26 Jun 2012
Miah Persson, Wigmore Hall
At the Wigmore Hall, there’s long been a tradition of Swedish song. We’ve heard many of the greats, Anne Sofie von Otter, Barbara Bonney and others. Miah Persson and Roger Vignoles are in this constellation.
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.
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“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.
At the Wigmore Hall, there’s long been a tradition of Swedish song. We’ve heard many of the greats, Anne Sofie von Otter, Barbara Bonney and others. Miah Persson and Roger Vignoles are in this constellation.
One of their earliest London concerts was built around their 2003 recording Soul and Landscape (Hyperion). Since then, Miah Persson has become one of the most significant lyric sopranos in this country. The pair have been back many times at the Wigmore Hall, but it was still a pleasure to hear them, particularly in repertoire that is “new” to English audiences.
Persson and Vignoles began their programme with Emil Sjögren’s Sechs Lieder aus Julius Wollf’s Tannhäuser, (1884). Not Wagner’s Tannhäuser but a setting of an epic poem written in 1880. As Geoffrey Norris writes in his knowledgeable programme notes, Wollf (1834-1910) liked subjects “of a mythical past described somewhat derogatorily as Butzenzenscheibenpoesie, a Butzenscheibe being an old form of archery target”, like those round fake-archaic window panes we see in mock-historic pubs. Although I hadn’t read Norris’s notes until I started writing this piece, that’s exactly how I felt about the songs. Sjögren, (1853-1918) chooses sections that deal with love, and are sweet rather than dramatic. Don’t even dream of Wagner. These are songs that evoke late 19th century middle class values. “Ich möchte schweben über Tal und Hügel “ let Perssons sing very quietly. This Tannhäuser (or Elizabeth) is a gentle soul.
Tchaikovsky songs of the same period brought out Persson’s abilities as dramatist. In “Sred’ shumnovo bala” (At the Ball, op 38/3 1878), Tchaikovsky pains dance rhytms into the piano part, and pathos into the voice. The ball is cheerful, but the beloved eyes are sad. It’s a secretive song, but Perssons makes you notice the subtle ciontrasts of mood. “Solovey” (op 60/4 1886) stressed Persson’s voice slightly, but in “Cradle Song” (op 16/1 1872) she managed to convey the strange darkness behind this lullaby with images of eagles.
Five songs by Lars-Erik Larsson (1908-1986) to words by Hjalmar Gullberg followed. Larsson and Gullberg worked together frequently and their cantata “Förklädd gud” (God in disguise) is a staple in Swedish choral singing circles. (It’s even on YouTube). Larsson worked in broadcasting, so he appreciated music that would have broad popular appeal, even though he studied with Alban Berg and was the first Swedish composer to experiment with serialism. These songs, here transcribed for voice and piano, have charm, rollicking piano, and contrasting cleanly arching vocal lines. “Skyn, blomman och en lärka” (The cloud, the flower and the lark) was lit up by Persson’s ability to smile into her singing, adding warm tone. In “Kyssande vind” (the kiss of the wind), the piano rolls up a storm. Someone is stealing a kiss, disguised as the wind. The song ends with a flourish, and Persson sings with such happiness that you know the kiss is welcome.
More familiar songs by Edvard Grieg, in which Persson excels. “En svane” (op 252 1876) had the right hint of melancholy. Elizabeth Schwarzkopf’s recording, in German, is hauntingly beautiful, but the song is even lovelier in Norwegian. “Mens jeg venter” (On the water, op 60/3 1893-4) was particularly beautiful. Vignoles playing sparkled : you could visualize light shining off the ocean waves. “Bro, bro, brille” goes the refrain, and Perssons makes it joyous.
The highlight of this recital, for me, anyway, were the songs from Gösta Nystroem (1890-1966). Nystreom is one of the finest Swedish composers, whose “Sånger vid havet” (Songs by the sea), “På reveln” (At the reef) and “Själ och landskap” (Soul and landscape) are a part of the repertoire of any female Swedish singer. Miah Persson of course does those for soprano : Nystroem inspired her first major recording nearly 10 years ago. Here she chose two songs from Nystroem’s incidental music to “The Tempest” (1946). Give Nystroem’s fascination with oceans, it’s hardly surprising that the orchestral parts of this music are wildly turbulent, complete with wordless chorus. The two sings Persson and Vignoles pick refect the magical side of the story, “Where the Bee sucks” and “Come unto these yellow sands” (in Swedish) are exquisitely lyrical, capturing the strange magic that Shakespeare conures. The refrain “Hark! Hark! Bow-wow” becomes “Hallå, Hallå, Å”, whuch gives Nystroem a chance to write exotic ulullation, which Persson sings with clear, bright tones. Later, the refrain “Ding dong bell” becomes “Bing, bång, farväl”, and Persson’s voice rings like a silvery bell.
Perhaps one of the most famous of Gösta Nystroem’s works is his “Sinfonia del Mare” (1946-8) a magnificent symphonic poem with a song in its midst, to a poem by Ebba Linqvist. Arising from the wild ocean intensity of the music, the song seems almost supernatural. “Just as one flees the beloved, not bearing to be consumed”, goes the poem, “So I have fled the sea”. But just as life without love is in vain, the poet must leave sunny days in the forst, drawn back to “a sigh of the wind from the sea”. Persson and Vignoles do an arrangement for piano and voice, so the emphasis is on the second strophe. “I must return, and sit by the sea and know. That is all there is on earth”. This is the title of the poem, and its meaning.
Anne Ozorio