27 Feb 2012
“Figures from the Antique”, Wigmore Hall
Modern and historic responses to classical tragedy and myth formed the unifying focus for this latest stage of Ian Bostridge’s year-long ‘Ancient and Modern’ project at the Wigmore Hall.
The Importance of Being Earnest , Gerald Barry’s fifth opera, was commissioned by the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra and the Barbican, and was first performed in concert, Thomas Adès conducting the London premiere.
‘Beauty is the one form of spirituality that we experience through the senses.’ In Thomas Mann’s, Death in Venice, Plato’s axiom stirs the hopes of the aging, intellectually stale poet, Gustav von Aschenbach, that he may rekindle his creativity.
There is a sense in which it all began in London, Puccini having been seized in 1900 with the idea of an opera on this subject after watching David Belasco’s play here.
The tenor that the audience most wanted to hear, Plácido Domingo, opened the vocal program with “Junto al puente de la peña” (Next to the rock bridge) from La Canción del Olvido (The song of Oblivion) by José Serrano. He sounded rested and his voice soared majestically over the orchestra.
Tucked away somewhere in the San Francisco Opera warehouse was an old John Cox production of Così fan tutte from Monte Carlo. Well, not that old by current standards at San Francisco Opera.
Rossini's Maometto Secondo is a major coup for Garsington Opera at Wormsley, confirming its status as the leading specialist Rossini house in Britain. Maometto Secondo is a masterpiece, yet rarely performed because it's formidably difficult to sing. It's a saga with some of the most intense music Rossini ever wrote, expressing a drama so powerful that one can understand why early audiences needed "happy endings" to water down its impact
I suppose it was inevitable that, in this Britten Centenary year, the 66th Aldeburgh Festival would open with Peter Grimes.
Die Entführung aus dem Serail at Garsington Opera at Wormsley isn’t Mozart as you’d expect but it’s true to the spirit of Mozart who loved witty, madcap japes.
What a pity! On a glorious — well, by recent English standards — summer’s day, there can be few more beautiful English countryside settings than Glyndebourne, with the added bonus, as alas much of the audience appears to understand it, of an opera house attached.
Described by one critic as “cosmically gifted”, during her tragically short career, American mezzo-soprano Lorraine Hunt Lieberson amazed and delighted audiences with the spellbinding beauty of her singing and the astonishing honesty of her performances.
“I wrote it almost without noticing.” So Verdi declared when reminded of his eighth — and perhaps least frequently performed, opera, Alzira. One might say that, since he composed the work, no-one else has much noticed either.
Just when you thought the protagonist was Hoffmann! Who, rather what stole the show?
When is verismo verily veristic? Or what is a virginal girl dressed in communion white doing in the two murderous acts of the Los Angeles Opera’s current production of Tosca? And why does she sing the shepherd's song?
Wagner’s Lohengrin is not an unfamiliar visitor to the UK thanks, in the main, to Elijah Moshinsky’s perennial production at Covent Garden.
Philip Glass's The Perfect American at the ENO in London is a visual treat, but the libretto is mind-numbingly anodyne.
Jonathan Dove's Mansfield Park, with libretto by his regular collaborator Alasdair Middleton, has the remarkable distinction of being the first completed operatic adaptation of any Jane Austen novel to be staged.
London’s two principal opera companies have offered a baffling near-silence as their response to Wagner’s two-hundredth anniversary.
If a recent trio of musically superlative performances at Canadian Opera Company is indicative of their norm, the casting director should get a hefty bonus.
Just when you imagine you’ve got the operatic time-line fixed in your mind in a clean sweep of what goes where and when and how, you hear another work from another forgotten corner of the repertory that upends one’s conclusions.
Nothing inspires fable quite like defeat. The great riddle of Spanish history is how the Christian Visigoths managed to lose the Iberian peninsula to the Moors in one small battle in 711 and took eight hundred years to get it back.
Modern and historic responses to classical tragedy and myth formed the unifying focus for this latest stage of Ian Bostridge’s year-long ‘Ancient and Modern’ project at the Wigmore Hall.
One mild criticism levelled at Bostridge in the past has been that his repertoire range is rather limited, but this recital series is convincingly dispelling that censure; here, an intriguing assemblage of chamber cantatas proved that he is as comfortable, and accomplished, in styles as disparate as baroque seria and French mélodie.
