21 Jun 2011
A funny thing happened on the way to Anna Bolena…
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 Threshold”.
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 performance!
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’.
As the German language describes so beautifully, a “Schrei aus tiefstem Herzen” was felt as Evelyn Herlitzius channelled an Elektra from the depths of her soul.
A funny thing happened on the way to Anna Bolena…
Zurich Opera, finding itself without its star mezzo (Elīna Garanča fell ill) and finding no viable substitute, re-purposed much of the Donizetti cast, rang up diva Inva Mula and superstar Jonas Kaufmann, and had themselves a gala-quality La Bohème (or, Anna Bohema, if you will) instead.
Having recently “done” the Puccini opus in Catania, and having already experienced this same Swiss production on DVD, I must say my enthusiasm was dampened as I entered the theatre. Routine Puccini seemed to loom in place of rare Donizetti. Still, I mused, I could see how well the production fared “live” and probably enjoy the starry line up.
Imagine my pleasant surprise when, from the downbeat, I was mesmerized.
Vincent Lemaire’s spare set design works wondrously well. A basic raised platform spanning the width of he stage is flanked by multi-purpose walls left (with household cabinet inset that swaps out with other scenic elements) and right (the obligatory door to the garret that doubles as Act Three’s Inn entrance). A claustrophobic skylight presses down on the opening scene, and a back wall is topped by cutouts of Parisian rooftops poking up over the ceiling. An omnipresent stove with smokestack craning jauntily upward remains down center left throughout, and the few requisite pieces of furniture complete the shabby lodgings. In a brilliant visual coup, as Act Two’s first chord sounds in a breathless segue from Mimi and Rodolfo’s Act One exit, the upstage wall falls backward in a glance and opens the apartment playing space to encompass the full stage, a “street” which immediately fills with revelers as the skylight flies up and away. Act Three simply re-dresses the platform once again with a simple addition of a bench, a “buffet” sign at the inn and a customs office window where the garret’s cabinet had been. All of this was atmospherically lit by Hans-Rudolf Kunz (with one caveat below), and ingeniously costumed in riffs on 60’s Free-Love garb by Jorge Jara.
Jonas Kaufmann achieved world star status while coming of age in a variety of roles in this house, and he continues to have a special relationship with the Zurich Publikum. Were any proof needed for his world-wide acclaim, Mr. Kaufmann provided it in abundance. First, he has an actor’s instincts for subtle character development and encompasses a richly diverse Rodolfo in physical action as well as vocalization. Yes, he covers the voice on occasion, most usually on introspective phrases, but the trick pays off in deeply felt effects. On this occasion the role’s high-flying, soaring phrases rang out with thrilling, gleaming, full-throated tone every bit as Italianate as my recent encounter with Giordani’s interpretation. He did misjudge the very end of the Act One duet, starting out taking the lower harmony with Mimi, and then flipping up to the unison/octave high note in voix mixe. Not bad, secure enough, just …odd. Still, this was a consummate performance from one of the world’s leading singers, and the shouts of approval and cadenced clapping greeting Jonas at curtain call threatened to bring the plaster down off the ceiling.
Nor was he alone in his triumph. Inva Mula is an ideal Mimi, petite and youthful in demeanor, yet with a soprano mature enough to handle every spinto demand of the role’s heavier going. Her “Mi chiamano Mimi” was both a model of clarity for its character exposition, and a Masters Class in how to build and shape an aria. The substantial pregnant pause before she began “ma quando vien lo sgelo” had us on the edge of our seats in anticipation as Ms. Mula drew us into most willingly into Mimi’s world with what seemed liked a giant “exhale’ of a phrase. Her full-bodied lyric has just a bit of an edge giving the voice a vibrant presence in all registers and volumes. A treasureable performance.
Massimo Cavalletti contributed a memorable Marcello, not only for the straight forward deployment of his rich and robust baritone, but also for his winning stage demeanor and personal investment in the emotional ‘money’ moments. Carlo Colombara proved to be another audience favorite for his soundly sung, unusually specific Colline, whose ‘Coat Aria’ was characterful and moving. Cheyne Davidson was the high-caliber Schaunard, rounding out the quartet with his solid singing easy stage deportment.
Eva Mei, who was to have sung the title part in Anna Bolena, did not face near the same challenges as Musetta, but the glamorous and gifted Ms. Mei threw herself into the proceedings with relish, and regaled us with some delightful sights and sounds. Making the most of every opportunity, she negotiated her creamy soprano through a wholly engaging “Quando m’en vo,” dominating Act Two as she must. Proving a wonderful collaborator, in later acts Eva ceded the focus to her colleagues all the while remaining dramatically engaged in a well-rounded, ‘human’ interpretation. Davide Fersini was an unusually youthful, opportunistic, and well sung Benoit; Giuseppe Scorsin provided the ‘glue’ needed to hold together Act Two as Alcindoro; and Carl Hieger was the secure Parpignol. Ernst Raffelsberger’s chorus sang cleanly and enthusiastically.
