pArts

Magnificent Götterdämmerung

2012-01-28T08:53:00.006-05:00

I had to miss Act III, but listened to it this morning and remain entirely overwhelmed by the experience.

Hans Peter Konig thrilled me as Hagan, his "Hei ho" bit having nearly the same snappy, snarl and oily blackness of Matti Salminen who (for me) remains the greatest interpreter of the role in my experience. Just marvelous.

I really (really) liked Jay Hunter Morris, but still feel he was nearly "too pooped to pop" in Act III, and yet his intensity and natural feel for the role won me over. I get a sense he will learn to better pace his Siegfried and be terrific in the role in the future. I really hope I'm right!

Debbie . . . Debbie had me in tears during the Immolation Scene. Maybe it's lack of sleep on my part, but I was electrified throughout and, while, at several moments, I may have wished for more of a way with the words (though very few moments, actually), and a less curdly-note here and there,Voigt's feel of the role overwhelmed me. Magnificent. I think she shocked the pants off rather a lot of naysayers and predictors of doom. Brava, Madam Voigt, brava!

Maestro Luisi's handling of the entire act (and the entire evening) was propulsive in a way that recalled, for me, Boulez in Bayreuth. While some may complain about the "excessive" speed of the final 20 or so minutes, I found this to be one of the most riveting, thrilling (jaw dropping, in fact) finales in my entire "Ring" experience. Wagner's amazing score truly SOUNDED like water with the aural equivalent of waves and swirls, rapids and falls violently tumbling across the earth. It was shaped so perfectly I am still sitting here, entirely amazed, but the opposite of numb. Before anyone takes sniper shots at me and labels me a heathen, idiot (or worse), let me answer: YES, I've heard, and am a fan of, Furtwangler, Knappertsbusch, Böhm, et al., but this was a unique, wonderful (modern?) reading (despite some blemishes from the band I expect will smooth themselves out over time) that held me as if spellbound.

By the end, I was completely overwhelmed and loved hearing the audience response and the nearly deafening ovations. That made the horrible booing for LePage and Co., all the more horrifying. I really didn't expect it and could not believe the bloodlust of the booing. That it continued straight through,through the rest of the ovation (save the final individual bows - but returned) made me a bit sick. While it may have failed to live up to the expectation and hype, could this have been THAT horrible a production to deserve such a violent interruption to an otherwise emotionally satisfying evening? All I could think, was, "what ill-bred monsters these booers be". I must say, listening to it over the airwaves (ether?) I was startled Margaret and Will didn't mention the booing during their post-performance narrative.

I'm going to listen to the finale again . . . but will stop just short of Maestro Luisi's bow! What a thrilling, wonderful performance and I envy those who were in the house. Bravo a tutti to the Met, Maestro Luisi, the cast . . . and most of all,
to that ol' devil, Wagner!

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Awesome and Awful Album Art

2011-12-04T20:03:00.013-05:00

WARNING: Some images contain nudity and other material that may or will offend. Proceed at your own risk and don't shoot the messenger!

Tori Amos: Night of Hunters

2011-09-29T14:04:00.001-04:00

I neither make bones about nor apologies for my love of Tori Amos. I’ve been fascinated with her ever since “Little Earthquakes,” though like most favorite artists, have been sometimes as disappointed with her work as I’ve been pleased by it. I thoroughly loved her last big album “The Bee Keeper” and when I heard about her project for Deutsche Grammophon thought “it’s about time!” For Night of Hunters Amos created what’s being billed as “a 21st Century Song Cycle based on classical themes.” Indeed, Amos mined the classics – Bach, Schubert, Satie, Alkan, Schumann, et al. but the great masters are not merely quoted (most of the time anyway) but rather integrated as part of a whole package. It works brilliantly and beautifully.

Amos (like Streisand unlike Ronstadt) forgoes any attempt at trying to sound like a classically trained singer which, juxtaposed with the (mostly) “classical” style writing, adds an intriguing complexity to Hunters. With a chamber orchestra of strings, woodwinds, percussion and brass, Amos and her Bosendorfer wander through the sometimes artfully pretentious story she’s set to this music with far more finesse and assurance than most classical artists do when “slumming” it in the world of pop. The opening of the work, “Shattering Sea” (based on an Alkan prelude) invokes Prokofiev and Bartok as the piano duels violently with the orchestra. This combination aids in making Amos remarkably fresh sounding voice (at 48) sound at once both womanly yet perpetually waifish.

Taking place during the course of a single night Hunters bears a slight resemblance to Arnold Schoenberg’s Ewartung – thematically if not musically, though Amos’ text is a bit less obtuse though no less “arty” than the Schoenberg.

Natashya Hawley, Amos’s 11 year old daughter, does nice work on four of the numbers holding her own and every inch in sound at least, very much Mama’s girl.

Some of Amos’ strongest fans have been the most critical of this, but so far, critical reviews have been more than favorable. Not going unnoticed is a certain theatricality in all of this, which bodes well since Amos is in the midst of finishing her first musical theatre piece, “The Light Princess” (based on a 19th century folk tale about a flying princess) which is set to open in London early next year. Should be interesting!

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Opera Lovers versus Opera Singer Lovers

2011-08-05T17:51:00.003-04:00

This is the eternal battle that has been forever waged between these two camps. Which one are you?

There are those for whom opera is the supreme performing art – the gesamkunstwerk to which Herr Wagner and others both before and after him dedicated their art, gifts and lives. Then there are those for whom the singer, not the song, is the thing. At times, serving as the inspiration for composers, singers are necessary, for without them, there simply is no opera. Looking at the myriad components necessary to make up that which we call an opera, one logically concludes that, as important as the singer is, he or she is an integral part of “the thing” but not “the thing” itself.
Nonetheless, due to an host of reasons, excuses and foibles far too numerous for discussion here, the Opera Singer Lover (“OSL”), will frequently view the Opera Singer as “the thing” itself, often resulting in an inability to relate to the world

But, through considerable study, I’ve arrived at the conclusion there are those who respond only to certain sounds or voice types and for whom opera serves merely as the vehicle from whence to obtain their fix. Neither camp is necessarily “wrong” but time has proven that your standard issue OSL tends to be far less tolerant being than the average Opera Lover (“OL”). An otherwise near perfect performance can devolve into a ruined and unsalvageable evening for the OSL merely by the presence of a competent, if less than spectacular, singer. Actually, it need only be a singer the OSL him or herself has deemed less than spectacular, even despite critical
acclamation by critics and public at large.

What amazes the OL is how an OSL, may have heard an opera dozens, perhaps even hundreds of times over the decades, yet remains familiar only with the bits involving directly the object of his or her affection. This may include (or exclude, as the case may be), instances of ensembles where said object is only one of several voices, which serve (in the mind of the OSL) only to interfere with the artistry of their beloved.

While an OL may indeed become a fan of a singer, he/she is inclined to worry less about “who” is singing, trusting, with a not unrealistic expectation, that the company has hired singers capable of performing the roles their agents have contracted them for, and that a competent director is on hand to put them through the paces, inspire them to convince a paying audience to believe in the situation at hand, and encourage a strong work ethic while infusing them with an excitement that will, hopefully, become palpable to those on the other side of the curtain. The OL finds that, more often than not, this is precisely what happens.

OSL’s often find themselves stuck in a self-imposed rut, the OSL being more prone towards statements (which sometimes come off as pronouncements) such as “Callas ruined any other soprano’s Tosca for me.” Such statements, while often earnestly expressed, present a bafflement to the OL who cannot comprehend the possibility of a world where one singer could “ruin” an opera for every other singer coming after him or her. Such statements further perplex the OL who simply cannot fathom or wrap himself around the idea that one may have endured half a century incapable of enjoying Tosca. A tragedy, really.

While neither OSL nor OL need be a musician, able to read a score or comprehend the technical or aesthetic components of musicmaking or opera production, one finds, more often than not, the OL has some training (formal or self-taught) as well a slightly more open and realistic expectation of what an evening at the opera will entail. It is a sad truth that OSL’s often attend the opera because it is the only opportunity afforded them to cheer their champion. Realistically the OL would prefer a concert or recital setting, eradicating all those nasty recitatives, sets, costumes and other singers, getting them all out of the way so as to be able to more properly enjoy an evening with their favorite diva or divo.

While there exists a large gap between these two camps – one seemingly, fundamentally irreconciliable – each has learned (if only out of necessity), to coexist and tolerate each other. In some instances, friendships have been known to evolve between the OSL and OL wherein each has contributed to the elucidation of the other’s enjoyment of the lyric arts.

Confusion surrounds as to which camp one actually belongs to, as many who believe themselves to be OSLs are, in reality, actually OLs merely with proclivities towards particular singers.

I’ve devised the rather simple test which follows, as an aid in discovering the camp to which you belong. You’re welcome.

1. On your birthday you would rather receive:
A – A ticket to your local company’s new production of Don Giovanni.
B – A ticket to a Villazon recital of Schubert and Brahms.
B – A ‘78 of Jeritza singing excerpts from “The Bohemian Girl.”

2. When visiting New York you are most excited by:
A – Snagging a ticket to a controversial new Handel production at City
Opera.
B – Waiting in line for an exhibit of gowns worn by divas of the Belle
Epoch era.
C – Attending a luncheon hosted by Licia Albanese featuring unknown young
singers.

3. Your immediate reaction to a gifted singer being hailed the “New Callas”
is:
A – “Cool! I hope I get to hear her before she disappears from the face of
the earth!”
B - Yawn. “Yeah. Right.”
C - “Who do those muther“%#$>$%#* think they are!!!!”

4. Your favorite opera character is:
A – Don Giovanni.
B – Violetta Valery.
C – Joan Sutherland.

5. You see the Onegin Duel Scene as:
A – A tragic but necessary plot device juxtaposing the lyric with the
dramatic.
B –Tchaikovsky’s painful paean to the heartbreak of friendship’s end.
C –Wunderlich’s greatest moment.

6. Melisande is:
A - Debussy’s difficult, gauzy heroine: a singing symbol of life’s
ambivalence.
B – A fascinating study and a challenging opportunity for a gifted singing
actress.
C – Something you endured once to get another autograph from Victoria de
los Angeles.

7. For you, “Ah fors e lui . . . and Sempre Libera” is:
A - The pulse pounding finale to Act I of “La Traviata.”
B – Another brilliant summation by Verdi revealing the heart and essence of
a character.
C – Track 6 on Prima Voce’s Tribute to Amelita Galli Curci

8. A tenor cracks on an exposed high note. You:
A – Boo and depart in disgust vowing never to attend another of his
performances.
B – Angrily and noisily explain to all it was the fault of the conductor,
director or soprano.
C – Weep uncontrollably.

9. “Tombe degli avi miei” is:
A – The propulsive final scene of “Lucia” tying the entire evening’s drama
together.
B – Carlo Bergonzi like a house on fire!
C – Excuse me . . . what are you talking about?”

10. When dreaming you tend to dwell in:
A – Marble Halls.
B – La Scala.
C – Vallhalle.

Fille-Nominal Fille du Regiment

2011-07-29T20:19:00.005-04:00

Last night when the curtain came down on PORTopera’s new production of La Fille du Regiment it was with a roar more typically heard at a rock concert. The entire cast and charming production certainly deserved it, but it was clear whose fan club was in attendance as Maine native soprano made her big girl role debut with the company as Marie.

After a frothy account of Donizetti’s faux military orchestra (sans some horn issues) the curtain rose on an enormous barricade built of furniture – chairs and other household items. Flanking it, atop and on all sides, the Tyrolean villagers, ready for combat armed with rakes and other garden tools, and standing guard against the invading French army. Frequently first act stage pictures, (particularly the military camp), evoked the feel of a Bertrand Tavernier film (that is if he made comedies). Shannon Zura's moveable platforms adjusted quickly, instantly becoming whatever space the staging required. The second act set with its mile high drawing room (and gorgeous parquet flooring) was raked horizontally creating a physically off-kilter look which added to the onstage hijinks created by the awkwardness of plot situations. Jamie Grant's lighting design emphasized the natural brightness of the tale, and with restrained subtlety, added the perfect atmosphere in more gentle and introspective moments.