Bostridge was partnered by the Austrian soprano, Angelika Kirchschlager, and, opening the recital with Handel’s O numi eterni, she immediately established her striking dramatic presence, launching with unrestrained emotional force into an anguished account of the rape and suicide of Lucrezia. La Lucrezia is a truly ‘operatic’ work. Except for the admixture of recitative and aria, it has very little resemblance to the standard Baroque cantata; rather it is a complex scena in a multifaceted and unique form. Such complexity is integral to the development of Lucrezia’s agonising responses: pain, fury, doubt, resignation and revenge. Kirchschlager maximised the transitions — often unpredictable and unsettling — from recitative to aria, powerfully revealing the volatility and extremity of Lucrezia’s emotional states. Histrionic outbursts characterised by abrupt, jarring shifts of register were juxtaposed with calmer episodes where a reflective ‘cello accompaniment (sensitively played by Jonathan Manson of the English Concert) intimated the underlying sadness beneath the outpourings of aggressive vengeance. With a wild energy, Kirchschlager absolutely inhabited Lucrezia’s destabilised, damaged psyche. Yet, while not lacking in dramatic impact, her projection of the text was less impressive; and, it was a pity that her performance was so bound to the score throughout.
In contrast, Bostridge’s rendering of Alessandro Scarlatti’s Io son Neron, l’imperator del mondo was most definitely ‘off the book’. Bostridge’s unmannered delivery — and the intermingling of flamboyant posturing and imperious flourishes with traces of ironic insinuation — revealed a dramatic and emotional range far beyond the internalised, tormented modes with which he established his reputation. In the first aria, in which a supercilious Nero challenges even the gods, Bostridge demonstrated both vocal strength and flexibility as he arrogantly declared, “I want Jove to tremble before the magnificence of my presence”. With fitting irony, the rejections of the notion of compassion in the second aria draw forth the tenor’s most beautiful, seductive tone. The recitatives conveyed the tempestuousness of the deluded, unbalanced emperor, demonstrating his extreme cruelty and his delight in the suffering and slaughter he causes. The last aria 'Veder chi pena' is set as a tarantella, a southern Italian folk dance, and Bostridge enjoyed the paradox that this light-hearted form is in fact the ultimate demonstration of Nero's malignity as he sings: "To watch those that suffer and sigh is my heart's desire, evil since birth.”
The ‘modern’ half of the recital began with Eric Satie's little known “La Mort de Socrate”, a quiet, reflective account of the great Greek philosopher’s final moments before he is poisoned. Impressively performing the ceaselessly unfolding declamation from memory, Bostridge demonstrated his profound musical intelligence, appreciating both the understated manner and charm of the early twentieth-century French idiom and the underlying sincerity and affectivity of the sentiments expressed. With poise and elegance he related the French text — fragments from Plato’s Dialogues translated by Victor Cousin — his even tone and graceful delivery unaffectedly revealing its simple poignancy. Bostridge’s reading was sympathetically supported by some accomplished playing by the Aurora Orchestra, conducted by Nicholas Collon, who drew sharply defined textures from his ensemble.
Kirchschlager closed the recital with an impassioned performance of Benjamin Britten’s late masterwork, Phaedra, a ‘dramatic cantata’ written for Janet Baker. In contrast to the tragic nobility with which Baker reportedly imbued the role, Kirchschlager went for an unrelenting, full-throttle approach; and while she undoubtedly conveyed the neuroses and instability of Theseus’s unfaithful wife, by emphasising Phaedra’s sexuality and fickleness she neglected the quieter, internalised guilt and remorse that Britten’s music suggests. Certainly, in the ‘Presto to Hippolytus’ Britten sets explicitly sexual imagery from Robert Lowell’s translation of Racine: “Look, this monster ravenous/ For her execution, will not flinch,/ I want your sword’s spasmodic final inch.” And here Kirchschlager’s dazzling timbre together with striking rhythmic incisiveness from the instrumentalists of the Aurora Orchestra powerfully conveyed her adulterous lust and intimated her insanity.
But, Britten’s music is never frantic; the heights of Phaedra’s obsession are depicted by a chilling passage for stratospheric strings accompanied by untuned percussive strikes which suggest a pulsing, diminishing heartbeat, both serenely beautiful and poignantly prophetic of her imminent death. In the final ‘Adagio to Theseus’, Phaedra shows calm acceptance of her fate — “A cold composure I have never know/ Gives me a moment’s pause.” — her resignation underpinned by the orchestra’s gradual modulation towards C Major harmony and ‘resolution’. Superb instrumental playing — cellist Oliver Coates deserves especial mention — brought some emotional variety to the performance, to counter Kirchschlager’s remarkable but unremitting frenzy.
Claire Seymour
Programme:
Handel: O numi eterni (La Lucrezia) HWV145
Corelli: La Follia for violin and string ensemble
Scarlatti: Io son Neron, l’imperator del mondo
Satie: “The Death of Socrates” from Socrate
Britten: Phaedra Op.93