal of Norma at Los Angeles Opera.
When more is definitely more, and less would indeed be less. Two of the biggest names in Italian theater art collide in an eponymous theater.
It was the fifth Proms Chamber Music concert at Cadogan Hall this season, and we were celebrating Shakespeare’s 400th. And, given the extent and range of the composers and artists, and the diversity and profundity of the musical achievement inspired by the Bard, we could probably keep celebrating in this fashion ad infinitum.
Each August the bleak and leaky, 12,000 seat Arena Adriatica (home of the famed Pesaro basketball team) magically transforms itself into an improvised opera house that boasts the ultimate in opera chic — exemplary Rossini production standards for its now twelve hundred seats.
This highly enjoyable Prom, part of 2016’s ‘Proms at
’ mini-series, took as its guiding concept the reopening of London’s theatres following the Restoration, focusing in particular upon musical and dramatic responses to Shakespeare. Purcell, rightly, loomed large, with John Blow and Matthew Locke joining him. Receiving their Proms premieres were the excerpts from Timon of Athens and those from Locke’s The Tempest.
With all the bombast of the presidential campaigns rattling in our heads, with invectives being exchanged and measured discussion all but absent, how utterly lovely to retreat and relax into the harmonious soundscape and well-reasoned debate posed in Strauss’ Capriccio, on magnificent display at Santa Fe Opera.
When we entered the Crosby Theatre for Gounod’s Roméo et Juliette the stage was surprisingly dominated by a somber, semi-circular black mausoleum, many chambers inscribed with scrambled names of US Civil War era dead.
Molten passions were seething just below the icy Nordic exterior of Santa Fe
Opera’s wholly masterful production of Barber’s Vanessa.
Farce is probably the most difficult of dramatic comedy sub-genres to put across. A farce got up in the stately robes of opera sets its presenters an even higher bar. Presenting an operatic farce on a notoriously chilly and cavernous auditorium is to risk catastrophe.
Fan interest began raging when Santa Fe Opera engaged venerable artist Patricia Racette to make her role debut as Minnie in Puccini’s La Fanciulla del West.
A funny thing happened on the way to Andalusia.
The tale of a Syrian donkey driver. And, yes, the donkey stole the show! The competition was intense — the Vienna Philharmonic and the Grosses Festspielhaus in full production regalia for starters.
29 Jul 2009
Schubert bounces along at Wigmore Hall
The performance of lieder is a partnership between singer and pianist. In May I heard Julius Drake redeem an indifferent recital by the sheer beauty of his playing. I’ve been listening to him for more than 15 years. He’s a favorite. So I was completely taken by surprise by this recital
The program was promising, an intelligent mix of much-loved Schubert staples with relative rarities which the Wigmore Hall’s specialist audience eagerly anticipated. By its very nature Lieder is more extreme than ordinary song. Good Lieder recitals shouldn’t be tame. But the reckless pace at which Drake was playing seemed to stem from something quite outside the music. His “tempi” were so fast that all sense of phrasing was lost. Drake has the technical facility to play at breakneck speeds without losing notes, but this relentless pressure distorted line and meaning. And Lieder without meaning aren’t Lieder.
Since each song is individual, its character needs to be respected. Drake lurched from one song to the next without a break, sometimes almost before the resonant echoes of the last had faded. Switching from the contemplative “Freiwilliges Versinken” (D 700), with its images of a pale moon and resignation, to the stormy “Der zürnenden Diana” (D 707b) might in some circumstances be dramatic, but when every song and every traverse is treated the same hurried way, the songs tumble into a jumble.
The audience was disregarded, too. Pauses between songs allow listeners to reflect on what they’ve heard, for Lieder is about making listeners think. Now there wasn’t even time to turn a page, or to cough to break tension. Only after the performance ended, did Drake take an extended break, claiming he couldn’t find the score for the encore, laughing as if it were a joke. Since the encore was “Die Forellen” (D 550), and everyone knew there’d be an encore, this seemed contrived.
When Drake wasn’t aiming for an Olympic speed record, his touch was heavy and dominant. “An mein Klavier” (D 342) refers to a fortepiano. The melody lilts, for it’s a “sanftes Klavier”. This clavier, instead, gave extra force to the term “Hammer”-klavier.
To Ian Bostridge’s credit, he managed to match Drake’s pace for the most part. In the last few years, he’s developed much greater control and depth. Indeed, a friend of mine heard this concert a few weeks ago at Schwarzenberg and said that, if anything Bostridge’s voice was in even better form this evening. My friend, who hears 50 or more Lieder recitals a year, hasn’t in the past been a big Bostridge fan, but has become convinced by the singer’s increasing poise and confidence,. Now that’s tinged with respect for the way Bostridge handled the wayward dynamics.
“Der Wanderer” (D 489, von Lübeck) showed how Bostridge can float legato with the fluidity of a clarinet, yet imbue words with great meaning. Lieder aren’t a medium for bland purity: a singer has to care about the words. This is one of Bostridge’s great strengths. He’s clearly thought through less well known songs like “Die Perle” (D 466, Jacobi) where the poet knows he’ll never find the pearl he’s searching for. A pity that the marking “schrietend “(at a walking pace) was so rushed that it pushed the poet to his death before giving him a chance to savor his predicament with true Romantic pathos.
Ballads like “Lied des Gefangenen Jägers” (D 843) and “Normans Gesang,” (D 846) both to texts by Sir Walter Scott, need vivid expression to create interest, which Bostridge’s emphasis on meaning provided. Then, in a burst of impassioned energy, he threw himself into the Mayrhofer song “An die Freude” (D 654), giving it greater portent than I’ve ever heard before. Mayrhofer, a neurotic with whom Schubert later fell out, contemplates death, when friends will bring flowers to his grave. “Rejoice,” sings the poet, “Dies alles ist dem Toten gliech” (“all this means nothing to me now”). Despite the turbulent piano, Bostridge had perspective, and sang with grace.
Wonderful program notes by Richard Stokes. Most program notes are ephemera, geared to the most basic readership. Stokes’s notes combine insight into the music and poems with knowledge of wider cultural background. He gives details even the astute Wigmore Hall audience might miss. For example, “Das Zügenglöcklein” (D 871) isn’t just any bell but one traditionally rung in Austrian villagers when parishioners lay dying, to prepare them for the next world. In our frantic modern times, we don’t reflect on simple, quiet things like that. Stokes makes us realize just how relevant Schubert is to us today.