Fresh from a run of Fille in St. Louis, Ashley Emerson offered perfect comic chops, an instantly adorable stage personality and a face that expressed perfectly young Marie’s wide range of emotions. The voice, like its owner, is on the petite size, but as a critic once told me “some singers you really have to lean in to hear, but they are oh so worth leaning in for.” Emerson is clearly in that camp; the voice has a pure quality that positively gleams and as secure a technique as I’ve heard from a young singer. Her attacks were spot on - no adjustments, just there every time. She showed off a brilliant upper extension with no loss of vibrancy and zero strain and a renarkable evenness throughout the range. For such a clear, bright sound, Emerson is also able to summon up a remarkable warmth for moments such as "Il faut Partir" which was limpid and properly heartbreaking, bringing down the house. Throughout the evening I kept thinking “future Zerbinetta." I can also imagine a Semele, Cleopatra and a number of other Handel operas that would seem to be a natural fit.

PORTopera lucked out in nabbing tenor Andrew Bidlack as Tonio. A beautiful, italianate sound built for bel canto, Bidlack sailed through his assignment with aplomb, verve and boyish good looks - a perfect match for his Marie. Overall, while the voice is bright there is a slight tendency towards covering high notes - not all of them. Such was certainly not the case with those those famous nine high C's in "Ah mes amis" which he tossed off with an almost uncanny ease.

Jan Opalach has become a Portland favorite and last night his beautifully sung and hilarious Sulpice showed exactly why, nowhere more so then when joined by Emerson and Bidlack in the infectious trio "Tous les trois réunis" - (perhaps my favorite moment of this entire opera). The staging - and Donizetti's effervescent music - could not help but produce the broadest of smiles.

It's always a joy to see Judith Christin and as The Marquise of Birkenfeld, her speaking voice frequently dipped into the bass-baritone range adding an extra measure of fun. Her work in the Lesson Scene, was a masterclass in operatic comic acting. Teamed up with Jeffrey Tucker as Hortensius, they made quite the pair.

In a scene re-tooled for the Duchess of Krakenthorp, Ellen Chickering, in a matter of minutes, managed to practically steal the show with an interpolated (and ridiculous) aria about her character's bloated ego and the difficulties of being so beautiful and admired. A great and awful song done to perfection.

The PORTopera Orchestra and Chorus were ably led in grand bel canto style by Stephen Lord. At times balances (but never tempi) between stage and pit were a bit off, the orchestra covering the voices - though most of the time things sounded just right.

As ever, Dona D. Vaughn's direction was sharp, clear, uncluttered pointing every moment to its comic zenith without ever going over the top. It's clear to see why singers love working with her: the end result is a satisfied audience happily going along for the three hour tour. Honestly, I can't imagine a better way to spend a beautiful summer evening.

Met's Dialogue of the Carmelites: The Telecast

2011-07-07T14:07:00.007-04:00

Thanks to the generosity of a friend, I’ve been able to watch this performance
complete twice this week and the impact of the production has not lessened
in the near quarter century since the telecast – nor since I first experienced it
live, as a teenager a decade before that.

The biggest surprise for me was the performance of Sister Blanche sung by Maria Ewing. Perhaps because the end of her career was fraught with all manner of vocal problems and her affected weird behavior, I’d forgotten what a truly sensational artist she was in the early part of her career. The voice . . . the voice is simply gorgeous, rich, creamy, sensuous (uh oh there go those no-no Ira Siff words) here, at times (particularly in the upper middle range), resembles a singer who’d achieve fame just a bit later: Renee Fleming. Some took Ewing to task for changing her Blanche from the shy, terrified, almost blinkered heroine she introduced to the Met a decade earlier, yet I found her interpretation moving between a sort of an anger borne of self-hatred coupled with fear, to make her final resolve in the march to the guillotine even more powerful than I had the first time.

Ewing seems to have made this interpretative choice based on the scene where Mother Marie finds her living as a servant in her former family home as Blanche reveals “All the world despises a coward, so I deserve to be ridiculed and despised. I have felt this way since I was a child. There was only one who could keep me from these thoughts; my father. He is dead. He died on the guillotine less than a week ago.” Similarly in the earlier scene between Blanche and her final visit with her brother – the wavering between anger, strength and crushing fear was overwhelming.

While the rest of the performances held few surprises, they have long been scorched or permanently seared into my memory and little commentary is necessary except to say, each performer was at the top of their game, notably Jessye Norman, Florence Quivar, and Betsy Norden. Of course, Regine Crespin as the First Prioress, whose tortured death is horrific not for its brutality, but for the honesty of the portrayal of a strong woman who, at the last reveals her doubts of a life-long faith dying, racked with pain and gripped by fear.

John Dexter’s simple, sparse production – taking place on a stage filling white cross remains one of the most powerful productions the Met has mounted, the opening and closing images of which, once seen can never be forgotten. The fluidity of movement between the scenes of each act is, in the very best sense, cinematic; no pauses, no curtain movement, a seamless unity binding music and drama into a single entity, the type of which is too rarely seen or heard.

The final scene – with Poulenc’s score at the March to the Scaffold leading to the execution of the Carmelite sisters remains one of the most chilling moments in all of opera. Yet again, the visual and musical components are so wedded into a terrifying whole that it is difficult if not impossible to not be moved to tears as it unfolds. Kudos, too to Maestro Manuel Rosenthal who leads a stirring performance, perfectly balanced and revealing a truly Grand Opera.

Special credit goes to Brian Large for his inspired direction for television and should serve as a model of how to get things perfect. The ratio between close-ups, full and partial stage shots and reaction shots are highlighted by a marvelous use of overlaps and dissolves that come as close to perfection as this art form will allow.

I’ll again echo the sentiment that I find no sensible argument that this performance (from a single performance) has never been – and likely will never be – issued for commercial release. It is truly the Met at its finest.

I'm listening . . .

2011-05-24T12:06:00.003-04:00

Over on the "L Train" (Opera-L) a recent discussion on "modern" opera (generally) and "The Rake's Progress" (specifically) elicited some negative opinions on Stravinsky's grand piece of lyric theatre. "Prickly . . . dull" and "pasted together" were some of the criticisms I found confusing (and, from my perspective, rather unwarranted).

The most interesting aspect (in my opinion) turned out to be that a number of fans of Berg's Lulu and Wozzeck were among those who had difficulty with the Stravinsky.

Still, it's refreshing overall to see the championing and proliferation of performances of works once deemed box office poison finally making their mark. In my own lifetime, I can recall several teachers (teachers!) and countless friends and family ridiculing me for citing Wozzeck as a favorite work (this has not changed) - who now (30 years later) get it (finally!)

There is an energy in the arts that opens the world up in ways that only new music, new art, new literature can do. Even the familiar music of my god, Bach, takes on new angles and urgency after time spent with Glass, Reich, Adams and Ligeti – there is a freshness there as cobwebs seem to be dusted out of the ol’ auditory canals. I've noticed an increase in FYF (Fresh Young Faces) at both the opera and symphony.

When the Met put on Satyagraha two seasons back - I was amazed at the uniqueness of the audience - sensing that "new" energy all around me. Wisely, the Met is bringing back that amazing production and putting it on the HD schedule (I'm still going down to New York for this live though!).

I like keeping my musical options open - and find that to be the healthiest way for me to remain involved and listening is to make - as often as possible - a new adventure out of every musical event whether it's Blue Oyster Cult, Eminem or Stravinsky!

I’m looking forward to getting to hear Muhly’s new opera “Two Boys” and getting to know more of this young man’s music.

I can well recall when I was

Best Trovatore Ever!

2011-04-30T16:22:00.006-04:00

Despite the grainy black and white picture, boxy audio (which peaks out at crescendos, varies wildly at times and can really become constricted during large ensembles), painted clouds, sets that range from starkly stagey yet realistic to "huh?", lip-synching that for most of the film is so good it looks as though the singers are really singing then degenerates into hit 'n miss, and some nasty cuts, the performances are simply astonishing. I hadn't planned on watching the entire thing, but once in the video machine I was along for the ride.

Leyla Gencer absolutely amazes me. If this woman were singing today she would be having productions of whatever she wanted, wherever she wanted and cast with whomever she wanted. Verdian style, ease of vocal production, ear ravishing mezzo voces and spot on high notes attacked with precision and clarity that had me doing something I hate to do - rewind whole sections and play them over and over again - so much so that the 2 hour video took me closer to 3 hours to watch. In "Tacea la notte .." she throws in this soft, high Db that may be one of the most beautifully produced single notes I've ever heard.

(Note: I have to say, right here, that listening to Gencer today I was struck for the very first time at how similar a sound she shares with (drum roll, please) Renee Fleming. I'd never noticed before, but the weights of both of their voices are very similar, they have similar sounding "chest" (Gencer seemed to sing almost all of "Tu vedrai" in chest voice - which blew my mind!) - and just the sheer sound of their voices has an uncanny similarity. I'd never once thought of Fleming as a Leonore, but now I'm wondering ... )

Mario Del Monaco is thrilling both in sound and looks, his acting right on the mark for Manrico. His high note (C?) at the end of "Di Geloso amor" is not nice and sounds like it's tagged on, and maybe not even his (though I doubt that). All of his other high notes are definitely THERE and I was particularly affected by his ensemble work (who said he always had to show off? He's definitely a team player in this show). The "Pira" (down a tone) has all the ping one could want. He's just terrific. (Okay, admittedly, in Act IV Mario definitely goes over the top, all flashing dramatic eyes and Bela Lugosi poses, but I don't think these are out of place because they seem to come genuinely from him.)

Although not one of my absolute favorite singers, Ettore Bastianini is commanding, and in excellent voice as DiLuna and a great foil to Del Monaco's Manrico.

Plinio Clabassi opens the film with a fairly rousing "Abbietta zingara" and the men's chorus act and sing nobly.

There are touches of humour in the direction (notably in the Anvil Chorus) both intentional and seemingly unintentional (a gypsy who's mock anvil striking can't help but provoke a grin).

Fedora Barbieri (the most unfortunate victim of the wardrobe mistress), despite her protestations in a recent Opera News article, uses chest voice and does so splendidly (I think she likes to call it something else, but it's chest to me). But her Azucena has so much beauty throughout. One of her most beautiful moments comes in that little trio toward the end: Gencer sustaining a lower note, Del Monaco "buffing" the middle and Barbieri enters ravishingly, on a higher sustained note returning to her "Ai nostri monti." It is the magic of Verdi right there and it is the magic of singers who know what to do with this ravishing stuff.

Any director worth his salt should look at this and realize that "concept" is irrelevant, unnecessary and can stand directly in the way of telling a story. The power of the music and singers who know how to react to it and eachother, are more than enough. The drama came through in spades here, despite the deficiencies of great visuals or expertly engineered sound.

Many moments I jumped up to my feet, cheering at the screen. The ending, for once, felt as brutal and stomach churning as Verdi must have intended it to. Oh, to experience a Trovatore like this in a house just once!

Netrebko as Anna: Can no one really touch her?

2011-04-07T20:24:00.013-04:00

A lot of fuss is being made about Anna Netrebko's ability (or inability if you see it that way) to perform the title role in Donizetti's Anna Bolena. I've listened to the recordings and videos from the prima in Vienna and find her rather exciting, if not the last word (or even close) to real bel canto style.

Several friends have argued no one in the past - at least since Callas - can properly take on the role, and that "no one today" - or even in the last ten years can compete with Anna as Anna. I'd have to disagree.

Here is Carol Vaness, not a singer I (or anyone else) would typically associate with Donizetti, but here she is in an absolutely thrilling reading of "Coppia Iniqua":

www.youtube.com/watch?v=6oAokjH6uu8&feature=related

Two more Anna's who take the unwritten high note option at the end adding a degree of frisson to the proceedings:

First up, Mariella Devia who seems as if by the role possessed - wonderfully so:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1UfHMbPAqoA

And finally, a Netrebko contemporary, Elena Mosuc, who brings a Sills-like razzle dazzle to the role, and interpolates (wildly) some thrilling high notes and sends the crowd into a frenzy!

www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kc1JIHE2caw&feature=related

So, in my opinion the notion that no one can touch Nebs is a faulty one. She's exciting but hardly the last word in the role.

