Recently in Performances
On February 21, 2017, San Diego Opera presented Giuseppe Verdi’s last composition, Falstaff, at the Civic Theater. Although this was the second performance in the run and the 21st was a Tuesday, there were no empty seats to be seen. General Director David Bennett assembled a stellar international cast that included baritone Roberto de Candia in the title role and mezzo-soprano Marianne Cornetti singing her first Mistress Quickly.
In Neil Armfield’s new production of Die Zauberflöte at Lyric Opera of Chicago the work is performed as entertainment on a summer’s night staged by neighborhood children in a suburban setting. The action takes place in the backyard of a traditional house, talented performers collaborate with neighborhood denizens, and the concept of an onstage audience watching this play yields a fresh perspective on staging Mozart’s opera.
Patricia Racette’s Salome is an impetuous teenage princess who interrupts the royal routine on a cloudy night by demanding to see her stepfather’s famous prisoner. Racette’s interpretation makes her Salome younger than the characters portrayed by many of her famous colleagues of the past. This princess plays mental games with Jochanaan and with Herod. Later, she plays a physical game with the gruesome, natural-looking head of the prophet.
On February 17, 2017 Pacific Opera Project performed Gaetano Donizetti’s L’elisir d’amore at the Ebell Club in Los Angeles. After that night, it can be said that neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night can stay this company from putting on a fine show. Earlier in the day the Los Angeles area was deluged with heavy rain that dropped up to an inch of water per hour. That evening, because of a blown transformer, there was no electricity in the Ebell Club area.
There has been much reconstruction of Marseille’s magnificent Opera Municipal since it opened in 1787. Most recently a huge fire in 1919 provoked a major, five-year renovation of the hall and stage that reopened in 1924.
With her irresistible cocktail of spontaneity and virtuosity, Cecilia
Bartoli is a beloved favourite of Amsterdam audiences. In triple celebratory
mode, the Italian mezzo-soprano chose Rossini’s La Cenerentola,
whose bicentenary is this year, to mark twenty years of performing at the
Concertgebouw, and her twenty-fifth performance at its Main Hall.
Matthew Rose and Gary Matthewman Winterreise: a Parallel Journey at the Wigmore Hall, a recital with extras. Schubert's winter journey reflects the poetry of Wilhelm Müller, where images act as signposts mapping the protagonist's psychological journey.
Donizetti’s Anna Bolena, composed in 1830, didn’t make it to Lisbon until 1843 when there were 14 performances at its magnificent Teatro São Carlos (opened 1793), and there were 17 more performances spread over the next two decades. The entire twentieth century saw but three (3) performances in this European capital.
It is difficult to know where to begin to praise the stunning achievement of Opera San Jose’s West Coast premiere of Silent Night.
Like Carmen, Billy Budd is an operatic personage of such breadth and depth that he becomes unique to everyone. This signals that there is no Billy Budd (or Carmen) who will satisfy everyone. And like Carmen, Billy Budd may be indestructible because the opera will always mean something to someone.
American composer John Adams turns 70 this year. By way of celebration no
less than seven concerts in this season’s NTR ZaterdagMatinee series
feature works by Adams, including this concert version of his first opera,
Nixon in China.
Despite the freshness, passion and directness, and occasional wry quirkiness, of many of the works which formed this lunchtime recital at the Wigmore Hall - given by mezzo-soprano Kathryn Rudge, pianist James Baillieu and viola player Guy Pomeroy - a shadow lingered over the quiet nostalgia and pastoral eloquence of the quintessentially ‘English’ works performed.
'Nobody does Gilbert and Sullivan anymore.’ This was the comment from many of my friends when I mentioned the revival of Mike Leigh's 2015 production of The Pirates of Penzance at English National Opera (ENO). Whilst not completely true (English Touring Opera is doing Patience next month), this reflects the way performances of G&S have rather dropped out of the mainstream. That Leigh's production takes the opera on its own terms and does not try to send it up, made it doubly welcome.
On Feb 3, 2017, Arizona Opera presented Giacomo Puccini’s dramatic opera Madama Butterfly. Sandra Lopez was the naive fifteen-year-old who falls hopelessly in love with the American Naval Officer.
In the last of my three day adventure, I headed to Vienna for the Wiener
Philharmoniker at the Musikverein (my first time!) for Mahler and Brahms.
In Amsterdam legend Janine Jansen and the seventh Principal Conductor of the
Royal Concertgebouw, Daniele Gatti, came together for their first engagement in
a ravishing performance of Berg’s Violin Concerto.
I extravagantly scheduled hearing the Berliner, Concertgebouw Orchestra, and
Wiener Philharmoniker, to hear these three top orchestra perform their series
programmes opening the New Year.
There is no bigger or more prestigious name in avant-garde French theater than Romeo Castellucci (b. 1960), the Italian metteur en scène of this revival of Arthur Honegger’s mystère lyrique, Joan of Arc at the Stake (1938) at the Opéra Nouvel in Lyon.
On January 28, 2017, Los Angeles Opera premiered James Robinson’s nineteen twenties production of Mozart’s The Abduction from the Seraglio, which places the story on the Orient Express. Since Abduction is a work with spoken dialogue like The Magic Flute, the cast sang their music in German and spoke their lines in English.
Fecund Jason, father of his wife Isifile’s twins and as well father of his seductress Medea’s twins, does indeed have a problem — he prefers to sleep with and wed Medea. In this resurrection of the most famous opera of the seventeenth century he evidently also sleeps with Hercules.