Ulrich Senn has re-mounted Philippe Sireuil’s direction with marvelous results. I have seldom seen characterizations and inter-relationships so richly detailed, so grounded in truth, so well-motivated, and so excitingly blocked. The by-play between Marcello and Rodolfo, for example established a loving, almost co-dependent relationship that was reinforced right up until the last moment, when Marcello tightly hugs and physically restrains Rodolfo from going to Mimi’s corpse. What a powerful moment! I never thought I could be moved to tears at the end of this chestnut, but there I was blubbering like Cher after her Met visit in “Moonstruck.” Mimi’s final moments were similarly well crafted, with her lying on her side, suggesting a fetal position. When her hand fell out of the muff she looked for all the world like a wounded bird who had fallen from a tree. There were so many creative touches that were so right, so fresh, so telling, that it would be impossible to discuss them all here. This kind of inspired specificity is what fine direction is about.
A very small quibble, though, which I hope future revivals might correct: the solo character placement in Act II needed focus, perhaps only so much as better lighting specials. Puccini paints a busy canvas in the Momus scene and the principals occasionally got lost in the bustle. But, even with that small consideration, this was a stunning achievement.
Javier Camarena and Massimo Cavaletti
Maestro Massimo Zanetti paced the proceedings with infectious drive, infusing the performance with a freshness and spontaneity I did not think possible with this thrice-familiar opera. He also proved an amiable partner for his exceptional soloists, seeming to live the scenes with them, enabling moments of exceptional impact. The first rate pit responded with luminous playing throughout.
Would that conductor Daniele Gatti have been infected by such inspiration , for the next night’s Falstaff was not helped by his atypically detached musical leadership. Some of the great moments of Verdi’s final work scored their full effect, to be sure, but others, like the male and female quartets dueling in different meters hung together, but were not seamless. Ditto the “pizzica-stuzzica” ensemble which lacked the cleanliness it needs to sparkle. I have long admired Maestro Gatti, but this night he too often seemed distracted.
There was a lot to admire in the accomplished cast, however, not least of which were the Nanetta and Fenton of Eva Liebau and Javier Camarena. Ms. Liebau has the sort of youthful, crystal clear, shimmering soprano that is a perfect fit for Nanetta’s lyrical flights of fancy. The best tunes in the show are split between her and Mr. Camarena who regales us with a simply gorgeous, wide-ranging, dulcet tenor, effortlessly produced, that blossoms more the higher it goes. Massimo Cavalletti was back on stage with a potent, rafter-rattling turn as Ford; ditto Eva Mei with her well-sung and finely tuned characterization as a wilier-than-usual Alice Ford. The role of Mrs. Quickly suits Yvonne Naef to a tee, and she relished every phrase of it, putting her imposing lower middle and chest registers in over drive, and her wicked sense of fun on full alert. I have never heard Ms. Naef perform better. How utterly delightful it was for once to have a Meg Page that held her own with the other three (better-drawn) ladies’ roles. Judith Schmid was a determined foil and her sassy, ringing mezzo had fiery intent.
I wanted to like Anthony Michaels-Moore’s seasoned Falstaff more. He has certainly performed the role widely, he has the physique du role, and he has a charismatic presence. But the part seemed to be pitched about a third too low for the core of his resonant baritone, diminishing the impact of several key phrases. AM-M seemed game for anything and he was an assured, fleet-footed protagonist, although on occasion his attempts to make some cute on-stage moves came off a bit fey for such a womanizing lecher.
Peter Straka was a capable Dr. Cajus; the reliable Martin Zyssett an appropriately scruffy Bardolfo; and Davide Fersini gave us an unusually well-sung Pistola. Domeni Gloor was given more stage time than is common, and the young lad acquitted himself commendably.
Scene from Falstaff
Set Designer Rolf Glittenberg provided a very handsome playing space, with solid side walls and vaulted ceiling creating a ‘house’ out of white louvered panels. The back wall had stylized, changeable open windows and doors that gave way to a floral wallpaper in Ford’s house and then in the forest scene, to a shimmering beaded curtain with a huge Herne’s Oak pattern in the bead work. Juergen Hoffmann devised a pretty straight forward light plot, but also came up with some wonderful fantasy effects for the forest scene. Marianne Glittenberg’s costumes were eye-catching if curious. Like some of the props and set dressing, the attire in the home was inspired by 1950’s fashions, while the Garter Inn scenes were inspired by Shakespearean times. Not unpleasing, and they were all character-specific, just…curious.
There were fewer oddities in Sven-Eric Bechtolf’s direction, and he managed the traffic well enough with straight forward blocking. But Bechtolf also miscued a couple of surefire moments like the kiss-behind-the-screen which was simply not heard, and the basket toss out the window which simply didn’t ‘read.’ Too, the double marriage was clumsily managed and visually implausible. In the end though, Zurich’s talented principals carried the day, supported by some intriguing design choices and an unobtrusive director, and Mr. Gatti rallied the assembled forces to a taut and compelling finale which sent at least this ‘fool’ out of the theatre with a smile on his face.