The Little Red Dress . . .

2011-03-06T16:33:00.008-05:00

The recent Willy Decker production of La Traviata seen at the Metropolitan Opera generated more online commentary than just about anything I can recall over the past few years. Much was made about Violetta's red dress - and how few sopranos could probably ever wear it. This in turn prompted me to think of a number of glamorous divas who past and present who knew how to fill out a red dress.

Here then, is a small gallery of those divas - my "Ladies in Red."

Sullivan's Glorious Golden Legend: A Rare Performance

2011-02-27T13:48:00.006-05:00

Last night I attended a performance of Sir Arthur Sullivan’s rarely performed dramatic cantata “The Golden Legend”, based on Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem of the same name. The work was performed as part of Longfellow 204th Birthday Choral Festival (an annual event based here in Portland, Maine along with an annual international composition competition in a number of divisions, choral works, cantatas, songs settings, etc.).

Sadly, the unannounced blizzard that arrived Friday, meant two things: the massive work for 5 soloists, orchestra, organ and chorus did not get a dress rehearsal; and (2) people stayed home resulting in a disproportionate ratio of performers (roughly 80) to audience (about 50).

While the performance was not perfect, it was a spirited and winning one that had its small audience cheering, showing there is no good reason this work is not better known, and the powerfully satisfying musical and emotional effect it can have on the listener.

The Longfellow Chorus was fortunate in havingn a handful of young, attractive soloists who, frankly, could not have been better suited to this music and were, in fact superior to those on the impressive Hyperion/Musical Heritage Society recording. So clear was the diction of all five (as well as that of the chorus) it eliminated any necessity of reading the nicely sized (for once) libretto provided in the program.

As Lucifer, Bradford Gleim - even in concert dress - made for a convincing Victorian-era looking devil, and his rich, sonorous voice got the prologue off to a roaring good start, as he attempts to summon his demons. Throughout, Gleim’s devil exhibited perfect amounts of gleeful mischief to make him just evil enough, but also a lot of fun.

Tenor, Brian Arreola (who teaches at UNC Charlotte and a founding member of the ensemble Cantus) was for me the discovery of the night. A clear, nicely sized voice that had the needed Victorian sweetness demanded by this music, but also a cutting heldentenor-ish quality that easily rode over the orchestra , which came nicely into play at the work’s most thrilling moment, (the end of part two) with Henry’s cries of “Angelo! Murderer!” - answered in full cry by the chorus, giving the work a genuine “wow!” factor.

As Ursula, mezzo soprano, Tania Mandzy revealed a absolutely gorgeous-toned voice that at moments reminded me of Dame Janet Baker with its velvety finish and brilliant diction. Unfortunately, at her prayer in the beginning of Part 3, there was a snafu between the orchestra and singer which brought the performance to an unexpected halt. Rather than plugging away and hoping for the best, our intrepid conductor issued a short apology and after a minute to regroup, they began again making the awkward incident worth it as Ms. Mandzy poured her heart out into the prayer, offering phrase after phrase of sheer beauty.

Deborah Selig (who bore an uncanny resemblance to the actress, Jennifer Beals) soared through Elsie’s music with sweetness, but with plenty of sheen to the voice, which opened up beautifully the higher she went. She had the proper amount of earnestness and beauty of tone for “My Redeemer and my Lord” - but truly made her mark with the little coda Sullivan gives Elsie immediately after “My life is little - only a cup of water,” which can only be described as ravishing. Selig’s breathtaking “Christe Elieson” with the chorus at the conclusion of “The night is calm and cloudless” interrupted the performance from the otherwise well mannered audience with several cries of “Brava!”

From the tiny island of Chebeague, (now residing in New York), bass baritone Tyler Putnam offered luxury casting in the small but important role of The Forester. Putnam’s sizeable - almost rattling - voice only made one sorry Sir Arthur hadn’t given him more to sing. Much more.

The Longfellow Chorus sang thrillingly throughout the evening, particularly the women’s voices which were clear and evocative of the best British choruses. The men were slightly underpowered in their chanting of the Hymn of St. Hildebert, and could have used a more “monk’s chant” type of expression in this music, but this is a minor quibble. Most other moments however, such as in first unaccompanied chorus “O blessed light” the sound, would best be described as exquisite, and in the rousing finale, truly glorious.

A nice effect was made with a bit of “staging” with singers shifting positions, actually singing to each other, a prop or two, and a dramatic exit as Lucifer led the then-doomed Elsie down the aisle before appearing in the rear balcony as Prince Henry and his attendants prepare to storm the door for Elsie’s rescue.

Conductor, Charles Kaufman, led all with a sure hand and obvious affection for this remarkable work and, aside from some glitches (most noticeably in the strings), his orchestra (particularly the winds who were marvelous throughout) responded in a performance that made as strong case as I can think of for this work re-entering the repertoire of choral and symphonic organizations.

The small but hearty audience, clearly moved by what we experienced, cheered and applauded lustily, calling back the soloists and Maestro Kaufman for an extended and well deserved bow. It’s a shame the house wasn’t packed . Hopefully a repeat performance today at 3:00 will be better attended.

Walking Home Last Night

2011-02-26T12:16:00.002-05:00

Billy Budd: The Shirtless Option?

2011-02-23T19:16:00.006-05:00

Members of several online opera sites are speculating whether next season's production of Billy Budd will find Nathan Gunn shirtless in the title role or not. Though the Met's production hasn't as yet featured a topless Billy - Gunn seems to appear regularly in roles that "require" him to have at least a scene or two sans a shirt. I'm guessing his Met costume will be a bit "briefer" than past interpreters of the role at Lincoln Center.

The role of Billy has - in a great many productions over the last 20 years or so - featured quite a number of half naked Budd's. Here are a few of the more famous/notable ones. Note: none of them is Mr. Gunn.

Review: Adams' Nixon in China Arrives at the Met

2011-02-03T18:12:00.008-05:00

I listened – mostly with something approaching rapture – to the Sirius broadcast of the Met’s “Nixon in China” last night and with few exceptions couldn’t have been more thrilled. Even though the evening was not without blemish, I felt this to be a most important night and overall a major success for the Company and one too long overdue.

This morning I repeatedly heard remarks for James Maddalena some assigning him to the dust bin of a singer “past his sell by date” which is completely incorrect. It was clear (especially over the broadcast) this was a singer who had just fallen ill, his coughing and clearing phlegm in the first 20 minutes of the performance were terrifying and I thought the curtain might even come down to bring out his cover. I was completely surprised that no pre-curtain announcement was made, but perhaps, the singer felt he was fine to go on at curtain and once there, it was past the point of no return. Even over the airwaves alone and not at his best, Maddalena's performance was riveting and, most of all, moving. Not an easy assignment on the best of days and one to be heartily applauded.

As Pat Nixon, Janis Kelly began the evening a bit tentatively with a bit of harshness to the sound which was unfortunate. Fully warmed up by Act II, however, her very long (and difficult) scene was buoyed by a luminous sound and a complete identification with the role and by scene’s end, the high, exposed and gentle writing came through with some of the evening’s most beautiful singing, fully revealing the First Lady’s fear, confusion and introspection. She was, in a word, marvelous.

Adams concentrates on the women in Act II and following Kelly’s lovely performance, Kathleen Kim blazed onto the stage with “I am the wife of Mao Tse-tung” in one of the opera’s most bravura scenes nailing it and capping it with a spectacular high note (I believe this added because of who was singing) holding onto it for what seemed like forever – a thrilling end to the powerful scene.

As Mao, Robert Brubaker sang wonderfully sailing through Adams’ heldentenor writing As Kissinger and the lord of The Red Detachment of Women, Richard Paul Fink was the model of creepy clarity, singing beautifully throughout, while providing plenty of evil chill. Wonderful. Russell Braun as Chou en-Lai provided some of the evening’s most thoughtful singing – ending an opera so filled with aural spectacle, softly and great beauty. Adams’ score here strongly recalls Wagner and Strauss, but there were bars where I heard, for the first time, a strong influence of Poulenc in the harmonies that close the work.

I felt the composer did a fine job of holding his difficult score together though some blips along the way marred several ensemble passages, yet seemed quickly to get back on track with (clearly) the orchestra counting through all of those tricky time signatures as if their lives depended upon it – and in a way, they did! None of this concerned me too much, as the orchestra seemed entirely in Adams’ camp and responded with a remarkable sense of cohesion and blend that frequently allowed this very special score to the heights it aims for.

I’m certain the sense of ensemble will only improve throughout the run, and here’s to hoping that whatever was ailing Mr. Maddalena last evening, departs quickly allowing him to return to this role he so brilliantly created and still has much to say about.

Happy Year of the Hare & BRAVO to Maestro Adams and the Met!

Portland Symphony: From Russia With Love

2011-01-26T20:30:00.004-05:00

Last evening, the Portland Symphony Orchestra's evening began on a high note - and built up from there.

The concert started off with the world premiere of Maine composer Elliott Schwartz's "Diamond Jubilee" commissioned by the PSO in honor of Schwartz's 75th birthday. In three movements, Schwartz recalls 75 years of life on planet earth, displaying humor, pathos, beauty and even a bit of banality (working a ringing phone into the mix!) throughout. As each movement began a video screen presented names, events, products of food and technology, later replaced by images of those same people, places and things. Scored for an enormous orchestra, including five very busy percussionists, offstage chorus and electronics, the work packed a dramatic and satisfying wallop and I look forward to hearing it again. Afterwards, a brief onstage ceremony honored Schwartz with a proclamation from the Maine State Legislature, for all his contributions to the musical life of this great State.

Next up was the Prokofiev Piano Concert No. 3 in C Major. Bold and often daring, Prokofiev's much loved concerto allows its soloist - or demands its soloist - to display an athletic showmanship with sections recalling the complex, rapid passagework in the keyboard works of Bach and Scarlatti. Portland was blessed by having one of today's most exciting pianists, Andrew von Oeyen, on hand to do justice to this most exciting of concerti. von Oeyen played with a unique combination of strength and clarity - delicacy even - revealing at all times a formidable technique that left many (myself included) in awe. Interestingly, there is not a lot of visual showmanship from this young pianist, no bouncing off the bench, flailing arms or other dramatics often associated with virtuoso players, and even more interestingly, none was necessary: von Oeyen trusts and respects the music (and a faultless technique) to create its own excitement and the payoff is enormous. Choosing a brisker tempo than some performances I've heard, Maestro Moody struck both a balance and synchronization between soloist and orchestra that was nearly perfect from the very beginning as the strings begin their moto perpetuoto chugging making von Oeyen's entrance into this happy fray a breathless delight.

Slower passages, including the theme and variations of the concerto's dreamlike central movement, came off marvelously with genuine lyricism allowing Prokofiev's strange and beautiful harmonies to envelop the hall like some aural mist. The handling of the final Allegro-ma non troppo movement - allowed Prokofiev's "argument" to make great sense and the beautiful "violence" to break out as soloist and orchestra seem to perpetually be taking the lead from each other. The final moments of this concerto are as exciting as anything in the concerto repertoire and nothing was skimped over here, the Portland players sawing away energeticaly, von Oeyen dazzling all with the compoer's famous (and eagerly anticipated) glissandi and double handed chromatic passages that end the piece. The reaction from the house was immediate, roars of "bravo!" demanding Mr. von Oeyen return for several curtain calls.

A second great work, Shostakovich's cathartic Symphony No. 5, filled the second half of this Russian-themed program. Again, the Portland Symphony players displayed amazing control and Moody's sense of the piece was almost programmatic in the way the movements held together. The opening movement properly set a tone of melancholy gravitas Shostakovich demands here, the fugue for strings achingly, beautifully sad. No performance is perfect as evidenced by several moments which were slightly marred by the horns who, in all fairness have their work cut out for them by the composer. These were brief and while unfortunate, altogether forgiveable, particularly in light of everything else that was going splendidly onstage.

