Opera Today

Andrea Clearfield — An Interview

We spoke via Skype on April 13, 2010.

TM: Did you grow up in a musical family?

AC: Yes, I did. My father is a physician and my mother is a painter; they are both amateur musicians and there was always music in the house. When I was growing up they would invite people over to play chamber music. I was a pianist very early on. My mother also played the piano, so when I learned the flute we could play trios — my father played the clarinet. We would play through various arrangements including the Bach Double Concerto — whatever we could find.

TM: Where did you grow up?

AC: In Bala Cynwyd, a suburb of Philadelphia.

TM: Had your family been on the Main Line for a long time, or had they moved to the area?

AC: They had moved to the area. I was born in Wynnfield, which is just outside Philadelphia.

TM: Farther back, were there musicians in the family?

AC: Not that I know of. My father’s mother loved to dance and she loved theater. She introduced me to musicals and plays when I was a kid. But I don’t know of any other musicians.

TM: Did you start on piano because your mother was an enthusiastic pianist?

AC: She was actually a very shy pianist. She studied when she was younger, but didn’t have the nerve for performance. Her childhood piano was moved to our house when I was five, and I sat down and started to play something that I had heard at school. That stimulated my parent’s interest in giving me lessons, since I seemed to have a natural interest in playing. I began lessons at that time.

TM: When did you start on the flute?

AC: In junior high school. I practiced, and somehow became first flute in the school orchestra. I really enjoyed playing in the orchestra. I played flute and piccolo, and was also the pianist/accompanist for the choirs, starting in second or third grade. And because I was already there, I would be called on if the percussionists were absent. So by default I was playing percussion as well. Later somebody had figured out that I had perfect pitch, so I ended up by the timpani.

TM: This was all in the public schools in Bala?

AC: Yes, at Cynwyd Elementary, Bala Cynwyd Junior High, and Lower Merion High School.

TM: Do they continue to have strong music programs there?

AC: I hope so. One of my mentors was Dr. Herman Giersch, the choir and music director at Lower Merion High School. He is in his nineties now, and still playing and tuning pianos. He was an inspiration — his passion for music, his encouragement, and the training he gave all of us, so that we could become the best musicians that we could be, was an integral part of my musical development. Later on I was privileged to have great teachers. There were music theory classes in my junior high school! I don’t know how many schools still have a theory program. Leonard Murphy was another important and supportive teacher in junior high school.

TM: Were you writing compositions in elementary school?

AC: I never thought of myself as a composer — sometimes I wonder if that was because I didn’t have any female role models as a young woman — but I was always writing. It was a natural extension of a love of collaboration, which has essentially continued into my work today. I would take pop songs off the radio, pieces that I liked by various artists, and arrange them for voices, and harmony and strings and percussion, and bring my friends over to play them. We would perform them on the talent show at school. I had a proclivity for bringing people together around the ritual of making music. Those arrangements were really my first compositions.

TM: Do you still have those at home in your archives?

AC: There might be some cassette tapes. I’m not sure if I’d want you to hear them! They are probably somewhere in my parents’ garage.

TM: You mentioned pop music. What were you listening to as a teen?

AC: When I was making these arrangements I was about twelve, and listening to my first LP’s — Carole King, James Taylor, Dan Fogelberg; a little later, the group Renaissance, a classical-rock crossover ; when I got into my later teens I was very much interested in fusion — classical-jazz-world music fusion — Chick Corea, Emerson, Lake and Palmer, Genesis.

TM: Were you interested in making music like that fusion? Or was it music that you were listening to?

AC: It was music that I was listening to. The arrangements that I made were an exploration of the sounds and colors that I could create from the instruments that my friends played. I would write small chamber orchestra pieces, not really thinking of them as compositions, but as a way of bringing life to these songs that I liked when I was very young. My first real pieces were written in college, for my best friend who was a dancer. I was self-taught as a composer. As a pianist I played every style of music, graduated with two degrees in piano, and went on to be a collaborative pianist, working a lot playing chamber music. In college I was just writing on my own. I look back at that time and I was not thinking of myself as a composer. It was not until I met the woman who would become my most important mentor, composer Margaret Garwood, in undergraduate school, that I thought “Oh, this is something that I am already doing, and I guess that I can really do it — be a composer.” My first piece was for one flute and dancer. I played the flute and my best friend danced. My second piece was for two flutes and dancer — I played one of the parts, and she danced. I started adding on from what I knew, and by that time I was very interested in poetry, and started to write a lot of vocal works with instruments.

When I met Margaret Garwood at Muhlenberg College — she was piano faculty there, and I was a piano major — I was immediately compelled to find out more about what it meant to be a composer. She was writing operas and was very, very encouraging of my work. I started to show her the pieces that I was writing, sort of under-cover, and she encouraged me to come forward and explore what was there. She remains my mentor to this day. She is in her eighties and has just finished her new opera, The Scarlet Letter.

TM: You went on to graduate school in piano. It was not until after you finished that you started to think seriously about composition as a career direction?

AC: Yes, it was after my masters’, although I was writing throughout that time. I was studying piano more seriously as a student of Susan Starr and supported myself as a collaborative pianist, playing chamber music, contemporary music, working with theater and dance. But I was writing, and it was during that time that I wrote many pieces for voice and chamber ensemble, and was very interested in poetry. A little bit later I started to write for chorus and chamber orchestras. At that point I applied to Temple University for a doctorate in composition. That was in 1995, so I was an older student. I had already been out of school for quite some time teaching and performing. I had had a number of pieces published, had commissions and so forth. Some earlier formal training was at the Aspen festival, where I studied with George Tsontakis.

TM: What was the focus of your study with Tsontakis? Were you studying serial techniques?

AC: Coming into composition from having been a performer first, I was already writing in my own language. The teachers that I did have were interested in working with where I already was, so we didn’t do particular studies in serial techniques because I wasn’t working that way.

TM: Please talk about your study at Temple.

AC: I really enjoyed my studies there. It was a chance for me to work with Maurice Wright, who was the chairman of the composition department there at that time. I was writing orchestral works, and was also interested in working with electronics. (I studied C-Sound with him). I had a lot of gaps, being a self-trained composer, and pursuing my first degree in composition as a doctoral degree. It was so exciting to have all these opportunities to learn, with courses in post-tonal theory, and seminars in Bartok and Ives — it was quite a stimulating time.

TM: What would you describe as your “opus one”, whatever that might mean for you?

AC: Probably my first large-scale work, scored for soprano, baritone, chorus and orchestra to the inaugural poem by Maya Angelou, On the Pulse of Morning.

TM: Who was that commissioned by?

AC: It was written in 1993 for a chorus in Philadelphia, Voces Novae et Antiquae, but not commissioned. It was a piece that I submitted as part of my doctoral application.

TM: What is it about that piece that makes it a landmark, a divider of waters, for you?

AC: It put together my love for poetry, for the sound of voices, particularly chorus, the colors of the orchestra, the expansion of traditional techniques into large-scale form — those are threads that have continued through many of my more recent works. I have been writing a lot of cantatas and oratorios over the last ten years, and this was perhaps the first of those large-scale works which combined those forces, and also gave me the chance to expand into a larger dramatic trajectory.

TM: You had had a lot of experience working with choruses.

AC: I started in my early years as the pianist for the chorus, and the sound of voices has always been in my ear. It is very powerful, very emotional, very immediate — being an accompanist from elementary through graduate school made an indelible mark.

TM: What do you find that is successful, or perhaps less successful, in writing for voices? What is effective in writing for chorus?

AC: What makes a difference to me is to sing every part. I can experience what it feels like to put that music in the voice — it has to feel good in the voice. And having a meaningful text, where there is space in the text for a deeper rendering. The work should resonate with the singers, so that they are engaged on many levels, musical, emotional and otherwise.

TM: To return to Temple and studying with Maurice Wright — I know everyone says that you can’t teach composition — but what did he bring to you?

AC: I came in with a natural ear for what was compelling to me, and he didn’t try to change those things, but encouraged me to look at the material that was arising in a deeper way. He would say “let’s look at a microcosm of that — what is that made up of?” and we would take a zoom lens into my material, the essentials of it, the DNA, the core, and analyze it with various techniques. He inspired me to look at what was coming up intuitively and then consider how it could be more successfully developed.

TM: Composers can be divided into two camps — those who have an architectural approach, where the detail comes from an overarching structure, and those who invent details, which generate larger structure, perhaps a more narrative approach. Which camp do you belong to?

AC: It’s hard to say — I might actually be a hybrid. For me the form is extremely important. When writing a piece that is an hour long, it is essential to have a trajectory in mind, and to think about how this large work will be structured. At the same time, there are seed materials that will come in and inform the larger structure. I will go back and forth with those. There might be a five-note motif that in some way generates the hour-long work. It might be the research on the text, and the implications behind the text, that then shape the large-scale trajectory.

TM: Perhaps you could talk about some recent pieces. How did Awake at Dawn [2000] come to be, and what were the esthetic influences on that piece?

AC: There was a seven-note motif that corresponded to seven evocative words from the poem, written by Manfred Fischbeck. That motif, layered, created a harmonic foundation for the work. The color of the sound was essentially driven by the words.

TM: Another piece that I was intrigued by was Women of Valor [2000]. Could you say a little about that?

AC: I have composed several Jewish-themed pieces, and this is the largest. It was written for the Los Angeles Jewish Symphony — Noreen Green is the conductor. She and I had met at the Aspen Music Festival, and this piece was an outgrowth of our friendship and our desire to do a project together. It was a very interesting project, because the idea was drawn from Proverbs 31….

TM: “A woman of valor, who can find?”

AC: Yes, there is a midrash that links each line of that poem to a different woman’s story in the Bible. The form came first, because after discovering the midrash, it occurred to me “What an ideal form for a large-scale piece!” The biblical text could be the recitative, so to speak, and the biblical women’s stories would be told in arias, interspersed after the appropriate line. I highlighted ten women, since using all twenty-two women referred to in the twenty-two line acrostic would have turned into a marathon. I separated it into three movements, and worked with this dialectic between the ancient texts and newly-written texts by contemporary Jewish women writers.

TM: Did Jewish musical styles, or music for the service, have an influence on the style you used for that piece?

AC: Most definitely. It was appropriate for that particular work. I studied the trope melodies sung for the liturgy, and like many Jewish composers, including Bernstein, I used some of those trope melodies in the piece, as well as other ancient melodies –Sephardic, Ashkenazic, folk material. There was pre-existing source material that I used and fragmented — various melodies that were sung to Women of Valor over the years.

TM: You are Jewish. What did that bring to you musically?

AC: I am not a practicing Jew, but was born and raised Jewish. My early years at the synagogue were particularly meaningful because of the passion of the music and the cantors. There was a yearning, a resonance, almost a crying in the music that really moved me.

TM: A broader question — does being Jewish have an effect, not just on your Jewish-themed works, but on your production more generally?

AC: I wouldn’t say that. I think that I grew up in an environment that was generally conducive to music making, and there were so many elements that contributed to who I am. Certainly part of that would have been a love of the music at the synagogue when I was younger, but I don’t think of myself as a Jewish composer, or even a woman composer.

TM: It strikes me in listening to your music that in a certain sense you have more of an attraction towards energetic, dynamic music, more so than something that is more lyric and evanescent.

AC: A number of my works embrace a rhythmic, vital energy, but I also have a deep love of lyricism and I love color — the colors of the sounds, and the textures. There are works that combine this sense of rhythmic energy with soaring, lyrical lines, exploiting colors of the instruments.

TM: There is a work which featured Sanford Sylvan — the Golem Psalms. [A golem is a sort of Frankenstein’s monster, made from clay, and brought to life by the magical use of Hebrew letters or words. The most well-known golem is connected in folklore with the Rabbi Judah Loew ben Bezalel, in Renaissance Prague]. He seems to be the epitome of lyrical singing. How did he come to be the soloist?

AC: It was the artistic director’s decision (Alan Harler) to ask Sandy to be our soloist, and I was thrilled. He is so wonderful to work with, and has the most beautiful voice. He articulates the words so beautifully. It was premiered in 1996, and he sang it again a few weeks ago at Verizon Hall with the Temple University choruses and orchestra. It’s interesting that you mention that he has such a gift for the lyrical line, since in this piece the first three movements involve driving rhythms depicting a primal being. Sanford found a way to sing that role with lyricism and a kind of pointedness that it needed. He wasn’t such a brute.

TM: That’s is the tradition of Frankenstein, isn’t it?

AC: That’s right. In the libretto that was created for the work by Ellen Frankel, (where the Golem traditionally doesn’t have a soul), she really wanted to shed light on what was happening in his soul if he had one. You observe the inner life of the Golem, so in that way it was just perfect to have Sandy be the soloist, because he could do that with such sensitivity.

TM: Is there a brand new piece that you would like to talk about, or a piece that is in process?

AC: About a year and a half ago I received a commission from Network for New Music, which is one of Philadelphia’s contemporary music ensembles. It’s an excellent ensemble made up of many Philadelphia Orchestra players. Linda Reichert, the artistic director, had a vision for a season called Mix, consisting of composers and artists who were paired together. I was paired with artist Maureen Drdak, and was happy about that because I loved her work. Maureen derives her inspiration from the iconography of Tibetan Buddhist art, and travels to Nepal for her research. When she discovered that we were paired together, she asked if I would like to join her on an upcoming trek. We trekked through the Himalayas on horseback, and spent time in the restricted area of Lo Monthang, in Upper Mustang, Nepal. It was a life-changing experience in so many ways — culturally, spiritually, physically, musically. After returning from that trip, I wrote a piece entitled Lung-Ta, which translates as Wind-Horse and refers to the Buddhist prayer flags that are hung in high places and serve as blessings and protection. The piece became a collaborative work with Maureen Drdak and Manfred Fischeck’s Group Motion Dance Company. Collaboration is important for me as a composer and in everything that I do. This piece was the epitome of that — a beautiful working relationship all the way around. The piece was inspired by the field research that I conducted in Nepal, and some of the field recordings are heard juxtaposed with the live instruments. The musicians are not only playing their own Western instruments but also Tibtetan Buddhist ritual instruments that I brought back from the trek.

The continuation of Lung-Ta is that after having traveled originally with Maureen Drdak and an anthropologist from Dartmouth, Dr. Sienna Craig, it became of interest to record the royal singer, Tashi Tsering. He is in poor health, and it was important to document his repertoire of 100 songs so that they would not be lost to the world when he passes. Anthropologist Katey Blumenthal and I received a grant from the Rubin Foundation to go back to Lo Monthang for the recording project. I will be leaving next month for another trek (this time on foot) to record the music, and will write another piece commissioned by Network for New Music, based on these songs, that will be performed in Philadelphia next year [2011].

TM: Does the piece have a name?

AC: Not yet. I will be writing the piece after I return from the trek in June, at an artists’ colony in Bavaria.

TM: You have had a long collaboration with the Relâche ensemble. Is that ongoing?

AC: Yes, I have been playing keyboards for Relâche since the late eighties. You think about what your pivotal experiences were as a young person, what turned you on as a young musician, and one thing that occurred was in 1976, when I was a teenager: I walked into a theater, on South Street in Philadelphia, that was then called the Painted Bride. All the lights were off, the audience was sitting on the floor, and there were these woodwind players walking around in the dark playing long tones. Each time they would approach each other it would turn into a chord or an interval, and they would improvise. The whole thing was so wondrous to me. I couldn’t believe that this was music. Something clicked inside me with this interest in ritual and the ceremonial and finding alternative settings for music in hearing this ensemble, which turned out to be Relâche. I started to follow them, to go to their concerts, and the director at the time, Joseph Franklin, asked if I would be interested in playing piano as a second pianist to John Dulik, one of the original members for this group which has been around for over 35 years. I started playing with the ensemble, and when John decided to retire I was brought on as the primary pianist for over twelve years now. When I am too busy to play, we call on other pianists to sub. The early group was dedicated to downtown music, and has now expanded to other styles of contemporary music.

TM: The concerts I have heard seemed far from downtown.

AC: Originally it was music that incorporated jazz, world music, and minimalism. I wrote some pieces for them early on.

TM: I suppose it should be called Center City music. Final thoughts?

AC: Another outgrowth of my interest in collaboration has been a Salon series that I started in 1986 and hold monthly. The idea was to provide a space that was not just another concert, but a place that celebrates the diversity of performers and audiences. There’s a vitality that happens when different genres come together, and for an intergenerational and intercultural audience. It happens in an intimate space, my living room, where artists can talk to other artists, and audience can meet the artists and each other, and build community. Here in Philadelphia, this 21st Century spin on the Salon features music and other art forms from different cultures and time periods and of varying styles, genres and cultures: classical to jazz, folk to world, chamber to multi-media, old and new and also features composers presenting their original works that importantly reflect what it means to be alive in this present time. It gives professional artists of all kinds an opportunity to try out new things, make connections and build audiences. It offers the resulting diverse audience an opportunity to be together in a unique setting that breaks down the formal walls between the performers and audience — and provides an inclusive alternative to more formal situations like the concert hall or the jazz club. It brings together a cross fertilization of performers and audience members creating a ritual of personal expression — a powerful sharing with the larger understanding that the world connects through the global language of art. Since its conception in 1986, there have been over 215 Salons featuring over 6000 performers and over 16,000 audience members passing through my living room. The Salons, ultimately, are about the expression of the human spirit and how we can create vital connection by sharing that personal artistic spirit in community.

More information can be found at www.andreaclearfield.com

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Andrea_Clearfield.gif image_description=Andrea Clearfield [Photo by John Hayes] product=yes product_title=An Interview with Andrea Clearfield product_by=By Tom Moore product_id=Above: Andrea Clearfield [Photo by John Hayes]

Aida at Bregenz Festival 2009

For the curious, “jumping the shark” referenced an episode of Happy Days, a program that for years stayed within the confines of a small American town in the 1950s; in said episode, the characters ended up in Hollywood and one entered a contest to — yes, indeed — water-ski over an enclosure containing a shark.

If one thinks of the Bregenz Festival as a long-running hit show — and in the opera world, this lake-side venue for elaborate outdoor productions can fairly be called such — then with the 2009 Graham Vick Aida, the festival has indeed “jumped the shark.” The booklet essay (by Kenneth Chalmers) to the DVD set quotes many a laudatory blurb from various European reviews at the time of the show’s premiere. So maybe the experience on DVD can’t capture what the show is like live. As caught by cameras, Vick’s Aida is a frenetic mess — whether the action takes place in ankle-deep water, aloft in crane-elevated cages, boats, or fragmentary statuary, or on an endless flight of stairs. The success of the festival undoubtedly offers directors an ample budget, and the very nature of the lakeside venue demands big effects. But when an opera gets as hopelessly lost as Aida does here in all the pyrotechnics and staging conceits piled on the stage — and despite the authentic opportunities for spectacle in the libretto, at its heart this is a fairly intimate story of thwarted love — the “shark” has been “jumped.”

With the amazing work of set and costume designer Paul Brown, Vick presents a world with no set sense of time or place, mixing ancient and modern elements. Costumes are primarily contemporary, through with some elusive sense of logic; the priests, for example, wear papal miters. At the rear of the stage two huge blue feet, spangled with stars, have a vaguely period Egyptian look, as do other fragments apparently broken off the original monument, but the whole is clearly modeled on the Statue of Liberty. It’s a very Euro-friendly concept — America as subtext for militaristic oppression. Thus Amneris, who often wears a dress with stars spangled on it, appears at first with two leashes, at the ends of which are two prisoners with hoods over their heads. Why Amneris has been assigned Abu Ghirab prisoner-walking duty doesn’t have to be contemplated — just go with the anti-American flow. Aida is truly a slave here — not a higher-ranking attendant to the princess, as she is usually depicted. Wearing a dull jacket over a orange-red shift, she is washing the stairs with others slaves when first seen. Radames sings his opening confrontation with Amneris from yards away, and many of the key scenes have a similar distance between protagonists and antagonists, weakening the force of their interactions. In act three, when Aida is confronted by her father, he appears from the water before the stage, like the Creature from the Red Sea Lagoon. It’s all like the famous description of the staging of Meyerbeer’s operas — effects without causes.

The color scheme Vick and Brown work with may blind those sensitive to one end of the spectrum — from hot pinks to emergency beacon orange and onto purple and turquoise. The dancers spend a lot of time kicking up spray on a platform covered in about a foot of water. For act two, Amneris’s attendants manhandle some amazingly buff (and mostly Caucasian) Ethiopian prisoners in tighty-whiteys. Some viewers may be ready to escape into the tomb with Radames and Aida at the end, except there is no tomb — the condemned lovers sail off into the distance through the air, in a crane-hauled boat.

For sheer spectacle, this may well be the Aida to beat — and yes, it includes a huge elephant at one point (not a live one, but still — the cranes can’t be trusted with everything). However, for those actually interested in Aida as an opera, this set can’t be recommended. Besides the score being, as the booklet essay describes it, “trimmed,” the singers get no real chance to develop interesting characters or make their own vocal qualities known. The latter is true because they are all miked. The voices of the leads appear to be lighter than those one would normally hear in a conventional opera house, and the sound mix keeps the voices within a narrow range. As Amneris Iano Tamar looks smashing, but her lower range is too weak even for the microphones. To some extent the same is true of Iain Paterson as Amonasro, although he has enough power in the body of his voice to make a decent impression. The two leads have pleasant voices but neither Rubens Pelizzari as Radames or Tatiana Serjan as Aida give any indication of having the vocal goods to tackle these roles in a production without microphones and a sound mixer standing by. Conductor Carlo Rizzi and his orchestra are surely “miked” as well, and they whip up a fine wall of sound in the ensembles and triumphal parade.

The Blu-Ray version does make for an amazing picture on any high-end television. For viewers open to a version of this opera that places 21st century stage and camera technique over the essence of the work itself, this is not a set to be missed.

For others — consider the shark successfully jumped.

Chris Mullins

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image_description=Giuseppe Verdi: Aida

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Adriana Lecouvreur at Teatro Regio Torino 2009

With multiple set pieces for its three leads, all gloriously melodic, and an unashamedly melodramatic tale mixing aristocratic intrigue and backstage theatrics, many might wonder why this almost proto-typical Italian opera relinquished its once-proud place in the repertory. For anyone too impatient to await the inevitable DVD release of the Covent Garden production (with Angela Gheorghiu, Jonas Kaufmann, and Olga Borodina), there is a 2009 staging from Turin with a capable cast available. Unfortunately, this Turin production mostly serves to make one understand the opera’s relative neglect in recent decades.

Director Lorenzo Mariani goes for a gambit increasingly popular — a spare physical production almost “regie”-like in its setting of the scene through a handful of props in an open space, while stamping through this somewhat abstract environment are characters in completely traditional costume, and quite opulent ones at that. This gambit allows the director to please the more conservative opera-goer (those most likely to be attracted to this opera) and yet allows for swift scene changes and at least provides a nominal acknowledgment of contemporary opera design. The gambit doesn’t do much to make the convoluted plot mechanics of Arturo Colautti and Ernest Legouvé’s libretto any more believable. Somehow court protocol requires Maurizio to dissemble affection for a married Princess, while carrying on a secret love affair with the actress Adriana Lecouvreur. Since Maurizio does not entrust Adriana with this information, so when she learns the truth she and the Princess curse each other in mutual rage. The aristocrat has more to lose and the power to avoid detection in seeking revenge, which leads to a protracted death scene for Adriana, after sniffing a poisoned bouquet of flowers. Supposedly the original source material of Eugène Scribe’s play had a historical precedent, but even if the details are correct (extremely unlikely), as staged, the opera’s action veers from the dull to the ridiculous.

