On Saturday evening April 22, 2017, San Diego Opera presented Giuseppe Verdi’s La traviata at the Civic Theater. Director Marta Domingo updated the production from the constrictions of the nineteenth century to the freedom of the nineteen twenties. Violetta’s fellow courtesans and their dates wore fascinating outfits and, at one point, danced the Charleston to what looked like a jazz combo playing Verdi’s score.
Thomas Adès’s third opera, The Exterminating Angel, is a dizzying, sometimes frightening, palimpsest of texts (literary and cinematic) and music, in which ceaseless repetitions of the past - inexact, ever varying, but inescapably compulsive - stultify the present and deny progress into the future. Paradoxically, there is endless movement within a constricting stasis. The essential elements collide in a surreal Sartrean dystopia: beasts of the earth (live sheep and a simulacra of a bear) roam, a disembodied hand floats through the air, water spouts from the floor and a burning cello provides the flames upon which to roast the sacrificial lambs. No wonder that when the elderly Doctor tries to restore order through scientific rationalism he is told, “We don't want reason! We want to get out of here!”
Is A Dog’s Heart even an opera? It is sung by opera singers to live
music. Alexander Raskatov’s score, however, is secondary to the incredible
stage visuals. Whatever it is, actor/director Simon McBurney’s first stab at
opera is fantastic theatre. Its revival at Dutch National Opera, where it
premiered in 2010, is hugely welcome.
I kept hearing from knowledgeable opera fanatics that the Israeli Opera (IO) in Tel Aviv was a surprising sure bet. So I made my way to the Homeland to hear how supposedly great the quality of opera was. And man, I was in for treat.
At Phoenix’s Symphony Hall on Friday evening April 7, Arizona Opera offered its final presentation of the 2016-2017 season, Gioachino Rossini’s Cinderella (La Cenerentola). The stars of the show were Daniela Mack as Cinderella, called Angelina in the opera, and Alek Shrader as Don Ramiro. Actually, Mack and Shrader are married couple who met singing these same roles at San Francisco Opera.
On Saturday evening April 1, 2017, Placido Domingo and Los Angeles Opera celebrated their tenth year of training young opera artists in the Domingo-Colburn-Stein Program. From the singing I heard, they definitely have something of which to be proud.
The town’s name itself “Baden-Baden” (named after Count Baden) sounds already enticing. Built against the old railway station, its Festspielhaus programs the biggest stars in opera for Germany’s largest auditorium. A Mecca for music lovers, this festival house doesn’t have its own ensemble, but through its generous sponsoring brings the great productions to the dreamy idylle.
The Festspielhaus in Baden-Baden pretty much programs only big stars. A prime example was the Fall Festival this season. Grigory Sokolov opened with a piano recital, which I did not attend. I came for Cecilia Bartoli in Bellini’s Norma and Christian Gerhaher with Schubert’s Die Winterreise, and Anne-Sophie Mutter breathtakingly delivering Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto together with the London Philharmonic Orchestra. Robin Ticciati, the ballerino conductor, is not my favorite, but together they certainly impressed in Mendelssohn.
Mahler as dramatist! Mahler Symphony no 8 with Vladimir Jurowski and the London Philharmonic Orchestra at the Royal Festival Hall. Now we know why Mahler didn't write opera. His music is inherently theatrical, and his dramas lie not in narrative but in internal metaphysics. The Royal Festival Hall itself played a role, literally, since the singers moved round the performance space, making the music feel particularly fluid and dynamic. This was no ordinary concert.
Imagine a fête galante by Jean-Antoine Watteau brought to life, its colour and movement infusing a bucolic scene with charm and theatricality. Jean-Philippe Rameau’s opéra-ballet Les fêtes d'Hébé, ou Les talens lyriques, is one such amorous pastoral allegory, its three entrées populated by shepherds and sylvans, real characters such as Sapho and mythological gods such as Mercury.
Whatever one’s own religious or spiritual beliefs, Bach’s St Matthew Passion is one of the most, perhaps the most, affecting depictions of the torturous final episodes of Jesus Christ’s mortal life on earth: simultaneously harrowing and beautiful, juxtaposing tender stillness with tragic urgency.
Lindy Hume’s sensational La bohème at the Berliner
Staatsoper brings out the moxie in Puccini. Abdellah Lasri emerged as a
stunning discovery. He floored me with his tenor voice through which he
embodied a perfect Rodolfo.
Listening to Moritz Eggert’s Caliban is the equivalent of
watching a flea-ridden dog chasing its own tail for one-and-half hours. It
scratches, twitches and yelps. Occasionally, it blinks pleadingly, but you
can’t bring yourself to care for such a foolish animal and its
A large audience packed into the Wigmore Hall to hear the two Baroque rarities featured in this melodious performance by Christian Curnyn’s Early Opera Company. One was by the most distinguished ‘home-grown’ eighteenth-century musician, whose music - excepting some of the lively symphonies - remains seldom performed. The other was the work of a Saxon who - despite a few ups and downs in his relationship with the ‘natives’ - made London his home for forty-five years and invented that so English of genres, the dramatic oratorio.