Once the final movement - with its blustery thunder - began, there was no turning back, even though Moody's tempo was considerably slower than it's often played, (recalling Rostropovich's epic way with this piece), This was a good thing and allowed the orchestra to strike an ideal, almost unnerving blend of romantic sweep with a military-like brutality, without letting the movement's ever forward momentum to flag all the way to the almost numbing (in a good way!) conclusion. The repeated high A's from the strings had that quality Rostropovich called "like a fork pressing into the brain." As earlier in the evening, the house roared its approval. Not even the 8 degree chill in the air could halt the elated mood as the smiling crowd filed out into the night.

Met's Marvelous Pelléas Prima

2010-12-18T14:25:00.004-05:00

As heard over Sirius last night (and early this morning), Simon Rattle made a splash in a truly sensational (and long overdue) debut at the Metropolitan Opera last night with a fascinating and generally ravishing performance of Debussy‘s generally despised “Pelléas et Mélisande” (apparently to a mostly sold out house). The orchestra responded positively to him and was in breathtaking mode from start to finish, each scene imbued with the character of the piece. A different reading than I’m used to from Levine with this score, and I rather liked it.

While I generally prefer a tenor today as Pelléas, Stéphane Degout is a wonderful baritone Pelléas and his voice contrasted nicely with a noticeable weight difference between him and Finley’s beautifully brooding Golaud.

I had to laugh after Act I when someone began to applaud and was promptly “shushed” by the audience! Since when is it bad manners to clap at the end of an act? (Yes, I know, Parsifal, Wozzeck have “those” moments, but entirely different situation.)

Like all good Geneviève’s, Felicity Palmer made me wish Debussy had given her a bit more music.

I was pleasantly surprised to hear Willard White sounding still so robust (particularly for an old King!). Willard White's utterances in Act IV were mind blowing! His final line in scene ii Si j'étais Dieu, j'aurais pitié du cœur des hommes moved me to tears (as it should). Followed by the postlude leading into the next scene - with that delicate melody in the winds before the strings come in, Rattle and the band brought absolute perfection. Along with the final intermezzo in Wozzeck it's almost too much emotion - overwhelming is an understatement. Followed by Yniold's scene about the sheep meant as much to me as everything else in this sad tale. Debussy as genius. (no little credit to Maeterlinck.). Why is this amazing child’s name still not on the Met’s website?

I loved Kožená's Mélisande - a very different approach than I’m used to in this role and a welcome challenge. There were so many details and changes in sound that this already complex creature of mystery, seemed to have even more dimensions - some a bit disturbing (but fascinating) and some rather stunning, such as the little throaty "catch" in Kožená's voice to Golaud, “avec Pelléas? Mais Pelléas ne voudra pas.”

Degout was wonderful all night, but in Act IV scene ii (my favorite scene of the entire opera) he poured on emotion that had almost been hidden all night. Good God, he was amazing. And Kožená's first "Pelléas" here was so different than I've heard before. One word - his name, instead of an announcement there was this "doom" already present in her sound. In one word. Masterful.

And the heat was on in that scene, at one point, (which must have been worked out w/Rattle) Pelléas' interrupts Mélisande ("non") in a manner I can't recall hearing sound so spontaneously. Details. Details I could hardly imagine! Weirder still, was as Kožená sang this scene I found myself for the first time EVER hearing this opera, thinking of Carmen . Something in the growly, defiant voice of Mélisande that threw me. I liked this different, approach to this mysterious heroine.

Degout's sound here, too, was darker - more covered than I typically want, but at "Et maintenant je t'ai trouvee ... je 1'ai trouvee!" (my ultimate test for any Pelléas) his medium sized voice exploded with an intensity that was glorious. (He cracked slightly a minute later on the second (and high) "Vien" following it, but understandably.) K's Mélisande felt almost too "cool" here - not innocent as most Mélisandes (maybe why I thought of Carmen?) and only in danger, seemed momentarily freed, finally matching Pelléas' now fully naked passion. Stunning fusion of great music and drama.

Pelléas' murder was absolutely horrifying - with Degout's making the outbursts sound almost as being made on the spot. Remarkable. As he died it sounded as though he shouted, "Golaud!" I don't recall this in this staging before (and, in fact, have never noticed a Pelléas yelling out like that).

Rattle's way with the prelude to Act V was ravishing.

As good as he was earlier, White's Arkel sounded like a balm in the final act - a more robust, virile King than usual. The contrast against, Mélisande's weakened state (or resolve?) was immense. Rattle slowed down the music for Golaud's entrance into the scene, so each utterance of "Mélisande" bore with it this enormous feeling of great heaviness to the sound - the effect, powerful.

Finley's big final scene utterly destroyed me. Golaud's range of emotion from penitent to (again) jealous rage, then confusion that when weighed against the sudden change in the now gentle Mélisande's responses (with Kožená now finding a rare, delicate tenderness) could not have been more intensely dramatic. I can only imagine what the effect felt like in the house. Here, Golaud's passion matched Pelléas', pound-for-pound. No, they may not have been full brothers, but they shared something major (and not just Mélisande!) As he finished the phrase, "Je vais mourir ici comme un aveugle" Finley added a sob to the final syllable that cut me to the core. Chilling.

Arkel's final monologue was infinitely touching, with White striking a noble balance between kingly duties and emotional collapse. I liked the Rattle's approach to the final pages; a bit more fractured yet somehow beautifully held together with a slight ritard in the tempo. Wistful, I'd call it.

Margaret Juntwait conducted a wonderful interview with Carol Vanness who came off as pure class. I did crack up at Margaret asking how Carol got along with that famous Nozze cast of von Stade and Battle! LOL! Vanness dodged it nicely, but it would've been a bit of fun to hear her “go off” on the topic! I was touched when she mentioned how she now occupies Giorgio Tozzi’s former office and how she thinks of him every time she enters. Very cool.

Given the lateness (post midnight) it was interesting to notice a sort of "rushed" curtain, but to a wildly enthusiastic house. A most remarkable performance.

The Ultimate Outsider - Peter Grimes: '69 Film with Peter Pears

2010-11-23T22:51:00.006-05:00

In listening to a good deal of Britten yesterday, I decided today to watch the 1969 film of Peter Grimes after a friend sent a link to a clip from the final scene. Decided isn’t quite the right word - there was no choice, really. It has been a while since I’ve watched this particular performance - and I’m at a complete loss as to why this is. As I hit play, I immediately recalled Natalie Dessay’s introduction to the opera during the Met’s HD cinecast several seasons ago, as with those wide eyes she lugubriously invited us in to experience “the sad, horrible story of Peter Grimes.” And so it began.

I have always intrigued by the physical production of this “Grimes” filmed in the converted barn at Britten’s Snape Maltings home. David Myerscough- Jones’ brilliant, realistic sets were trucked in from London and assembled onto a makeshift soundstage. The tight fitting - overly cramped stage works ; the planks, catwalks and breakwater with its jagged wooden pilings - the sea roaring and crashing on a rear projection screen - all work miracles in creating the believably stifling world of the borough.

Being one of the most prolific and successful composers of the 20th century, we (or I) often forget what a truly amazing conductor Britten was and in this 25 year old score it’s safe to say, no one knew - or ever shall know - how better to put across this amazing music better than its creator. Every nuance, every secret thing is mined here in this reading that makes the score almost a living organism, something propelled by its own volition - inexorably to a conclusion that could be imagined in no other way. From the opening notes, Britten’s invisible hand guides us over the next several hours which, fly by as if in dream time.

Peter Pears at 59 was not the same singer he was at 33/34 when he created the role, neither physically nor vocally. But, like his partner, having lived with this music inside of him for a quarter century, he brings something unique to it, and is able to infuse it with the type of wildness Vickers brought, yet also a vulnerable tenderness (not part of Vicker’s Grimes) as was recently shown to us in the performance of Anthony Dean Griffey.

Heather Harper is Ellen Orford down to her laces. Theatrically, Harper invests the role with a truly intriguing mix of young woman and old soul while vocally she soars through Ellen’s music with a limpid beauty as though it Mozart or Puccini, convincing me Britten is truly their equal in matters operatic.

Bryon Drake offers a stolid Balstrode with the right amount of gruffness and sensitivity, loyal to Peter, while aware of where this story must go.

Amidst all this bleakery, it was great fun to discover a voluptuous Elizabeth Bainbridge strutting her stuff as a most intriguing Auntie, the one outsider who knows her way in. She is simply terrific here.

Aside from the magnificence of the score, the acting here is about as good as it ever gets in opera, and this must be attributed not only to a fine, handpicked cast, but to the direction of Joan Cross - the original Ellen Orford. This level of the acting extends to every smaller role as well as every single member of the chorus - all creating a believable mob, yet who sing with a sweet earnestness in their church scene. The hunting down of Grimes is here, perhaps the most chilling I can recall and Brian Large’s camera work magnifies this to terrifying proportions. The
chemistry throughout the cast presents the best of all possible worlds from cinema and opera, offering 100 percent believability and a naturalness of movement.

The number of moments both visually and musically causing me to gasp, shrink into the back of my couch in terror, or just let the tears flow were countless. Ellen’s reappearance after the storm, holding John, as the door to the tavern bursts open; Peter’s striking Ellen (in what appears to be a punch in the face) and more.

Wonderful, too, seeing Jill Gomez, Anne Pashley and Robert Tear in supporting roles early in their careers.

The penultimate scene of Peter Grimes is as absorbing, as profoundly moving as anything that exists in the operatic canon. How Britten achieved this employing such economically musical means is nearly incomprehensible and yet works as if by magic, standing both as great music and great theatre. An a cappella mad scene, punctuated only by a offstage cries of “Grimes” and a few distant fog horns, there is for me, no more hopeless nor bleaker picture in all of opera than this. Even just shy of 60, Pears tears into this scene like a man possessed, pouring every last ounce he has into it. His cries of “Come home! Come home!” terrifying . . . his utterance “Turn the skies back and begin again,” cutting straight to the heart. It is, I believe, impossible not to have one's heart broken by this man, as this character, in this moment.

This is filmed opera at its very best. If there is anyone at all unfamiliar with this performance, I strongly urge you to remedy that situation immediately if not sooner!

Genius Within: The Inner Life of Glenn Gould

2010-11-12T22:38:00.005-05:00

I just returned from a showing at the Portland Museum of Art of Michele Hozer and Peter Raymont's film: "GENIUS WITHIN: THE INNER LIFE OF GLENN GOULD."

Though I've been obsessed with Mr. Gould since childhood (he was one of my earliest inspirations for attempting a career in music), the film opens up areas I had not previously known about him. Through numerous interviews with his first girlfriend, his best friend, Vladimir Ashkenazy, Lukas and Cornelia Foss (and both their children), clips of Leonard Bernstein (including his now rather hilarious pre-performance speech before they performed the Brahms D minor Concerto - about their enormous differences on the work), the film is rich in both talk and music.

The biggest revelation to me was the affair between Gould and Mrs. Foss which lasted several years, and for which she left her husband, moving herself and the children to Montreal, and the slow disintegration of that relationship as Gould's eccentricities became more and more pronounced. It was touching and poignant in a way that almost seemed invasive.

I'd almost forgotten how devastatingly handsome was Gould in his youth, like a 50's movie star, really. There is, naturally, a good deal centered around his early years and the beginning of his performing career, with some wonderful clips of his tour of the Soviet Union.

There are also some generous clips of Gould's own movies, including one particularly hilarious short with Gould appearing on the beach, coat, gloves, the works, sitting in a director's chair, then having some gorgeous black woman in a bikini doing an exotic combination that recalled the Watusi and the Girl from Imponema, the last shot of which finds Gould pants legs rolled up and sort of half "directing" her and dancing a bit in the ocean himself. (The audience went into hysterics - and it was truly funny stuff!)

The film deals openly (and fairly in depth) about Gould's departure from the concert stage at only 31 years of age, and his drug addictions, hypocondria, and difficulties in his relationships, never in a gossipy manner, but with a rather matter-of-fact honesty that does not in the least diminish one's respect for Gould's genius.

At just under two hours, this is one of the most satisfying documentary portraits of a 20th century classical musician I believe I've ever seen - and yet, upon the closing credits, I found I wanted even more. The audience reacted loudly throughout (several people even clapping along with Petula Clark during her rendition of "Downtown."