So what a successful production needs is star-power — glamorous voices in appealing form who can let the music rip and help an audience forget the nonsense on stage. Perhaps that is what happened at the above-referenced Covent Garden run. But not in Turin. Marcelo Álvarez’s lyric instrument finds the role of Maurizio more suitable than some of the heavier ones he has taken on in recent years. His breath control and consistency of production cannot be seriously faulted. He simply has little imagination, either as singer or actor, so the music lacks that spark of life that might help a viewer believe momentarily an actual character is on stage, and not an over-costumed singer. The tenor has more to offer than his female co-leads, however. In the title role Micaela Carosi brings volume and an unwieldy vibrato, so any flicker of pathos in her character never flames into life. Although well-equipped with a solid mezzo voice, Marianne Cornetti is not favored by her costume, and she never makes a creditable rival for Lecouvreur. The best performance comes from Alfonso Antoniozzi as Michonnet, director of the theater where Lecouvreur acts. He doesn’t have much to do, but he manages to convince us, while he is on stage, that Lecouvreur is someone we should care about.

Cilea’s score veers from the heights of melodiousness to the depths of murky, protracted scene-setting. In the opening scene of backstage chaos, TV director Matteo Ricchetti indulges in frantic quick edits that are more annoying than effective. Thankfully he settles down after that scene into acceptable competence. Conductor Renato Palumbo elicits some silky sounds from the house forces. The Blu-Ray picture only makes its distinctive clarity felt in scanning the stitching of the costumes; the sets don’t offer much to look at.

Particular fans of these singers or this opera need not be dissuaded. Patience may well be rewarded for others curious about this opera when/if the Covent Garden production appears on the shelves.

Chris Mullins

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image_description=Francesco Cilea: Adriana Lecouvreur

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product_title=Francesco Cilea: Adriana Lecouvreur
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A Citadel of Culture Shows a Friendlier Face

By Anthony Tommasini [NY Times, 31 December 2010]

While trudging up a snowy Broadway sidewalk Tuesday night en route to a concert by the New York Philharmonic, I ducked into the new David Rubenstein Atrium just north of 62nd Street and was surprised to find the place hopping.

December at Los Angeles Opera: Lohengrin and Rigoletto

At the end of November Los Angeles Opera brought two productions to the stage of the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. Debuting first was a new production of Richard Wagner’s Lohengrin, which received one of the most harshly sarcastic reviews from the Los Angeles Times within memory, the writer taking the easy opportunity to equate the premiere over Thanksgiving weekend with the term “turkey.” The Rigoletto that premiered a few nights later earned itself much more a favorable response in the same paper. Seen later in their runs by this reviewer, the impressions were not necessarily reversed, but certainly it can be said that the Lohengrin had settled down into a mostly satisfying show with a few amazing strong points, while the Rigoletto, while enjoyable, provided a decent but not all that memorable night at the opera.

Placido Domingo’s initial year as General Director of Los Angeles Opera began shortly after the terrible events of September 11, 2001, with a new production of Lohengrin. That production was scrapped this season for a new one directed by Lydia Steier, with scenery and costumes by Dirk Hofacker. In Steier’s vision, the action took place in an era reminiscent of World War I, in the ruined shell of a building vaguely governmental or cathedral-like. On a turntable, the set revolved sometimes to place action just outside the over-sized doors to the ruin. Steir has a background in choreography, which was evident in the stylized movement of the Brabant populace — the men either shell-shocked or brutes in uniform, and the women nurses or easy prey for the sexual aggression of the soldiers. In the opening scene, shadow-lit behind a tent, a doctor amputates a leg and seemingly loses the patient — while a nurse brings out the severed appendage for disposal, another nurse inside the tent places a blanket over the body. After Friedrich of Telramund makes his accusation of fratricide against Elsa, it is from this tent that Lohengrin emerges — in soldier’s uniform, with silver-plating from the knee down on one leg.

Clearly Steir is playing with the libretto’s mixture of the miraculous within the context of a militaristic society. Those who complained that a swan never appeared, therefore, had to have ignored the flags of victory festooning the stage in act three — Lohengrin’s prosthetic leg of metal emblazoned on some and a swan on the others. Ultimately, a viewer of any production can decide how deeply he or she wants to consider a director’s vision — in this case, anyone ill-disposed to directorial insight would be expected to dismiss the staging as nonsense, while those more open to alternative visions can decide for themselves whether Steier’s ideas came together or never quite melded into a coherent presentation (and probably an under-rehearsed opening night led to the unfortunate notices referenced above). At any rate, the production had some lovely moments, as snow fell over the ruin and the backscreen projections provided sweeping views of a devastated landscape beneath glowering but gorgeous skyscapes. In a nicely managed theatrical coup, Lohengrin disappears at the end back into the tent from which he emerged, and a moment later, the tent comes down to reveal Elsa’s brother standing on the hospital bed.

Dolora Zajick as Ortrud and Soile Isokoski as Elsa

Ben Heppner’s career has been dogged in recent years by vocal struggles, and he started the evening with an unsupported, wobbly voice that disheartened anyone hoping for a “comeback” evening. He slowly recovered a fair amount of control, and though the voice never reached the beauty of his best years, he was doing quite well until a couple of small breaks in his closing moments diminished his success. The costumes did not flatter him, but otherwise he gave himself over to the concept and portrayed an otherworldly creature who quickly finds himself disenchanted with the more “normal” folk of Brabant.

Soile Isokoski’s overdue debut with the Los Angeles Opera found the soprano in wonderful voice, her gentle Elsa also far from home among the Brabant crowd, and yet not confident enough to give herself over to the man who has come to rescue her. Isokoski’s instrument is not the largest, but in all the big moments the voice was there — controlled yet autonomous, with an aching beauty in the middle. In the classic act two confrontations with Ortrud, Isokoski held her own against the powerhouse performance of the evening, from Dolora Zajick, in an amazing role debut. Zajick’s aggressive top fits the role of Ortrud well, and she threw herself into the strong-willed character's scheming aggression. Zajick’s tour de force did take away somewhat from James Johnston’s Friedrich, a bit more pallid vocally that one would like, but strongly inhabiting the part of a man grasping frantically at the shreds of his dignity.

George Gagnidze as Rigoletto and Sarah Coburn as Gilda

James Conlon and the LAO orchestra took a while to settle themselves, the prelude not having the ideal ethereal quality. But when the score let loose, the orchestra was there, and the horns in particular had a successful night. Rigoletto showed Conlon in total command a few nights later, with all the energy matched by a feel for the rare tender moments in Verdi's masterpiece.

The Mark Lamos production, borrowed from San Francisco, takes the stylistic conceit of appropriating the painter Giorgio de Chirico’s city blocks of ominously muted pastels. The spare sets serve the story well enough, though it seemed odd that minutes-long pauses were required (one in the act on scene change and one after intermission, between the last two acts) when not all that much changed on stage. So in place of interpretation the opera-goer gets a nice looking production, with the important consideration that the sets allow the singers to step forward and project to the audience a great deal of the time.

In the title role George Gagnizde offered a sizable voice and a physique to match one’s expectations. If he lacked that last trace of unique personality that makes for a great portrayal, he still had much to offer. The Chandler audience was as besotted as Rigoletto with his daughter, sung with beauty and taste by Sarah Coburn. In a house not always known to be friendly to lighter voices, Coburn demonstrated that her lyric instrument has an unexpected carrying power. Her Gilda fell for a reasonably good-looking Duke, sung by Gianluca Terranova, who did best with the more energetic numbers that open and close his role. His big act two aria needed more elegance. While not a huge voice, it is ample enough, and he may develop into a more interesting tenor. Andrea Silvestrelli is one of the great Sparafucile’s, his lean physique as perfect for the character as is his menacing, cavernous bass. Kendall Gladen as his sister made the most of her brief time on stage. She has the type of charisma that can make a mezzo a star Carmen or Dalila.

Sarah Coburn as Gilda and Gianluca Terranova as Duke of Mantua

It was a very full and happy house for the Rigoletto, and the mid-week Lohengrin had a substantial attendance as well, and one that mostly stayed until the 11pm conclusion. This year’s shorter season will wrap up by April, after two more productions. In a few weeks, the announcement of the 2011-2012 season for the Los Angeles Opera will reveal just how well the company has come through some times bordering on, if not encroaching into, the desperate. But at least on the stage, as of this December — this is a strong and forward-looking company.

Chris Mullins

image=http://www.operatoday.com/13-lgrn5049.png
image_description=Ben Heppner as Lohengrin [Photo by Robert Millard courtesy of Los Angeles Opera]

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product_title=Richard Wagner: Lohengrin — Lohnegrin: Ben Heppner; Elsa: Soile Isokoski; Ortrud: Dolora Zajick; Friedrich: James Johnston; King Heinrich: Kristinn Sigmundsson. Director: Lydia Steier. Los Angeles Opera Orchestra and Chorus. Conductor: James Conlon.
product_by=Giuseppe Verdi: Rigoletto — Rigoletto: George Gagnidze; Duke: Gianluca Terranova; Gilda: Sarah Coburn; Sparafucile: Andrea Silvestrelli; Maddalena: Kendall Gladen. Director: Mark Lamos. Los Angeles Opera Orchestra and Chorus. Conductor: James Conlon.
product_id=Above: Ben Heppner as Lohengrin

All photos by Robert Millard courtesy of Los Angeles Opera

Pelléas et Mélisande, New York

Therefore it makes me a bit uneasy to report that the latest Met revival features the best all-around cast the company has fielded (theatered?) all season, nearly flawless from top to bottom, no one vocally out of her or his league, everyone suited to the scale of the work and to singing it at the Met—at least when Simon Rattle is in the pit, keeping the evening in flawless balance.

Magdalena Kožená as Mélisande, Gerald Finley as Golaud and Willard White as Arkel

Jonathan Miller’s production removes Maeterlinck’s tragedy from the mystical, pre-Raphaelite mists in which the playwright set it to a definite location: an English country house in the Merchant-Ivory style. Miller’s feeling seems to be that we have forgotten the once-upon-a kingdoms of fairy tale, that we nowadays have similar half-sensual half- memories related to the forgotten refinements and restraints of the turn of the century world. This does not always fail of its proper effect, though killing with broadswords seems a little strange. I do not quite understand why Mélisande, first discovered in a Jungian wood far from the rest of the action, weeping into a forest pool, is already within the walls of the house. Surely her tragedy, in part, is that she begins and remains an outsider? For Miller, evidently, “Allemond,” the name of Arkel’s kingdom, is truly all-the-world, and just as there is no place to flee, there is no outside for Mélisande to have come from.

The singers, an extraordinary ensemble, perform with sensitivity and grace. Every sound they make is musically grateful and lulls one into the texture of Debussy’s tone poem. Stéphane Degout’s ardent Pelléas is nicely contrasted with Gerald Finley’s agonized and menacing Golaud. Willard White and Felicity Palmer give moving performances as the helpless elders Arkel and Geneviève. Neel Ram Narajan’s boy soprano reaches all the notes with perfect support and has no trouble filling the house. He is often called upon to “witness” the actions of the incomprehensible adults, and he acts bravely. (In one clever Miller touch, Yniold’s scene with the Shepherd becomes a nightmare, sing in bed.)

Magdalena Koženà as Mélisande and Stéphane Degout as Pelléas

The one member of the cast who did not seem quite acclimatized with the rest, perhaps appropriately, was Lady Rattle, Magdalena Koženà, who sang Mélisande, that quintessential outsider. It was easy to put her accented French down to the character’s foreignness; this did not bother me at all. More awkward was her air of conscious coquetry, of flirting with Pélleas, of manipulating those about her. This is not appropriate to Mélisande whose innocence is precisely the keynote of her character. Koženà stares, as required, at the actions of others, but her stare does not seem to imply wonder or puzzle; simply a languid lack of interest. Innocence is a commodity that Maeterlinck’s admirers longed for, missing their pre-Freudian, pre-Darwinian youth perhaps; if we can no longer believe in it, we still must have a Mélisande who incarnates it to perform the opera properly.

The hero of the evening, shining despite the brilliance of so extraordinary a group of singers, was conductor Sir Simon Rattle in his Met debut. His Pelléas et Mélisande was of so measured a pace that the moments of rising tension, imminent violence, came upon us with an almost shocking suddenness and, as the stage action remained calm, tied us more closely to the internal states that the score tends to paint in any case. His sureness and lightness of touch permitted the singers to project conversationally without any strain or push. He brought us to our feet.

John Yohalem

image=http://www.operatoday.com/PELLEAS_Kozena_and_Degout_7454a.png image_description=Magdalena Koženà as Mélisande and Stéphane Degout as Pelléas [Photo by Ken Howard courtesy of Metropolitan Opera] product=yes product_title=Claude Debussy: Pelléas et Mélisande product_by=Mélisande: Magdalena Koženà; Geneviève: Felicity Palmer; Pelléas: Stéphane Degout; Golaud: Gerald Finley; Yniold: Neel Ram Nagarajan; Arkel: Willard White. Metropolitan Opera, conducted by Simon Rattle. Performance of December 20. product_id=Above: Magdalena Koženà as Mélisande and Stéphane Degout as Pelléas

All photos by Ken Howard courtesy of Metropolitan Opera

Mozart at Salzburg Festival: Don Giovanni and Così fan tutte

Perhaps the best-known of such from recent seasons is the Willy Decker take on Verdi’s La Traviata, a contemporary classic of a production that will soon debut at the Metropolitan Opera. The operas of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart have a special history for Salzburg (one of these DVDs has a title card that states “From the House of Mozart”). Director Claus Goth brought his updated vision of Don Giovanni to the Festival in 2008, and his Così fan tutte was recorded for performance in 2009. Both productions are in contemporary dress, with grim chuckles in place of any buoyant cheer produced by former Salzburg productions. This is Mozart as misanthrope, pouring out his melodious commentary on the sad and/or despicable characters of Lorenzo da Ponte’s librettos. Well sung, sharply acted, impeccably staged — both DVDs present classy performances. Just be prepared for a distinctly chilly atmosphere.

Christian Schmidt’s stage design for the Così offers the clean white walls, metal railings and glass panels of a cliched contemporary loft home. An ironic intent makes itself felt as the story of the two pairs of young lovers manipulated into deceit by a cynical older man proceeds — the attractive veneer of the set complements the good looks of the younger leads, and an emptiness behind the good looks of both the surroundings and the characters also makes itself felt. That doesn’t take away the culpability of Don Alfonso and even Despina; the Don seems more cruel in his scheming than ever, and that rubs off on the sour comedy of Despina’s antics.

The quartet of young lovers submit themselves almost too well into this scheme, with not much personality in Miah Persson’s Fiordilgi, Isabel Leonard’s Dorabella, Florian Boesch’s Guglielmo, or Topi Lehtipuu’s Ferrando. They sing cleanly, manage the Mozartean line well, and look their parts. Mozart does give each of them at least one major set piece to bring to life, and here is where the director’s clinical vision may have inhibited the singers’ ability to “stand out.” Bo Skovhus, on the other hand, gets to camp it up a bit as Guth choreographs as much as directs the Don and Despina — there’s a lot of mock dancing and posing. Skovhus lets a scratchiness in his production loose a little too often, however, for a character probably intended to be a bit more seductive in his wheedling. Patricia Petibon’s Despina reigns in the cuteness for a sort of hyperactivity, more ominous than charming. In her recorded recital discs she is a more interesting singer than indicated here — Despina offers no real challenges.

One unmitigated strength of the performance comes from Adam Fischer’s muscular, propulsive direction of the Wiener Philharmoniker. The score comes across with a youthful energy appropriate to the characters while suggesting the aggression behind the Don’s gambit. Guth’s direction may not age well — at times it already feels self-conscious — but as one alternate vision of Così, it is effective in context.

The Don Giovanni Guth stages is stronger overall than the Così, at least partly because it has a more high-powered cast than that of the Così. Set designer Schmidt here provides a very realistic pine forest, the only discernible reason for which seems to your reviewer to center on differentiating Guth’s setting from the famous Calixto Bieto one (preserved on DVD in a performance at Barcelona's Liceu). Bieto used modern dress (as does Guth) and elements of an organized crime mileux to highlight the libretto’s potent and dangerous mixture of violence and sexuality. Guth has the same concern, and most of his “big ideas” come across as vaguely desperate efforts to make his vision distinct from Bieto’s. So in the action under the prologue, we see Christopher Maltman’s Don get shot by the Commendatore, a grievous stomach wound that seems to bother the Don from time to time during the rest of the action, until he finally succumbs with the Commendatore’s reappearance at the end — but propelled into hell by Leporello and a syringe of heroin. To underscore the darkness of his vision, Guth chose an edition of the score without the “happy ending” ensemble, which Bieto memorably used to underlay the victorious “good guys” mutilating the Don’s corpse.

A vocally strong, physically seductive group of singers work hard for Guth. Maltman apparently spent as much time in the gym as in the rehearsal hall, if not more, and if not as muscular as his physique, his voice still ripples with strength. Erwin Schrott’s Leporello is no sad sidekick, but almost as dangerously sexy as his master. Nonetheless, Schrott also has the comic chops to portray the character’s frustration and barely contained resentment. In a wimpy suit and glasses, Matthew Polenzani could have been yet another feckless Don Ottavio, but his expert singing gives his character some needed backbone. In an imaginative touch, Guth has Ottavio dig out his cell phone when the car he and Donna Anna are riding in “breaks down” in the forest.

The women are a bit less distinctive. Annette Dasch in particular lacks the full armory for Donna Anna , a difficult role that requires ample strength and beauty. Dorothea Röeschmann doesn’t portray Donna Elvira as a harpy, thankfully; on the other hand, her interpretation is almost too neutral for a role that should have some edge. Ekaterina Siurina as Zerlina and Alex Espositio as Masetto are modestly effective (the booklet credit list amusingly assigns each of these singers to the other’s role!).

Bertrand de Billy is the conductor here, leading an entirely professional performance. In spots the rather spare piano used for recitatives seems anachronistic.

Salzburg’s tickets have the reputation of being both scarce and expensive, so for those who would like a great view of the stage and to keep their wallets full, these DVDs are to be appreciated. Neither one of these stagings may become classics such as the Dexter Traviata, but they both have much to reward the attentive viewer.

Chris Mullins

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W. A. Mozart: Don Giovanni

Don Giovanni: Christopher Maltman; Il Commendatore: Anatoli Kotscherga; Donna Anna: Annette Dasch; Don Ottavio: Matthew Polenzani; Donna Elvira: Dorothea Röschmann; Leporello: Erwin Schrott; Zerlina: Ekaterina Siurina; Masetto: Alex Esposito. Vienna State Opera Chorus(chorus master: Thomas Lang). Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra. Bertrand de Billy, conductor. Claus Guth, stage director. Christian Schmidt, stage and costume design. Olaf Winter, lighting design. Recorded at the Haus für Mozart, Salzburg Festival, 2008.

Euroarts 2072548 [2DVDs]

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image_description=Cosi fan tutte (Salzburg Festival, 2009) (Blu-ray, Full-HD)

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product_title=Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: Così Fan Tutte
product_by=Fiordiligi: Miah Persson; Dorabella: Isabel Leonard; Guglielmo: Florian Boesch; Ferrando: Topi Lehtipuu; Despina: Patricia Petibon; Don Alfonso: Bo Skovhus. Vienna State Opera Chorus (chorus master: Thomas Lang). Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra. Adam Fischer, conductor. Claus Guth, stage director. Christian Schmidt, stage design. Anna Sofie Tuma, costume design Olaf Winter, lighting design. Recorded at the Haus für Mozart, Salzburg Festival, 2009.
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Franz Liszt: A Romantic remembered

By Nicola Christie [The Independent, 28 December 2010]

The first 12 days of January on BBC Radio 3 are going to feature Mozart, back-to-back. If the programmers were braver, they would have gone for Franz Liszt instead. Austrian demi-god, the first popstar, a 19th-century wonder who transcribed the entire set of Beethoven symphonies for piano - just to get them out - "saved" Wagner's operas from extinction when the composer himself was in exile, and generally changed the course of the music world forever.

Der Rosenkavalier, Vienna

By Zerbinetta [Likely Impossibilities, 27 December 2010]

While Otto Schenk’s Wiener Staatsoper Der Rosenkavalier have been spiffed up and the staging is showing alarming signs of rehearsal, a great Rosenkavalier still requires a great cast. While Adrianne Pieczonka’s Marschallin is very fine, neither she nor her less distinguished costars quite lit up the stage. With the exception of the excellent orchestra, this wouldn’t have rated above a solidly routine Rosenkavalier in most houses.

100 Best Verdi from EMI Classics

Rather like an enormous body builder flexing his muscles before a crowd of scrawnier types, EMI Classics lords it over other “skinny boy” labels that might put out a double-disc set, producing a line of multi-disc compilations called “Best 100.” Now it is Verdi’s turn for this disputable honor. From a back catalog rather heavy on Riccardo Muti conducting and Placido Domingo singing, it takes 6 very full discs to reach the 100 track goal, which includes some single scenes broken into 2 separate tracks. But why be pedantic. This is a lot of Verdi.

Each disc highlights a vocal genre: Tenors and Baritones, Sopranos and Mezzo-Sopranos, Duets, Ensembles, Choruses, and finally, on the instrumental side, Overtures and Ballet Music. Listened to continuously, each disc tends to reach a saturation point several tracks in, with either male or female voices dominating. Almost any of Verdi’s operas shows a sure command of laying out the narrative through a variety of musical approaches and vocal types. Almost 80 minutes of “ensembles,” for example, can become too much of a good thing, like a one-pound box of chocolates which turns out to be all “Cherry Jubilee.” Anyone with no audio-purist objections to MP3 players would do well to take the discs, upload them to a computer music library, and listen to the compilation in a more random fashion.

As suggested above, certain names pop up fairly often - Placido Domingo gets three tracks on disc one and pops up a few more times on other discs. He opens the set with “Celeste Aida,” from the Aida set conducted by Riccardo Muti, whose extensive catalog gets quite the showcase throughout. Your reviewer would have chosen Franco Corelli’s verison of that aria and then later on the disc, when Corelli fairly mauls “Quando le sere al placido,” put Domingo’s version in that place. While an enjoyable diversion, picking apart the selections is a vain endeavor. Anyone with the broad knowledge of the catalog for such a game probably owns all the sets needed to make one’s own compilation. For the audience this set is made for, all the choices are at least decent (depending on one’s taste) and many more are better than that. Some of the juxtapositions are fascinating - with Maria Callas’s vehement “Ritorna Vincitor!,” sung by an Aida seemingly on the edge of a nervous breakdown, followed immediately by Montserrat Caballe’s exquisite, tastefully mournful “O Patria mia.” By the end of disc 6, the listener emerges from 7 hours of Verdi stunned by the immensity of the man’s genius - and probably needing a break of some duration before returning to it.

EMI Classics provides absolutely nothing other than a booklet of track listings and credits. For the beginner who has happened upon this set, surely a brief biographical note and possibly some suggested reference texts would have been helpful.

Chris Mullins

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image_description=100 Best Verdi

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price=$19.99
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S.F. Opera will honor 9/11 hero Rescorla

By Edward Ortiz [Sacramento Bee, 26 December 2010]

The 10th anniversary of the World Trade Center towers' felling on Sept. 11, 2001, is approaching. The San Francisco Opera will commemorate the date with the world premiere of an opera based on what happened that day.

