Saturday, three Mainers made the trek to Boston in unanticipated ice, snow and wind for the Boston Symphony Orchestra's concert performance of Alban Berg's WOZZECK. Despite the treachery of the roads, and taking about twice as long as usual to get there, it was worth every minute, every slip and slide to be part of this magnificent evening.
Andris Nelsons began the performance with a little bit of concern as one saw audience members looking at each other with puzzled faces, as the conductor simply had the orchestra overpowering Wozzeck and the Captain. As Wozzeck, Bo Skovhus fared a bit better than poor Toby Spence who could barely be heard in the scene. At one point Spence's jaw was moving, his lips forming words, but one had to take it on faith he was singing. Collectively, the audience seemed to will Nelsons to reign it in a bit, and somehow (though doubtful it was owing in any part to our "will") he did just that. Balance was achieved for most of the rest of the night and everyone now being heard, things settled in brilliantly.
Mr. Spence always seems a bit young for the roles he's been taking these days, Eschenbach, Vere, et al., but the beauty and shape of his voice, combined with terrific dramatic sense makes him a singing actor of the first order, and his Captain Saturday was both comical and troubling in all the right ways.
Mr. Skovhus has been thrilling audiences with his take on Berg's antihero for a quarter century now and the role rarely sounds as good as when Bo takes it on. Indeed, the first reviews from his earliest performances in Hamburg had that "not since Fischer-Dieskau" moniker attached. It held then, it holds now. The tragic Everyman is a tightly wound ball of nerves, pathos, and despite his directness in almost all things, always misunderstood, increasing his desperate frustration. Skovhus presents all of this in his hushed singing, spoken anxiety, cries and ragings against the world. Wozzeck is pathetic in many ways, but Skovhus, without eschewing that quality, adds a nobility that makes it impossible to not root for him. Each of his interactions - Captain, Doctor, Andres, and most importantly, Marie, reveals the myriad facets of this complex tortured soul most (all?) of us cn identify with. Add to this Skovhus facial expressions and body language and the role is complete as it can be in every regard, fulfilling his description as a man "running through life like an open razor." Indeed.
In her role debut with this run, Christine Goerke reveals a Marie equally as tragic, noble and heartbreakingly beautiful as her man. And as complicated as well. Like Wozzeck, Marie's character comes through with each of her own interactions - her child, Margaret, the Drum Major, and, of course, Wozzeck. Goerke was in magnificent voice all night; tender here with her son, bawdy girl talk with Margaret, touching and frightened by Wozzeck, all of the nuances of the role pouring out with plush, feminine sound. Berg provides Marie with one moment that can stop the show; when the Drum Major goes beyond a mere seduction, Marie cries out "Do not touch me!" - and here, Goerke unleashed a tsunami of sound - "Rühr mich nicht an!" - an explosion hanging in the otherwise silenced hall like a Walkyrian war cry. It. Was. Thrilling.
Franz Hawalta's Doctor was appropriately slick and egotistical. Renée Tatum made the most one can out of Margaret, with voice one hopes to hear in much roles. Christopher Ventris still showed plenty of voice and stage presence as the Drum Major, while Mauro Peter ’provided a different, more delicate tenor as Wotan's comrade, Andres. Zachary Altman and David Kravitz were terrific as the Apprentices, with Altman displaying a voice that immediately made me sit up and take notice of. The :"Bar Singers" were as good as I've ever heard - better than most, in Berg's beautifully husehd pseudo-Palestrina.
With the least amount to sing, the children of the final scene, along with Marie's Child, made the ending as chillingly tragic as one could hope for - if "hope for" is even the right phrase to use here.
Nelson's reading of the score was crystal clear at every moment, amplifying Berg's nightmarish soundscape throughout, and all of its beauty with virtuoso displays from his players. Of course it happens easily, expectedly in the big bits, but here, too, we were treated to memorable magic in those quiet sections. A perfect example is the introduction of the celeste at the end of Marie's lullaby where the notes sparkle ;like stars in the darkness.
Then there are the two biggest orchestral moments. First, that twice repeated chord following Marie's murder, its crescendo swelling anjd puncutated by timpani like the definition of violence broken by the out-of-tune piano like a welcome to hell. Then, the intermezzo before the final scene. Nelsons milked them for all they were worth and the effect was chilling.
As the final notes repeated, dissolving into nothingness, the audience held quiet, complete silence, not a rustle of programs, a cough . . . nothing, for perhaps 20 seconds - which felt like eternity, before the house erupted into a roar of cheers and bravi.
If I were near New York, I'd be at the Carnegie Hall performance tomorrow night (March 15). Go!
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