If this is showing anywhere near you, I urge you to see this. It's a beautiful peaen to one of the most iconic performers of the last century, done with extraordinary care, and not just a little love for its subject. Highly
recommended.

AMC's Wondrous Walking Dead

2010-11-08T17:28:00.004-05:00

When is the last time you cried during a zombie movie? Honestly, AMC's new series "The Walking Dead" (based upon the successful cultish graphic novel series) is, after Breaking Bad and Mad Men, their third show poised to be a remarkable and heavily awarded television series. Graphic in its gore content and violence, the pilot nonetheless presented a plausible and terrifying "end of the world" tale that is surprisingly personal with moments of great poignancy.

The central character, Georgia Deputy Sheriff Rick Grimes, is shot nearly fatally spending a long (unknown) amount of time lying in a coma, awakening from it and, barefoot and clad only in his hospital gown, stumbles through and out of the hospital to discover a world devastated by some mysterious catylcismic event and nearly devoid of life.

Once again a fairly unknown British actor takes the lead in an American television series, but having watched Andrew Lincoln as Rick in this series, I fully believe the guy was made for the role (or the other way 'round). For nearly 70 minutes, Lincoln's Rick is mostly on his own, but his face - a magnificent mirror registering every emotion from self doubt, fear, grief, utter despair but also the hope of finding his wife and boy. Lincoln's is a tremendous performance of made all the more remarkable considering the genre and thus a rare opportunity for subtlety and introspection.

Rick's interactions with another father and son who capture, but ultimately rescue and aid his return to health, has a deep resonance in a world where men are considered stulted in understanding or expressing their emotions (a topic which is introduced nicely in the shows opening scene with Rick and fellow officer Shane Walsh (Jon Bernthal).

If you love zombies (and who doesn't?) this new series is a must see. I honestly was blown away after the premiere, powerfully moved and properly scared to death!

Lang's Die Nibelungen: Silent Masterpiece

2010-09-25T01:55:00.008-04:00

It's difficult for many of us "moderns" to imagine such an elaborate, elegant film could be made in cinema's infancy,and all the more remarakble to consider that just about everything one sees in it is manmade. I was stunned to learn that even the almost too real looking trees in Siegfried turn out to be manmade.

From what I've been able to gather over the years, Lang's take on the Nibelung legend tends to stick more to the "original" tale(s) where Wagner veers into situations and creations inspired by the legends and of his own devices. There's plenty of room at the table for more than one "version" of these legends, which this amazing film (or two films) easily prove. One thing remains true to both: Everybody hates Hagan (or should!)

One of the biggest challenges facing a first timer steeped in the Wagner tradition will be getting used to this tale's Brunhilde. Not so much the heroic daughter of Wotan here, but a fiery, vindictive man eating warrior princess. Her castle on a rocky mountain . . . in Iceland, no less, is protected interestingly: encircled by a sea of flames - the images Lang creates here are jaw dropping.

Brunnhilde (a very butch Hannah Ralph) can be won only if she is bested in three tests of extreme physical endurance - the loss of any one of which guarantees death for the suitor (sound like another ice princess we know?). Gunther "goes for the gold" (pun intended). Lang here adds some elements of humor to the contest that are most welcome - particularly if one takes the challenge of watching the entire epic in a single sitting (recommended).

Siegfried has what I'm guessing to be the first male nude scene in cinema (or in a major motion picture at least) and the story surrounding it is a bit of fun.

As Siegfried, Paul Richter is terrific, what with his bleached blonde chopped mop of hair and heroic stature turning in a rather amazing performance in the title role. He was, apparently however, difficult to work with; incredibly vain - boastful of his handsomeness and perfect physique, fighting constantly with Lang as how best to light him, what angles to shoot him, where he should be in the frame, and on and on. Things reached an absolute impasse when Richter refused to strip down for the scene where he is required to bathe nude in the blood of freshly slain dragon - an act which would render him invincible.

With no time to waste (and happy to take a dig at his difficult leading man), Lang called in Rudolf Klein-Rogge, his less than handsome Attila for the film, who, palm freshly greased, willingly stripped off and climbed into the bloody font without so much as the blink of an eye. Richter stood by watching the filming, infuriated. His vanity caused him to go so far to protest Lang's use of Klein-Rogge as audiences would see his co-star's naked and inferior physique and assume it was him!

The second film in Lang's Nibelung epic, "Kriemhilde's Revenge," is, in its way, even more impressive. The entire look of the thing is possessive of an exoticism that many "exotic" epic films today fail to rise to the level of, much less exceed.

As good as everyone is, the performance to take one's breath away comes from Margarete Schön - Kriemheld in both films. Docile and dutiful, in Siegfried she does an almost unrecognizable turnabout into a relentless, driven, Queen of the Huns, in "Kriemheld's Revenge" hooking up with Attila himself.

The style and feel of this epic is stunning, and as I said when first seeing it, I simply cannot imagine sets and costumes more stunning than these, particularly the robes with which Kriemheld dons - futuristic/deco patterns overlaid with almost primitive designs.

I challenge anyone thinking themself immune to the lure and magic of silent film to feel that way after watching Lang's masterpiece!

Let's Talk About The Ring!

2010-09-18T12:10:00.005-04:00

As great an achievement, as lofty and towering as the Ring is, no one – and I mean NO ONE – should ever be daunted by it, or confounded into thinking they are not “intellectual” enough to understand it. Please.

My problem with almost all of these methods of “introducing the Ring” to folk is that they are entirely unnecessary to the enjoyment of, and appreciation of the Ring. In fact, I would go so far as to say that in many instances these methods can be far more detrimental than helpful. (I can hear already the screams of Valkyries from hither and yon!) I’ve seen too many neophytes become confounded and confused when all that is necessary to understand the Ring is a pair of ears (and hopefully eyes, though these are nowhere near as necessary as the former).

Research and investigating, musico-dramatic analyses, in-depth probes into the common and deviated mythologies as well as a working knowledge of the leitmotifs simply are not important to have a damned good time hearing all those gals yelping, witness the grandeur as well as the pettiness of the Gods, a fire breathing dragon, the forging of a mighty sword and more all set to one of the most amazing scores ever penned. Over analysis, in fact, can take away too much of the spontaneous enjoyment and surprise a newbie can feel. Everyone is different, however, as can always be proved by the proverbial phrase, “on the other hand.”

A number of people can ONLY learn to appreciate the Ring by one of the above methods (and I have several friends who found Wagner “boring” until they’d memorized every leitmotif and practically knew the piano/vocal score by heart.) The truth is, the majority of people who attend it are just not “that” into opera – at least not to the level most here are (c’mon you sought out and joined a list devoted exclusively to it – an act that can hardly be considered “common.” While insights are indeed nice, we seem to have come to this impasse where, I believe, many find the effort of getting to know the Ring too daunting a task and just not enough fun. (Remember fun?)

I’m not a TOTAL Neanderthal and do think someone expressing more than a fleeting interest in Wagner’s Holy Tetralogy that indeed, some study can be a welcome and positive thing. For those folk, pretty much all of the aforementioned “methods” (particularly the invaluable volumes by Deryck Cooke and Father Owen Lees) should do nicely.

While verdicts vary on importance of the product known as The Ring Disc – I have found it to be a rather enjoyable tool and have used it since it came out to share with friends who had mild interests. There is not, to my thinking at least, nearly enough in-depth, analyses or study guides for those already familiar with the work, but it is pretty neat to be able to hear (compressed into mono, but still acceptable sounding) as well as read along with the piano/vocal score.

In my opinion the only absolutely essential guide to understanding and appreciating the Ring, happens – by no coincidence – to also be the most enjoyable: The Ring of the Nibelungs (An Analysis) by Anna Russell. Everything else (literally) pales by comparison!

As to DVD sets of the Ring there seems to be a new one coming out every few months now! I’m an awfully big fan of three: The Met’s classic (and frequently maligned version – often due to its literalness or because of the expressed dislike for Hildegard Behrens); and productions for Bayreuth by Chereau Kupfer. Each has their merits, each has their flaws.

No one’s asking, but my personal favorite is the Met’s for countless reasons, but here are a few: of reasons: Hildegard Behrens touches my heart in a manner that no Brunhilde has before or since. James Morris’ youthful boy-god slant on Wotan is nothing less than remarkable. Siegfried Jerusalem’s Loge in Rheingold is one terrific bit of operatic acting his knowing glance towards the audience/camera as the gods cheerfully head for the Rainbow Bridge is visually one of the slickest, visual “aha!” moments I’ve ever seen.

The biggest selling point for this cycle, however, is its Die Walkure and Wotan’s Farewell. Here, Morris and Behrens achieve something so unique and special, a quality of acting rarely seen – especially in close up. At one point, the camera angles to shoot down giving us the perspective of Brunhilde’s face looking up toward her father, Behrens’ enormous, wet doe eyes beaming love, honor and awe at this being, both father and god; Morris through voice and composure lets us in just enough to see Wotan’s genuine heartbreak at the act he is compelled to do and all of this makes for one of the greatest scenes in the whole of opera and here, spectacularly done.

Remembering Lorraine Hunt Lieberson: Les Troyens in a Blizzard

2010-09-07T18:43:00.005-04:00

One of my most cherished Met memories was during the President's Day blizzard of 2003. The storm was hitting hard and my flight from Maine was cancelled the day before. I hopped on a Greyhound and watched as the storm seemed to follow me all the way down to Manhattan. I arrived just in time for an event at Alice Tully Hall and upon exiting at concert's end, walked into a virtual white out. (I'd end up stranded in NY for days - happily so!)

The next day - as the storm raged on with snow falling at a reported 4 inches per hour, I attempted to call to the Met to learn whether that evening's performance of “Les Troyens” (my sole reason for visiting New York) was still scheduled. Not able to get through, I schlepped the several blocks to the Lincoln Center and made it through the revolving door. The place seemed entirely empty. I was soon informed by the surly (and lone) box office attendant "The Met never closes, we only closed once because of weather in the company's history, so yeah, there's a performance tonight,” he handed me my tickets and I resisted the urge to not thank him, but politeness (and relief) prevailed.

Some hours later and dressed for the storm rather than a night at the opera, (I felt a bit self conscious, but ultimately didn‘t care) I slugged through several feet of freshly fallen snow which was blanketing an almost entirely a deserted Broadway, finally feeling an already strange sense of accomplishment, as I entered the crammed, (and unusually loud) lobby. A sense of occasion I’d not before felt in the house filled it . . . A palpable and communal sensation of "Phew! We made it!" and I watched joyously as elated friends and strangers smiled at one another, laughing unselfconsciously as salt and snow melted off of boots leaving muddy puddles everywhere while people pulled off their snow encrusted parkas, furs, hats and gloves.

The performance - the third of the run - was magnificent in nearly every way; one of the finest of many evening's I’d spent in that house. Deborah Voigt seemed transformed as Cassandra, singing lower and deeper than I'd ever heard (or believed possible) as well as digging more physically into a role than I could remember seeing from her . A newly slimmed Ben Heppner (who had cracked at the prima) began sturdily, growing better all night, while looking almost del Monaco-like, and, like Voigt, up to his acting challenges. The standout performance however, was that of Lorraine Hunt Lieberson, a somewhat late replacement for Olga Borodina as Didon. This was one of the most vocally intense, beautifully sung performances I'd heard from this singer - or any singer - before or since and a very long opera virtually seemed to fly by. Early reports of Francesca Zambello's production had produced some light controversy about its strangeness, but this audience seemed so animated and in tune with it I believe most of us could've sat through the whole thing again as soon as it had ended. A comanding, electricifying and theatrically satisfying evening of French Grand Opera.