Muti loomed over city's arts life

By John von Rhein [Chicago Tribune, 25 December 2010]

It speaks volumes for the impact Riccardo Muti had on the city in 2010 -- the year he made his official debut as music director of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra -- that his absence generated at least as much attention as his presence.

Ceclia Bartoli: the limitations of being a mezzo

By Stuart Jeffries [Guardian, 23 December 2010]

'I am, yes, I can admit it, quite sad about this," says Cecilia Bartoli gloomily. Outside, in the gathering dusk of her adoptive city of Zurich, it's beginning to snow. "My career - it could have been different." She throws a white scarf over the shoulder of her black polo neck sweater in a slightly irritated gesture.

Fidelio, Bavarian State Opera, Munich

By Shirley Apthorp [Financial Times, 22 December 2010]

Rape, murder, raw alcohol - nihilistic Catalan stage director Calixto Bieito’s signature tropes are his stock-in-trade. But how would he work them into Beethoven’s Fidelio? In the lead-up to his debut at the Bavarian State Opera, the Munich press predicted storms of boos even before the event.

Todd Machover: From Guitar Hero to cybernetic opera

By Ada Brunstein [New Scientist, 21 December 2010]

Composer and inventor Tod Machover has created innovative music technology for everyone from Yo Yo Ma to Prince, as well as the technology behind Guitar Hero and Rock Band. He is also the head of the Opera of the Future group at MIT's media lab.

Forgotten Lully opera rediscovered at Versailles

By Michael White [The Telegraph, 21 December 2010]

I daresay there are worse things in life than the prospect of a night on the floor at Gare du Nord, waiting for a snow-stopped Eurostar; but as I trudged the streets of Paris the other day, killing time before I turned up at the Gare to face the worst, I couldn’t think of many.

A Light in the Forest of This Debussy Work

By Heidi Waleson [WSJ, 21 December 2010]

The conductor Simon Rattle, making his long-overdue debut at the Metropolitan Opera on Friday, brought an unusual sense of structure to Debussy’s “Pelléas and Mélisande” in a revival of the 1995 Jonathan Miller production.

Die Walküre, La Scala, Milan

By Mark Ronan [The Telegraph, 21 December 2010]

In the centre of Milan stands La Scala opera house, with its four tiers of boxes ascending to two further tiers of row-seats, where many of the most serious opera lovers sit — and they can be unforgiving if things are not right.

Real Strangeness in Imaginary Kingdom

By Anthony Tommasini [NY Times, 19 August 2010]

It took until he was 55, but Simon Rattle finally made his Metropolitan Opera debut on Friday night. Mr. Rattle, who has been a major conductor for 30 years and the artistic director of the Berlin Philharmonic since 2002, led the season premiere of Debussy’s “Pelléas et Mélisande,” a revival of Jonathan Miller’s gothic 1995 production. At the end of this four-hour evening, some of the most ardent participants in the ovation for Mr. Rattle were the musicians in the orchestra pit, who stood and heartily applauded.

Susan Bullock, Wigmore Hall

Performing works by diverse composers hailing from many countries, Bullock reminded us of her imposing and engaging stage presence, and that her musical and dramatic talents are just as suited to interpreting the song repertoire as to embodying the Wagnerian and Straussian heroines who have made her name of late.

Bullock and her accompanist, Malcolm Martineau, constructed a thoughtful programme containing many unfamiliar and intriguing offerings. ‘Banquo’s Buried’ by Australian composer, Alison Bauld, made a striking opening to the second half of the recital. Drawn from her ballad opera, Nelland, which comprises a series of what Bauld terms ‘dramatic scenas’ based on texts from Shakespeare’s plays, this piece revealed the composer’s sure theatrical instincts. Not surprisingly, Bullock relished the dramatic tension and operatic gestures. Bauld has commented on the origins of this setting of text from Lady Macbeth’s sleep-walking scene, which owes to the “memory of a powerful and idiosyncratic performance of the role by Sybil Thorndike. The manner was operatic and perhaps, even then, unfashionable, but there was a ‘go-for-broke’ spirit which made sense of the tragedy. The piece was conceived for all sopranos who enjoy a sense of theatre.” One cannot imagine a soprano better suited to the role than Bullock.

From Australia to France, and four songs by Henri Duparc. ‘Au pays où se fait la guerre’ (‘To the land where there is war’) is all that remains of Duparc’s long-held, and regretfully abandoned, ambitions for an opera based on Pushkin’s Rusalka. With its juxtaposition of expansive lyrical melody and recitative, the song combines traits of the operatic scena and French mélodie; Bullock effectively conveyed the dramatic heights of the closing section as the poet-speaker hopes to conquer the embracing darkness, sustained by “so many kisses and so much love/ that perhaps I shall be healed”.

Then, home to England, with Warlock, Bridge and Quilter all represented. Bullock’s diction was consistently clear in each of the languages she explored, but particularly so in Quilter’s rhapsodic ‘Fair house of joy’ and plaintive ‘Autumn evening’; in the latter, Martineau’s melancholy prelude compellingly haunted the song, before returning in full in the affecting, elegiac postlude.

Indeed, Martineau was a superb accompanist to Bullock’s dramatic presentations. Supportive and thoughtful, he enjoyed the piano’s own musical narratives, effectively entering the drama but never overwhelming the voice, as in the contrapuntal interweavings of the third stanza of Duparc’s ‘Chanson triste’ (‘Song of sadness’): “You will rest my poor head,/ ah! sometimes on your lap,/ and recite to it a ballad/ that will seem to speak of us.” Particularly touching was Martineau’s communication of harmonic nuance which intimated feeling and meaning, subtly but persuasively, as in Duparc’s ‘Romance de Mignon’ and, especially in Warlock’s ‘Pretty ring time’, an idiomatic setting of Shakespeare’s ‘It was a lover and her lass’. Moreover, in the composer’s freely structured ‘Phidylé’, it was the piano’s melodic refrain, rhythmic control and harmonic sureness, as the song passed through a myriad of tonal centres, that provided coherence through the emotional extremes.

It was however in the first half of the recital, with the songs by Grieg, Rimsky Korsakov and Brahms, that Bullock’s vocal control and relaxed confidence were most on display. Throughout these songs she used her strong, ample voice with sensitivity and restraint, only unleashing its full power in moments of real intensity and preferring to convey meaning through colour and the exuberance of her personality. Grieg’s ‘Sechs Lieder Op.48’ were dedicated to the Swedish soprano Ellen Gulbranson who, like Bullock, was a prominent performer in Wagnerian roles. ‘Dereinst, Gedanke mein’ (‘One day, my thoughts’) is complex both formally and harmonically, and the performers were perfectly united in their reading of the rich harmonic colourings of the song, framed as they are by the reflective stillness of the piano’s opening bars and the simple octave falls of the close. In contrast, ‘Lauf der Welt’ (‘The way of the world’) possesses a folksy energy and insouciance, and voice and accompanist coordinated delightfully throughout, playfully enjoying the rhythmic flexibilities. Bullock’s fresh open sound and unaffected shaping of the poetic phrases was outstanding in ‘Die verschwiegene Nachtigall’ (‘The secretive nightingale’) and ‘Ein Traum’ (‘A dream’) was characterised by a focused tone of real warmth and depth; while Martineau’s subtle syncopations endowed ‘Zur Rosenzelt’ (‘Time of roses’) with a suitably understated intensity and urgency, the delayed final cadence being particularly affecting.

Three songs by Rimsky Korsakov followed, moving from the lament-like shadows of ‘Na kholmakh Gruzii’ (‘The hills of Georgia’), with its ponderous piano pedals, to the explosive exuberance of ‘Zvonvhe zhavoronka penye’ (‘The lark sings louder’). But it was in six songs by Brahms that the real power and precision of Bullock’s voice became wonderfully evident. Both performers shaped the extreme contrasts within ‘Meine Liebe ist grün’ Op.63 No.5 (‘My love is green’) with consummate skill and sensitivity; Martineau relished the rhythmic complexities of ‘Simmer leiser wird mein Schlummer’ Op.105 No.2 (‘My sleep grows ever quieter’) while Bullock opened her voice to its expressive heights in the final cry, “If you would see me once again,/ come soon, some soon!” The control of dramatic tension in ‘O wüßt ich doch den Weg zurück’ Op. 63 No.8 (‘Ah! if I but knew the way back’) was outstanding: and, as the poet-speaker longs to regain his childhood’s vision – “not to see the times change,/ to be a child a second time” – Bullock’s lyricism was heart-melting. The gentle, easeful fluency of ‘Wir wandelten’ Op.96 No.2 (‘We were walking’) contrasted with the infectious vivacity of ‘Das Mädchen spricht’ Op. 107 No.3 (‘The maiden speaks’), whose sprightly, springing rhythms brought the first half of the recital to such a vibrant close.

The chilling evening frost and the lure of Christmas shopping may have accounted for the rather reduced audience numbers, but this was a real treat and one hopes that another five years do not pass before Bullock returns to the Wigmore Hall stage.

Claire Seymour

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Susan-Bullock01.gif image_description=Susan Bullock [Photo by Anne-Marie Le Blé courtesy of HarrisonParrott] product=yes product_title=Susan Bullock, Wigmore Hall product_by=Susan Bullock, soprano; Malcolm Martineau, piano. Wigmore Hall, London. Monday 13th December 2010 product_id=Above: Susan Bullock [Photo by Anne-Marie Le Blé courtesy of HarrisonParrott]

La Fanciulla del West, New York

His gratitude and admiration were as sincere as America’s applause, and he lavished on this very American story, based on a hit play about the Gold Rush, everything he had learned about the orchestral canvas. Despite an all-star cast (Destinn, Caruso, Amato, Toscanini in the pit), the opera had a less than dazzling premiere in 1910 and has never quite matched the most popular of his operas.

It is a thousand pities that Puccini, who died in 1924, never saw or read Eugene O’Neill’s Desire Under the Elms, published the same year. He would have been just the man to translate that poetic drama of love for property versus love for, well, a lover, with its classical overtones of adultery, infanticide and murderous family conflict in backwoods America into theatrical melody. Almost unstageable today, the play cries out for Italianization and Puccini’s gift for making lurid action and character memorably tuneful. But the great ships Puccini and O’Neill passed in the night.

Marcello Giordani as Dick Johnson and Deborah Voigt as Minnie

It was Puccini’s custom to attend plays in languages he didn’t understand; if they knocked him out anyway, he knew they’d make good operas, and he had thus discovered David Belasco’s Madame Butterfly. His choice now fell on Belasco’s The Girl of the Golden West, then playing to packed houses on Broadway. If the clichés of its plot still make us smile (pistol-packing, Bible-teaching virgin cheats at poker to save her man and rides in on horseback just in time to prevent his lynching), it is because Belasco, who had actually been raised in Gold Rush California, set the tone for ten thousand Western movies and TV episodes to follow. The score is melodramatic (a good thing), romantic and set to thrill if you get the right singers, if the right singers exist anymore. Since Fanciulla and Puccini’s later Il Trittico remain the only works premiered at the Met to have gained any enduring popularity, the opera’s centennial had to be marked by revival there no matter the lack of a proper spinto diva.

Fanciulla, despite its swift-moving, surefire story and lush orchestration, does not quite win us over, though the proper cast can make Act II as thrilling as anything in the verismo idiom. Minnie, with so much to sing but no big memorable tune and cursed with a happy ending, has seldom been a favorite with sopranos or the public. Puccini does some wonderful scene-painting (the Sierras at sunset sort of thing, splendidly backdropped by Michael Scott at the Met), and the lovely waltz the miners clap for Minnie’s first dance with Dick Johnson was good enough for Andrew Lloyd Webber to steal it, but she has no irresistible statement of personality to rival “Mi chiamano Mimi” or “Un bel dî” or “Il sogno di Doretta”; nothing to lure us to love the character and be curious about her destiny. Minnie is perhaps too simple to need to explain herself but the unforgettable tune is a necessity, and it’s not here. That lack keeps Fanciulla on the shelf of also-ran Puccini. Emmy Destinn, for whom the part was composed, never recorded any of it, there being no proper aria to fit the three-minute 78rpm format of the day.

Lucio Gallo as Jack Rance and Deborah Voigt as Minnie

When did the Met last have a credible Minnie? Kirsten and Steber were before my time. Friends mention Dimitrova or Daniels to me; I heard Maralin Niska do it pretty well at the City Opera, though her horse refused to stand still. Aprile Millo did a fine job for Queler some years back but her instrument has been on again-off again for years. Who does that leave us? Could Radvanovsky do it? Would she want to? Accustomed to Verdi, she has commented that Puccini’s orchestra may be too large for her, but she will take on Tosca this winter. That should be interesting.

The Met has given the part to Deborah Voigt, who stakes a claim based on her coloring, her acting, her Americanness and her ability to dismount from a horse, albeit stiffly, in full view of the audience. Her voice, though, is fool’s gold, tatterdemalion, trumpery—it doesn’t pan out. At Minnie’s entrance, breaking up a bar fight, gun a-blazing, fresh and girlish and frontier healthy, Voigt sounds seventy-five years old, the voice wavery and thin. So, too, in the schoolmarm scene and throughout the love music. When she gets anywhere near the proper spinto quality, her breath cannot sustain it. She finally warms up by the climactic poker game that ends Act II, which is far too late. All this should be no surprise to anyone—it’s just the way she sang Senta last year, Isolde the year before that. And you would have to ask stage director Giancarlo del Monaco why instead of green California forest, he has given Minnie a dusty and anachronistic Southwest ghost town for the last act, depriving her of a place to ride a horse on stage, Belasco’s surefire climax. (Mr. del Monaco, who has always had a wall eye for era and locale, had perhaps seen too many Sergio Leone Westerns.)

A scene from Act I of with Marcello Giordani as Dick Johnson and Deborah Voigt as Minnie (dancing) and Lucio Gallo (seated) as Jack Rance

Marcello Giordani, looking very Latin badman in a black duster and mustachios, carries off such vocal honors as the evening offers, with soaring, unstrained sound for Dick’s romantic yearnings, only missing a note or two at the bottom of his range. Lucio Gallo surprised me with an effectively sung and acted Sheriff Rance in a white duster, to confuse those of us accustomed to black-and-white cowboy symbolism. Among the many character roles that endear the opera to comprimarios everywhere, none of them overmugged, I especially enjoyed Tony Stevenson’s jolly bartender, Dwayne Croft’s sturdy Sonora and Oren Gradus as a wandering minstrel. Del Monaco’s direction, aside from putting the horses in the wrong scene, was stagy but not too gimmicky. It did not offend. But if you’re going to make your saloon the size of Grand Central Station, do you have to put the Sheriff and Minnie on opposite sides of it when he is trying to whisper sweet propositions in her ear? (And why put the saloon piano upstairs and out of the way, where it can hardly be useful at parties?)

Nicola Luisotti conducted. He has a flair for Puccini’s big climaxes but he lets them get far too loud. There were several scenes, especially the crowded ones, in which one had to strain to hear the voices. One would appreciate Maestro Luisotti toning it down a bit.

John Yohalem

Right click here to download a video clip from the Poker Scene.

Right click here to download a video clip of the Act II duet with Johnson and Minnie.

Same opera, same production, same cast—but the difference was like night and day. On January 3rd, an indisposed Voigt was replaced by Portuguese soprano Elisabete Matos, who had made her Met debut on December 22nd, a scheduled performance in the same role.

Matos is a genuine spinto—except when she sounds like a real lyric—except when she sounds hochdramatisch. In Europe, she sings in all these categories, but to hell with fach. She has a golden, gleaming sound, warm and fragrant when she lets her guard down romantically (and Minnie in Fanciulla del West is a girl who loves love stories), lyric and casual when jesting with her family of miners, and though brilliant and full (and smack on pitch for the B of “stelle” and the C’s in Act II), her voice is never harsh in anguish or triumph. With a Minnie of this quality, Puccini’s opera finally and worthily celebrated its hundredth birthday at the Met. (Can we have her back again soon? Please? As Butterfly, say, or Sieglinde?)

Matos, though younger, looks very like Debbie Voigt: She cuts a sturdy figure, more athletic frontierswoman than fashion model. A natural actress, she seemed to know each miner inside and out, able to play with them, tease them, slap them about, tousle their hair. This makes all the sillier Giancarlo Del Monaco’s staging of the opera’s climax, when Minnie begs the miners to spare her lover’s life: She has no need to fire guns at them. She knows and we know they’ll never shoot at her. They adore her. She’s never asked them for anything before—and now she does, and of course they let her and her lover depart together romantically into the sunset. (Del Monaco, thinking as usual that he’s cleverer than Puccini, sends all the miners off with them, instead of having them tug our heartstrings as they wave her a last farewell. Puccini always knew what he was doing; directors mess with him at their peril.)

With a different prima donna, a genuine Fanciulla at the heart of the opera, every singer on the stage seemed to turn up an energetic notch or two—glorious high notes from Giordani, fine contributions from Owen Gradus’s Jake, Keith Miller’s Ashby, Dwayne Croft’s Sonora and, well, drinks around the bar, boys! I mean, ragazzi! Great work by all hands. A starry night.

-J.Y. image=http://www.operatoday.com/Fanciulla_Met_2010_02.gif image_description=Deborah Voigt as Minnie [Photo by Ken Howard courtesy of Metropolitan Opera] product=yes product_title=Giacomo Puccini: La Fanciulla del West product_by=Minnie: Deborah Voigt; Dick Johnson: Marcello Giordani; Jack Rance: Lucio Gallo; Nick: Tony Stevenson; Sonora: Dwayne Croft; Jake: Oren Gradus. Metropolitan Opera House chorus and orchestra conducted by Nicola Luisotti. Performance of December 14. product_id=Above: Deborah Voigt as Minnie

All photos by Ken Howard courtesy of Metropolitan Opera

Owing the World a Tannhäuser

By Mark Berry [Boulezian, 17 December 2010]

‘R. slept well and has decided to have a massage only once a day.’ Thus Cosima Wagner opened her diary entry from Venice for 23 January 1883, but twenty days before Richard’s death.

Karlsruhe Tosca: Guns ‘n’ Jesus

Literally.

A cardinal’s face appears upstage in the skylight hole of a tromp l’oeil baroque church cupola and several men are lined up on a slightly elevated platform (just a step up), facing him upstage. Then…gunshots ring out and the men fall dead to the ground. And the famous opening chords ring out as a drop cuts off the sight of their corpses.

Bear with me here, and trust me as I say if this is perhaps not the Tosca of your dreams, nor does it turn out to be the Tosca of your worst nightmares. There is much to recommend in the pared down scenic approach. If you reveled in the excesses of Zeffirelli’s Met-ravaganza, stay far away from this one, because Heinz Balthes’s church scene is largely played “in one” in front of the above mentioned drop. Panels eventually part to reveal multiple Mylar-mirrored images of the Virgin (that Cavaradossi never touches with a paint brush), but somehow the imagery is apt, handsome…even honest.

There is no visible gate to the side chapel where Angelotti hides, only a statue of Mary down left that remains there throughout. Down right is a…well…we’ll get to that later. John Dew’s direction is full of quirks, most of them fresh, some of them downright frech, all of them (save one) uncommonly intriguing. Our diva and the tenor are playfully frisky and ardent to the point that they actually spend some time lounging about on the floor of the chapel! (Honey, don’t you worry about kissing him in front of the Madonna when you were pressing against him on the tiles!)

Arguably the most sensational innovation was having Scarpia portrayed (are you seated?) as a cardinal of the church. Yes, you read it here. And well, think about it, why not? Highly placed civilians like a police chief could buy their way into position in the church, and within the context of today’s sexual misbehavior within the clergy, it added a whole extra Creep Factor to his lustful pursuit of the leading lady. Ewwwwwwwwww. Instead of merely attending the service of the Eucharist, Scarpia led it even as he plotted his sordid seduction. Double Eeeeeeeeeeeeew. In moments like these Mr. Dew provided a complex spontaneity to this Puccini War Horse that I no longer thought possible.

And Balthes’ simple sets focused the whole shebang right where it should be, on the characters. The Farnese Palace featured only a long banquet table and some doors, and that was all that was needed. What an effective cat and mouse pursuit was facilitated around that ample table. Jose Manuel Vasquez contrived vividly appropriate costumes, from the vibrant red of the cardinal’s cassock, to Tosca’s steely blue Act II satin gown, to her Norma Desmond white entrance dress with red turban and over-jacket. Gorgeously detailed, character-specific attire. Gerd Meier’s lighting was not called upon to do much more than area isolation and general washes but they were even, well colored, and for once, we saw the perfomers’ faces. And what performers they were! If you wanted you could pay ten times the ticket prices in New York or Vienna and still not see a cast this good.

Keith Ikaia-Purdy as Cavaradossi and Barbara Dobrzanska as Tosca [Photo by Jochen Klenk courtesy of Badisches Staatstheater Karlsruhe]

Barbara Dobrzanska is a local treasure who seems content to remain so, for she could conquer many an international house with her secure spinto soprano. I am not sure that I have heard anyone nail the role’s high notes with greater skill. They definitely rated a ten on the Thrill-O-Meter. Her middle and lower voice are uniform and seamless, and she never faltered in musical excellence or dramatic concentration. I did have the feeling that Ms. Dobrzanska is still somewhat feeling her way through this iconic role. There aren’t many parts that have more baggage than this one are there? I mean, to include the ghost of La Callas hovering over it. Barbara has all the skill sets in place, but as of yet there seemed to be too much control in a character than is explosive passion incarnate. Oddly, her least effective moment was probably Vissi d’arte. Oh it was exceedingly well sung, but it seemed almost an out of body experience for her. For sheer sound, stamina, and power, though, hers was a notable role assumption. And she looked as glamorous as I have ever seen her (although her gait could glide a bit more). Barbara Dobrzanska is already a very fine Tosca and as she internalizes it more, she can likely develop into one of the greats.

Keith Ikaia-Purdy was born to sing Cavaradossi, the vocal line fitting him like a glove and highlighting all his strengths. Although announced as indisposed, he called upon his solid technique to fill the house with idiomatic, heartfelt Puccinian vocalism of a very high standard indeed. His steely top notes can assuredly thrill with a ringing Vittoria and the like, but what sets him apart is his sensitivity to text and his ability to scale back his voice for nuanced phrasings. When he and his soprano got revved up in their duets, they were smokin’ and you knew you had come to the right address!

Barbara Dobrzanska as Tosca [Photo by Jochen Klenk courtesy of Badisches Staatstheater Karlsruhe]

Stefan Stoll was a fine foil as Scarpia, his solid, stentorian baritone fulfilling all of the demands of the part with none of the cliches. His Te Deum was memorable and a high point of the performance. His varied banter with Tosca was laden with sub-text, his character three-dimensional. Ulrich Schneider was a more sober Sacristan than is usual and while his virile baritone was pleasing to hear, the role lost some of the comic definition that usually enriches these scenes. Luiz Molz sang nicely as Angelotti but lacked that final bit of honest urgency. Hans-Jörg Weinschenk’s Spoletta and (especially) Alexander Huck’s Sciarrone were not the usual comprimario turns, but very well sung indeed with ringing tone -- welcome portrayals by two skilled performers. I somewhat missed the purity of a boy soprano as the Shepherd, but Őzgecan Gençer won me over with her sweet account of the Act III opening.

Conductor Jochem Hochstenbach had the band in good order, and the ensemble between stage and pit was commendable. There might have been a little more indulgence in give and take with the principles but the whole performance was tidy and stylistically sound. Hans-Jörg Kalmbach’s childrens’ chorus was notably well prepared.

