13 Apr 2011
Christopher Maltman, Wigmore Hall
A Frenchman, three Germans and a Venezuelan-born French national: musical responses to Venice.
Twelve years after Opera Holland Park's first production of Francesco Cilea's Adriana Lecouvreur, the opera made a welcome return.
The Italianate cloister setting at Iford chimes neatly with Monteverdi’s penultimate opera The Return of Ulysses, as the setting cannot but bring to mind those early days of the musical genre. The world of commercial public opera had only just dawned with the opening of the Teatro San Cassiano in Venice in 1637 and for the first time opera became open to all who could afford a ticket, rather than beholden to the patronage of generous princes. Monteverdi took full advantage of the new stage and at the age of 73 brought all his experience of more than 30 years of opera-writing since his ground-breaking L’Orfeo (what a pity we have lost all those works) to the creation of two of his greatest pieces, Ulysses and then his final masterpiece, Poppea.
Once again, we find ourselves thanking an unrepresentable being for Welsh National Opera’s commitment to its mission. It is a sad state of affairs when a season that includes both Boulevard Solitude and Moses und Aron is considered exceptional, but it is - and is all the more so when one contrasts such seriousness of purpose with the endless revivals of La traviata which, Die Frau ohne Schatten notwithstanding, seem to occupy so much of the Royal Opera’s effort. That said, if the Royal Opera has not undertaken what would be only its second ever staging of Schoenberg’s masterpiece - the first and last was in 1965, long before most of us were born! - then at least it has engaged in a very welcome ‘WNO at the Royal Opera House’ relationship, in which we in London shall have the opportunity to see some of the fruits of the more adventurous company’s endeavours.
If you don’t have the means to get to the Rossini festival in Pesaro, you would do just as well to come to Indianola, Iowa, where Des Moines Metro Opera festival has devised a heady production of Le Comte Ory that is as long on belly laughs as it is on musical fireworks.
Composed during just a few weeks of the summer of 1926, Janáček’s Slavonic-text Glagolitic Mass was first performed in Brno in December 1927. During the rehearsals for the premiere - just 3 for the orchestra and one 3-hour rehearsal for the whole ensemble - the composer made many changes, and such alterations continued so that by the time of the only other performance during Janáček’s lifetime, in Prague in April 1928, many of the instrumental (especially brass) lines had been doubled, complex rhythmic patterns had been ‘ironed-out’ (the Kyrie was originally in 5/4 time), a passage for 3 off-stage clarinets had been cut along with music for 3 sets of pedal timpani, and choral passages were also excised.
With the conclusion of the ROH 2013-14 season on Saturday evening - John Copley’s 40-year old production of La Bohème bringing down the summer curtain - the sun pouring through the gleaming windows of the Floral Hall was a welcome invitation to enjoy a final treat. The Jette Parker Young Artists Summer Showcase offered singers whom we have admired in minor and supporting roles during the past year the opportunity to step into the spotlight.
Many words have already been spent - not all of them on musical matters - on Richard Jones’s Glyndebourne production of Der Rosenkavalier, which last night was transported to the Royal Albert Hall. This was the first time at the Proms that Richard Strauss’s most popular opera had been heard in its entirety and, despite losing two of its principals in transit from Sussex to SW1, this semi-staged performance offered little to fault and much to admire.
Twenty years ago stage director Christopher Alden introduced Rossini’s then forgotten comedy to Southern California audiences in a production that is still remembered. In Aix Alden has revisited this complex work that many critics now consider Rossini’s greatest comedy.
The BBC Proms 2014 season began with Sir Edward Elgars The Kingdom (1903-6). It was a good start to the season,which commemorates the start of the First World War. From that perspective Sir Andrew Davis's The Kingdom moved me deeply.
One is unlikely to come across a cast of Figaro principals much better than this today, and the virtues of this performance indeed proved to be primarily vocal.
That’s A Winter’s Journey and A Night of Mourning for metteurs-en-scène William Kentridge (South Africa) and Katie Mitchell (Great Britain), completing the clean sweep of English language stage directors for the Aix Festival productions this year.
Assured elegance, care and thoughtfulness characterised tenor James Gilchrist’s performance of Schubert’s Schwanengesang at the Wigmore Hall, the cycles’ two poets framing a compelling interpretation of Beethoven’s An die ferne Geliebte.
‘Music for a while shall all your cares beguile.’ Dryden’s words have never seemed as apt as at the conclusion of this wonderful sequence of improvisations on Purcell’s songs and arias, interspersed with instrumental chaconnes and toccatas, by L’Arpeggiata.
The acoustic of the gigantic Théâtre Antique Romain at Orange cannot but astonish its nine thousand spectators, the nearly one hundred meter breadth of the its proscenium inspires awe. There was excited anticipation for this performance of Verdi’s first masterpiece.
