14 Jul 2010
The Fairy Queen at Glyndebourne on Blu-Ray
This Glyndebourne production is, as far as I know, the first recording of any semi-opera that manages to impart a strong sense of what this peculiar, and peculiarly British, genre is like.
What better way for Masonic brothers, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Emmanuel Shikaneder to disseminate Masonic virtues, than through the most popular musical entertainment of their age, a happy ending folktale that features a dragon, enchanting flutes and bells, mixed-up parentage, and a beautiful young princess in distress?
Since its first performance at the Teatro Santi Giovanni e Paolo during Venice’s 1643 Carnevale, Monteverdi’s L’Incoronazione di Poppea has been one of the most important milestones in the genesis of modern opera despite its 250 years of unmerited obscurity.
Though 2013 is the bicentennial of the births of Giuseppe Verdi and Richard Wagner, the releases of Cecilia Bartoli’s recording of Bellini’s Norma on DECCA, a new studio recording of Donizetti’s Caterina Cornaro from Opera Rara, and this première recording of Saverio Mercadante’s forgotten I due Figaro, suggest that this is the start of a summer of bel canto.
Recording Richard Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelungen is for a record label equivalent to a climber reaching the summit of Mount Everest: it is the zenith from which a label surveys its position among its rivals and appreciates an achievement that can define its reputation for a generation.
Few people who love opera in general and bel canto in particular have never heard the comment made by Lilli Lehmann, veteran of the inaugural Ring at Bayreuth in 1876, that singing all three of Wagner’s Brünnhildes—in Die Walküre, Siegfried, and Götterdämmerung, respectively, all of which she sang to great acclaim—pales in comparison with singing the title rôle in Bellini’s Norma.
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.
This Glyndebourne production is, as far as I know, the first recording of any semi-opera that manages to impart a strong sense of what this peculiar, and peculiarly British, genre is like.
The anonymous 1691 adaptor of A Midsummer Night’s Dream cut out some of Shakespeare’s text, and added elaborate masque scenes which Purcell set to music. Sometimes the masque scenes actually have some relation to the events in the play: the scene in which the fairies torment the drunken poet (in Act 1, added in 1692) can be understood as a sort of prehistory of the processes of absurd invention that lead Peter Quince to write the Pyramus and Thisbe skit; and a later masque can be understood as a monstrous expansion of Shakespeare’s insecticidal charm (“You spotted snakes with double tongue”). But it would be easy to listen to all two hours of Purcell’s music without understanding that it had anything to do with A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
The curtain rises, and we are in Shakespeare’s Act 1, with wigs and costumes in eighteenth-century style, as Athenian justice condemns the love of Lysander and Hermia; but soon the janitorial crew takes over—it turns out that Peter Quince and his gang are window washers, theatre electricians, sweepers, and so forth. All this runs by at spanking pace, with many delightful touches, as when the scene ends in a blackout from an electrical malfunction, and we are in the world of Purcell’s first-act masque, the scene with the drunken poet. The poet is played by the actor who plays Bottom, Desmond Barrit, a superb comedian, but a mediocre singer, and the scene is funnier when more strongly voiced. Also, it would make more than to have Peter Quince at the clavier (so to speak) in this scene, since he’s the poet of the horny-handed. As in his audio recording, Christie takes enormous rhythmic liberties with the score (“I’m drunk as I live boys, drunk”), to brilliant effect, making the poet’s song into a sea-shanty in which the whole earth is the ship on which the drunkard sways.
For the rest of the semi-opera, we are in a world of dreams shadowing into nightmares: the fairies have black raggy wings; a giant spider swaths Titania in silk and dangles her in the air. In the more cheerful masques in the later acts, there is only occasionally a sense of good-natured fun—more often there is a certain lurid glare, a frantic, slightly brittle attempt at funning, as when music celebrating the earth’s generative energies is mimed by actors in bunny suits madly copulating in many different positions. I like this effect, perfectly in tune with the play’s sour epilogue (not here performed):
Obe.: Ladies in Dreams shall have their Fortunes told;
The Young shall dream of Husbands, and the Old
Their Youthful Pleasure shall each Night repeat.
Tit.: Green-Sickness Girls, who nautiate wholesom Meat,
How they their Parents, and themselves may cheat.
Obe.: Widows, who were by former Husbands vex’d,
Shall dream how they may over-reach the next.
The only real miscalculation here, I think, is moving of the Pyramus and Thisbe skit from Act 3 to Act 5. This is, of course, where Shakespeare puts it, but The Fairy Queen’s climax is supposed be the masque set in China, a deliberately fake version of an age of old where nobody works and everybody has a good time all day. This production de-sinifies the masque, for no good reason: instead of Chinese lovers, we have Adam and an extremely flirtatious Eve. The benediction of Purcell’s incomparable chaconne shouldn’t be spread over an audience that has recently laughed at Bottom’s death scene.
Daniel Albright