The one mega-major-mucho miscalculation was alas, saved for last. First off (and this is not it), instead of jumping to her death, Tosca instead gets shot dead like the line-up of extras in the opening. You are thinking: “That’s not it????” Admit it. You are.

No, after her “different” demise, a statue of scourged Jesus that had been placed down right suddenly comes to life. Clad in what seems to be Depends, a diaphanous red cloak, and a crown of thorns out of Martha Stewart Living,our Lord sprints over to the corpse. This was undoubtedly meant to somehow be an avanti a Dio moment but really, the way the super flitted, it came off more: “Gurl, waddamaddawidyougetupoffadatfloorandrun!” Where was another bullet when you needed it…?

James Sohre

image=http://www.operatoday.com/tosca_5.gif
image_description=Barbara Dobrzanska as Tosca [Photo courtesy of Badisches Staatstheater Karlsruhe]

product=yes
product_title=Giacomo Puccini: Tosca
product_by=Floria Tosca: Barbara Dobrzanska; Mario Cavaradossi: Keith Ikaia-Purdy; Scarpia: Stefan Stoll; Sacristan: Ulrich Schneider; Cesare Angelotti: Luiz Molz; Spoletta: Hans-Jörg Weinschenk; Sciarrone: Alexander Huck; Shepherd’s Voice: Őzgecan Gençer. Conductor: Jochem Hochstenbach. Director: John Dew. Set: Heinz Balthes. Costumes: Jose Manuel Vasquez. Lights: Gerd Meier. Chorus Master: Ulrich Wagner. Children’s Chorus: Hans-Jörg Kalmbach.
product_id=Above: Barbara Dobrzanska as Tosca [Photo courtesy of Badisches Staatstheater Karlsruhe]

Il Postino: You’ve got mail

By Zerbinetta [Likely Impossibilities, 15 December 2010]

In Daniel Catán’s opera Il Postino, currently receiving its European premiere at the Theater an der Wien, the postman always rings... well, only once each time he visits, but you shall know him by the hazy seventh chords in the strings, lush and yet tastefully not too lush.

Paris: ‘Maler’ or ‘Malheur’?

Unfortunately, sometimes more can be less, and the personal plight of the characters too often seemed secondary to the hulking, tracking set design created by Pierre-André Weitz. Not that it wasn’t well constructed and functional. It was. Mostly. But the massive three-story facade with staircases and platforms and ornate gleaming gold frou-frou dwarfed everything and everyone every time it appeared. It was meant to dazzle, and it did sparkle and gleam, but mostly it distracted as it rolled, sunk, rotated and did everything but stand on its head and whistle Dixie.

Having updated the period to just after the time of its composition (read: WW2), there were some coherent images that paralleled Matthias Grűnewald’s struggle for artistic expression in the repressive climate of his day with the challenges Hindemith faced as the Nazis gained control of the country. But there were many other ideas that just didn’t quite mesh with the tale of the beleaguered painter of the colorful Isenheim Alterpiece. And there were some downright oddities in scenic decisions.

Why did a functional, chest-high platform bearing a living quasi-tableau of the altarpiece have holes in its floor so that characters could stand up on the (lower) main stage floor, chest-high in the spaces? In fact, what on earth was director Oliver Py thinking when he had the cast bending over and crawling underneath said platform to get from behind it to the stage apron to sing? What was that about? St. Cunegonde’s cure for backaches? Too often the performers seemed to be singing to us, or about each other, rather than to each other.

The siege/attack/rebellion segments were physicalized by manually rolling on Panzers and tromping in storm troopers, and placing it all in bombed out mansions and government buildings, and lacing it heavily with swastikas. All well and good enough I suppose, but the dreariness of war-torn Germany made the occasionally ponderous writing even more turgid, and the resonance that the creative team had aspired to didn’t quite occur. Weitz fared better with his characterful 40’s costumes, although there was the odd 15th century garb hither and thither that garbled the physical impression.

In an apparent attempt to goose up the visuals, lighting designer Bertrand Kelly seemed to pull out all the stops with a riot of gobo effects, hazers, film loops, rotating prisms, Vari-Lites, you name it. It was not unlike a stage lighting trade show. In addition to some lively and evocative illumination, however, Mr. Kelly also turned blinding white lights on the audience on more than one occasion, causing patrons to physically turn their heads away, wince and squint, hold a hand up to shield their eyes, and generally react with considerable discomfort. Hmmmmm. Were the focus to be more sensibly adjusted, this would make the light plot emphatically the most satisfying design element, for it was otherwise well-considered.

The title role calls for heroic utterance and Herculean stamina. Matthias Goerne had quite enough of the latter if not the former. I greatly enjoy Mr. Goerne in recital, and was entertained by his Papageno in Salzburg. But precious nuance, and engaging charm are not what Mr. Hindemith is asking for. Our leading man is more often than not called upon to pour out pulsing, solid phrases over a multi- and thickly-layered orchestration. Our baritone was found slightly wanting on the lower conversational passages and the upper forte extremes of the part. The rich middle voice was deployed very conscientiously, although it has to be said that Goerne’s grainy tone did not always slice through the accompaniment with ease, if at all. The top was pressed when volume was needed and turned somewhat straight and dry. Happily, the final great monologue played to all of his considerable interpretive gifts, and he managed to limn a moving finale, limpid and introspective without being self-pitying. Matthias is undeniably a major artist but the role is simply a size too large for his instrument. Pity.

Isenheim Altarpiece by Matthias Grünewald (1506-1515)

Not so with the Albrecht von Brandenburg as sung by Scott MacAllister. The bright, incisive, clarion tenor may not have the elegant richness of say, James King, but McAllister nails the part. Is it quibbling to wish that he was capable of more variety of color when he sings it this well? I also admired Thorsten Gruen who utilized his vibrant, dark bass baritone to good musical effect as Lorenz von Pommersfelden. Every bit his equal, Michael Weinius offered a beautiful orotund bass in the service of Hans Schwalb. In the less grateful role of Wolfgang Capito, Wolfgang Ablinger-Sperrhacke was musically competent if dramatically flat, and did all that was required, if no more. Gregory Reinhart’s solid bass gave much pleasure as Riedinger, with veteran basso Antoine Garcin in thundering voice as Truchsess von Waldburg.

Melanie Diener has a fine career going with notable appearances at major houses. Hers is a meaty enough soprano, with a reedy quality and quicksilver vibrato that serves the role of Ursula very well indeed. She has a vibrant stage presence and is wholly involved in the drama. Her musical instincts are first rate, and her sound technique delivers whatever she (and the composer) asks of it. It is true, the cruelly high tessitura on a few angular phrases challenged her to modulate to a thinner, tighter production. But Ms. Diener delivered the goods, and projected the most fire of anyone on the stage. Curiously, she didn’t have quite the cumulative impact I imagined she should, but maybe it is a limitation of the writing? Altogether a first class performance none the less.

The lovely, lilting singing from lovely, blond Martina Welschenbach also brought much joy to the proceedings as Regina. Ms. Welschenbach also has a winning stage demeanor and dramatic savvy. Her well-schooled soprano rang out with good presence, and she assuredly contributed some of the evening’s most affecting phrasing. Nadine Weissman gave a solid, plummy account of the Countess of Helfenstein’s featured scenes.

Mathis der Maleris unquestionably better known as a greatly truncated symphonic piece and if we have any expectations coming into the auditorium, it is to hear the orchestral music thrilling played. Christoph Eschenbach and his splendid orchestra did not disappoint. The greater the challenge the better this group seems to play and they were riveting all night as they tossed off every fiendish requirement Hindemith could devise. Rich, complex banks of strings? You got it. Virtuosic solo turns? No problem. Heart-racing rhythmic effects? Check. Magnificent work from the pit. And kudos to the always fine chorus under the tutelage of Patrick Marie Aubert.

I have (perhaps overly) fond recollections of a beautifully sung, sparingly staged version of the piece in Wiesbaden many years ago, with the altarpiece itself forming almost the entire scenic concept. Masterful, I thought at the time. I found myself longing for its simpler, less bombastic pleasures. But still, it is always wonderful to have any opportunity at all to see Mathis der Maler and if Paris’s unruly design elements are really more “malheur” than “Maler” perhaps they could be tamed, the blocking quirks addressed, and the current staging might just yet be fully redeemed by its superior musical achievements.

James Sohre

Click here for a video excerpt.

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Paul_Hindemith_1923.gif
image_description=Paul Hindemith (1923) [Photo: Wikipedia]

product=yes
product_title=Paul Hindemith: Mathis der Maler
product_by=Albrecht von Brandenburg: Scott MacAllister; Mathis: Matthias Goerne; Lorenz von Pommersfelden: Thorsten Gruen; Wolfgang Capito: Wolfgang Ablinger-Sperrhacke; Riedinger: Gregory Reinhart; Hans Schwalb: Michael Weinius; Ursula: Melanie Diener; Regina: Martina Welschenbach; Countess of Helfenstein: Nadine Weissman; Truchsess von Waldburg: Antoine Garcin; Sylvester von Schaumberg: Eric Huchet. Conductor: Christoph Eschenbach. Director: Oliver Py. Set and Costumes: Pierre-André Weitz. Lighting: Bertrand Kelly. Chorus Master: Patrick Marie Aubert.
product_id=Above: Paul Hindemith (1923) [Photo: Wikipedia]

Wagner Tannhäuser: Royal Opera House, London

Perhaps Tim Albery’s inspiration came from the prize-singing contest. Dominating the stage in the First Act is a fake Royal Opera House proscenium, complete with fake velvet curtains and gold trimmings. It’s absolutely stunning. But beware! The fact remains, Tannhäuser is not Adriana Lecouvreur.

For Wagner, Tannhäuser is torn between extremes. Venusberg represents orgiastic excess and abandonment, Wartburg ascetic self denial. Wartburg wins. Venusberg doesn’t. If Albery thinks Tannhäuser is a metaphor for opera and for the Royal Opera House in particular, maybe he should get out more and see the real world. Prize song contests aren’t just about “singing”, as we know from Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, and it is even closer to medieval morality tales. For Wagner (who personally liked velvet and excess) what is at issue is a new sensibility built on rigorous conceptual thinking. Wagner’s deliberately distancing himself from Meyerbeer and what he thought of as feelgood, but brainless, glitz.

Hence, the ballet that portrays Venusberg. It’s a pointed dig against the kind of entertainment Wagner rejected, and at the kind of audiences who used to flock to see ballerinas’ legs, ignoring the music and drama. Here the ballet is presented completely devoid of irony. Once I saw a production where the ballet was a bondage orgy, the dancers inhuman beasts. Horrifying yet hypnotic, which is why Tannhäuser was enslaved. If Venusberg was as safe and wholesome and dull as this ballet, he would have long since died of boredom.

Eva-Marie Westbroek as Elisabeth

Albery’s Wartburg is post apocalyptic greyness. The Royal Opera House arch lies broken, twisted like rubble in the background. Visually, though this adds a vertical element to the horizontal flatness. The barrenness is valid, since Wartburg’s in crisis situation. If Venusberg’s no fun, Wartburg should be even less so. Physical movement in the First Act is slow to the point of being comatose. At first I thought this was to allow for Johann Botha’s disability, which would be laudable, but then remembered that excessively slow movement is a Tim Albery trademark. In Albery’s Der fliegende Holländer , Bryn Terfel spent much of the time appearing to pull a long rope suspended diagonally across the stage. (An echo of that rope appears in this Tannhäuser too.) Grunge aesthetic is an Albery thing, whatever the opera or the singer, and sometimes it works. Obviously directors have an individual language, as all artists do, but grimness for its own sake can become tedious if it holds up dramatic flow.

Tannhäuser is not a romantic hero. He left Wartburg in a pique and gave in whole-heartedly to Venusberg’s excesses. Thus Johann Botha’s portrayal is psychologically accurate. Wagner’s whole point is that the character is sated, almost destroyed by what he’s experienced, yet still has a spark of goodness that makes him worth saving. That’s why Elisabeth cares about him. Why redeem someone who doesn’t need help? Botha’s characterization was much more subtle and true to the role and to the opera than might meet the eye. On the ear, too, he was very good, totally justifying the casting, even if his voice flagged in the final Act. Much better that Botha sings Tannhäuser with a sense of his inner complexes. Conflict is central to this opera, and Botha’s singing expresses depth and complexity. It’s a difficult role, and less gratifying because the big showpiece song isn’t his, but Botha shows that he’s a hero in his own way. Perhaps Wagner knew that the Meyerbeer crowd would never understand.

Michaela Schuster as Venus

Tannhäuser might see Elisabeth as the Virgin Mary, but Elisabeth is a real woman with intense passions. Eva-Maria Westbroek’s singing brings out the wildness, even the sexuality in the role. Westbroek’s forte is bringing personality to the parts she sings, and here she turns an almost stereotype into a fully-formed human being,. A lesser singer would be trapped by the restrictions created by this costume and direction. Westbroek overcomes these obstacles by her innate artistry.

Three different people in the audience mentioned that Christian Gerhaher sings like a Lieder singer. This has become such a cliché that maybe it’s time to think what that actually means. Gerhaher got mauled by Fischer-Dieskau fans many years ago, so conversely I’ve listened to him with much greater sympathy than otherwise. I’ve got most of his records and been to most of his UK concerts. He’s an excellent singer, but the smoothness of his line is best suited to roles which reach beyond the fundamental grittiness of Lieder. He’s a perfect Wolfram von Eschenbach. Here his clean timbre creates Wolfram as an idealized symbolic figurehead, not quite of this world even though he was a historic figure. That, for me, is why Gerhaher’s Wolfram was sublime. The character itself is less important than what it represents. Wolfram is the embodiment of “die heilige deutsche Kunst”, something greater than mere mortals.

Christian Gerhaher as Wolfram von Eschinbach

Semyon Bychkov conducted the Royal Opera House Orchestra. Very beautiful, emphasizing the lyricism in the score. The interludes uninterrupted by staging were excellent. Given Albery’s view that Tannhäuser operates at a critical post-trauma turning point, one might have hoped that Bychkov might have injected some crackling tension into the music. It’s not a comfortable opera. Wagner declares against Venus, after all.

At the end, another typical Albery touch. In his Der fliegende Holländer, the Dutchman’s haunting portrait was replaced by a toy boat. That’s acceptable, as an indication of Senta’s fantasist immaturity. In this Tannhäuser there’s no papal staff to burst into leaf. Instead a small boy, seated on the same chair Tannhäuser sat in, playing with what looks like a neon toy Xmas tree. Even if it’s supposed to be symbolic, it’s absurd. Reductionism can work extremely well in opera, but badly done, it turns to trivia.

Michaela Schuster, who sang the Princess in Adriana Lecouvreur, recently sang Venus. A sold cast all round: good support from Timothy Robinson, Steven Ebel, Clive Bayley and Jeremy White.

This production of Wagner’s Tannhäuser runs at the Royal Opera House, London until January 2nd 2011. For more information, please see the Royal Opera House site.

Anne Ozorio

image=http://www.operatoday.com/TANN-101206_1613-BOTHA-AS-T.gif
image_description=Johann Botha as Tannhäuser [Photo by Clive Barda courtesy of the Royal Opera House]

product=yes
product_title=Richard Wagner: Tannhäuser
product_by=Venus: Michaela Schuster, Tannhäuser: Johann Botha, Shepherd boy: Alexander Lee, Landgrave Herrmann: Christof Fischesser, Wolfram von Eschinbach: Christian Gerhaher, Walther von Vogelweide: Timothy Robinson, Heinrich der Schreiber: Steven Ebel, Biterolf: Clive Bayley, Reinmar von Zweter: Jeremy White, Elisabeth: Eva-Marie Westbroek. Conductor: Semyon Bychkov, Orchestra of the Royal Opera House, Director Tim Albery, Choreography: Jasmin Vardimon, Set Design: Michael Levine, Costume Design: Jon Morrell, Lighting Design: David Finn, Movement Director: Maxine Braham. Royal Opera Chorus, Director: Renato Balsadonna. 11th December 2010, Royal Opera House, London.
product_id=Above: Johann Botha as Tannhäuser

All photos by Clive Barda courtesy of the Royal Opera House

Met’s stirring ‘Don Carlo’ a production that should last the next 30 years

By David Rubin [CNY Café Momus, 13 December 2010]

Don Carlo, Verdi’s sprawling historical drama of doomed love, colonial tyranny, and church-state relations during the Inquisition, based on a poem by Schiller, has been a pivotal opera in the history of the Met over the last 60 years.

Johann Adolph Hasse: Antonio e Cleopatra

The greatest of his more than sixty stage works were performed in all the major musical centres of Europe and dozens of his arias were the mainstay repertoire of the leading singers of the day. Celebrated above all for his melodic gift and the supreme elegance of his vocal writing, Hasse was held by the contemporary English music critic and historian Charles Burney to be ‘superior to all other lyric composers’. One measure of Hasse’s popularity was the enormous salary he received as court opera composer in Dresden; together with his wife, the famous prima donna Faustina Bordoni, Hasse earned the staggering sum of six thousand Reichsthaler annually — sixty times the amount paid to Johann Sebastian Bach for his services as Thomaskantor in Leipzig.

Johann Adolph Hasse by Balthasar Denner (1740)

Called ‘il divino Sassone’ by his Italian admirers, Hasse was in fact not a Saxon but a native of North Germany. Born in the village of Bergedorf near Hamburg, the composer began his musical career in 1718 as a tenor at Hamburg’s Gänsemarkt opera — an important station for many prominent German opera composers, including Händel, Keiser, Mattheson and Telemann. After a short engagement the following year at the court in Braunschweig, Hasse journeyed to Italy, where he settled in Naples and studied with Porpora and Alessandro Scarlatti. One of Hasse’s first Italian works, the present serenata Antonio e Cleopatra, was composed in 1725 and was followed by a series of opera commissions for the Neapolitan court. His fame grew quickly over the next several years, culminating in the success of Artaserse at Venice during the Carnival season in 1730, the composer’s first collaboration with Metastasio and the opera which launched his international career. The following year, Hasse and his new bride Faustina were engaged in Dresden, where they remained on and off until the beginning of the Seven Years War in 1756, with sojourns in Venice, Vienna, Warsaw and Paris. Following the war, which ruined the Saxon court both financially and artistically, Hasse moved to Vienna in 1764 before retiring to Venice with Faustina in 1773.

Hasse’s music is historically significant as a perfect embodiment of the stile galant, which, though it was the principal style for at least half of the 18th century, has been sadly misunderstood by a music historiography centred on the supposed dichotomy of ‘baroque’ and ‘classical’. Fixated on the far-from-mainstream J.S.Bach and Mozart, generations of musicologists have explained away central figures like Telemann, Hasse, C.P.E.Bach and J.C.Bach as ‘post-baroque’ or ‘pre-classical’. Only since the 1970s have scholars begun to undertake a serious examination of the style which dominated Europe for decades.^*

In light of the traditional view of the 18th century as the age of Bach and Mozart, it is not surprising that mid-century opera composers such as Hasse or Carl Heinrich Graun — who was regarded as the former’s near-equal by contemporary critics — remained largely forgotten during the so-called ‘early music’ revival in the latter half of the twentieth century. Another reason their music has remained locked away in the archives is the inherent difficulty of opera seria itself as a genre. With the notable exception of Händel, no composer of opera seria has gained acceptance into the repertoire today, and even Händel’s operas are routinely subjected to absurd attempts to make the genre ‘understandable’ or ‘relevant’ to modern audiences. Apart from aesthetic considerations, the sheer difficulty of singing this music represents a further barrier, as the style simultaneously requires purity of tone, great nuance in expression and consummate virtuosity. It is not a coincidence that one of Hasse’s favourite singers was the celebrated castrato Farinelli, whose appearance in a 1734 performance of Artaserse in London was described (long after the fact) by Charles Burney: ‘The first note he sung was taken with such delicacy, swelled by minute degrees to such an amazing volume, and afterwards diminished in the same manner to a mere point, that it was applauded for full five minutes. After this he set off with such brilliancy and rapidity of execution, that it was difficult for the violins of those days to keep pace with him.’

All of the above-mentioned factors, taken together with the music industry’s narrow-minded focus on ‘commercially viable’ composers, have meant that Hasse’s music has heretofore been rarely heard on stage and in recordings. Even the three-hundredth anniversary of his birth in 1999 did little to change this. It is typical that more of the composer’s (historically insignificant) instrumental music has been recorded than have his operas. The only full-length Hasse opera on CD is still William Christie’s pioneering 1986 recording of Cleofide (Capriccio 10193/96), with Emma Kirkby reprising the title-role composed for Faustina Bordoni (very highly recommended if one can find a used copy).

Under the circumstances, any new recording of dramatic music by Hasse is a welcome addition to the composer’s meagre discography, and is automatically a must-have for enthusiasts of opera seria. It was therefore with great expectation that I noted the recent release of the 1725 serenata (Marc’)Antonio e Cleopatra (Dorian Sono Luminus DSL-92115), a two-act ‘mini opera’ featuring only the two title characters. Antonio e Cleopatra is interesting not only because it was one of Hasse’s first significant works, but also since it was composed for Farinelli himself (Cleopatra), together with the Florentine contralto Vittoria Tesi (Antonio). While the former is widely regarded to have been one of the greatest singers of all time, contemporary accounts suggest that Vittoria Tesi (1700-1775) was at best inconsistent. Although she received many honours and enjoyed the patronage of Maria Theresia, Metastasio once called her a ‘grandissima nullità’, and Pierre Ange Goudar wrote in 1773 that Tesi had been ‘perhaps the first actress who recited well while singing badly’.

That Hasse knew his singers’ abilities well is immediately evident in the disposition of the eight arias in Antonio e Cleopatra: Farinelli sings the virtuosic music, while Tesi receives only cantabile arias. In the lively duets which close each act, Hasse restrains Farinelli’s virtuosity while increasing his demands on Signora Tesi. These duets also serve to illustrate one reason why lovers in opera seria were usually both cast as high voices: the close part-writing and frequent use of parallel thirds and sixths underscores the intimacy shared by the main characters. Though all of it is attractive, the best music in Antonio e Cleopatra is to be found in the cantabile arias, where we most clearly hear the elegant turns of phrase which made Hasse famous. The arias ‘Fra le pompe peregrine’ and ‘Là tra i mirti degl’Elisi’ are superb examples of the composer’s graceful lyricism: using the simplest of means, he strings together many small gestures to weave a fine melodic filigree. This is the very essence of the stile galant.

Unfortunately, the present recording fails to deliver in precisely that element which is so essential to opera seria: excellent singing. The two soloists, Ava Pine (Cleopatra) and Jamie Barton (Antonio), are inadequate to the task. They do not display the most rudimentary grasp of the subtleties required by the stile galant, and their conservatory-trained ‘operatic’ voices, plagued by incessant vibrato and a portamento approach to the higher octaves, are entirely unsuitable to this music. Take for example the wonderful aria ‘Pur ch’io possa a te’ (Antonio): the ritornello begins with great promise, but then Ms Barton spoils the effect by plodding through the notes one-by-one without the slightest sense that she is singing 18th-century music. We cannot wait for the aria to end — what a shame! As sung by Ms Pine, Farinelli’s arias hardly fare any better. In the bravura ‘A Dio trono, impero a Dio’ (Cleopatra), for example, the soprano negotiates the coloratura passages reasonably well, but her voice is overtaxed by the highest notes and her indiscriminately-applied vibrato is sometimes wider than the intervals being sung.

