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The Wigmore Hall complete Schubert song series continued with a recital by Georg Nigl and Andreas Staier. Staier's a pioneer, promoting the use of fortepiano in Schubert song. In Schubert's time, modern concert pianos didn't exist. Schubert and his contemporaries would have been familiar with a lighter, brighter sound. Over the last 30 years, we've come to better understand Schubert and his world through the insights Staier has given us. His many performances, frequently with Christoph Prégardien at the Wigmore Hall, have always been highlights.
Classical Opera’s MOZART 250 project has reached the year 1767. Two years ago, the company embarked upon an epic, 27-year exploration of the music written by Mozart and his contemporaries exactly 250 years previously. The series will incorporate 250th anniversary performances of all Mozart’s important compositions and artistic director Ian Page tells us that as 1767 ‘was the year in which Mozart started to write more substantial works - opera, oratorio, concertos
this will be the first year of MOZART 250 in which Mozart’s own music dominates the programme’.
‘[T]hey moderated or increased their voices, loud or soft, heavy or light according to the demands of the piece they were singing; now slowing, breaking of sometimes with a gentle sigh, now singing long passages legato or detached, now groups, now leaps, now with long trills, now with short, or again, with sweet running passages sung softly, to which one sometimes heard an echo answer unexpectedly. They accompanied the music and the sentiment with appropriate facial expressions, glances and gestures, with no awkward movements of the mouth or hands or body which might not express the feelings of the song. They made the words clear in such a way that one could hear even the last syllable of every word, which was never interrupted or suppressed by passages or other embellishments.’
An exceptional Wagner Der fliegende Holländer, so challenging that, at first, it seems shocking. But Kasper Holten's new production, currently at the Finnish National Opera, is also exceptionally intelligent.
A welcome addition to Lyric Opera of Chicago’s roster was its recent production of Jules Massenet’s Don Quichotte.
800 years ago, every book was a precious treasure - ‘written on skin’. In George Benjamin’s and Martin Crimp’s 2012 opera, Written on Skin, modern-day archivists search for one such artefact: a legendary 12th-century illustrated vanity project, commissioned by an unnamed Protector to record and celebrate his power.
It was like a “Date Night” at Staatsoper unter den Linden with
its return of Eike Gramss’ 2012 production of Puccini’s Madama
Butterfly. While I entered the Schiller Theater, the many young couples
venturing to the opera together, and emerging afterwards all lovey-dovey and
moved by Puccini’s melodramatic romance, encouraged me to think more
positively about the future of opera.
For the Late Night concert after the Saturday series, fifteen Berliners
backed up Barbara Hannigan in yet another adventurous collaboration on a modern
rarity with Simon Rattle. I was completely unfamiliar with the French composer,
but the performance tonight made me fall in love with Gérard
Grisey’s sensually disintegrating soundscape Quatre chants pour
franchir le seuil, or “Fours Songs to cross the
One of the things I love about the Philharmonie in Berlin, is the normalcy
of musical excellence week after week. Very few venues can pull off with such
illuminating star wattage. Michael Schade, Anne Schwanewilms, and Barbara
Hannigan performed in two concerts with two larger-than-life conductors
Thielemann and Rattle. We were taken on three thrilling adventures.
Lyric Opera of Chicago’s original and superbly cast production of Hector Berlioz’s Les Troyens has provided the musical public with a treasured opportunity to appreciate one of the great operatic achievements of the nineteenth century.
The Little Opera Company opened its 21st season by championing its own, as it presented the world premiere of Winnipeg composer Neil Weisensel’s Merry Christmas, Stephen Leacock.
Now in its 31st year, the 2016 Christmas Festival at St John’s Smith Square has offered sixteen concerts performed by diverse ensembles, among them: the choirs of King’s College, London and Merton College, Oxford; Christchurch Cathedral Choir, Oxford; The Gesualdo Six; The Cardinall’s Musick; The Tallis Scholars; the choirs of Trinity College and Clare College, Cambridge; Tenebrae; Polyphony and the Orchestra of the Age of the Enlightment.
As 2016 draws to a close, we stand on the cusp of a post-Europe, pre-Trump world. Perhaps we will look back on current times with the nostalgic romanticism of Richard Strauss’s 1911 paean to past glories, comforts and certainties: Der Rosenkavalier.
Ah, Loft Opera. It’s part of the experience to wander down many dark
streets, confused and lost, in a part of Brooklyn you’ve never been. It
is that exclusive—you can’t even find the
Let’s start by getting a couple of gripes out of the way. First, the
final act of Die Walküre does not constitute a full-length
concert, even with a distinguished cast and orchestra, and with animated
drawings fluttering on a giant screen.
When you combine two charismatic New York stage divas with the artistry of Los Angeles Opera, you have a mix that explodes into singing, dancing and an evening of superb entertainment.
Roderick Williams’ and Julius Drake’s English Winter Journey seems such a perfect concept that one wonders why no one had previously thought of compiling a sequence of 24 songs by English composers to mirror, complement and discourse with Schubert’s song-cycle of love and loss.
A historical afternoon at the NTR Saturday Matinee occurred with an epic
concert version of Prokofiev’s Soviet Opera Semyon Kotko.