05 Nov 2011
Bluebeard’s Castle, Royal Festival Hall
Bartók’s only opera, a masterpiece to rank with other sole works in
the genre such as Fidelio and Pelléas et Mélisande, was
chosen for the climax of the Philharmonia’s year-long series,
‘Infernal Dance: Inside the World of Béla Bartók’.
It was the
obvious and fitting choice, both as idea and reality. But first came a far from
negligible opening to the concert: a visit from Debussy, albeit in still
earlier guise than the composer of Pelléas, and the third of
Bartók’s three piano concertos, the soloist again Yefim Bronfman.
Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune is pretty much
universally considered to mark the dawn of twentieth-century music. (The
programme note by Malcom Gillies presented Debussy’s work as a candidate,
but oddly claimed ‘some date it as late as 1913, with Stravinsky’s
Le sacre du printemps.’ No one would gainsay the importance of
The Rite of Spring, yet, by the same token, surely no one would date
the beginning of twentieth-century music after Schoenberg’s
emancipation of the dissonance.) In the hands of Esa-Pekka Salonen — he
only picked up a baton later, preferring to mould the music here more freely
— Prélude à l’après-midi received a fine performance.
Samuel Coles’s opening flute solo was not only not conducted by Salonen;
he did not even herald it, leaving Coles to begin in his own time. He did not
disappoint; nor did Chris Cowie’s equally fine oboe solo work. Salonen
shaped an initially languid reading, soon bathed in the warm glow of the
Philharmonia strings. There was certainly a sense of the novelty of form we can
all too readily take for granted, but which would point the way not only to
later Debussy and to a number of works by Bartók and other composers of his
generation, but even to post-war composers such as Boulez, as conductor one of
Debussy’s — and Bartók’s — foremost interpreters.
Flexibility of tempo proved the key that unlocked malleability of form. Finally
came that undefinable, ineffable magic that marks a distinguished performance
of this great work.
Such lyricism also informed the opening of the piano concerto, Bronfman
presenting it as if in a single breath, foretelling an over-arching melodic
approach. The tempo adopted, however, sounded slower than usual; moreover, the
general style adopted was more classical, post-Mozartian even, than one often
hears. Sometimes I wanted a little more fire from both soloist and orchestra in
the first movement: though an interesting reading, it was ultimately a little
underwhelming. The cool but not cold dignity with which Bronfman announced his
opening statements in the slow movement was striking. Thereafter, the
extraordinary night-music — surely the most interesting part of a
concerto that does not always show Bartók at his best — was piquant and
lively under Salonen. He clearly relished the colours that point back to Ravel
but also look forward to Messiaen. A relatively cool classicism paid dividends
with the counterpoint of the finale, but elsewhere much sounded a little too
relaxed, at times verging on the lethargic. At one point, the pace noticeably
picked up, but it seemed more of a correction than an intensification. I have
no idea why the lights were dimmed at one point and then turned back up; it was
probably a mistake, but it would be nice to think that it was a warning shot to
the serried ranks of coughers.
Bluebeard’s Castle was performed in a semi-staged version,
directed by Nick Hillel. Bartók’s opera is a strange case, in that in
many respects it seems almost made to be performed in concert: its interiority,
as heralded by the prologue, may even work better if it compels the listener to
direct the work in his head. I am not sure that the production, based upon
projections onto a ‘motorised shape’ above the orchestra and a
simple enough design around the borders of the stage, added very much, but if
it liberated the imagination of some unimaginative souls then it will have done
some good and little harm. So far as I could tell, the designs, projections,
and lighting all worked as they should.
Woodland film rendered the opening music more than usually
Pelléas-like; that seemed to suit Salonen’s strategy too, at
this stage characterised by what one might paradoxically call a subdued teeming
of orchestral life, rendering contrast of Judit’s viewing the torture
chamber all the greater. What we saw here was rather literally representative:
some instruments of torture, followed by red for blood — though oddly,
the red seemed more redolent of socialist propaganda posters, which,
Bartók’s politics notwithstanding, I cannot believe was the intention.
Such a colour-based approach might actually have worked better with
Schoenberg’s contemporary Die glückliche Hand. On the other
hand, visual evocation of diamonds complemented the fantasy so finely painted
by the Philharmonia’s harps and celesta. Even then, however, Michelle
DeYoung’s facial expressions, let alone her vocalism, had much more to
say than any film projection, and still more so in the subsequent case of the
flowers. DeYoung offered more than ample compensation for the previously
advertised Measha Brueggergosman; hers was a powerfully dramatic and
beautifully sung performance, equally alert to the demands of text and melodic
line. She was formidable, not in the slightest pathetic; one could readily
understand how she had her fateful way. Bluebeard’s defiant pride in the
splendours of his kingdom was far better expressed by Sir John
Tomlinson’s performance, noble yet wounded, than by turning the lights on
and showing a few clouds on the move.
I took a while to be convinced by Salonen’s reading, wondering if the
tension was sagging a little in the middle; this was certainly not a
razor-sharp Bluebard’s Castle in the manner of Boulez. And yet,
matters would become clearer, the greater strategy paying off handsomely, when
the cold menace of the increasingly modernist-sounding orchestral palette
asserted itself as Judit learned of her predecessors, likewise in the
cumulative terror leading up to the final revelation. (DeYoung was superb here
too.) The post-Wagnerian orchestral glory of the final climax put me in mind of
Schoenberg’s Gurrelieder, but it was the desolation of Tomlinson
thereafter that moved most of all. As with so much of the production, the
appearance of Judit as an apparition at the back of stage did no violence to
the work, but might better have been discarded.