The orchestra, Ars Lyrica Houston, turns in more skilful performances than the vocalists. Its director, prize-winning harpsichordist and organist Matthew Dirst, has a good grasp of the style, and the playing is competent, if not outstanding. Dirst’s decision to include flutes, recorders and oboes to double the strings is both historically defensible and aesthetically appropriate. That a period-instrument ensemble from Texas should undertake to record Hasse is in itself notable and praiseworthy.

Antonio e Cleopatra has been nominated for a Grammy Award in the category ‘Best Opera Recording’. Given its flaws, ‘Most Important Opera Recording’ might be more appropriate. Nevertheless, the nomination is significant because it shows that perhaps Hasse could indeed become a ‘commercially viable’ composer. Perhaps a singer of Philippe Jaroussky’s calibre can be persuaded to take up Hasse’s cause as he has done recently for Johann Christian Bach (‘La Dolce Fiamma’ on Virgin Classics).

Despite its shortcomings, this recording is recommendable for the simple fact that we will probably not hear another version of this splendid music. If one can hear past the vocal performances, the beauty of Hasse’s music cannot fail to captivate listeners today as it did nearly three centuries ago.

Dr. Brian D. Stewart © 2010

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^* Highly recommended is Daniel Heartz’s Music in European Capitals: The Galant Style, 1720-1780 (Norton, 2003) , which culminates the author's longstanding crusade to rehabilitate the music of this period.

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Hasse_A-C.gif image_description=Johann Adolph Hasse: Antonio e Cleopatra product=yes product_title=Johann Adolph Hasse: Antonio e Cleopatra product_by=Jamie Barton, mezzo-soprano; Ava Pine, soprano. Ars Lyrica Houston. Matthew Dirst, artistic director, conductor product_id=Dorian Recordings DSL-92115 [2CDs] price=$29.99 product_url=http://www.arkivmusic.com/classical/Drilldown?name_id1=5130&name_role1=1&bcorder=1&comp_id=375496

Don Giovanni: Love in a boring climate

By Zerbinetta [Likely Impossibilities, 12 December 2010]

The Wiener Staatsoper's new production of Don Giovanni was begging to be stolen all night. Had anyone shown a little initiative and done something exciting, they could have walked off with it in their pocket.

La Bohème, New York

The Met threw in another intermission, but did not distribute free Champagne. Perhaps the Zeffirelli production is becoming arthritic, or did the donkey or the horse (it is Zeffirelli; you get both in his Act II) throw the sort of tantrum singers never risk nowadays? Alcindoro’s re-entrance with the shoes (Paul Plishka, as inevitably as the snow in Act III) has somehow got lost in the mayhem, and you are free to regret this if you like. I also missed Marcello’s “Crossing of the Red Sea” painting, which is supposed to be hanging outside the snowy inn in Act III.

For me, though, what made the whole thing worth seeing was Krassimira Stoyanova’s first Mimi in New York, especially the moment when, wandering around the boys’ studio, plainly never having seen such a place (Rodolfo is on the balcony telling his pals downstairs to get lost), takes up Marcello’s paintbrush, waving it in the air, unable to imagine what on earth it is. One is grateful for any spontaneity in this ancient staging.

Stoyanova is perhaps the world’s foremost lyric-spinto today, but the Met hardly takes her seriously as she is not a glamour girl. Mimi is her only assignment there this season, though New Yorkers can catch her internationally admired Desdemona when the Chicago Symphony performs Otello here in April. Her acting in Bohème’s impossibly cluttered attic is impeccable, though she has trouble getting around all the furniture (“Why don’t they burn a few of those picture frames instead of Rodolfo’s manuscript?” grumbles a friend) and is happier when there is merely snow to dodge in Act III. Her voice is of exceptional sweetness, kept deceptively small (it is not a small voice) when portraying the consumptive seamstress. On the first night of the run, there were a few mildly disconcerting moments of awkward pitch; I’d rather have heard her later in the run. The live broadcast from Vienna last fall was ideal, unearthly, recalling the young Freni.

Her Rodolfo was Joseph Calleja, a burly, bearded fellow with an easy smile and a smiling voice—marred for some hearers, perhaps, by an old-fashioned vibrato that reminded me of Alessandro Bonci. Fabio Capitanucci, who is actually stout, sang a perfect Marcello with an ingratiatingly suave baritone one is eager to hear again. Debutantes filled out the Bohemian quartet: Günther Groissböck (Colline) and Dimitris Tiliakos (Schaunard) revealed fine, well-produced, Met-sized voices if not yet much individuality of character. Ellie Dehn, who was so lovely in the Met’s Satyagraha, sang Musetta’s music well but acted like a village schoolmarm drafted at the last minute and against all inclination to play the vamp. She’s no vamp, and displayed no sexual magnetism at all. We’re not interested in your petticoats, dear—where’s that ankle?

Roberto Rizzi Brignoli did not seem ideally in sync with his singers; one recalls more bounce in the scenes of Bohemian shenanigans. This group of newcomers seemed not quite ready to let themselves go. But the Met orchestra can play this music to perfection in its sleep, and did not sound asleep at all.

John Yohalem

image=http://www.operatoday.com/content/Stoyanova.png image_description=Krassimira Stoyanova product=yes product_title=Giacomo Puccini: La Bohème product_by=Mimi: Krassimira Stoyanova; Musetta: Ellie Dehn; Rodolfo: Joseph Calleja; Marcello: Fabio Capitanucci; Colline: Günther Groissböck; Schaunard: Dimitris Tiliakos. Metropolitan Opera. Conducted by Roberto Rizzi Brignoli. Performance of December 1. product_id=Above: Krassimira Stoyanova

Die Walküre at La Scala

Because it’s so high profile it attracts inordinate extra-musical interest. This year the big news was a huge demonstration outside the theatre protesting a 37% cut in arts funding. Violence broke out, many were injured. When the President of Italy, Giorgio Napolitano, and his entourage took their seats in the royal box, festooned with ten thousand roses, Daniel Barenboim made an impromptu speech supporting the protesters. “In the names of the colleagues who play, sing, dance and work, not only here but in all theatres, I am here to tell you we are deeply worried for the future of culture in the country and in Europe.” Massive applause. The President joined in.

Barenboim’s never been afraid of standing up for what he believes in. He’s also a passionate believer in Wagner’s music and is one of its most committed interpreters. This performance of Wagner’s Die Walküre, broadcast live internationally, may not have been the most exemplary in orchestral terms, but there’s no denying Barenboim’s flair.

The cast was truly grand luxeas befitted the occasion. Rene Pape had cancelled a few weeks before but there were stars aplenty. Waltraud Meier, Nina Stemme, Ekaterina Gubanova, John Tomlinson, Simon O’Neill and Vitalij Kowaljow, replacing the indisposed Rene Pape.

Waltraud Meier is one of the greatest Wagnerians of all time. Any opportunity to hear her cannot be missed, for she has created all the roles and understands their place in the grand scheme. Although she’s no longer in the first bloom of youth, her artistry is such that she can create a Sieglinde so ravishing that she seems transfigured. Sieglinde’s past has been too traumatic for her to be an ingenue. so Meier’s interpretation emphasizes the way Seiglinde blossoms as love awakens her, like a parched plant unfurling after a long drought. When Meier sings “Du bist der Lenz”, her voice warms and opens outwards. It’s so expressive that she creates the idea of the world ash tree bursting into leaf despite the barren surroundings.

Wonderful as Meier is, even she is outclassed by Nina Stemme’s Brünnhilde. Stemme is so lively and vivacious that she completely dispels any memories of historic, matronly Brünnhildes, with metal breastplates, horned helmets and spears. Instead, she’s dressed in what could pass as a modern if quirky evening dress, a blend of lace and bombazine with hints of Goth and punk. The costume (Tim van Steenbergen) fixes Brünnhilde at once in Wagner’s world of political rebellion and in present day ideas of generation conflict.

Stemme’s youthful energy and spark highlight her idealism and high principles. She’s not intimidated by Wotan, however much she loves him. Here, already in germination, is the Brünnhilde of Götterdämmerung who will defy death itself to right the wrongs that have gone before. Stemme’s voice pulsates with intensity, and softens with tenderness, her control firm and measured. Stemme’s vigour might have been even more impressive against a more dominant Wotan, but Vitalij Kowaljow was adequate rather than brooding. Nonetheless, of the male singers in this performance, he held up best.

John Tomlinson’s Hunding was more genial than malevolent, more aging rock star (complete with pony tail) than abusive brigand. Sieglinde might have been more bored than cowed. Still, everyone loves Tomlinson and the role isn’t huge. More worrying was Simon O’Neill’s Siegmund. Apparently he’d been indisposed in rehearsal. Perhaps he should have cancelled, for he had vocal problems from the start, After his voice cracked on “Schwester!”, things deteriorated. Since O’Neill isn’t especially mobile physically, he couldn’t fall back on acting skills when the voice failed. There is no shame in cancellation, and it’s better not to risk long term damage.

Ekaterina Gubanova’s Fricka was superb, elevating the role from a minor part to something far more profound. Usually the role is unsympathetic as our feelings about Hunding are negative, and it’s Fricka who demands that he be revenged, even though he married Sieglinde by force. Gubanova looks and sings with youthful radiance, connected more to the idea of growth and refreshment than to barrenness and drought. After all she stands for moral principles, just as Brünnhilde does. Wotan defiles marriage by scattering offspring everywhere, destroying many lives. Fricka stands for good, even if she’s stern, as Gubanova’s interesting portrayal suggests.

Scene from Act III

Unfortunately the direction and staging did little to develop the ideas inherent in the opera and in the superb performances by Meier, Stemme and Gubanova. Hunding’s house in the First Act was very well expressed - a cube of mirrors, glowing with light, encroached upon by dark chaos. Perhaps this was what Guy Cassiers, the director, referred to as the inward-looking paranoia of gated communities, when interviewed. After all, Hunding’s hearth is a down-market Valhalla and Hunding was a bandit, just as Wotan and Alberich got ahead through deception.

Yet this good idea didn’t develop. Act Three was a forest of vertical slivers lit by green light to suggest a forest, nothing more. The magic fire in Act Three was just silly. Nonetheless, compared to the recent Met Das Rheingold (Robert Lepage) Cassier’s direction had merit, especially in terms of Personenregie and vocal finesse. With experienced stars like Meier, Stemme and Gubanova, he could hardly go wrong. One could imagine a truly original ground-breaking interpretation of Die Walküre with stars like this but it’s too much to expect in reality. This La Scala Die Walküre wasn’t remarkable in itself (apart from the three leading female roles) but could spark off further insight that might bear fruit in future productions.

Anne Ozorio

Click here for a photo gallery of this production.

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Walkure_LaScala_01.gif
image_description=Nina Stemme as Brünnhilde and Vitalij Kowaljow as Wotan [Photo by Marco Brescia & Rudy Amisano, Archivio Fotografico del Teatro alla Scala]

product=yes
product_title=Richard Wagner : Die Walküre
product_by=Siegmund : Simon O'Neill, Sieglinde : Waltraud Meier, Hunding : John Tomlinson, Wotan : Vitalij Kowaljow, Brünnhilde : Nina Stemme, Fricka : Ekaterina Gubanova, Valkyries : Danielle Halbwachs, Carola Höhn, Yvonne Fuchs, Anaik Morel, Susan Foster, Leann Sandel-Pantaleo, Nicole Piccolomini, Simone Schröder. Conductor: Daniel Barenboim, Director: Guy Cassiers, Sets: Guy Cassiers and Enrico Bagnoli, Costumes: Tim van Steenbergen, Video: Arjen Klerkx and Kurt D'Haeseleer’ Teatro alla Scala Milan (relayed on live broadcast), 7th December 2010.
product_id=Above: Nina Stemme as Brünnhilde and Vitalij Kowaljow as Wotan

All photos by Marco Brescia & Rudy Amisano, Archivio Fotografico del Teatro alla Scala

Magic Flute, Phoenix

In 1791 Schikaneder, who was a fine actor and a capable singer, wanted a theater piece from Mozart because he thought the name of the well-known composer would attract a large audience to his Theater auf der Wieden. Since he needed a piece that would have a broad appeal, he asked for a singspiel. That format, which has spoken dialogue between the sung numbers, was then an extremely popular form of entertainment.

Schikaneder’s sources for the opera’s libretto included a book of imaginative pseudo-oriental fairy tales which were published by Jakob August Liebeskind in 1786 under the title Dschinnistan. In it, a story called “Lulu, oder der Zauberflöte” (“Lulu, or the Magic Flute”) gave the librettist some good material. He drew on other sources as well and he used Masonic symbolism. Mozart was a member of the Masonic Lodge in Vienna. Schikaneder applied for membership in his native Regensburg and was turned down, but he probably succeeded in becoming a member in Vienna. Both wanted to interest lodge members in coming to the theater.

More than two hundred years later we don’t know a great deal of what went on at rehearsals, but this has come down to us. Bass singer Sebastian Meyer is quoted as saying that Mozart originally wrote the duet where Papageno and Papagena first see each other quite differently from the way in which we now hear it. Originally they were to cry out “Papageno!” and “Papagena!” a few times at the beginning. Schikaneder told Mozart that the music must express greater astonishment. He said that at first they should stare dumbly at each other, then Papageno should begin to stammer ‘Pa-papapa-pa-pa’. Papagena must repeat that until both of them finally get the whole name out. Mozart followed the advice, and in this form the duet had to be encored at numerous performances.

On Friday evening 3 December Phoenix Opera presented Die Zauberflöte in a version which featured arias sung in German and dialogue spoken in English. The wonderfully imaginative original production was by David J Castellano. The stage director overseeing the Phoenix performances was Carroll Freeman and he told the story effectively. Boyd Ostroff’s set, built for the Opera Company of Philadelphia, was positively enchanting. The costumes by A. T. Jones and Son were attractive, functional and fit the wearers well. Conductor and Choral Director John Massaro drew fine playing from his orchestra and kept the chorus singing the exquisite harmonies accurately. Lisa Starry, together with the Scorpius and Cannedy Dance Companies provided spirited dances that enhanced the story.

As Tamino, tenor Vale Rideout sang with a rich sound that soared over the orchestra. He is a good actor, too, and he energized his text with conviction. The real star of the evening, however, was the Papageno, Kevin Burdette. He has a large powerful voice with a burnished robust sound and excellent German. His bright, vibrant personality pervaded the entire theater, especially when he entered from behind the audience. His interpretation gave us an idea of what Schikaneder’s performances must have been like.

Jennifer Nagy was a secure Pamina who sang with lovely bell-like tones. The most difficult role to cast in this opera is that of the Queen of the Night. Unfortunately, local voice teacher Anna-Lisa Hackett had problems with both of her admittedly difficult coloratura arias. It’s not easy to find a good bass for Sarastro, either, but Zdenek Plech proved to be thoroughly capable. He had a fine tone, secure technique and he seemed to have no trouble at all producing the lowest notes. He should have a good career ahead of him. As the Speaker, Earl Hazell sang with dark tonal colors that rang true. His wife, Alexis Davis Hazell was an amusing Third Lady who sang the bottom line with passion. As the other two ladies, Julie Davis and Erin Tompkins blended their close harmonies beautifully and played their parts with visual piquancy.

Gabriel Gargari was a humorous Monastatos who was often surrounded by his energetic slaves, portrayed with gusto by Ryan Glover, Dennis Tamblin and Aubrey Allicock. Allicock doubled as one of the Armed Men along with Francisco Renteria. Both sang with handsome sounds, as did the Priests, Guillermo Ontiveros and Christopher Herrera. Lisanne Norman Brooks was a cute and bouncy Papagena with a charming lyric voice. As the Three Spirits, Kristin Jensen, Dana Brooks Atwood and Kerry Ginger showed a flair for comedy as they sang with rich, agile voices. Although it was not a perfect performance, it was nice to see a local group put on this great masterpiece.

Maria Nockin

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Flute_AZ.gif image_description=The Magic Flute [Photo by Victor Massaro courtesy of Phoenix Opera] product=yes product_title=W. A. Mozart: The Magic Flute product_by=Vale Rideout: Tamino; Jennifer Nagy: Pamina; Kevin Burdette: Papageno; Lisanne Norman Brooks: Papagena; Zdenek Plech: Sarastro; Anna-Lisa Hackett: Queen of the Night. Carroll Freeman: Director. product_id=Above photo by Victor Massaro courtesy of Phoenix Opera

Cecilia Bartoli at the Barbican Centre, London

You sense that many people would be happy to listen to her whatever the repertoire. So, it was heartening to find that for her Barbican Centre concert, Bartoli devoted so much time and care to Handel’s operatic output and generating such enthusiasm for material which can still be regarded as specialist.

After exploring the life and work of Maria Malibran and the music written in Italy for the castrati, Cecilia Bartoli was back on more familiar territory at her concert at the Barbican Centre, London on Wednesday 8th December. She sang a sequence of arias from Handel’s Italian operas including substantial extracts from Giulio Cesare with Argentinian counter-tenor Franco Fagioli, accompanied by the Basel Chamber Orchestra.

Handel’s major operas were written for some of the greatest singers of the day; great talents can articulate the drama within music and present the emotion behind the showers of notes. Technically Bartoli is amazing, if idiosyncratic, but her greatest strength is neither as a technician nor as a stylist (thought she is strong in both these areas). Where she excels is in telling a story and drawing the listener in.

When not singing her stage manner was a little too winsome for my taste. But when the music started she was transformed. Rarely have I been at a recital where each aria was so strongly presented with its own character. For the opening sequence, the overture and two of Armida’s arias from Rinaldo she was transformed into the sorceress, her musical gestures matched by flashing eyes and dramatic arm movements.

This drama was then contrasted with a light bright aria from Lotario, a charming simile aria where Handel’s plays with the text (about a little boat in the breeze on the ocean) by adding running passages in the music.

The orchestra then played the Allegro from Veracini’s Overture No. 6 in G minor. Veracini was a violinist, contemporary of Handel, who came to London and had some success with his concerts. He also ventured into the operatic sphere, with less success, though his operatic version of As You Like It sounds intriguing.

Bartoli then returned with “Ah! Mio cor” from Alcina, sung with great power but also a strong sense of line. In this aria, Bartoli presented Alcina as a quicksilver, captivating woman and you wanted to hear more of her in the role. Her mercurial take on the aria was in fascinating contrast to Inga Kalna’s account of it at the recent complete performance of Alcina at the Barbican.

The orchestra then played two short overtures by Porpora, another contemporary and rival of Handel’s. Both from cantatas written late in his career after he had left London. Full of dramatic contrasts and striking orchestrations, they seemed effective preludes rather then works in their own right.

In “M’adora l’idol mio” from Teseo, Bartoli was paired brilliantly with solo oboe, the pair creating a sparkling duet partnership in the complex passage-work in the aria. Whilst it would be fascinating to hear Bartoli as the sorceress Medea from this opera, her account of this aria for the opera’s heroine Agilea was everything that it should be. But she turned to another evil sorceress, Melissa from Amadigi di Gaula for the closing item in part one, “Destero dall’empia Dite” in which Melissa threatens to raise every fury from hell, with the help of solo oboe and trumpet. Another bravura showpiece which Bartoli turned into a mini drama.

Both this and the preceding item were performed with recitative .I think this makes all the difference to a baroque aria and could have wished that Bartoli had included more; she is after all Italian and her was with the words is vivid.

Bartoli’s Cleopatra, a role which she has sung on stage, was richly coloured and fascinatingly varied, giving us a tantalising glimpse of what her performance of the full role might be like. “V’adoro pupille” was erotic but aristocratic, though it was a shame that the accompaniment lacked Handel’s full orchestration here. “Se pieta” was perfectly judged, showcasing Bartoli’s marvellous way with line, musical and dramatically involving. Finally “Da tempeste” was all that you could imagine, brilliant, charming and vivid.

Fagioli’s Cesare was not quite yet in the same league. He has an attractive, high counter-tenor voice with a strong vibrato and quite a feminine cast. His voice lacks the edge which some counter-tenors have and this was something that I missed in this music. “Va tacito” was superbly sung with fine solo horn playing, but lacked that element of danger which needs to underlay the music. His voice seemed too soft grained for the dramatics of “Al lamp dell’armi” but he did interpolate some superb high notes in the da capo. But the lyric beauty of “Aure, deh, per pieta” suited his voice perfectly. Finally Bartoli and Fagioli joined a lively performance of Cesare and Cleopatra’s duet from the opera.

This was a long and generous programme with Bartoli singing 8 substantial arias plus duet. In response to the enthusiasm of the audience at the end we were treated to 3 encores, one from each singer and a duet from Rinaldo.

Bartoli’s choice of arias seemed to highlight two particular ways she has of performing baroque music. Lyrical music was sung with gloriously long lines, floated beautifully and emphasising high quietness. There were moments which reminded me of Caballe’s habit of opening recitals by singing a group of arie antiche with the music placed high in the voice and floated in a glorious pianissimo. There was something of this showing off in the way Bartoli placed many of the high lying passages. In contrast passage-work was sung in her distinctive, robust manner. This is something you either love or hate, the way that her intense, vibrato laden voice moves round the running passages at high speed creating a remarkable, and distinctive effect. I must confess that on disc I have found this sometimes rather difficult to take, but that heard live the effect was less disturbing and I could relax and appreciate the artistry that was going into the performance.

The Basel Chamber Orchestra, leader Julia Schröder performed without conductor, a nice sized group with 18 string players. From the first notes of the overture to Rinaldo they gave the music a fresh, crisp, newly minted feel. All the solo instrumental parts were superbly played and we even got a wind machine in the opening aria. The group were far more than just support and made themselves fine partners in Bartoli’s performances.

Bartoli held the audience spellbound for this long programme of baroque arias, something not every singer could do. All I wish for now is that we could hear her in a complete opera.

Robert Hugill

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Bartoli_2010.gif image_description=Cecilia Bartoli product=yes product_title=Cecilia Bartoli at the Barbican Centre, London product_by=Cecilia Bartoli (mezzo-soprano); Franco Fagioli (counter-tenor). Basel Chamber Orchestra. Wednesday 8th December 2010, Barbican Centre, London. product_id=Above: Cecilia Bartoli

Opera in cinemas takes off - and joins the 3D revolution

By Charlotte Higgins [The Guardian, 11 December 2010]

Tonight, most British cinema audiences will be settling down with a Coke and a carton of popcorn for the weekend's big movies: the latest in the Narnia franchise, perhaps, or Johnny Depp and Angelina Jolie in The Tourist.

Renée Fleming Named By Lyric Opera Of Chicago First Ever Creative Consultant

Simultaneously, she and Sir Andrew Davis, Lyric's music director, have been elected to the Board of Directors as Vice-Presidents. Ms. Fleming’s appointment as Creative Consultant is effective immediately, for a term of five years.

The Renée Fleming Initiative is being sponsored by an Anonymous Donor, Mr. and Mrs. John V. Crowe, The Crown Family, Mr. and Mrs. J. Thomas Hurvis, Richard P. and Susan Kiphart, John D. and Alexandra C. Nichols, the Patrick G. and Shirley W. Ryan Enterprises Group, and Mr. and Mrs. William C. Vance — all of whom are prominent members of the Lyric Opera of Chicago Board of Directors.

As Creative Consultant of Lyric Opera of Chicago, Ms. Fleming will play an active leadership role in creating new projects and initiatives designed to increase opera audiences and awareness of the art form, while sharing in the company’s artistic vision.