Opening night at the Metropolitan is a gleeful occasion even when the
composer is long gone, but December 1st was an opening for a living composer who
has been making waves around the world and is, gasp, a woman — the second woman
composer ever to have an opera presented at the Met.
For an opera that has never quite made it over the threshold into the ‘canonical’, the adolescent Mozart’s La finta giardiniera has not done badly of late for productions in the UK. In 2014, Glyndebourne presented Frederic Wake-Walker’s take on the eighteen-year-old’s dramma giocoso. Wake-Walker turned the romantic shenanigans and skirmishes into a debate on the nature of reality, in which the director tore off layers of theatrical artifice in order to answer Auden’s rhetorical question, ‘O tell me the truth about love’.
08 Feb 2011
Don Pasquale, New York
Witty and airy as an after-dinner anecdote over biscuits and cognac, Don
Pasquale (1844) is, unlikely as it may seem, almost the last opera Donizetti
completed before his descent into the madness of tertiary syphilis.
He was 47,
managing opera houses in Vienna and Paris, introducing new talents like Verdi,
and could still turn out melodies to beat the band—so to speak—with
ever more of a nod to tight scripts and psychological subtleties. With Rossini
in retirement, Bellini dead, Verdi a tyro and Mercadante about to withdraw into
academe, Donizetti was the most popular Italian composer in the world. Who
knows where this would have led him had his career gone on (as Verdi’s,
Mercadante’s, Pacini’s, Meyerbeer’s, Auber’s all did)
till he was 65? Would he have composed operas for St. Petersburg, Berlin,
London and New York? Can we doubt it?
Given the proper performers (Donizetti’s operas, even more than most,
depend on the performer to put them over), Don Pasquale remains almost
irresistible. The Met has had great success with Otto Schenk’s moderately
updated production (O’Hearn-Merrill’s was better, funnier,
lighter), and it is clear from last Friday’s performance that the
touch-ups required for last fall’s HDTV movie theater broadcast have made
it more stage-ready than ever. James Levine, in the pit, seemed especially to
enjoy himself but the entire cast is infectiously frolicsome.
I had quibbles, however, with some of the singers: all good, but some a
little graceless in their approach to this pearl-icing confection. Anna
Netrebko is a prima donna, and her voice has gotten steadily larger and thicker
while losing a top note or two. This makes her a good candidate for Anna
Bolena, for example, a Donizetti role she is singing in its Met premiere next
season, and even likelier as Bellini’s Sonnambula or Giulietta, in both
of which roles she has been broadcast from Vienna. But the voice’s
thickness, its inability to lighten up, is uncomfortable in a Norina. The lady
must be laughing all the time, or we are disinclined to forgive her rather
calculated assault on the wealth of the title character. Reri Grist, my first
Met Norina, floated about the stage, almost pirouetting around a lovably
flummoxed Fernando Corena, and the instant of her slap, the moment when she
goes too far and knows it, was an instant transformation not merely in the
music but in her attitude, as she pulled her hands to her cheeks in horror at
what she’d done, and a genuine personality was displayed—as also
affection for the old man. Netrebko can no longer manage that lightness, that
speediness, and she cannot manage the top notes of her runs, which rise
prettily only to stop short every time. (What is that note? D? She hasn’t
even got a D?) The glittering final waltz did not glitter or twirl; Netrebko
offered it … dutifully. Ljuba Petrova, who sang one performance of the
opera here during the present production’s first season, was rather more
what we are looking for: Not a dramatic prima donna but an old-fashioned canary
coloratura whose charm and wit match her voice. And she had all the high
John Del Carlo as the title role and Anna Netrebko as Norina
Ernesto was sung by Barry Banks, whose voice has also changed over the
years, from the spectacular instrument of the Flute/Thisbe in the Met’s
Midsummer Night’s Dream and the heroic Oreste in Ermione that amazed New
York. His legato line no longer flows comfortably; it is a tolerable but
charmless substitute for the proper tenor elegance.
Buffo basses can get by for years with far less voice than John Del Carlo
still possesses. He wittily deploys his great height and bulk and mugs in the
very finest fettle. You can’t have Don Pasquale without a Pasquale, and
the Met is right to hang on to this one.
The star of the show for dapper farce-performance, suave vocalism and
bring-down-the-house sex appeal was Mariusz Kwiecien as Dr. Malatesta. There is
nothing to object to in his singing (he doesn’t scream in this opera, as
he tends to in Lucia or L’Italiana) or his scampering or his appeal,
except that this is Dr. Malatesta and the opera is called Don Pasquale and the
lovers are Ernesto and Norina. Why is the doctor the one we wait for, listen
to, watch on stage? Most Malatestas “feed” their Norinas (without
picking them up and tossing them about like throw pillows), accompany their
Pasquales, take a line in the concerted passages. The character is a catalyst,
not the focus of the opera, but Otto Schenk has got nothing so wrong as
building this character up. If Malatesta is the center of attention, and has
such a rich relationship with Norina … why do we need the tenor at all?
He fades into the woodwork if Malatesta does not.
Mariusz Kwiecien as Dr. Malatesta and John Del Carlo in the title role
But all these objections seemed to occur to few others in the audience last
Friday, who all seemed to be tickled that they were having such fun, enjoying
such a sparkling score in such an animated, Broadway-worthy performance,
without having to drop a tear or think a thought at all. And isn’t that
the sort of pleasure farce is supposed to provide?