On March 24, 2017, Los Angeles Opera revived its co-production of Jacques Offenbach’s The Tales of Hoffmann which has also been seen at the Mariinsky Opera in Leningrad and the Washington National Opera in the District of Columbia.
Ermonela Jaho is fast becoming a favourite of Covent Garden audiences, following her acclaimed appearances in the House as Mimì, Manon and Suor Angelica, and on the evidence of this terrific performance as Puccini’s Japanese ingénue, Cio-Cio-San, it’s easy to understand why. Taking the title role in the first of two casts for this fifth revival of Moshe Leiser’s and Patrice Caurier’s 2003 production of Madame Butterfly, Jaho was every inch the love-sick 15-year-old: innocent, fresh, vulnerable, her hope unfaltering, her heart unwavering.
To celebrate its 40th anniversary New Sussex Opera has set itself the challenge of bringing together the six scenes - sometimes described as six discrete ‘tone poems’ - which form Delius’s A Village Romeo and Juliet into a coherent musico-dramatic narrative.
Reflections on former visits to Opera Holland Park usually bring to mind late evening sunshine, peacocks, Japanese gardens, the occasional chilly gust in the pavilion and an overriding summer optimism, not to mention committed performances and strong musical and dramatic values.
Iphigénie en Tauride at the Washington National Opera
The Washington National Opera has concluded its 2010-11 season with
Gluck’s 1779 masterpiece Iphigénie en Tauride, arguably the
great Viennese composer’s greatest achievement and his swan song (if one
does not count that unfortunate flop of 1780, Echo et Narcisse —
and luckily, one hardly ever does).
The production is also the swan song for
Placido Domingo, WNO’s departing artistic director and the star of
Iphigénie’s long-awaited and much-acclaimed 2007 revival at the
Met. Although the DC audiences who missed that event (last reprised in February
this year) were in for a treat in experiencing Domingo’s masterly
Orestes, the fabulous Stephen Wadsworth production in which he appeared did not
— alas! — accompany him from New York. Instead, we saw a creation
of Spanish director Emilio Sagi, imported from Ópera de Oviedo, a small,
picturesque and artistically adventurous town in the Northern Spanish province
of Asturias. Yet, if there was ever a case made for choosing a locally grown
creative product over an import, this was it. The WNO Iphigénie was a
classic example of an aural triumph cloaked in a visual disaster: from the
opening chorus on, I wished that the vengeful gods of Olympus would strike me
blind and let me enjoy a wonderful opera in a truly superior performance while
sparing me the ugliness on stage.
If one had to choose, the industrial-looking sets by Luis Antonio Suarez
were the least objectionable element of the Oviedo production. The
metal-and-concrete box that, according to Suarez, doubled as the
heroine’s temple and her prison was a reasonable contemporary
interpretation of the plot. Indeed, watching the singers in floor-length
costumes climbing up and down flimsy metal ladders built into the concrete
while trying to produce an acceptable sound was a heart-stopping experience,
designed no doubt to increase dramatic tension. The back of the set, a cross
between a gigantic wrought-iron gate and a mosaic of mirrored glass, was
actually attractive, and the minimalistic set of Act 3, with its metal
floor-length torch, modernist angular white armchair, and stone back wall that
opened out into the starry night was an effective conceit. But the costumes by
Oviedo’s own Pepa Ojanguren were to die for — and not in a good
way. The highlights included loosely hanging black tunics, pants, and skirts;
cloaks of cheap plastic for the warriors and one-piece bathing suits for the
dancers; and the horribly lurid black lycra bodices that made the choristers
look like they were wearing bargain trash bags (dare one make a bad pun on
“Eurotrash” at this point?). I am still puzzled over the vision of
lead dancer and choreographer Diniz Sanchez bouncing around the stage on
high-tech curved metal stilts — that is, when he was not clinging for
dear life to Iphigenia’s shoulders, lest he lose his balance and tumble
into the orchestra pit. I am not certain, however, if that particular detail
should be credited to the choreographer himself or to the stage director: both
seemed determined to design all stage movements either for Olympic athletes or
ballet dancers, without the slightest concern for the performers who would
actually have to execute their ideas. For instance, the living chain of
priestesses, their bare arms on each other’s shoulders, might prove
attractive, even affecting in Giselle, but instead looked merely
embarrassing on the ladies of the WNO choir, who do not all wear size two, and
who deserve much praise for delivering beautiful renditions of
Iphigénie’s stunning choruses, despite their predicament.