Her plans, in collaboration with her Lyric colleagues, include:

• Curating a world-premiere opera to debut in the 2015-16 season.
• Collaborating with other Chicago-based arts institutions to send a special message about the strength of culture in Chicago.
• Fostering an annual commitment to American music theater, starting with a new production of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Oklahoma in the spring of 2013.
• Further developing Lyric’s young-professionals initiative, which takes opera into the workplace and provides entry-level experiences for the curious adult.
• Expanding the education activities of Lyric to include a joint program with the Merit School of Music devoted to finding and nurturing young, talented singers in the Chicago area, and to making Lyric more accessible to the children and young adults involved in all areas of music education at Merit.
• Presenting non-operatic and off-season performances at the Civic Opera House.
• Continuing her on-stage presence at Lyric, including a Subscriber Appreciation Concert with Dmitri Hvorostovsky honoring General Director William Mason on January 7, 2012; staged concert performances of André Previn’s A Streetcar Named Desire with Ms. Fleming in the role created for her, Blanche DuBois, in spring 2013; a production of Capriccio for fall 2014, in which Ms. Fleming will sing the Countess (both A Streetcar Named Desire and Capriccio will be part of Lyric’s subscription season); and participation in Lyric’s 60th Anniversary Gala on November 1, 2014.
• Establishing a prominent presence in a variety of web-based marketing projects, as well as in print and broadcast media. Ms. Fleming and Sir Andrew Davis are already in preparation for an audio/video series that will introduce audiences to the new 2011-12 season.

Of this new adventure in her professional life, Renée Fleming said, “Lyric is a vibrant home to so many talented and dedicated colleagues. I am eager to join forces with them as we work to keep opera relevant and meaningful in people’s lives today. Dick Kiphart, Bill Mason, Sir Andrew Davis, and the Lyric Board have my deepest gratitude for this extraordinary privilege.” (Attached below is a document in which Ms. Fleming explains her thoughts and initiatives, “IN HER OWN WORDS.”)

Board President Richard P. Kiphart said, “For any business to flourish, new ideas are essential. Renée’s creativity and flair will be fantastic for Lyric Opera and will add to what is already a very successful organization. She is a highly knowledgeable opera professional who has a broad view of what a major opera house can mean to a community. She is also dedicated to bringing new audiences to our art form and to furthering the reach of opera through educational initiatives. I am also delighted that she will be joining Sir Andrew Davis as an international presence for our organization.”

Sir Andrew Davis commented, “Renée and I have been friends and colleagues for many years and collaborating with her has always been for me an enormous pleasure. First and foremost, she is a marvelously natural and instinctive musician; in both musical and dramatic matters she is thoughtful, sensitive and committed. She is a great star and yet always works with her fellow artists in a spirit of mutual respect and an infectious delight in the common pursuit of the highest artistic standards. The passion she brings to her performances is echoed in everything she does, which is why I think she is such an inspirational addition to our team. I look forward to working with her for many years to come.”

General Director William Mason added, “I have been involved with Lyric Opera for virtually my entire professional career, so it is particularly important to me that there be a strong team to carry on when I retire. That is why I am so delighted that Renée will be joining the terrific artistic and management forces we now have in place, and that she will be working with the new general director when she or he is hired. Renée comes with new and interesting ideas and will be an important collaborator as the company moves forward. She is fervently committed to ensuring the future of opera, and needless to say has keen insights into what makes great singers. All of these attributes make her an exciting and invaluable addition to the Lyric Opera family.”

# # #

RENÉE FLEMING: “IN HER OWN WORDS”

When approached by Dick Kiphart and Lyric Opera of Chicago with the opportunity to contribute in an administrative capacity, I was speechless; rare for a singer. The thought of working on the other side of the lights hadn’t occurred to me, and I began to ponder exactly how I could best aid one of the world’s greatest opera houses while continuing to meet my performance obligations. I discovered that my passion for this art form and my desire to contribute run equally high, and I am deeply grateful to Dick, the Lyric Board, Bill Mason, and Sir Andrew for this opportunity.

We singers have a unique perspective. Over time, we observe and experience not only how different companies operate, program, and present, but also how different audiences perceive various productions and opera in general. Lyric is special to me and to so many artists for offering a wonderful “home” where we love to perform. It that is also renowned for top-drawer management and the highest artistic standards championed by Bill Mason and Sir Andrew Davis. Add to that an open-minded, theater-loving audience, and Lyric has it all.

Further, in the current difficult economic climate, Bill, his senior administrative team, and the extraordinary Lyric Board have been meticulous when it comes to fiscal prudence, and they have managed this without sacrificing artistic quality. This, combined with aggressive marketing and fundraising, has kept the company in excellent financial shape, which is one of the many reasons why I am excited to be joining forces with Lyric. So, the ship is airtight, the economic storm is subsiding, and it’s time to take those brave steps forward and tackle the challenges facing opera today.

Drawing on my experience and on my respect and love for Lyric, I am hoping to develop the following initiatives and programs in concert with my new Lyric colleagues. These plans, while ambitious, are the product of much reflection on how I feel I might best contribute to one of the world’s most respected cultural institutions.

World Premiere

New works are the lifeblood of this genre we so love. Lyric Opera is generously allowing me to curate a world-premiere opera to be performed in the 2015-16 season. Sir Andrew, Bill, and I are already looking at potential properties and composers.

Chicago Stands for Culture

Reflecting on my years of travel, one thing is clear to me: Chicago is a cultural mecca. Loving theater and art as I do, and having Lyric and the Chicago Symphony together in one friendly, lakeside, thriving city, presents a unique opportunity for destination-style festivals. In terms of revenue, marketing, and PR sharing, the whole is decidedly more than its parts. My colleagues and I would like to collaborate with other Chicago-based institutions such as the Chicago Symphony, Art Institute, Goodman Theatre, and Harris Theater to exploit this unique cultural landscape far and wide in support of both the arts and the city of Chicago.

The American Musical at the Civic Opera House

I believe it may be time to reexamine the role of an opera house in American communities in the 21st century. In addition to creating new works and providing quality programming in the operatic lexicon we know and love, we can also broaden the offerings to include more from our own musical heritage.

After 100 years in this country, the American musical has achieved “classic” status, and opera companies with extraordinary artistic resources are uniquely positioned to present productions at the highest level as part of the standard repertory. We needn’t wait for Broadway touring companies to present works that are tailor-made for the Chicago community, and that highlight the strengths of Lyric. Lyric has been investigating possibilities in this area for some time, and we would like to foster an annual series. In this regard, I am pleased to announce that Lyric will be presenting Rodgers and Hammerstein's Oklahoma in the spring of 2013.

Outreach and Community Engagement

As classical music has become more rarified in the past century, and popular music has taken over mass culture, outreach has become even more important. In a modern world where at least two generations of limited education in the arts has diminished the assumed contextual knowledge that has always been key for building opera appreciation and attendance, we should be casting as wide a net as possible. Lyric is already reaching out to students and adults through a wide variety of programs annually, and I am looking forward to helping my colleagues do even more in this regard.

I am particularly interested in developing programs that help newcomers test the opera waters, ideally with a community of like-minded explorers. We should reward their curiosity with user-friendly, non-patronizing resources that not only provide information about the works and productions, but give historical context as well. Sir Andrew and I are already working on a series of videos that will appear on Lyric’s website and will introduce potential audiences to Lyric’s new 2011-12 season.

Performances

As I continue performing around the world, we have added several exclusive projects to my performance calendar, specifically for the Lyric audience. These include a staged concert production of André Previn’s A Streetcar Named Desire, in which I sing the dramatically challenging role of Blanche DuBois that was created for me. On January 7, 2012, there will be a Subscriber Appreciation Concert to honor Bill Mason, whose 50-year involvement at Lyric and tenure as General Director culminates at the end of the 2011-12 season. I am grateful to be sharing this concert of favorite duets and arias with my friend, the extraordinary Dmitri Hvorostovsky. Sir Andrew will of course be on the podium. Further, in the 2014-2015 season, Lyric is mounting a production of Richard Strauss’s Capriccio with Sir Andrew conducting so that I can share one of my favorite roles, the Countess, with the Lyric audience. And, I’ll be participating in the company’s 60th Anniversary Gala on November 1, 2014, along with many of my esteemed colleagues.

Education Expansion & Finding Future Stars

Lyric has a richly diverse educational program in place serving both schools and communities. Helping to build on current programs will bring me special joy, given my background in music education and my dedication to education as the key to culture. In addition, I am hoping to develop a program with the Merit School of Music that will find and nurture new talent in the Chicago area, in addition to making Lyric more accessible to children and young people who clearly already have an interest in music. Ultimately, great acting singers are at the heart of opera, and we need to seek and develop more notable talents for which international stages are clamoring. I believe that there are amazing young voices right here in Chicago, and Lyric is poised to develop and potentially guide them right into the Ryan Opera Center.

Expanding the Role of the Civic Theater

Lyric’s Civic Opera House is an architectural treasure; one of the most beautiful theaters in the world. The company is also in the advantageous position of owning the theater, which opens up the possibility of non-operatic programming. This type of presenting is occurring in many major theaters today as a way to increase revenue and bring in audiences who might not otherwise be familiar with the theater or the opera, and who might as a result be less intimidated about expanding their musical horizons; Kristin Chenoweth, Barbara Cook, and Sting have performed at the Metropolitan Opera, and similar upcoming series are planned at the Royal Opera in London.

image=http://www.operatoday.com/fleming_lyric.gif
image_description=Renée Fleming [Photo by Dan Rest/Lyric Opera of Chicago]

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product_title=Renée Fleming Named By Lyric Opera Of Chicago First Ever Creative Consultant
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product_id=Above: Renée Fleming [Photo by Dan Rest/Lyric Opera of Chicago]

Eva-Maria Westbroek: The enthralling soprano

By Rupert Christiansen [The Telegraph, 8 December 2010]

Eva-Maria Westbroek is about to offer Covent Garden a spectacular double act. This month, she sings the saintly virginal Elisabeth in a new production of Wagner’s medieval romance, Tannhäuser. In February, she will do a total volte-face, creating the title role in Mark-Anthony Turnage’s new opera Anna Nicole, drawn on the pathetic life of Playboy model Anna Nicole Smith, who married an octogenarian billionaire and died in 2007 after a drug overdose.

Puccini’s Western Seeks Lyrical Gold

By Anthony Tommasini [NY Times, 7 December 2010]

One hundred years ago this Friday, Puccini’s “Fanciulla del West,” adapted from David Belasco’s play “The Girl of the Golden West” and set in a California mining camp during the gold rush, had its glittery premiere production at the old Metropolitan Opera. Toscanini was in the pit; Enrico Caruso, Emmy Destinn and Pasquale Amato sang the leads; and Puccini, alone in his box, surveyed the scene. That is, until the end of Act I, when the composer and cast appeared on stage for 14 curtain calls. Similar pandemonium broke out at the end of the other two acts.

A night with 'Boheme' and thoughts of Baltimore's operatic future

By Tim Smith [Baltimore Sun, 6 December 2010]

Baltimore's operatic limbo continues. Since the pathetic demise of the Baltimore Opera Company, some fans of the art form have had to content themselves with a diverse group of smaller-scale companies, some already established, some brand new -- like Baltimore Concert Opera, which presented two sold-out performances of "La Boheme" over the weekend at the Engineers Club.

Virginia Opera's 'Cosi Fan Tutte': Frivolity, after months of drama

By Anne Midgette [Washington Post, 6 December 2010]

"They're all like that." That's an approximate translation of the title of Mozart's opera "Cosi Fan Tutte," which demonstrates that all women are fickle and will betray their lovers, and which the Virginia Opera brought to George Mason University on Friday night.

Rodney Waschka — An Interview

He works in the areas of computer music and opera, among others. We spoke on March 3, 2010 at Duke University.

TM: You are presently working on the third of a trilogy of connected operas. One of those is already released on CD — the Ambrose Bierce opera. The second is complete — Sappho’s Breath — very different in style, though you could say that they are both monodramas.

RW: Saint Ambrose is an opera that started out as a compromise, in the sense that Steve Duke, who is a saxophone player, asked me to write a piece for him. He asked for a piece that would help him get out of the mold of saxophone and piano. He was interested in a piece for saxophone and electronics, but what he had in mind, I think, was a piece of about ten minutes in duration, and at that moment in my life, I really wanted to write an opera. I said “Steve, I really want to write an opera for you”. He said “I wasn’t thinking about an opera”…but he himself was in the mood to do other things beside stand in the crook of the piano and play the saxophone. He said “I’ll do whatever you want except sing. I’ll act, I’ll try to learn to tap dance, whatever you need I’ll do — except sing”. I said “If you’ll go that far, then I will make an opera in which there is no singing”. That was our agreement. He is acting, but when the moment comes at which in an opera he would burst into song, he instead takes up his saxophone and plays for us. There is one big aria in the piece in which he must quickly move from playing the saxophone to speaking, and then back again — back and forth — but generally he is either speaking or playing the saxophone. He worked on the piece very diligently, went to an acting coach, took acting lessons, and memorized the piece. It turned out that the length of the piece was almost exactly the length of his commute to work. He would get in his car, start through the piece, speaking his part and practicing it, and when he arrived at work, it was more or less the end of the piece. And then he could do it again, going back home. Opera singers are used to memorizing huge stretches of music and perhaps dialogue, but it’s not that common for a saxophonist. He took it on, and I think he enjoyed it.

TM: I would wonder whether memorizing the musical portions, that is, the arias, might be more of a challenge for an instrumentalist than memorizing the text. It seems like, unless you are a concerto soloists, we learn music, but almost never to the point of memorizing it, and usually not a whole program. Was that an issue for him?

RW: It may have been — I didn’t talk with him about it. The way the opera is staged he plays Ambrose Bierce, the American writer, who to our surprise has not died yet — he disappeared in 1913-1914, at the age of 71, and no one knows what happened to him. The conceit of the opera is that he has returned now to do something that he rarely did, which was to give a lecture. He arrives, and he expects that it will be like the second coming of Elvis. Inevitably, the audience does not respond to him in that way, and in fact it turns out that most of the audience members don’t even know who he is. So he is absolutely disgusted, and there’s a moment at the beginning of the opera where he nearly walks offstage and just says forget it. He throws his prepared lecture into the air, and the papers scatter everywhere. He decides that he will have to change his entire lecture, and talk about himself, which is our excuse to hear his life story. The way it is set up, there is a lectern there for him, so when Steve would perform it he would have the music available to him, and the text as well, but he simply didn’t need it. He was freed from it. I think a big part of it was freeing him to act — once he had the text in his head, he was free to act. He didn’t hesitate to look at text or music, but for him it was about allowing him to be the character while he was on stage.

TM: You could think of this as the beginning of a genre of musico-dramatical works. I heard a piece in Brazil at the Bienal by Tim Rescala a few years ago which made quite an impression — a woman, interpreted by Maria Teresa Madeira, was playing the piano, and it became evident that she was inebriated, and quite considerably so. The acting portion of it got more and more out of control, while the musical portion was superbly in control — an interesting contradiction. I also heard another Brazilian piece for solo flute, in which the soloist [Antônio Carrasqueira] was asked to represent not one, but three different interlocutors in a conversation [Zoltan Paulinyi, Anedota].

RW: Nice ideas, I especially like the drunken piano player. Part of the reason that I got into this was the fact that I was interested in writing operas, but it was hard to get an opera company to commit to a production. It’s easier to get one performer to commit, and fortunately in theater we have a nice model, with the various successful monodramas — I think of Hal Holbrook playing Mark Twain, for example. I thought, OK, I can go with that kind of model. I have an advantage and a disadvantage. The advantage is that in addition to speaking, the person that I am writing for can play an instrument, in this case, the saxophone. The potential disadvantage is that some good saxophone players won’t really be able to act, which could be a limitation on who will perform the piece, and I will just have to live with that.

I think it is an effective model — it makes for good theater. It can work, because outside of opera singers, who are trained dramatically, it would be difficult to get a stage full of instrumentalists, who don’t have any of that kind of training, to present your opera. But a single one - you can find these people. A lot of it has to do with not just training, but inclination. Robert Ashley said something to me to the effect that when you are on stage, you always have to risk appearing foolish — there is just no way around that. If you are not willing to risk that, it has no hope of working. There will be times, of course, when you will just appear foolish, but this is a chance you have to take.

I was cognizant of the theater models, and had seen some shows in which there was a single actor or actress onstage portraying a significant character from the past, and there was always some excuse for them to tell their story, so I could use that as a model.

TM: Were there lessons that you could take from performances that would influence future works? Or ways that you might revise this one?

RW: I lucked into one thing. Steve helped me with this, and I don’t always make decisions that work out so well the first time that I try something. In Saint Ambrose I consciously made the decision to write a stand-alone, big aria that could be performed separately as a concert work — that’s the “Definitions Aria” in the opera, and that has worked out really well. That’s the part of the opera that other saxophone players frequently take up — they can play it on stage, they can play it as part of their recital or concert without having to take on the whole baggage of the opera. As a stand-alone piece, the “Definitions Aria” has been performed in almost all of the fifty states in the US. It has gotten a lot of performances and been played around quite a bit, in part thanks to John Sampen, a fine saxophonist at Bowling Green State University, who toured it for a number of years.

TM: To ask a broader question about the question of repeated performances, we tend to think of works as existing in some Platonic sphere — a work is written for the Platonic saxophone, and not only that, for the Platonic saxophonist, but often enough in the history of music works were written for a particular person — a bass, for example, who may have had an extraordinary range, and so if you hand that music to your usual bass he will have a problem at one end or the other. I was just talking to Steve Mackey, who said that he is not interesting in writing for some possible future performance. He is interested in this performance right now, and not if the work is playable frequently in the future. How do you feel about that spectrum, ranging from one performance, to let’s say, the Ninth?

RW: I tend to try to make the piece as flexible as possible, so that it has a chance to get the most possible performances. Having said that, I am not expecting that it is going to get thousands of performances in my lifetime. I do understand and agree with the idea that so many pieces have been made with a specific performer or performers in mind. In the last couple of years I saw a performance of Monteverdi’s Orfeo, and was reminded, hearing it live, that obviously Monteverdi had a great tenor at his disposal, and not necessarily a group of other really great singers. His opera reflects that circumstance.

One of the ways, with these operas, that I try to work with these constraints is to put something in the opera that is easily excerptable and usable in another situation. It keeps the piece alive, in a certain way. If an excerpt is getting performances that means that people may think about doing the whole thing. I think that is a good way to proceed — at least it has worked out for me.

TM: Not only that, but it fits into a tradition where you might never hear the complete Paisiello opera, but the famous aria remains in the repertoire. Would you like to talk about how you approach preparing the libretto?

RW: This trilogy of one-act operas is based on the lives of artists. Ambrose Bierce was a short-story writer as well as journalist and essayist. The second one is based on the Greek poetess Sappho. One of the reasons for choosing these people to write about is that we have a lot of novels, and movies, and operas, about warriors, and politicians, and rich people and poor people — of course we do have some artists, but fewer, perhaps, so it seemed like there was something that I could do in that area. It also seems that opera is particularly good with those kinds of lives, whereas other genres, especially film, are not. In film you want to see action happening. With artists, very often most of the struggles take place inside their heads. It’s hard to convey to an audience that is not trained the sort of difficulties that a Haydn or a Beethoven went through. In both of those cases, there were events in their lives that were dramatic and fit on the screen, but with other people, maybe not so much. In the case of Sappho, we simply know so little about her that anything that one portrays is almost complete speculation. Opera, which moves more slowly, and can be more introspective because of that, can perhaps better show the struggles of an artist. This is the starting point for these libretti. Beyond that, I write them myself. I have a few conceits with respect to these libretti. The person is dead, and I have to have some plausible reason why they are back. If they are dead — in the case of Ambrose Bierce, I took the out that we have no confirmation that he is dead — yes, he would be one hundred and seventy years old, but who cares — I assume that they have gone, in their afterlife, to wherever they thought that they would go. In the case of Sappho, she is in Hades. I thought about the Orpheus myth, and thought, as a composer, since I have music as a tool, I can bring her back from Hades in a way similar to Orpheus — there can be a musical excuse for why she comes back. That’s the way the second opera works. I have cajoled her to come back by saying that I have put this music to your texts, and if you, Sappho, will sing them, it will be beautiful.

TM: Please say a little about the musical idiom in Sappho’s Breath. It is highly antique, and very effective in that regard, although quite different from other imaginings of early Greek and classic music that I have heard. Could you talk about how you developed that language?

RW: The saxophone part in Saint Ambrose and the vocal part in Sappho’s Breath were both made with genetic algorithms. In the case of Sappho’s Breath, I was after what I perceived to be a rough-hewn kind of simplicity in Sappho’s poetry. I wanted to convey that same simplicity. I made the rule, the arbitrary rule, that when Beth Griffith, who created the role, is singing, there is no electronic music. This takes away a layer, and one might think, and even I, sitting here today, would think, “that sounds kind of stupid”, because I had so few layers to work with anyway. I had just the soprano, and I ask her to play hand-held percussion as well — very simple parts, and then there is the electronic music. In the arias, I’ll do without the electronic music? Sounds crazy, but I felt like that was necessary in order to get this extreme simplicity. The style arises from the fact that she is out there by herself, just singing, with a little bit of hand-held percussion, and the melodies which she sings come from these genetic algorithms, which really help me to step back. With Greek art of that period, I have a sense of classicism, of a slight removal from the material. They are not romantically caught up with the material, but can shape it in certain ways because they are a little bit removed, and using the compositional algorithms did that for me.

TM: Abstracted it.

RW: Yes, exactly. I wanted a language that had tonal centers, but at the same time was abstracted, had a bit of coolness to it, even though sometimes the texts are quite hot. There was a certain restraint — I think that is part of Sappho’s charm. She deals poetically with love and sex and relationships, but at a certain distance. She realizes that these hormonally-driven things can lead us to all kinds of foolishness, and is observant about that foolishness.

TM: One of the things that struck me is the relative proportion of music and spoken text, perhaps more spoken text and less aria than one might be accustomed to as an opera-goer.

RW: I banned the electronic music from the arias, but as an electronic-music composer I had to get it in there somewhere, so while she is speaking there is electronic music which accompanies her recitatives, which, so to speak, are accompanied not by harpsichord continuo, but by electronic music. Because she is another character that many people don’t know much about, and some people don’t know anything about, this gives her a chance to explain herself and her life, and how we think about it today, while at the same time giving me the chance to do some things that I thought were interesting electronically.

TM: We think of melodrama as a spoken text with a musical background, something that is relatively uncommon these days in concert music, although it goes back to the eighteenth century. But if we think of television, nothing is more normal than to have spoken dialogue with music underneath which is interpreting the content of the speech. How is it that we don’t have more melodrama in the classical realm?

RW: I think it is because we have instrumentalists who are not trained to and not expected to speak, even though more and more composers are asking performers to speak. I remember hearing a Takemitsu piece where the audience was surrounded by percussionists, and the orchestra is in the front. The percussionists are asked to speak, and at this particular performance they did not do a good job with that speaking. The person who had gone to the concert with me said “It’s getting to the point where if you guys, [meaning composers] keep asking for this [meaning speaking parts], then instrumentalists are going to need to have acting classes as part of their training, or at least some class in public speaking.”

When talking about opera singers, who could do it very well, they think that the best use of their time is singing, as opposed to speaking. In this case, Beth Griffith was willing to do the speaking, which comes from her background — she works sometimes as an actress — not strictly as a singer. For her, it is all part of a continuum. And since she has a lot of experience singing contemporary music, she has been asked to do many unusual things.