Opera Theatre of Saint Louis has once again staked claim to being the summer festival “of choice” in the US, not least of all for having mounted another superlative world premiere.
In past years the operas of the Aix Festival that took place in the Grand Théâtre de Provence began at 8 pm. The Magic Flute began at 7 pm, or would have had not the infamous intermittents (seasonal theatrical employees) demanded to speak to the audience.
High drama in Aix. Three scenarios in conflict — those of G.F. Handel, Richard Jones and the intermittents (disgruntled seasonal theatrical employees). Make that four — mother nature.
The programme declared that ‘music, water and night’ was the connecting thread running through this diverse collection of songs, performed by soprano Lucy Crowe and pianist Anna Tilbrook, but in fact there was little need to seek a unifying element for these eclectic works allowed Crowe to demonstrate her expressive range — and offered the audience the opportunity to hear some interesting rarities.
‘Only make the reader’s general vision of evil intense enough and his own experience, his own imagination, his own sympathy will supply him quite sufficiently with all the particulars.
It is not often that concept, mood, music and place coincide perfectly. On the first night of Opera della Luna’s La Fille du Regiment at Iford Opera in Wiltshire, England we arrived with doubts (rather large doubts it should be admitted)as to whether Donizetti’s “naive and vulgar” romp of militarism and proto-feminism, peopled with hordes of gun-toting soldiers and praying peasants, could hardly be contained, surely, inside Iford’s tiny cloister?
A Frenchman, three Germans and a Venezuelan-born French national: musical responses to Venice.
So the first half of Christopher Maltman and Malcolm Martineau’s recital to a crowded Wigmore Hall audience might have been sub-titled.
The sounds and sights of lagoons and piazzas; the glint of the moon on gliding gondolas; lilting barcarolles and strumming mandolins: all were conjured by a varied assortment of songs which threw up some interesting similarities and contrasts.
Fauré’s Cinq mélodies ‘de Venise’ of 1891 are elegant settings of texts by Paul Verlaine; effectively Fauré’s first song-cycle, they are ordered to form a loose narrative and further unified by motivic and harmonic cross-references. Maltman’s relaxed lyricism in the opening ‘Mandoline’ was complemented by Martineau’s lightness of touch as, with remarkable clarity of texture, he mimicked the gentle strains of the plucked mandolin, ‘[jangling] in the shivering breeze’, wonderfully supporting the chromatic meanderings of the vocal line. ‘En sourdine’ (‘Muted’) allowed Maltman to demonstrate both the rich darkness of his low baritone and his masterfully controlled, delicate head voice in the closing lines, when ‘the voice of our despair/ the nightingale shall sing’. After the more urgent, breathless ‘Green’, with its images of a tumultuous beating heart within a verdant, fresh landscape, ‘A Clymène’ opened up more mysterious, ethereal worlds. The ‘mystic barcarolle’ mentioned in the first phrase of the single-sentence text, encouraged Fauré to incorporate a characteristic rocking motif, and the interleaving dialogue between voice and accompaniment was expertly shaped. Maltman achieved a breath-taking beauty, floating the image of ‘Nimbes d’anges défunts,/ Tons et parfums’ (‘haloes of departed angels/ sounds and scents’) before settling into the sweet consonance of the final stanza above soft rippling arpeggios. The final song, ‘C’est l’extase’ (‘It is rapture’) was ardent and impassioned, retreating at the close with the image of a ‘humble hymn/ On this warm evening, soft and low’, the easeful rest conveyed by tenderly oscillating fifths in the piano bass.
Although Schumann’s complementary pair of gondola songs from the Myrthen cycle do not employ the 6/8 meter typically associated with the barcarolle, the dotted, dancing rhythms create a light spirit and energy, which the performers enhanced by moving without a break between the two songs. Maltman seemed more at home with this idiom, carefully shaping the contrasts and drawing out the yearning sections of the texts, with particular effect at the close of ‘Lied II’, elongating the phrases to convey the lover’s desire to ‘flee, my love,/ across the lagoons’, the joyful sentiments of the verse emphasised by the insouciant piano after-phrase. Schubert’s ‘Gondelfahrer’ (‘The Gondolier’) is more earnest, the rich chordal texture, resonant bass melody in octaves with the vocal line, and generally low accompaniment register suggestive of the dark stillness of the deep waters. Setting the same Ferdinand Freiligrath translation of Thomas Moore that Schumann tackled in his ‘Lied II’, Mendelssohn introduced a harmonic richness to convey the burning passion of the eloping lover which Maltman’s fervent vocal colours more than matched.