Recently, with the mention of a release of this performance to celebrate James Levine’s 40th anniversary with the company, I perused my notes concerning Lorraine Hunt-Lieberson's performance and memories washed over me to the point of being overwhelmed all over again by the experience. Upon arriving back at my lodgings I’d written the following:

To go a notch above greatness requires a certain magic and that is precisely what Lorraine Hunt Lieberson provided tonight. This was a performance for the ages; with a singer radiant in visage, form and voice. An operatic wonder, she deploys her voice with with such intelligence and strength revealing an innate and almost unbelievable ability to endlessly pour out such pointed singing, wedding text to music with such body and heart it was no wonder the audience seemed to adore her as much as Didon's Carthaginians. Reports of a pinched note at the top of the range on opening night showed no evidence Monday evening - every note secure and beautifully sung (though an A# toward the end had a slightly strained, quickened vibrato which only added further excitement). A unique combination of stately grace and natural ease making her at once part of, yet apart from, her subjects added even deeper dimensions to a performance already begun with intensity and sense of purpose. I (and I imagine everyone else) smile during her scenes with Enee as they nestled together during the divertissements; the looks of love each cast upon the other was indeed touching and romantic. She and Heppner sustained such a level of electricity throughout the duet I was caught up in it instantly (mostly ignoring the odd aerialist ballet above that threatened a stage accident of immortal proportion) and my face ached from smiling so much at their joy.

All of this loveliness made Didon’s tragic, downward spiral into despair and anger riveting, bone chilling stuff. Pulling, that great crude curtain across the stage and wrapping herself within it (as had Cassandra before her) it became a visible sign - a shroud of her queenly grief which extended far beyond mere self-pitying. Then, shock as she chillingly screamed out how she should have served Enee the limbs of his son, Ascagne in some macabre feast - so fearless was her utterance here I didn't for a moment doubt this new, dark creature before to be in the least incapable of such dark actions, so believably gruesome was her descent into dark despondency. Then another profound change - Didon’s death; resolved and broken, this Didon was truly touching . . . profoundly heartbreaking. This seemed no longer mere performance, but rather a channeling of spirit reaching all the way back to Virgil himself.

After a sustained ovation of cheers and bravi, I walked out onto the Plaza - the snow had, at least for a time, ceased falling, the air felt - and smelled - cleaner than before, and the sharpness of the cold made me feel both alive yet as if in some great waking dream. As I walked back down Broadway, it was, as it had been before, empty, desolate - no buses, no cabs, only a few others who, like me, felt as though we were walking on clouds.

Un Prophete: Honor Among Thugs

2010-09-06T18:09:00.004-04:00

In his first two films, Jacques Audiard made me want to really like him, and while the world went a bit gaga for "De battre mon Coeur s'est Arrete" (and I enjoyed it well enough), I felt something just missing for me. I therefore may have approached "Un Prophete" with more than a bit of anxiety. I needn't have for within a single minute I fell headlong into the dangerous world of one of 2009's most powerful films.

Aduiard draws us into the life of 19 year old French/Arab Malik El Djebena, a street kid, now incarcerated for the first time in an adult prison. Malik wishes nothing but to be left alone and serve his six years without incident. He never gets that chance. For two and a half hours, we ar mesmerized as we witness Malik's journey from innocence and subservience to the most powerful king pin in the prison.

Tahar Rahim's performance is nothing short of astonishing, making the morose and frightened Malik a character you can only route for throughout his tortured six year stint. Uneducated, but wise beyond his years, the young prisoner improves himself through education, craft, cunning allowing his restlessness to steer him in whatever direction it needs in order to survive. As César Luciani, overlord of the prison, Niels Arestrup's is the perfect foil to Rahim's Malik and the scenes between Corsican master and Arab servant crackle with a nervous energy while Aduaiard keeps layering tension, mistrust, honor, privilege and loyalty into the mixture leading everything to a predictable, but wholly satisfying conclusion.

Audiard's style makes life in this prison alternately real and surreal tossing in elements of fantasy and madness which coalesce with a beautifully distrubing madness, such as Malik's repeated visitations of his first victim, a man he was forced by Luciani and his thugs in order to justify his own existence. You cannot make a prison movie without kindness and brotherhood entering into the equation and the friendship between Malik and fellow Arab prisoner, Ryab (a terrific performance by Adel Bencherif) establish a bond that will be not only far reaching but ultimately the salvation for both men.

Racism, too is ever a present guest here and I could only watch in wonder and respect as Malik moves between the Muslims, Egyptians, Italians, Corsicans and French judging the worth of each on their own merits (or how he can best use them) rather than the prejudice the others use to define their worlds.

Dark, gritty, powerful yet full of hope, "Un Prophete" beats just about any U.S. studio made film last year and I hope it receives the recognition it deserves Stateside. A truly remarkable and emotionally rewarding movie.

Jacques Jansen - The Last Baryton Martin

2010-09-02T14:56:00.005-04:00

Inspired by a friend's mention of Jacques Jansen, I pulled out a disc of Jansen singing an all Debussy program (four sets/cycles of songs) and reveled in this odd, mysterious music that at once sounds completely modern, yet somehow also like from some otherworldly Ancien Régime.

Jansen's was a light, high baritone that is remarkably dramatic rather than "sweet" (the usual term applied to "light" voices). This is so because of the relaxed intensity he brings to every song. While the voice wasn't really possessed of a myriad of color, Jansen uses it with a remarkable intelligence and skill coloring the texts of the songs in what is really as perfect an example of "acting with the voice" as I have ever heard. I'm not sure what the term would be, but on certain occasions Jansen employs a sort of "French sprechstimme" which mixed with the melodies also flavors the words in a heady, delicious fashion.

In songs such as "La Grotte" he relaxes a sometimes muscular-tone into a dreamy, fluidity that is almost palpably wet, which against the words (always, the words!) is absolutely beautiful.

He can churn up energy to spare (as will be familiar to those who know his Pelleas) opening up the voice at the top of his range into a sound that can (despite having a somewhat smallish voice) summon up the illusion of power.

My friend mentioned how he thought Jansen sounded more like a tenor, and indeed, the Baryton-Martin sound (as best I can tell) was this kind of sound. Even so, Jansen's lower voice is full and relaxed - even at the bottom of his range. But it is the top that is his glory and when he lets loose it is as thrilling as any voice I've ever known.

I first met the Ariettes oubliées in college accompanying perhaps a half dozen sopranos (most of whom slaughtered this music - as I probably did the difficult piano parts) and then heard them first sung by a male - Hughes Cuenod - in a performance that simply did not work for me. (While I like Cuenod very much in other music, an almost "girlish" timbre seems to dominate his performance of these that never felt right to me). When I heard Jansen sing them for the first time, it was a pure "Wow!" moment. Whereas Cuenod's performance was more perfumed and artificial (to me) in Jansen's voice they sound just right.

Return to Miyake

2010-08-14T15:10:00.003-04:00

My last meal at Miyake was shortly after its transformation from terrible pizza and art gallery to new Japanese eatery. So it was with great anticipation (and a powerful hunger) that I and some friends made our way back last night. While I love our other Japanese eateries I tend to think of them more as sushi houses (though they are, of course far more than merely that) but Miyake is something unique - and very special indeed. The tiny room has seen a major facelift, with interesting lighting and fabrics decorating the painted brick walls and while there are more tables crammed into it than I might have liked, I never felt cramped or too close to strangers (though did get into a nice post-dinner conversation with the couple dining at the next table).

Not having a liquor license, Miyake is strictly BYOB, so after picking up a couple of bottles of white at West End Deli (next door) we were seated and realized we'd seen almost everyone in the dining room only moments before picking up wine and sake. We were immediately brought chilled glasses and a bucket of ice to keep the wine. Nice touch (and no corking fees!)

When I placed my order, Joe Ricchio - waitron extraordinaire - recommended instead the five course omakase tasting menu, adding "trust me." I know Joe so trust was not an issue and I promptly changed my order. I'm glad I did (thanks, Joe!) At 50 bucks this is quite simply one of the best deals in town for fine dining - and it doesn't get much finer than this - anywhere.

Quickly after ordering, an amuse bouche of a just barely cooked fish presented with baby sun sprouts and diced pickled vegetables was brought out to get me going. It did its job.

First course: Sashimi. Lobster Sashimi is something I've never had before - while I love my fish raw, I like my shrimp on the barbie, my crabs steamed and my lobster boiled. No longer is the last statement true. The raw lobster had been loosened and placed in the tail atop a bed of seaweed and diced dikon, mildly drizzled with a light garlic oil making the entire affair glisten like pearls. The flavor was mind blowing - delicate, tasting of the sea, similar to cooked lobster yet remarkably different - lighter and brighter. Truly amazing. The plate contained also an almost glowing red salmon, yelowtail (some of the best I've eaten) and (I believe) horse mackrel topped with bright orange tamago - all delicious and all presented so beautifully I was sorry I'd not brought my camera.

An enormous scallop, seared and halved one large half sitting center whlst the other half was sliced and slightly vertically fanned. The flavor was nothing short of incredible.

Swordfish belly was presented in a deep square bowl, the fish resting in a bath of an unusual flavored broth with minced vegetables, all presenting a beautifully balanced bit of sweet and sour that played beautifully in my mouth. The belly itself was outstanding with a very distinct and slightly stronger flavor - almost liver-like - than the rest of the fish. Brilliant.

Duck two ways was likewise a standout. A beautiful duck confeit and then several slices of breast dabbed with plum paste and cherry added a most unusual sweetness that played with the complexity of the meat whilst packing an enormous amount of flavor into each bite. Glorious is not too strong a word.

My final course - a sushi trio - had fish so fresh they practically swam into my mouth - after scarfing them down quicker than probably was polite - I had no room left for dessert the green tea tiramisu of which looked like a must have on my next visit. Which I guarantee will be very soon.

I've never understood complaints about the service as it is spot on, friendly without annoyance and helpful. The entire atmosphere is a small room packed with people oohing and ahhing over some of the most beautiful food presentations imaginable, i.e., very happy people. If that ain't your scene - go elsewhere - really, no one will mind.

I finally realized that Miyake's name really translates to "Food Heaven."

PORTOpera's Glorious Hansel & Gretel

2010-08-02T15:18:00.004-04:00

In the world of opera Humperdinck’s “Hansel und Gretel” stands pretty much by itself as a tale that can reach, teach, inspire and be understood by everyone from innocent children to grown ups who have seen it all. Sadly, most opera companies relegate it to the Christmas holiday season promoting it chiefly as a family event, so when PORTOpera announced its production - to take place in smack dab in the middle of summer - it was news worthy of rejoicing.

Humperdinck’s score was in the capable hands of Israel Gursky who got things off to a glorious beginning with a gleaming reading of the overture that had Wagnerian breadth and allowed the music to soar and, well, do it’s job. Throughout the evening Gursky struck an ideal balance never allowing the orchestra to cover the singers at any point, yet permitting the house to swell with sound at every climax. The band has rarely sounded better than they have here.

The curtain rose on Charles S. Kading’s s fanciful set, placing us deep in the forest, with a vista of stone mountains rising high in the background, two stairways “carved” into the stone and surrounding the stage. A center stage turntable handled most of the locale changes from humble peasant cottage, to the restful oasis in the woods, to the fanciful gingerbread where the children’s fate takes its turn.

General Director Dona D. Vaughn’s production earned major points in presenting the story not only as fairytale but as a timeless allegorical tale hitting on uncomfortable issues like alcohol abuse, desperation, hunger, homelessness, child abuse, heroism and the restorative power of love and family. While the story was indeed told sweetly, this was also theatre of a powerful and positive nature.

Vaughn provided plenty of coupes d’theatre that provoked laughter, tears and spontaneous applause, such as when the Witch flies high above the stage on her broom, disappearing into the clouds or the genuinely creepy tree roots that slid in from either side of the forest. The Prayer and Dream Pantomime has, in my experience, rarely been more breathtakingly staged. Our duo now fast asleep, dancers from the Portland School of Ballet, attired in jewel toned costumes with transparent “wings” appeared atop the mountains and, en pointe, descend to the forest floor, surrounding the children in a moving ballet. As they spun around the transparent wings revealed a beautiful butterfly pattern as their fluttering arms protected the children. The effect was one of breathtaking beauty and brought down the house.

Similarly, upon the children’s rescue, Vaughn created a moment that made one smile through tears. Once transformed back to life, the Gingerbread Children were revealed to be a choir of local immigrant children, each attired in his or her native costume. This could have been merely a nice gimmick, but combined with the stunning sound of their vocalism it brought the evening to a hauntingly beautiful and profoundly moving conclusion.