TM: I am recalling that John Reed, the great patter baritone in Gilbert and Sullivan, passed away this week, and if you go to hear G&S, you don’t sit there thinking “I can’t wait for the aria” — the singing and speaking and comedic acting are all of a piece. You couldn’t possibly have the patter song without the dialogue.

RW: Exactly.

TM: Could you go on to talk about the third opera in the trilogy?

RW: The third one is tentatively called The Second. It’s confusing, which is why I will have to think about it. On paper it will appear as II. The opera is about Hiroshige II (1826-1869), the Japanese artist of Ukiyo-e. He made paintings that would become wood-block prints. The paintings are transferred to wood-blocks, and the wood-blocks are cut. A separate block is needed for each color to be printed, and at the end of the process of printing each color, the print is completed. Hiroshige II interested me because he was a student of Hiroshige, who is much more famous. Hiroshige has a number of series of prints that are well-known, and these days can fetch high prices, although they were made in multiple copies, so for any given series of prints there might have originally been thousands of copies. But many have been destroyed or disappeared, so now there are fewer.

Hiroshige II was an apprentice to Hiroshige, possibly because both families included firemen. Hiroshige had an adopted daughter, who if I recall correctly, was his niece. He allowed Hiroshige to marry his adopted daughter. Hiroshige and Hiroshige II worked together on a number of print series. After Hiroshige dies, Hiroshige II’s marriage goes bad, and it ends in divorce, something unusual in Japanese culture at the time. It turns out that one of Hiroshige’s other apprentices was a very good-looking guy (Hiroshige II was not, something for which we have testimony from people who knew them), and it seems that II’s wife took up with this other apprentice. Hiroshige II ended the marriage, and the other Hiroshige wanted to claim the title of Hiroshige II, but he ended up becoming known as Hiroshige III. After his divorce, II’s life goes horribly wrong — he lives another four or five years, but sinks into dire poverty. He remarries, but ends his life painting the labels on cartons of tea to be shipped to the West. About the time that he is dying, in 1869, the first showing of Ukiyo-e prints in Paris takes place. Some of his prints are shown there, and are thought to be fabulous, wonderful, so his greatest success in the West comes as he is dying of poverty and starvation in Japan. And that is how his story ends.

The way the libretto works is that since he was a Zen Buddhist, he believes in reincarnation, so he has come back, and has come back as the instrumentalist we see on the stage, with this additional detail — he can remember this one past life. Because he can remember this one life, he believes that the gods want him to tell this story. That’s the only reason that he can imagine for being able to remember this particular life on his journey to Enlightenment. So he feels obliged to tell us. He says that there is something in his spirit that is opposed to money, since in a previous life he was a poor artist, and now he is a poor musician.

TM: In the first opera, we have a saxophonist, in the second, a soprano. Who is the instrumentalist here?

RW: A clarinetist. Unlike the other two, I am not working with a specific performer, since I am commissioning myself — I wanted to make a trilogy. If tomorrow a shakuhachi player came to me, I would see a perfect connection there, and change things around, but for now I am working on it for a clarinetist.

TM: The western equivalent of the shakuhachi. Will you be drawing on Japanese idioms?

RW: For Sappho’s Breath, there is very little surviving Greek music, so I had to imagine it. But it’s absolutely the case that for Saint Ambrose the opera is filled with references to music that I am sure that he knew, or could easily have known. For example, the overture to that opera makes a reference to the time that Ambrose Bierce spent in England. There he would have heard lots of music of Handel, so it references the famous sarabande of Handel’s that appears in Barry Lyndon. And we hear Clementine and La Cucaracha from the Mexican Revolution — he disappeared in Mexico at the time of the Revolution — Taps — he was in the Civil War — all of these musical pieces are referenced in that opera. I expect to reference Japanese music in some way — I am not sure how that will be, how direct it will be, if it will be more like the Sappho or more like the Bierce.

TM: Do you have an anticipated premiere that you are working towards? Do you think that it will be premiered in 2011?

RW: The problem with not having a specific commission and a date is that when people come with commissions and set dates, this piece always gets pushed downwards on the list, and that’s what has been happening to the poor opera for a number of years now. I would love to finish it this summer [2010]. The libretto is written, half of the instrumentalist’s music written, and half of the electronic music written — so it is quite far along. I could finish it relatively quickly if I just had that clump of free time. [Editor’s note: Since this conversation took place, Waschka was commissioned to make a piano concerto that took up his summer, 2010 composing time. His Piano Concerto is scheduled for premiere in Russia in November, 2010.]

TM: We haven’t discussed visual aspects — staging, costume and so forth. Do you have a particular vision for those?

RW: In Saint Ambrose the performer comes out as Bierce would to give an important lecture. Of course CNN will cover it immediately — he’s 170 years old, and he’s Ambrose Bierce — it’s just not just anybody claiming to be 170 years old. The saxophonist has often performed it in a tuxedo. He’s formally dressed, and we need to have the lectern. Just as today, when any politico speaks on television, they have a scrim behind them saying “The University of….”, in the past we have hung banners identifying the university where it’s being performed, or if it’s at a concert location, a seal of the city, showing that, just like everything else today, this is a sponsored event, or something for which some institution wants to take credit.

In Sappho’s Breath, Beth has a simple gown, as “Ancient Greek” as we could imagine it, and there is a simple set with somewhere to set the handheld percussion instruments. We have a bench, somewhere she can walk to and sit down upon sometimes, to give her somewhere to go to and return from. She breaks the fourth wall — she goes into the audience, or comes from the audience to get to stage. While the overture is playing she is still coming to grips with the fact that she has a physical body again, so she likes to touch things, including audience members. Unfortunately, this can turn out badly. At the premiere, we had the advantage that her [Beth’s] husband was in the audience, so this was great — we could really play it up. She touches him, he likes it, she touches him some more, she kisses him. She’s enjoying having her physical body back, and since her husband was there, it all worked out perfectly, though the other audience members didn’t necessarily know what was going on. We did have an event at another performance where she went into the audience, and it frightened the audience that she came off the stage. She reached out to touch someone’s hand, and they freaked and fled. That wasn’t good. The lesson from that was that we need to plan that carefully.

TM: The inevitable question for an opera composer is “what’s the next project”?

RW: I have a lot of possible things in mind, but the thing about an opera composer is that since anything larger takes so many resources, what’s going to happen depends on which idea has some real possibilities of happening. Despite the fact that plenty of other people have done operas based on Gogol’s Government Inspector, I think I could do a good job. I would reset it in a banana republic, and the government inspector who is coming would be the American ambassador. Someone else shows up on the plane, and they mistake him for the ambassador, and you can see how things would go from there.

Another idea that I had, now past its moment in time, concerned the anniversary for Jane Austen — I had an idea for a Jane Austen opera that would make a matched pair with La Serva Padrona. Three characters: Jane Austen, a singing part; Reginald Bigg-Wither, the man to whom she was engaged for less than twenty-four hours in 1802, a singing part; and a friend of Austen’s, one of the Bigg-Wither’s sisters, a speaking and piano playing part. The opera would tell the story of Austen’s visit to the Bigg-Withers’ home, that engagement, and the breaking of the engagement. The opera could have two versions. One version would have the only music coming from the piano (or perhaps piano and electronics), with the piano part played on stage by the non-singing character that would be a melding of Austen’s friends, the sisters Alathea and Catherine Bigg-Wither. That character would have reason to be confidante and accompanist for both her friend and her brother. Another version would include piano and orchestra. It could be done with La Serva Padrona, and then it would provide a whole evening that makes some kind of sense.

TM: Of course you would have to use a period piano to mix in with the electronics.

RW: Maybe I could gloss over that potential complication. One thing that I should say about the three operas musically is that they are all linked by the use of genetic algorithms for the creation of either the instrumental part or the vocal part. It’s also important to say that Robert Ashley has been a big influence on me. His work deals with a lot of these same problems, usually at a much grander scale. You asked, “Why don’t we have more melodrama?” — in a sense, we do — we have Robert Ashley, though he might not agree that what he is doing is melodrama. While what he creates might have elements of melodrama, it also goes beyond that concept.

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Waschka.gif image_description=Rodney Waschka [Photo by Westbrook Studios] product=yes product_title=An interview with Rodney Waschka product_by=By Tom Moore product_id=Above: Rodney Waschka [Photo by Westbrook Studios]

Piau/Rousset/Talens Lyriques, Wigmore Hall

By Michael Church [The Independent, 6 December 2010]

This was a concert of which one had high hopes. The French soprano Sandrine Piau - a renowned Baroque exponent - would sing Purcell’s sacred songs accompanied by harpsichordist Christophe Rousset and his distinguished Talens Lyriques colleagues, Elizabeth Kenny on the lute and Laurence Dreyfus on the viola da gamba.

Handel’s Alcina at Barbican Centre, London

The drawback, of course, is that the works are presented in concert rather than staged. On Saturday 4th December, Mark Minkowski and Les Musiciens du Louvre-Grenoble appeared on the final leg of a short tour performing Handel’s Alcina in concert. This tour followed performances at the Vienna State Opera, staged by Adrian Noble. Noble chose to set the opera in the context of the historical Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, who lived some 40 years after the premiere of Handel’s opera, so perhaps seeing the work in concert wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

In fact, Minkowski and his cast gave us a highly dramatic concert reading, with one exception all the cast were off the book and made the correct entrances and exits. Not only that, but whilst sitting on stage at the side they continued to react to what was going on. The result was a vivid and highly involving presentation of Handel’s opera and, for me, an almost ideal way to experience opera seria without having a director trying to translate it for me into contemporary dramatic terms.

There had been notices of cast changes well before the date of the concert, with Romina Basso apparently taking over the role of Bradamante only for the concert performances. Basso did use a score, but for much of the time she barely looked at it and her performance was no less dramatic than the rest.

In the title role there was another, last minute, substitution; Latvian soprano Inga Kalna took over from an ailing Anja Harteros. Kalna had already replaced Harteros on an earlier leg of the tour and there was no sense that she was a stand in, she gave a beautifully rounded, fully dramatic account of this fascinating role.

The role of Alcina could easily have been another one of Handel’s bad girl sorceresses such as Medea in Teseo or Melissa in Amadigi di Gaula. But Handel seems to have fallen a little in love with his heroine and instead presents us with a tragic figure who is really in love and who loses her magic powers as a consequence.

Kalna had something of the rather old-fashioned grand manner on stage, perhaps no bad thing when it comes to establishing a character presence on the concert stage. Her voice is rich and her repertoire includes Verdi and Strauss. But she has a lovely focussed tone which meant that all of Handel’s passagework was taken neatly and expressively, her moments of dramatic fire were terrific. But the role is about much more than this and Kalna’s expressive spinning of a line meant that she captured exactly the feeling of melancholy which imbues much of Alcina’s music. So that ‘Ah, mio cor’ (her first aria in Act 2), had a brilliantly intense contrast between the lamenting of the opening section and the angry central section. Minkowski placed the single interval after this aria and it was a terrific way to close the first half.

But for me Kalna’s finest moment was the closing scene of Act 2, when Alcina discovers that she can no longer use her powers. A long recitative is followed by the aria ‘Ombre pallide’ in which Kalna spun lines of quiet intensity. Alcina isn’t actually the major role in the opera; Alcina gets 6 arias plus a trio whereas Ruggiero gets 8 arias plus a trio. But Handel’s sympathy for Alcina ensured that it is Alcina whom we focus on, and Kalna conveyed this with dignity and intensity.

The sign of a good performance of opera seria is not the technical ability to sing all the notes accurately, but the way the singers use the notes expressively. One of the big advantages of this performance was the way all the cast used Handel’s music to project character.

Inga Kalna as Alcina (Riga) [Photo courtesy of the artist]

This was particularly true of Vesselina Kassarova who sang Ruggiero, Alcina’s love interest. Kassarova seemed to be on better form than I have heard recently, with a brilliant upper voice and lovely dark lower register. The drawback seemed to be that these two registers were not always neatly joined; there were occasional alarming gear shifts. But Kassarova knows how to use baroque music for expressive purposes, her notes really meant something. In the early part of the opera, where Ruggerio is under Alcina’s magic influence, her Ruggiero wasn’t a particularly nice person and we saw quite clearly how he was transformed when the magic was removed. Of course, ‘Sta nell’Ircana’ was a great tour de force, but Kassarova was as impressive in Ruggiero’s other arias. I have a confession though, by the end of the evening I was trying not to look at Kassarova as her excessive expressive mugging during her arias was off-putting.

Romina Basso as Bradamante was equally impressive. Whereas Kassarova was playing a man, Basso was playing a woman playing a man as Ruggiero’s fiancée Bradamante is disguised as her brother Ricciardo. Basso had a slightly lighter voice than Kassarova, providing a nice contrast, with a lovely neat way with Bradamante’s passagework. Her technical brilliance was shown off in Vorrei vendicarmi which Minkowski took at a terrific pace. The original singer of the role also specialised in singing male roles and this shows in the strong way Handel that presents her. Bradamante doesn’t get any of the opera’s big show pieces, but Handel gave her some fine music and Basso created a strong, fully rounded character.

Alcina’s sister Morgana is the soubrette role. For much of the opera she plays with love, discarding Oronte (Benjamin Bruns) when Ricciardo (Basso’s Bradamente in disguise) comes along; then at the end, returning to Oronte with a glorious outpouring of grief in ‘Credete al mio dolore’. Veronica Cangemi was a bit serious in the earlier parts of the opera, underplaying the soubrette; there was a danger of her being too like Alcina. There were times when her upper register seemed a little wayward, but Cangemi is a highly musical singer and her account of ‘Tornami a vagheggiar’, which closes Act 1, was simply brilliant.

Oronte isn’t a huge part, but it is an important one dramatically; in fact the role was written for the 21 year old John Beard who would go on to inspire some of the major tenor roles in Handel’s oratorios. In his first aria I thought that Benjamin Bruns, as Oronte, had a voice which was too big, rather too modern and forward placed for the role. But he settled in nicely and gave a beautifully shaded account of Oronte’s final aria, ‘Un momento di contento’.

The role of Oberto was a late addition to the opera. Handel’s source for the libretto (Broschi’s L’Isola di Alcina) didn’t have the role in at all. Oberto was specifically added for the boy soprano William Savage. Savage would carry on singing for Handel as an adult, but his baritone voice does not seem to have been as impressive as his treble one. Handel created 3 simple, direct arias for the character, all lightly accompanied. Usually the role is sung by a female soprano, but Minkowski used a boy treble, Shintaro Nakajima, from the Vienna Boys Choir. Nakajima was immensely impressive as Oberto, singing Handel’s music fluently and with an unaffected directness. He had a very self-possessed stage presence and was seriously in danger of stealing the show.

Ruggiero’s tutor, Melisso, is a role which Handel reduced when writing the opera, so that the character gets only 1 aria. Baritone Luca Tinttoto accounted himself well in the aria and made you wish he’d been given more to do.

When Handel wrote Teseo, based on a French tragedie lyrique there are indications that he intended to create a mixture of dance and singing in the manner of the French opera, but economics seems to have put paid to this. In Alcina he had Marie Salle and her dance troupe available, so that dance plays a big part in the opera, though is often cut in modern performance. Minkowski gave us all the dances, so that Act 2, after Alcina’s ‘Ombre pallide’ we get dances for ‘divers specters’. Then at the end of Act 3, there are dances for the men who had been turned into stones by Alcina. Here also, the soloists joined in with the singers of the chorus as would have happened in Handel’s day.

Les Musiciens du Louvre — Grenoble were present in strength, with 32 strings and triple woodwind. It was heartening to hear this great music played by stylishly such a large body of players. There were plenty of fine solo moments, including obbligato violin and cello

Minkowski has been conducting Handel with his ensemble for many years and I enjoy his way with the music. His performances seem to more direct, lacking the French accent of some of his colleagues. Speeds were sometimes brisk and the recitatives flowed nicely, but he never went beyond his singers technical abilities and the opera never felt rushed.

In an ideal world, we would have been able to experience Adrian Noble’s staging of the opera in the Barbican Theatre. But Minkowski and his ensemble gave such a fluently dramatic and involving account of Alcina that you hardly noticed the lack of a staging.

Robert Hugill

Handel’s Alcina is the first of a major series of baroque operas at the Barbican Centre, London. All feature specialist European baroque orchestras and major singers. Vivaldi’s Orlando Furioso will appear on 26th March 2011 with Lemieux, Larmore, Jaroussky, Stotijn, Cangemi, Basso and Senn. (Ensemble Matheus/Spinosi). Handel’s Ariodante follows on 25th May with DiDonato, Gauvin, Phan, Lemieux, and others (Il complesso barocco/Curtis) For more details please see the Barbican website.

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Kasarova.gif image_description=Vesselina Kasarova {Photo by Marco Borggreve/Sony BMG] product=yes product_title=George Frederick Handel: Alcina (HWV 34) product_by=Inga Kalna: Alcina, Vesselina Kasarova: Ruggerio, Romina Basso: Bradamante, Veronica Cangemi: Morgana, Benjamin Bruns: Oronte, Luca Tittoto: Melissa, Shintaro Nakajima: Oberto, Les Musiciens du Louvre-Grenoble. Mark Minkowski, conductor. 4th December 2010, Barbican Hall, London. product_id=Above: Vesselina Kasarova {Photo by Marco Borggreve/Sony BMG]

A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Opera Australia

But the result made for a popular production. Dating from 1993 Luhrmann directed this long before his rise to fame but his flair for exotica and rich visuals was apparent even then. Luhrmann’s relocating of the story from ancient Athens to 1920s India cashed-in on the trend at the time for Bollywood movies and Indian inspired fashion and décor.

The world of Indian mysticism does, however, seem more suited to the mysterious world Britten creates in his score. These spirit beings are to be feared and to enter their realm should therefore be far more disturbing. Ravel did the same in L’Enfant et les Sortileges, his enchanted garden is an alluring but fearful place. So is Britten’s forest.

Having the fairies as Indian gods and the mortals as British Raj may confuse the text and storyline and Luhrmann’s tendency to keep the action busy often spoils the nocturnal, dreaminess of some of the music. An English bandstand set in a park somewhere in India in 1923 dominates the set. The roof becomes a platform where Oberon oversees his magical ministrations while on stage level there is a pond below the bandstand where fairies and mortals meet. The orchestra have been relocated from the pit to the middle level and, dressed in military band uniform, are constantly in view as are the subtleties and inventiveness of Britten’s score.

The loveliest of the opera’s scenes, where Tytania awakens to the transformed Bottom is beautifully done here. Lorina Gore’s increasing ecstatic and extravagant vocal lines float around Conal Coad’s trombone accompanied bellowing and braying as Bottom.

With his genial, rollicking bass, Coad leads the mechanicals in their three scenes with great success. In the guise of an army entertainment troop, the effect is straight out of an English Music Hall parody of Italian opera along the lines that Britten and librettist Peter Pears intended.

The quartet of lovers is superb. Henry Choo’s ardent and honey-voiced Lysander sounds very much in the British tenor tradition. Choo’s first scene with Hermia is beautifully sung. Even more so as he sang the repeated “I swear to thee” phrases running up and down a staircase! Lisa Harper-Brown’s plaintive soprano beautifully contrasts with Dominica Matthews’s mezzo in the famous squabble that, here, becomes a cat-fight ending with both splashing about in the pool. The physical prowess of Opera Australia’s singers often matches their vocal prowess.

The most physical performance of all is Tyler Coppin’s as Puck. Nobody seems to cast a boy in this part anymore as using an adult actor gives greater opportunity to create a character. With his small stature Coppin has the best of both worlds however, looking like an adult trapped in boy’s body. His slapstick performance contrasts nicely with Tobias Cole’s stealthy, almost sinister Oberon. Perched above the stage with waist length dreadlocks, white face, blue, clawed hands and backed by Britten’s melismatic music Cole’s performance reinforces this role as still one of the best in modern operatic literature for a counter-tenor.

Tobias Cole as Oberon and Lorina Gore as Tytania

In a sound-world all of its own, Oberon’s music benefited from Cole’s restrained performance. With their prominence on the stage Orchestra Victoria, lead by Britten authority Paul Kildea, were able to make every nuance of the fairies' scenes as well as the deliberately lumpen scenes for the rustics and their play.

This Midsummer Night’s Dream was a run-away success when first staged and, unlike any other production of a Britten opera, played to full houses. The production was so popular it was presented at the 1994 Edinburgh Festival. The sheer vitality of the playing, singing and production in this revival make any qualms about the logic of the setting fall away thanks to the hallmark ensemble work of this company.

Michael Magnusson

Tobias Cole as Oberon and Tyler Coppin as Puck

image=http://www.operatoday.com/MSDN_Australia_05.gif image_description=Lorina Gore as Tytania and Joshua Tate as The Indian Prince [Photo by Jeff Busby courtesy of Opera Australia] product=yes product_title=Benjamin Britten: A Midsummer Night’s Dream product_by=Oberon: Tobias Cole; Tytania: Lorina Gore; Puck: Tyler Coppin; Theseus: Jud Arthur; Hippolyta: Catherine Carby; Lysander: Henry Choo; Demetrius: Andrew Moran; Helena: Lisa Harper-Brown; Hermia: Dominica Matthews; Bottom: Conal Coad; Quince: Richard Anderson; Flute: Graeme Macfarlane; Snug: Shane Lowrencev; Snout: Andrew Brunsdon; Starveling: Samuel Dundas. Opera Australia Children's Chorus. Orchestra Victoria. Conductor: Paul Kildea; Director: Baz Luhrmann (revival director: Julie Edwardson); Designers: Catherine Martin & Bill Marron; Lighting Designer: Nigel Levings State Theatre, The Arts Centre. December 4, 8, 11, 14, 16 & 18, 2010 product_id=Above: Lorina Gore as Tytania and Joshua Tate as The Indian Prince

All photos by Jeff Busby courtesy of Opera Australia

Hanging by a string: Can classical music adapt?

By Kyle MacMillan [Denver Post, 5 December 2010]

In the first half of the 20th century, keyboard giant Sergei Rachmaninoff played to sold-out houses across the United States, and conductor Arturo Toscanini lit up the radio airwaves with the NBC Symphony Orchestra.

When Puccini Rode Tall In the Saddle

By Cori Ellison [NY Times, 3 December 2010]

MUSICAL centenaries are double-edged occasions. They can inspire illuminating perspectives on worthy topics, or they can be little more than knee-jerk pretexts for music publishers, presenters and record labels to fetishize round numbers in the name of sales, with musicologists gratefully riding their coattails.

Die Entführung aus den Serail, Queen Elizabeth Hall, London

In 1781, having finally shaken off his over-bearing father, Mozart found himself in Vienna, a city which had previously welcomed and feted him as a prodigious child performer but which had little knowledge of his early operatic successes; or, indeed, awareness of his operatic ambitions. When Gottleib Stephanie the Younger, a successful actor and dramatist who had recently taken charge of the National Singspiel in Vienna, happened to give the young composer a libretto to consider, Mozart’s interest was immediately stimulated, and he wrote enthusiastically to his father of about his new ‘Turkish’ project. The subject matter was ‘convenient’ for the intended occasion of the premiere was the state visit in September by Grand Duke Paul Petrovich of Russia and his wife, in order to devise a clandestine agreement that would allow Austria and Russia to begin dividing up the Ottoman Empire.