Reynaldo Hahn’s 1901 cycle, Venezia: Six chansons en dialecte vénitien, brought the Venetian sojourn to an affectionate and blithe close. Settings of simple dialect verse, these songs were first performed by the composer, accompanying himself, propelled across the lagoon by two gondoliers, to the delight of the local passers-by. Joyfully embracing the characteristic meters and figures of the barcarolle, the songs stay just the right side of kitsch or parody. The performers expertly controlled the tempo within and between the songs, pushing on at the close of ‘Sopra l’acqua indormenzada’ (‘Asleep on the water’) as the poet-speaker reflects ‘Ridiadesso e fa l’amor!’ (‘now is the time for laughter and love!’), holding back in the vocalise melismas which conclude the verses of ‘La barcheta’ (‘The little boat’). In these gentle reveries, Maltman revealed a delightful flexibility and delicacy. The more operatic ‘L’avertimento’ (‘The warning’) was followed by erotically charged ‘La Blondina in gondoleta’ (‘The blonde girl in the gondola’). Maltman serenely communicated the tranquil beauty of the scene as ‘Una solo bavesela/ Sventola va I so’ caveli’ (‘Just the suspicion of a breeze/ gently played with her hair’) before the more urgent ecstasies of the final verse: ‘No, mai più tanto beato/ Ai mii zorni no son stà’ (‘Never again was I to be so/ happy in all my life!’). An unfortunate slip at the opening of ironically titled ‘Che pecà!’ (‘What a shame’), did not unsettle Maltman, and he swept rhetorically through this drama of matrimonial disillusionment, the sentiments of the text aptly enhanced by the asymmetrical accents in the piano accompaniment. The final song, ‘La primavera’ (‘Spring’), concluded in a warm blaze of joy.
After the interval, Maltman returned to more familiar territory, although the opening Schubert songs diverted the journey from the Schubertiade’s intimate salons to the public domain of the Italian opera companies that were so popular and successful in Vienna at this time. Composed for the leading bass singer, Luigi Lablanche, the three settings of Pietro Metastasio are far from predictable. ‘L’incanto degli occhi’ (‘The magic of eyes’) drew forth a range of colours and sentiments, from earnest sincerity to impudent playfulness. ‘Il traditor deluso’ (‘The deluded traitor’) places an energetic aria after a rather perfunctory recitative, and Maltman and Martineau successfully created dramatic momentum which climaxed in pulsing octave leaps to convey the melodramatic ‘raging terror’ in the breast of the eponymous anti-hero. ‘Il modo di prender moglie’ (‘How to choose a wife’) displays a surprising Rossinian satirical wit, greatly enjoyed by performers and audience alike.
Although not the most esteemed German Romantic poet, Rückert inspired many of the finest nineteenth- and twentieth-century composers, including Schumann, Richard Strauss, and of course Mahler. Schubert was the first to find the poet congenial, and ‘Du bist die Ruh’ (‘You are repose’) is one of his finest songs: Maltman’s poignant evocation of a quietude troubled by inner pain was deeply moving, and Martineau’s wonderfully judged melodic ornaments enhanced the affecting pathos. The performers relished the challenge of ‘Sei mir gegrußt’ (‘I greet you’) with its recurring refrain, injecting variety and contrast into the repetitions, and maintaining a controlled poise.
With Mahler’s Rückert settings, the evening reached its emotional and musical climax. Maltman utilised all the resources of his diverse baritone, from the airy utterance of the opening phrase of ‘Ich atmet’ einen linden Duft’ (‘I breathed a gentle fragrance’), to the honest directness of imploring command, ‘Love the sun, she has golden hair’ in ‘Liebst du um Schönheit’ (‘If you love for beauty’), to the sombre depths of ‘Am Mitternacht’ (‘At midnight’). Martineau’s alertness, his ability to simultaneously accompany, support, lead and engage with the voice, was superbly demonstrated in these songs. The sparseness of ‘Am Mitternacht’ was enriched by variation of idiom: recitative-like declamation gives way to melismatic outburst, controlled chordal alternations erupt in the final bars to convey the force of the poet-speaker’s declaration of spiritual love.
According to the programme notes, Mahler explained that ‘Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen’ (‘I am lost to the world’) was inspired by “the feeling that tills one and rises to the tip of one’s tongue but goes no further”, and the restrained self-possession of this intelligent, emotive performance perfectly captured these sentiments.
A Verdian encore revealed that, despite the rich variety offered to a resoundingly appreciative audience, Maltman has many more musical, theatrical and emotional resources to draw upon.
Fauré: Cinq mélodies ‘de Venise’; Four Gondoliers’
Robert Schumann: Two Venetian songs from Myrthen
Franz Schubert: Gondelfahrer
Felix Mendelssohn: Venetianesches Gondellied
Reynaldo Hahn: Venezia — Six chansons en dialecte vénitien
Franz Schubert: Three Lieder to texts by Metastasio; Three Lieder to texts by Rückert
Gustav Mahler: Five Lieder to texts by Rückert