As Hansel, mezzo soprano Heather Johnson had the “boyishness” business down to a tee as he clumsily attempted to match his graceful sister in dance steps. Johnson’s Hansel seemed a bit harder, tougher and less trustful than his sister, which leant an air of darkness about him. A quick glance of the forest as he gives up his coat to cover and protect his sleeping sister was just one of those perfect little touches that help elevate every moment of a special production.

Angela Mortellaro created a simply delicious and adorable Gretel, revealing a soprano of sweetness, but that could open up thrillingly and dominate the ensembles with clarity and precision as well as beauty.

Peter (the father) was Weston Hurt, whose house filling baritone and slightly tipsy demeanor leant a heartiness to his performance that made it impossible not to like him instantly.

In my opinion, simply adding the name Maria Zifchack to a production increases its value tenfold. One of the most glorious voices of our time it was a case of welcome luxury casting to have Zifchack as Gertrude (The Mother). While Gertrude’s actions are what sets off the darkness of the story, one couldn’t help but feel her hopeless desperation as well as her horror and regret. Zifchack and Hurt each helped ground the story with a bit of realism that truly benefited the telling of this tale.

Luxury casting, too was Robert Brubaker as The (green faced) Witch. Allowing the camp factor to kick in, Brubaker’s “old lady voice” would, at key moments, give way to his powerful tenor that made the creepy crone both a bit more comical as well as more menacing than usual. He also earned points by climbing aboard that broom and actually flying high above the stage!

In their brief roles as Sandman and Dew Fairy, Rachel Hauge and Emily Murdock made the most of their assignments each earning major audience approval with their depictions.

Sung in English, the projected titles proved unnecessary (and sometimes a distraction from the stage) as I do not believe I have ever heard an entire cast deliver English in such crisp and immediately understandable English. Every word was clear and sure (this was a much discussed intermission topic as I roamed the lobbies). While I’m an “original language” kinda guy, a strong case can be made for having your audience understand every word, and such a case was here indeed, strongly made.

Who would have thought so innocuous a work as Hansel and Gretel could give us the perfect example of Wagner’s ideal gesamtkunstwerk? Dona D. Vaughn and PORTOpera, that’s who! A remarkable evening capped off what had to be one of the most prolonged ovations in the company’s history. After last season’s cancelled production (replaced by a wonderful gala concert) it was heartening to see the Company bounce back on such sure footing and grand scale. Bravo a tutti!

Jessye Norman: Roots - Album of the Year!

2010-07-26T22:37:00.003-04:00

In her new two disc album, Jessye Norman has given us an a gift that is as sure to infuriate as many as it delights. This is as it should be. The live album (recorded before an audience at the Berlin Symphonie) is a musical journey - almost a theatre piece - of Norman's life as a proud, black African American woman of song.

It opens with a rhythmic overture of African drums serving as a sort of "call to order" which doesn't so much end as it does flow into her first number, an a capella rendition of "His eye is on the sparrow" - slowly an instrument, a drone, is heard as we move into the spiritual "I want two wings" - as the instruments progress with the singer directly, marvelously, into "I couldn't hear nobody pray" with the singer and her musicians increasing in intensity through this steady stream. The effect is as if walking down the darkest of halls or paths, lost, blindly, eyes adjusting slowly to the darkness and moving toward a single shaft of light, distant, faint, that, with each step increases both in warmth and brilliance. It is a tremendous effect.

Norman uses her instrument as the best jazz or classical musicians do, with a sound that is usually immediately identifiable, but willing to do everything and anything within its means to achieve an artistic purpose, bending melodies, pitch, lightening the voice to a thin, almost childlike sound, or opening up and bathing the room in a lush warmth you never want to end. Some, particularly strictly classical audiences, will find this disturbing (indeed early reviews have called the album "painful" and "disgusting" and "shameless." Everyone of those "critics" may be right in not liking what she's done, but are dead wrong in their failure to understand what she has done here.

The first song to take us "there" is Duke Ellington's "Heaven" where Norman, begins it as a jazz standard, playing with the piano, swooping up and down and coloring the notes and text with liberties. About midway through, through scatting, nonsense syllables, trilled "rs" and drum-like sound effects becomes a player in the band. The effect is terrific fun with Norman covering several octaves easily, breezily. Only in the bizarre world of music can this be followed - almost seamlessly, by a reprise of Bernstein's "Somewhere" from West Side Story. It is about as inauthentic a version to Broadway as is possible, but Norman wears it earnestly and this little version does exactly what she expected it would - have the audience hoopin' and hollerin' - as she rolls/plows/busts into "My Baby Just Cares for Me." It's almost too much to take in and I looked in vain for a place to take a breath and realized . . . I didn't even want to.

Norman is unrecognizable in a number of the pieces (including the aforementioned "My baby...") but every syllable is uttered with care, precision just as every note is a wild, swinging celebration of a life's joy as she calls out as her player's names before a solo riff in great jazz lady style.

While Lena Horne's "Stormy Weather" has always been my touchstone for that song, Norman takes a new approach, a more jazz-infused one, at some point almost recalling just a hint of Billy Holiday's voice. It's a slower, more sensuous take than anyone is probably used to, but I can see this version becoming "standard" . . . and Norman, with her operatic inclinations infuses the song with a weight that feels natural and bulds and builds towards the final reprise. It's thrilling.

What Norman does with "Mack the Knife" is sheer brilliance, almost returning the piece to the opera house, giving the opening narrative auf Deutsch, against the small tattoo of a snare drum as she turns the bloody, violent text into a narrative of devilish delight. Each verse grows in intensity, voice and a bit of violence until the audience erupts in extended cheers as the song is wrapping up. Oh, Jessye!

It's almost impossible to review this without wanting to comment on every single number (as I've done up until now). Suffice it to say, what Norman does with nearly every song is claim it as her own, turn whatever you may have known or felt about the song on its ear. Even something as innocuous as "All the pretty horses" becomes something else altogether - a haunting dreamscape with enough colors to convince the listener he has synesthesia. There's the brutality of "God's Gonna Cut You Down" with a dark rawness that gives Johnny Cash a run for his money. When she ends the song it is with a final pronouncement announcing death and it's chilling. But Norman isn't done as she admonishes her band "Take me off" and walks off singing the "Go tell . . . go tell that back biter, Good God a'mighty's gonna cut you down!" and again, the house goes absolutely wild.

Norman opens the second half with "Les Chemins de L'amour" - in a throaty baritone, that under different circumstances might be deemed a bit indulgent, but here - works. There are brilliant touches that abound, such as the "La Marseillaise" morphing into "The Star Spangled Banner" which serves as the introduction to "J'ai Deux Amours"

Jessye finishes her musical journey with Ellington, Bizet, Monk and more ending on a "When the Saints Go Marching In" introduced by a bluesy, twangy that gets the audience and Jessye into a fiesty mood that finishes the concert in as bawdy, loud and rip roarin' a manner that probably hasn't been heard since Judy sang at Carnegie!

It is nearly beyond comprehension (but only "nearly) that this is the same woman who for years has transfixed me as Cassandre, terrified me as Judith, thrilled me as Ariadne only makes this cake all the tastier.

This is as joyous a celebration of a singer as I have ever experienced and I only hope the album sells well and shows those who might not already know, what a force of nature, what an artist and remarkable human being is this Jessye Norman. Now take the show on the road, girl!

Nosh: Porky Goodness

2010-07-22T17:45:00.005-04:00

Nosh Kitchen Bar, 551 Congress St., Portland, ME.

You're going to love or hate this place - I don't see much of an in between. Me? I love it. Nosh may have what has become my favorite sandwich in Maine: The Pig Belly Reuben. The pork belly was slow cooked and had "Sunday afternoon comfort food" written all over it. There was enough meat on the sandwich to feed a small family. The pork is smothered with carmelized onions, a perfectly melted cheddar "glue" and a slather of Russian dressing all piled between perfectly grilled rye. I could instantly see this enormous was going to be one beautiful mess to eat and as I had an appointment shortly aterwards opted to go the knife and fork route rather than risk wearing half of it home. The first bite had my leg shaking like an excited dog and I couldn't stop smiling. The combination of flavors all complimented the pork in the best of all possible ways.

The bacon dusted fries (served in a cool little galvanized bucket) were perfection, but also too enormous a portion for one for one (of all things to complain about, too much good food makes almost no sense). The "dust" giving a strong bacon flavor that made the accompanying dipping sauce (several options are offered) almost unnecessary. I chose the Romesco sauce and it was tasty enough to coax me into dipping more than a few of the perfectly crisped fries into its pumpkin-hued deliciousness. They should somehow figure out how to deliver these bits of heaven late night to bars and midnight movie parties. I don't want to complicate things for Nosh, but for only a couple of bucks less, I would have gladly have had HALF the portion I received - and maybe splurged on another "bite" or two from the tapas-like menu.

I have heard stories about the unfriendliness/inattentiveness of the staff and can only scratch my head and wonder why. I was graciously met almost as soon as I walked through the door. Dining alone, I opted for the bar (a great selection of beer specials - as well as well stocked liquor choices) and chatted nicely with the bartender and the waitress on duty (it was crowded, but not packed). My food arrived quickly, and after a few bites, the chef approached me to see how everything was (he could tell I was happy since I was probably glowing) and offered that the pig belly is his favorite thing on the menu. It shows. I look forward to returning. Often.

The Full Monteverdi: Where Love Comes to Die

2010-07-14T13:26:00.002-04:00

Where love comes to die.

Several years ago I attempted to watch this film and couldn't make it to the first madrigal. I'm not kidding. Bored early this morning I decided to give it another shot and an entirely different reaction took place: overwhelmed. I've had a lifelong love of all things Monteverdi and the madrigal books were amongst the first works of his I fell for. Hard. The idea of setting Monteverdi's Fourth Book of Madrigals (complete) to a lip-synched film of modern couples breaking up in a posh London restaurant somehow just did not feel "right." This time through however, I got exactly what director John La Bouchardiere felt when he thought this a great idea for a short (hour long) film.

While it isn't necessary to have visualizations for Monteverdi's grand excursion into love and loss to make their point - the music and word settings make their point(s) beautifully sans pictures, La Bouchardiere nonetheless achieves something beautiful and manages to capture the heartbreak by sharing the breakups of six couples occuring simultaneously in a single night. Through the use of changing camera lenses, lighting, filters and various techniques (most notably cineme verite) and brief flashback sequences, we see the couples loving and losing. We see them on camping trips, christenings, post love making (discretely, no nudity here) and feel their sense of elation and doom - all of which somehow gracefully compliment Monteverdi's difficult, often stunning harmonizations and beautifully sung polyphony. The richness of his a capella score, lays wide open the naked emotions with an often brutal power that LaBouchardiere captures with a sure and natural sense of timing, knowing where to place and leave his cameras, when to cut to a flashback, where to allow the reaction shots - all of it flowing in seamless rhythm with the music.

The vocal ensemble I Fagiolini, paired with silent actors make up the entire cast all of whom hold the hour long film together as if their lives depended upon it. I Fagiolini approach the music powerfully and often full voiced as opposed to the delicacy frequently heard from many other early music groups. The result is an often thrilling (and raw) soundscape of theatricality unique in this style of music. The "sighing" quality so necessary in this music is not eliminated by such an approach but rather becomes a highlight because of the more complex dynamics and shadings of the ensemble. They're simply wonderful.

I can imagine many (most?) might feel the same as I did when first trying to watch this, but - if you've got an hour and can open your heart to some of the most exquisite music ever written to being performed - to being the "script" for an oddly beautiful film, I strongly recommend this gem of a movie.

The Last Airbender: Better than you think!

2010-07-02T20:42:00.002-04:00

Despite nothing but negative reviews - some of the worst I have EVER read for any major film, friends and I went to see "The Last Airbender" - M. Night Shyamalan's latest film, based on the wildly successful animated Nickolodean television series. Honestly, I have read NOTHING positive about the film; from it's "awful look" to the horrific acting, the charmlessness of the storytelling, the terrible music score and I have come to the conclusion that Hollywood simply has it out for this director. The film has flaws, but I found "Airbender" to be often nothing short of sensational.