Although, in the event, Mozart’s opera was not completed in time for the diplomatic visit, its colonial, propagandistic overtones can sit uneasily with modern audiences. Add to this the idiosyncrasies of the singspiel genre, and it is perhaps not surprising that performances of this opera are relatively rare. However, it contains many delights, and this concert performance of a new translation and narration, commissioned from Simon Butteriss by the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, tackled the potential problems bravely, and with striking wit and panache.

This may be opera seria, but Butteriss has adopted an altogether more ambiguous mode; his translation and narration are wry, self-referential, and self-knowing. This might have proved tiresome, but in the fairly intimate setting of the Queen Elizabeth Hall, among a musically knowledgeable audience, he struck just the right note.

Much of the credit for the success of this performance must go to conductor Bernard Labadie, who moved the action swiftly on, whipping up a dramatic momentum and comic immediacy from his performers. The overture was pacy, perhaps overly so, but Labadie managed the extraordinary integration of the overture and opening scene with aplomb, controlling the transition between the multi-section, multi-tempi overture and the first aria most skilfully and establishing a dramatic vitality which was sustained throughout the performance. Without undue exaggeration, Labadie drew striking contrasts from his orchestra: a piquant piccolo and oboe complemented the interesting, nuanced timbres of the trumpets and horns, and enthusiastic string playing provided a springy foundation for woodwind colourings. Moreover, Labadie maintained a good balance between instrumentalists and singers, particularly in the concertante-style numbers. In particular, in ‘Martern aller Arten’ — which is practically a sinfonia concertante for voice and instruments — Susan Gritton’s voice swelled magnificently, but the soloist remained only one of several solo instruments.

The young French-Canadian tenor Frédéric Antoun displayed a beautifully smooth line, as the fervent Belmonte, and would undoubtedly have won the heart of Constanze with ease. After some initial wobbles of intonation, he settled effortlessly into the suavity of the role, his ardent tone adding weight and variety of colour. Dramatically relaxed throughout, Antoun’s aria, ‘Ich baue ganz auf deine Stärke’, was particularly impressive.

As Pedrillo, Tilman Lichdi demonstrated a sharp sense of wit (the risk of overkill was just about kept at bay), but his important serenade, ‘In Mohrenland gefangen war’, presented a welcome contrast and was expertly controlled and shaped.

Alastair Miles was a last-minute substitute for Timothy Mirfin in the role of Osmin, and this may explain his occasional air of overly serious concentration. While he used his face expressively, his need to read from the score did rather detach him from the relaxed immediacy of Lichdi’s and Antoun’s confident partnership. Miles gave a solid performance, and articulated the text well, but found the lower regions of the role quite challenging.

Susan Gritton, as Constanze, demonstrated the stunningly beautiful lyricism for which she is renowned and negotiated the intricacies with ease, although she didn’t always pay sufficient attention to the openings and endings of phrases. Faced with the comic capers of Pedrillo, Blonde and Osmin, Gritton effectively established the dignity of the role. She clutched a score, her thumb marking the page, throughout, although it remained closed; as Gritton has previously recorded this work it made one wonder why this was necessary as it was a little distracting. Moreover, her diction was rather careless. Denigrated as “hack work” by Mozart scholars such as William Mann, and disparaged by Edward Dent as the “very worst [libretto Mozart] ever set to music”, the text here was sung in German with English subtitles. Even if we allow that the verse may be execrable, it still would have been nice to have consistently heard the German enunciated clearly and crisply.

Malin Christensson had a battle to complement Gritton’s vocal weight, particularly in the ensembles where the latter projected powerfully and with poise; but as Blonde, Christensson gave a convincing, committed reading of the strong-minded servant and sang sweetly, with vivacious animation.

The Joyful Company of Singers waited patiently for their brief chorus at the end of Act 1; in the event, they were rather subdued, lacking the necessary lightness and energy — although this may have been a result of their positioning, at the rear of the stage, which made it difficult to project over the vibrant orchestral fanfares.

Butterriss’ obvious enthusiasm for this opera was contagious; his urbane narration, slickly sliding between comedy and seriousness, banished any sense of the potential discomforts or difficulties of the singspiel genre, and drew committed performances from his colleagues. Overall this was an enchanting evening, one which made one long for a full staging of this opera.

Claire Seymour

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Gritton_Susan_02.gif image_description=Susan Gritton [Photo courtesy of Askonas Holt] product=yes product_title=W. A. Mozart: Die Entführung aus den Serail product_by=Belmonte: Frédéric Antoun; Pedrillo: Tilman Lichdi; Constanze: Susan Gritton; Blonde: Malin Christensson; Osmin: Alastair Miles. Narrator: Simon Butteriss. The Joyful Company of Singers. The Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment. Conductor: Bernard Labadie. Queen Elizabeth Hall, London, Wednesday, 24 November 2010. product_id=Above: Susan Gritton [Photo courtesy of Askonas Holt]

Midsummer Night’s Dream, Lyric Opera of Chicago

From the first sounds of the string introduction to the final leap of Puck into a stage gone dark not a moment of Britten’s score is neglected in a well-thought match of music and drama. Leading the realm of fairies as King and Queen David Daniels sings the role of Oberon and Anna Christy that of Tytania. The mortal lovers who interact with the figures of the other world and play out their own sets of problems are performed by Elizabeth DeShong and Shawn Mathey as Hermia and Lysander, and by Erin Wall and Lucas Meachem as Helena and Demetrius. The amateur group of actors, led by the Bottom of Peter Rose, works well as an ensemble in this production and gives yet a third dimension to the strivings and complications of the personalities enmeshed in supernatural and human squabbles. In a significant debut at Lyric Opera, Rory Macdonald conducts the score as a moving canvas with the varying elements coalescing into a unified whole.

Elizabeth DeShong as Hermia and Shawn Mathey as Lysander

In this production, where successive locales and scenes in the forest drift from one to another, the first two acts are performed as a continuum without intermission. Once the orchestral introduction begins, the wavering string themes are paired by an undulating sash hanging across the stage bathed in an aqua light. The sash will also move vertically during individual scenes to envelop and to reveal characters and their entanglements. Around the sides of the stage cloth panels in shades of woodland green are occasionally illuminated, so that the fairies’ movements are witnessed as if through an arbor. At the opening those fairies, performed by the Anima-Young Singers of Greater Chicago, welcome Robin Goodfellow, or Puck. This speaking role, played throughout the production with great physical and thespian agility by Esteban Andres Cruz, leads now into the arrival of Oberon and Tytania. As both give vent to their disagreement over supervision of an Indian boy, the vocal embellishments so effectively employed by Ms. Christy and Mr. Daniels mirror their growing agitation. The words “Spring” and “Summer” receive such decoration followed by Ms. Christy’s downward runs on the word “mortal,” when she describes the Indian boy’s heritage. Mr. Daniels sings the countertenor part of Oberon with graceful ease, especially impressive and secure as he moves toward middle and low notes and layers these with dramatic import. Once the Queen departs, Oberon negotiates with Puck on finding an herb with magical properties to be used against Tytania. The suspended basket in which Oberon has delivered his royal instruction moves upward, so that the empty stage can welcome the mortals fleeing Athens.

Lucas Meachem as Demetrius and Erin Wall as Helena

In their roles as the young lovers the two pairs appear — as distinct from the otherworldly characters in the forest — in casual dress reminiscent of the 1950s. Both pairs are distraught on varying grounds. Lysander and Hermia form a vocal unity against the court which stands in opposition to their love. In this, Ms. DeShong and Mr. Mathey express their affection with pathos and sincerity in the duet with repeated “I swear to thee.” Their plans are, at first, as neatly arranged as this vocal harmony. This initial set of lovers gives way to Demetrius and Helena, Demetrius in pursuit of Hermia yet himself being pursued by Helena. Once Oberon witnesses the agitated relationship of the second pair, he resolves to intercede and cause Demetrius to return the love of Helena by having Puck drop essence of the magic herb in the man’s eye. In his aria “Welcome Wanderer” Mr. Daniels sings lush, varying scales on “eglantine” when describing to Puck both the plan for Demetrius and his intentions for Tytania. After an interlude in which the rustic players march through the forest and announce their forthcoming comedy of Pyramus and Thisbe both pairs of lovers return. At first Lysander and Hermia exchange emotional vows, Mr Mathey communicating his devotion with touchingly expressive high notes. Puck distributes the herb to the wrong man, so that Lysander transfers his affections to Helena who immediately takes flight. Once the stage is again cleared of the lovers, Tytania enters accompanied by her fairies, whom Ms. Christy addresses with ardorous melismas sung on “quaint spirits.” As she falls asleep the fairy youth assigned to guard her and the Indian boy also succumbs to slumber. Puck is able to take away the boy and Oberon applies the magic herb to the Queen.

Highlights of confusion in the next part, corresponding to the second act, include the further rehearsals of the actors and the quarrels of the perplexed and divided lovers. When the rustics confront Bottom who has been turned into an ass by the amused Puck, they scatter in fear. Both groups of lovers re-enter and argue fiercely, the men exchanging fists and the women likewise hurling insults at each other. Here Ms. Wall as Helena stands out as she sings of past “friendship warbling of one song,” while decorating her words to mimic a warble. In the meantime Tytania has fallen in love with Bottom thanks to the machinations of Oberon and Puck with the magical herb. The Queen and her companion sleep in her bower beneath the undulating sash as the lovers enhaust themselves in quarrel and disappear. Oberon now scolds Puck for having administered the herb to the wrong lover, in this production the punishment emanating from the King’s hands as he matches movement to music. Puck is charged with recalling the lovers individually and with releasing Lysander by a further dose of the herb. As the act closes, the lovers all sleep and Tytania remains enamored of Bottom in her dream.

Anna Christy as Tytania and Peter Rose as Bottom

The final act in its two scenes sets the fairy rulers and the earthly lovers once again “in amity.” As a means of celebrating by public event the rustics ultimately perform their play before the royalty of Athens and weddings ensue. In the first scene Tytania awakes and recounts what she presumes to have been a dream. When Oberon directs her gaze to the sleeping Bottom, she reacts in astonishment but is then reconciled to her King. As she follows Oberon’s suggestion and declares “Music, ho…” in order to foster sleep among the mortals, Ms. Christy’s voice gleams in decorative gesture just as Bottom is again restored to human form. Once the lovers awake, Demetrius is able to declare that he has “found fair Helena like a jewel,” hence preparing for an amicable resolution among the four. Mr. Meachem’s pronouncement is signaled by imbuing his voice with a warm, lyrical tone as he sings together with the others in a harmonious round. Both pairs are forgiven by the royal couple Theseus and Hippolyta as they prepare to watch, in the final scene, the performance of Pyramus and Thisbe enacted by the rustic players. Members of the Ryan Opera Center together with Mr. Rose present a believably bumbling rendition of the play in costumes matched to the parts they inhabit. All now married retire to sleep, as Puck delivers the final words of apology, that “Robin shall restore amends.”

Salvatore Calomino

Click here for additional information regarding this production.

image=http://www.operatoday.com/MSDN_Chicago_03.gif image_description=David Daniels as Oberon and Esteban Andres Cruz as Puck [Photo by Dan Rest courtesy of Lyric Opera of Chicago] product=yes product_title=Benjamin Britten: Midsummer Night’s Dream product_by=Oberon: David Daniels; Tytania: Anna Christy; Bottom: Peter Rose: Helena: Erin Wall; Hermia: Elizabeth DeShong; Lysander: Shawn Mathey; Demetrius: Lucas Meachem; Flute: Keith Jameson; Peter Quince: Sam Handley; Hippolyta: Kelley O'Connor; Theseus: Craig Irvin; Snout: James Kryshak; Snug: Wilbur Pauley; Puck: Esteban Andres Cruz; Starveling: Paul Scholten. ANIMA Young Singers of Greater Chicago (Emily Ellsworth — Artistic Director). Conductor: Rory Macdonald. Director: Neil Armfield. Designer: Dale Ferguson. Lighting Designer: Damien Cooper. Choreographer: Denni Sayers. product_id=Above: David Daniels as Oberon and Esteban Andres Cruz as Puck

All photos by Dan Rest courtesy of Lyric Opera of Chicago

Don Carlo, Metropolitan Opera

The Met, perhaps because this Nicholas Hytner production has been borrowed from Covent Garden where it has been playing for two years, has for once not made the mistake of undercutting a grand opera (such as Boris Godunov) by staging it as if it were a chamber drama, or staging intimate dramas (like The Nose and From the House of the Dead) as if they were grand operas. The new Don Carlo lets Verdi’s grandest work be grand, complete with massed forces and shocking coups de théâtre.

Ferruccio Furlanetto as King Philip and Marina Poplavskaya as Elisabeth

The problem Verdi set himself in Don Carlo, following Schiller’s 1787 verse drama, was to represent political conflict with individual characters without sacrificing their individuality. This difficulty lies in the way of stage directors as well: If the figures are too personal, the issues fade, become unreal; if the political factors take the foreground, the characters may forfeit our sympathy. Verdi’s individuals each go through a soul-struggle before our eyes and ears; their agony brings them tragic stature and makes the conflict rending society (then and now) between individual conscience and reasons of state more vivid to us. For both Schiller and Verdi, the drama is the protest of the individual against the crushing demands of the tyrannical state, and though the focus of their sympathies is never in doubt, they fully state the case for the latter to create a richer tragedy.

Anna Smirnova as Eboli

It wasn’t an easy birth. Verdi ultimately created three performing versions of the score; a fourth, drawing on cuts made before the 1867 premiere, was devised for James Levine at the Met in 1979. The current Met version is Verdi’s number three: Five acts sung in Italian translation, no ballet (only done in Vienna nowadays), no war-weary introduction (resurrected from opening night discards for Levine). It is a measure of the composer’s genius that, faced with the conflicting demands of story, persona, history and politics, he produced a masterpiece that has become an audience favorite.

Hytner stages Don Carlo in the three favorite colors of Spain: crimson, gold and black. Anyone dressed otherwise (the French court in blue, the Flemish envoys in brown) is clearly an outsider, and the chorus costumes are repetitive, which makes the main characters stand out. The portrait Carlo gives Elisabetta when he first meets her at Fontainebleau is in a crimson locket, which stands out against his black costume and her white one. In Act IV, when the King finds the portrait, it is recognizably the same crimson locket. The set often features a stylized black wall of small, rat-hole windows, a fortress or a prison for Carlo, cutting him off from human contact—but it also becomes the spy-filled court for the King’s study. Elisabetta is first seen as rather a hoyden, in cheerful silver French court dress, romping through the woods and firing a musket at (let us assume) deer. The contrast of her uninhibited behavior and flowing golden tresses with the rigid figure she plays in black or red after her wedding makes the proper point.

Roberto Alagna as Don Carlo and Simon Keenlyside as Posa

On the not-so-excellent side, Hytner appears to miss the point of Eboli’s Veil. That lady enters with a flamboyant showpiece about a king who accidentally woos his own veiled wife; thus Verdi subtly lets us know she has secrets of her own—she is in love with Carlo, but is the king’s mistress. (In Schiller, she is also the Queen’s false friend; Verdi couldn’t work that in.) When next we meet her, in the garden scene, she is veiled and Carlo makes love to her by mistake. Then, when the Queen learns of her treachery, with unconscious irony she orders Eboli to choose “between exile and the Veil,” that is, a nunnery. Hytner misses this through-line, which is not important. What is important is that we understand how Eboli, in the garden scene, deduces that Carlo loves the Queen. In the omitted previous scene, Eboli and the Queen exchanged veils; some Ebolis take off the veil and notice it again when Carlo recoils from her avowals, realizing only then that he thought he was making love to some other lady. Hytner’s Eboli, in contrast, keeps the veil on her head and simply makes a guess out of thin air. This is not thoughtful theater.

Another character whose potential Hytner seemed to miss was the mysterious Friar, who turns out to be the King’s abdicated, possibly dead, father, Emperor Charles V. Alexei Tarnovitsky has a rumbly bass with no suggestion of supernatural conscience, but to have him simply stroll on to interrupt the family tragedy forfeits the awe Verdi and his librettists hoped to create. The musical excitement of the opera’s conclusion appears to have no connection at all to the movements on stage at this supreme moment.

Marina Poplavskaya as Elisabeth and Roberto Alagna as Don Carlo

The leading singers at the second performance of the season were all good, though only Ferruccio Furlanetto’s King Philip held his own with memories of the Golden Age—my own personal Golden Age in this opera. Furlanetto growled and barked at first, then, in his two great duets (Posa in Act II; Grand Inquisitor in Act IV) and the sad monologue in his study that is the heart of the opera, began to soar and resonate: deep sound, clear and musical, but pulsing with thought. His way of removing his hat to wipe or clutch his brow at climaxes in the action was of a piece with this: very personal if not quite kingly. His burly dignity matched the dignity of his singing. He, and the viewer, never forgot he was the figure of power, however shattered—and which king it was, too, for like the real Philip II, he is always fiddling with papers, carrying his work about with him everywhere.

Roberto Alagna sang Carlo brashly and often beautifully. His “Io la vidi” seemed now and then to be shorter or longer than the proper placement of words on notes, as if he unconsciously remembered singing it in his native French (to which language the music was, after all, composed)—it is a pity that the opera has never been heard at the Met in the original tongue when it has been so heard in Boston, San Francisco and Seattle, to say nothing of Paris and Vienna.

Marina Poplavskaya produces a Verdi-sized sound of great depth and luster; it’s been a long time since we had such an Elisabetta. That said, the role is long and can tax the hardiest; in both her arias, Poplavskaya ran short of breath before the end. Her first duet with Carlo was promising, but her cries for justice in the study scene not especially effective. Sometimes she sounds wonderful and sometimes she is inaudible just when one would like her voice to emerge from the pack. It is a puzzling, interesting voice.

Ferruccio Furlanetto as King Philip and Eric Halfvarson as Grand Inquisitor

Anna Smirnova has the plummy Russian mezzo deep tones that make one think of Borodina, but Borodina could handle the high notes as well, and Smirnova is hit or miss: I wouldn’t trust her with Dalila or Carmen. Her Song of the Veil drew proper attention to herself, but she lacked both sensuality and wrath in the garden scene. “O don fatale” was her best work of the night, as it should be, but there were phrases produced inexactly, that flew off into the wings.

Good Posas can be vocally imposing (Merrill, Milnes) or thoughtfully so (Hynninen, Hampson, Alan Titus). Simon Keenlyside is an interesting Posa, an effective actor—if anything perhaps too individual for the courtier-confidante he must seem to be—with an ingratiating sound that does not quite fill the Met. He has to act harder because his voice simply can’t match Furlanetto or Alagna for power. As with his Hamlet, I felt that performing a role in smaller houses does not serve him well here. He should come to the Met, if he comes, in something he has not sung elsewhere.

Eric Halfvarson impressed as the Grand Inquisitor, Jennifer Check made an unusually able Celestial Voice (was she mic’d?), Layla Claire a pleasant Tebaldo, and Alexei Tarnovitsky a not very awe-inspiring Friar/Charles V.

Yannick Nézet-Séguin has a genuine feel for dramatic propulsion and kept the enormous work in constant motion. He has a graceful touch with a score that can be ponderous; he makes the melodies sing. Scene followed scene followed scene, but there was no slackening of tension, no moment when we were not savoring Verdi’s “tinta,” the specific color he devised for each of his operas, and were not eager to hear more.

John Yohalem

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Alagna_DonCarlo.gif image_description=Roberto Alagna [Photo by Ken Howard courtesy of The Metropolitan Opera] product=yes product_title=Giuseppe Verdi: Don Carlo product_by=Elisabeth: Marina Poplavskaya; Eboli: Anna Smirnova; Carlo: Roberto Alagna; Posa: Simon Keenlyside; King Philip: Ferruccio Furlanetto; Grand Inquisitor: Eric Halfvarson; Friar: Alexei Tarnovitsky. Production by Nicholas Hytner. Metropolitan Opera Chorus and Orchestra conducted by Yannick Nézet-Séguin. Performance of November 26. product_id=Above: Roberto Alagna as Don Carlo

All photos by Ken Howard courtesy of The Metropolitan Opera

Go East, Young Diva

By Andrew Moravcsik [NY Times, 2 December 2010]

For four hundred years, no art form has been more closely identified with Western culture than opera. At the heart of every great European city stands an opera house. Over the centuries, it became the center of intellectual and social life: the place where the aristocracy gambled and partied, the rising bourgeoisie conversed, the artistic avant-garde sought inspiration. From Baroque to post-modern, opera librettos mirror the modern history of the West.

Adriana Lecouvreur: You don't bring me flowers

By Zerbinetta [Likely Impossibilities, 2 December 2010]

This is a production that should under no circumstances be seen while sober.

Composers' scores a winner for charity

By Tom Service [Guardian, 1 December 2010]

Jeremy Hunt's calls for more private philanthropy for the arts seem, so far at least, based on a wing and a prayer (his call on Monday that arts organisations should go looking for the rich people in their community was risible). But it would at least find some resonance in an interesting sale at Sotheby's that began today.

Opera North at the Grand Theatre, Leeds

By Michael Kennedy [Opera, 1 December 2010]

The last time I encountered the work of the South African-born director Alessandro Talevi and the set and costume designer Madeleine Boyd was at last summer's Buxton Festival in Cornelius's The Barber of Baghdad, generally regarded as instantly forgettable-but not, let me make clear, as a production. Now teamed up with the lighting designer Matthew Haskins, the pair makes its Opera North debut in Britten's masterly adaptation of Henry James's creepy ghost story, surprisingly the first time this company has staged it.

Philip Glass: Itaipu and Three Songs for choir a cappella

Mozart died at a point where his once-glittering career had him in financial straits. Schubert never heard his greatest compositions performed by a professional orchestra. Beethoven enjoyed some great successes, but he never owned his own publishing company. Philip Glass, however, has Orange Mountain Music, a label solely dedicated to preserving for posterity recorded documents of such compositions as this disc’s Itaipu, a “paean to…the huge hydro-electric dam…on the border between Brazil and Portugal” and Three Songs for Chorus a Cappella, which are not paeans to hydro-electric dams. They are paeans to the 350th anniversary of the founding of Quebec.

What your reviewer admired most about this Orange Mountain disc is the packaging. Simple and elegant, it features a cover photograph of a dam (uncredited and uncaptioned), and some brief notes which give helpful information on the commissioning of the works. No texts were provided for the Three Songs, but the enunciation of The Crouch End Festival Chorus is impeccable. On Itaipu, the Los Angeles Master Chorale has its own impeccability in chanting “oooh” and “ahh” in various formulations.

Once beyond the packaging, your reviewer found the disc mostly banal, occasionally irritating and sometimes giggle-inducing. The four-beat rhythm underlying most of the 12 minutes of Itaipu’s first section, Mato Grosso, rivals Poe’s telltale heart for sanity-threatening repetitiousness. The following three sections offer different moods but similar musical procedures, and if the actual dam is as crude in structure as the composition, watch out below. In Three Songs, the chorus members with words to sing are accompanied by others offering harmonic support in very very very simple lines mostly enunciated with “buh buh”s and “dah dah”s.

For those keyed into Glass’s style, these compositions are probably rewarding — hypnotic, one supposes, enveloping. To your reviewer — buh buh buh. And dah dah too.

Chris Mullins

image=http://www.operatoday.com/Itaipu_3songs.gif
image_description=Itaipú & Three Songs for Choir a Cappella

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product_title=Philip Glass: Itaipú & Three Songs for Choir a Cappella
product_by=Itaipu: Los Angeles Master Chorale, Grant Gershon, Conductor. Three Songs: The Crouch End Festival Chorus National Sinfonia, David Temple, Conductor.
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