The same can be said for American soprano Patricia Racette, who brought both
vocal prowess (with only an occasional muddiness on highs) and powerful drama
to her portrayal of Iphigenia. That is, when her considerable acting talent was
not stymied by the stage director. Evidently torn between a realistic and a
symbolic interpretation of her character, Sagi produced neither, instead
punctuating Racette’s part with random swoons and melodramatic clutching
of the stomach. This approach looked particularly bizarre in the opening scene,
in which the ingenious effect of projecting images of swirling storm clouds
onto the gauze front curtain (lighting designer Eduardo Bravo) was entirely
ruined by awkward acting behind the gauze. The audience was left to wonder
whether Iphigenia and her priestesses were being battered by the waves or
suffering from an acute case of seasickness.
The music-drama contradictions in Pilade’s character, however, should
likely be attributed not to the director but to Shawn Mathey, American tenor
cast in the role. It is perfectly understandable why Mathey would be tempted to
make Pilade a Heldentenor: in the story, Pilades is indeed a hero, who
in the opera’s finale rescues his friend Orestes and Iphigenia from the
clutches of the tyrant Thoas (the fabulously menacing Simone Alberghini —
the only singer who really owned that black lycra). Unfortunately (and rarely
for this superb opera), the score does not support the libretto here. The part
is written for a haute-contre — a very high, light, almost
feminine tenor timbre, more appropriate for an over-excited adolescent (or a
wimpy Don Ottavio — Mathey’s most recent part on the WNO stage)
than a heroic young warrior. It is not the bravura of his Act 3
“to-the-rescue” aria, but the languid, mildly erotic grace of the
Act 2 romance that define Gluck’s Pilade — and appropriately, it
was the romance and not the aria in which Mathey shined.
Overall, despite the youth of many soloists (four of them Domingo-Cafritz
Young Artists), the vocal quality of the performance was surprisingly and
consistently excellent from the beginning of Act 1. Yet, the first note out of
Placido Domingo’s mouth in the Act 1 finale puts us on notice: the king
of the Greeks has arrived. Domingo’s magnificent Orestes has been much
discussed since he took up the baritone part in the 2007 Met production. The
dramatic intensity he brings to the role makes one forget his age, his tenor
past, even his star power: we see only the character, and forget to applaud the
performer (which, of course, was the goal of Gluck’s opera reform that
gave birth to Iphigénie). It is a good thing too, for there are few
moments in the score that allow for an applause break, and fewer still in the
part of Orestes: with the exception of his Act 2 monolog, that
character’s best moments are ensemble scenes (such as his duets with
Pilades, and the Act 3 trio with Pilades and Iphigenia) and occasional
throw-away lines of declamation, such as the single phrase allowed him in Act
1, which he rendered with the perfectly pitched, beautifully delivered anguish.
The role of Orestes is well suited to the Domingo of today: it offers the lower
vocal range he now prefers; and the patented absence of fast coloratura allows
the singer to showcase an impeccably contoured and virtually unadorned bel
canto line molded flawlessly to the declamation, as Gluck’s music
submits to the demands of the drama.
The only issues that arose throughout the performance were not of
Domingo’s own making. An occasional lapse in projection in Act 3 was a
gift of the director who positioned Orestes at the very back of the stage with
his back to the audience. As for the moments during which the singer seemed to
have trouble catching up with the orchestra, this concern was shared by all the
soloists and the chorus and must be attributed to some unaccountably brisk
tempos selected by conductor William Lacey — a particularly dicey
proposition, considering that the chorus rarely had the luxury of facing the
baton, while Domingo and Mathey spent the opening scene of Act 2 blind-folded.
On the other hand, the British conductor elicited an unexpectedly strong, clean
performance from the WNO orchestra, typically the company’s weakest link.
Granted, this feat might have been made possible by the absence of several
habitual offenders from the wind and brass sections in Gluck’s
On the whole, despite its ups and downs, the WNO presentation of
Iphigénie en Tauride has been a testament to the enduring power of
Gluck’s chef-d’oeuvre, reminding us of the heights to
which its drama can be lifted by a great interpreter, and thankfully, of the
score’s ability to overcome the deficiencies of a mediocre one. Not that
this opera needs much interpreting: unlike much of the pre-Mozart repertoire,
it does not feel out of place on a modern stage. Instead, it offers high-minded
tragedy, revealed through flexible declamation and ensemble dialog, rather than
high-powered solo numbers — an approach embraced in many contemporary
operas. But unlike their music, viewed sometimes as too dissonant and
forbidding, Gluck’s score is transcendently beautiful, selling the
concept of operatic ensemble drama to an audience raised on the Romantic
era’s coloratura tours-de-force. I hope we shall see this work often. I
also hope that when next Iphigenia of Tauris arrives in Washington DC, she is
not only a pleasure to hear, but also a pleasure to watch.