There's no denying condensing an entire season of an animated show into a 90 minute live action adventure requires re-tooling the entire way in which the story is told and that certain episodic moments - and characters - must be changed in ways that alter the original, but most of the print critics seem never to have seen more than a few minutes of the original tale and all have jumped onto a bandwagon outdoing each other in their assassinations of Mr. Shyamalan's work. I find this mind boggling.

One critic wrote: "let me try to convey a bit more of "Airbender's" awfulness . . . all of which brings us back to the question of expectations, and how Mr. Shyamalan keeps getting work. A soul-crushing disaster ... there appears to be nothing driving his efforts ... he shows no discernible passion for the material and overwrought, underwhelming, ineffective drivel like this only suggests the kind of finale that his other failures have all been building towards. " (This after heaping enough praise on the new Twilight movie to make it sound like Gone With the freakin' Wind.)

Even the special effects (which the movie is loaded with) are criticized as junk and Roger Ebert compared them (unfavorably) to a school pagent. Really? The effects of water movement and fire were dazzling to a degree that actually compares well with some of the best I've seen. Combined with the Holst Planets-like score (some fine wordless choral moments) made the cinematic effect sometimes downright breathtaking.

The line delivery by some of the unknown "white" actors could be clunky and sometimes awkward - but no more so than many action films (at several points I thought of the choppy delivery by the much better known actors in the latter Star Wars series).

Bottom line: it's hardly a masterpiece, but the story (condensed as it is) the visual aspects and the soundtrack often make for compelling storytelling and most of the audience I saw it with (including many parents with their kids) walked out beaming and talking in high anticipation of the next installment.

The Mission: Roland Joffé's Masterpiece

2010-06-30T16:04:00.002-04:00

I just finished watching a movie that, when I first saw it in 1986, made such an impression on me that I could think of nothing else for days. It came at a fragile and life changing moment in my life and for some seven nights I walked several miles back and forth in a bitter winter to see it at the once splendid Ontario Theatre in Washington, DC. The film was Roland Joffé's epic "The Mission" with the unlikely cast of Jeremy Irons, Robert DeNiro, Liam Neeson and Ray McNally. When I first saw it I thought it to be amongst the most beautiful films I'd ever seen, and nearly 25 years later, think so still. While nominated and winning many international awards, The Mission was mostly ignored by Hollywood, receiving only one Oscar (cinematography).

The complexities of the story telling in "The Mission" are almost too much to take in in a single film lasting a bit more than two hours, but Jaffe has woven them together with a touch that is both delicate and profound, creating a tapestry as impressive and intricate as any medieval Flemish tapastry, its story held together flawlessly.

While supposedly created for our own preservation and edification, politics and religion have done as much or more unspeakable horrors in the names of God and Man as they have good and in "The Mission" we see the bloody result, despite the effort of a few rebel priests who believe in the power of love and the natives with whom they try to share their world. The villains are plentiful in this "true tale" and Joffe never disguises them, allowing the deceptive simplicities of "good versus evil" run its predictable course, as they twist and turn everything they touch into the inevitable choked and knotted apocalypse of sorrow that is always the end result of greed.

Despite its bleak, often hopeless nature, Joffe nonetheless gives us a miracle: a film of such ineffable beauty that stirs both heart and mind through the combination of remarkable acting, a wilderness captured in breathtaking cinematography, battles both physical and spiritual, and wed it all to one of the most remarkable musical scores of the late 20th century.

Meeting Meadow

2010-06-30T10:47:00.004-04:00

This is Meadow, my friend, Kara's dog, who I've been taking care of while Kara took a much needed vacation. I'd only recently met Meadow - but by the end of our first day, wed become great friends . . . and she stole my heart completely. What a wonderful, beautiful girl she is!

Lost: Some Thoughts and Observations

2010-05-25T12:43:00.004-04:00

I’ve been mulling over the series finale of the television series “Lost” for a day or so now. I spent a good number of hours reading thousands of comments on a bulletin board/blog, even logging in a few responses/reactions to some of what I’d read. These boards become very interesting places, allowing me to see just how stupid some of my fellow human beings are . . . or maybe just limited in their thinking and imaginations.

The sheer number of attacks on those who enjoyed (or dared admit to loving) the finale by those who felt, variously, “betrayed,” “cheated,” “robbed,” “conned,” or “duped,” were expressed in hateful sounding vitriol that fairly boggled the mind.

It appeared - and I’d not thought about this until after the finale, that “Lost” attracted more than one type of viewer . . . that not everyone addicted to the show watched it for the same reasons I did. I felt stunned and a bit embarrassed that I’d not considered this before.

I saw “Lost” as a character driven drama about the disparate survivors of a plane crash who found themselves on an uncharted island in the Pacific with no communication to the outside world and their struggles to make a sense of community as they survived. Their struggles were compounded by the fact this was an island that had extraordinary powers, a seemingly unsolvable, mysterious history, filled with scientific wonders and all manner of life both human and divine. From day-to-day, they had not barely a clue as to what challenge might be facing them - from invisible monsters, to violent natives and transplants to shifts in the time/space continuum. This was fascinating to me. This was how I saw the show.

Others, I’m realizing, saw it as a show about The Island and its mysteries, its temples and statues, polar bears, smoke monsters, the others living on the island and for six years they obsessively looked for clues and hidden meanings to unlock the mysteries possessed by the island. Many of them, I’m learning, saw the characters - who I believed were the center of the story - almost as if coincidentally just there. For these fans, the many unsolved riddles of the island were not sufficiently wrapped up - or in many ways even dealt with - in the show’s long finale.

Many of these folk keep referring to themselves as “intellectuals” though most exhibited poor writing skills, bad word choices, incorrect grammar and a shared tendency to assiduously avoid the use of upper case letters EXCEPT WHEN USED LIKE THIS (the equal of written screaming). These self-proclaimed “intellectuals” kept using phrases like “cop out” and expressed out-and-out anger towards the writers and producers of the show. Many times I read variations of “any four year old/fourth grader/idiot on the street” etc. “could have written a better finale than this.” “This was the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” was another frequent sentence. I can only question the integrity or anyone using the ol‘ “worst ever” (or conversely, “best ever”) business as I realize such pronouncements are most frequently emotionally charged and not well considered against the balance of one’s other experiences.

The upsetting thing to me is the complaint of those who disliked (or, more accurately HATED) the finale, that they’ve lost “six years of their lives.” Really?

I felt every question that needed an “answer” received it, and that the many mysteries of this brutal but amazing island, its electromagnetic forces, its other inhabitants and its thousands of years of history were not ours to fully understand, despite all of our -and the survivors‘ - attempts to understand or explain it. We are human beings, it is in our nature to figure things out, to want to understand why a thing “is,” and control our destinies as best we can, but some things cannot, and shall not, ever be solved.

I long ago discovered I was nowhere near as sharp or smart as I had thought I was or might become and that, despite deepest desires to know everything, I will never get remotely close to such a thing. Should I live a thousand years I wouldn‘t dent the surface and that most things in this brutal yet amazing world will for me be forever locked in mystery. This is as it should be, for I long ago realized the devil really is in the details and, given the brief span of existence allotted me here . . . well, times a’wasting.

I was completely taken with Lost - all six seasons of it, and felt its ending was - as was the entire series - beautifully written, visually stimulating and emotionally satisfying. The bookends of the opening shot of the pilot - Jack’s eye opening - and six seasons later, his eye closing, was, (while entirely predictable) revealing of an artistry rarely seen in television these days.

This is the end of my commentary - I don’t feel the need (at least now) to share my ideas and thoughts of what things “meant” but I thought I’d close by sharing (without permission) some comments received for publicly stating I loved the Lost finale:

it doesn’t bother you that nothing was resolved? Basically there was this 6 season story about smoke monsters, jacob, dharma, time travel, widmore, the others, constants, aaron, walt, pregnancy issues, egyptian artifacts and writings, and dharma food drops and we have no resolution for any of it. No to mention we have no idea why the island was so important and what would happen if the island wasnt there. HOW COULD THEY NOT EXPLAIN THE ISLAND?!?

* * * * *

Those of us who watched for mystery and wanted some puzzles solved but would have been content with any level of the writers simply giving a damn instead of cobbling this series of tableaus together believing we’re too stupid to know a difference. In my book they are the same as Goldman Sachs and Henry Paulson – we’ve been used – there’s an US and THEM once again.

* * * * *

What was the purpose of showing us a skeleton inside the Source without ever explaining it?

* * * * *
so did they all die in the plane crash right? the wreckage on the beach was from the actual accident that had no survivors ? why didnt we see any bodies or skeletons lying on the beach ?

* * * * *

So why was MIB instantly transformed into the smoke monster and his remains also thrown out of the cave? So why wasn’t jack turned into a smoke monster, too? or desmond? why did jack pick hurley to be his successor and not ben? what if sawyer had stayed instead of hurley? if kate loved jack why would she leave him there? none of these things made sense and the show sucked.

* * * * *

After commiting six years our lives to watch “LOST”,I felt the writers/producers just gave up! I guess they just didn’t get that most people want a HAPPY ending! Especially in these times. I was hoping that the LAST episode would be as mesmerizing as the first…or, at least half!

* * * * *

why was everybody in that church at the end?

* * * * *

I was married to Darlton for six years. It was fun and interesting, and I was totally committed. Then I learned that the whole time we were married, he was lying to me and cheating on me. In a few short hours, our entire six years together was reduced to a lie, rendered useless and unimportant. I was horribly betrayed.

* * * * *

Lost leaves intellectual fans bored, and what the hell is up with all the answers left, and what about atheist viewers we don’t all believe in the after life ya know. Plus, what was the island, why did it need to be protected after Locke/smokey died, how did Jacob’s fake mom get her title, who gave it to her, who made the cork, how and why did they even make it, why did one of the episodes show the island at the bottom of the sea, what about the other people that died on the island that lived there several years etc, and the whole purgatory thing did happen, and well, I’m disappointed as a fan because you could’ve made it good for all non-religious and religious viewers… just doesn’t make sense. The polar bear effect goes into affect now! Bye bye Lost, wish you ended better but still, Daniel Farraday made that series awesome

* * * * *

J.J. Abrahams and Co.are laughing at us in our face. I hated the end, while emotional(that’s the easiest and least original thing to do ever)it has absoutely no sense at all and I don’t think it’s because I “did’nt get it.
During the whole series I thought these guys were geniouses, with the polar bears, smoke, Dharma, all great and original ideas, now I realize all they had was mental diarrhea and a lot of guts to just end this like this.

Lehnhoff's Beautiful Take on Parsifal

2010-05-18T21:26:00.001-04:00

Where to start. I’ve had this DVD set for a few years now and keep coming back to it as my Parsifal of choice. First off, Matti Salminen is simply terrific as Gurnemanz. While the voice may be a hair less gorgeous than 20 years ago it is wanting for nothing. Salminen remains a formidable stage presence and his grasp of Gurnemanz is complete. Even a slight grandiosity and arrogance in Act I cannot diminish the role's sincerity. Even as he watches the Grail Ceremony this Gurnemanz gives off an aura of superiority - even over Amfortas and Titurel. His transformation in the third act - fervent, wise fervor and in his wisdom, possessor of a truly inspiring humility and sense of order. It is a miracle of a performance . . . just amazing from every aspect.

Christopher Ventris is the most remarkable Parsifal I've encountered and plays him exactly how I've always felt the role should be played. This Parsifal is a wild child/animal boy in the extreme and Ventris looks terrific in his amalgamation of skins, sticks, enormous leather breeches, face paint and thick-as-rope coils of dreadlocks. Initially I had reservations about his sound - light textured . . . almost boyish - but my, oh my how this singer captures this character in every nuance and gesture, facial expression and body language and movement. Indeed Ventris's rare physicality almost defines the role in its totality. Where most Parsifals in the Act I Grail ceremony are directed to remain still and out-of-the-way, this Parsifal is climbing over every surface of the stage, examining everything and everyone: entranced, amazed and full of awe at the wonderment of all he is experiencing. I can't imagine Ventris's Parsifal being bettered.

Later, following "The Kiss" we witness Parsifal's shock and Ventris makes it a palpable experience of shared epiphany. All is made clear and he knows what he must do and the direction life now takes him. This is, of course, all there in Wagner's score, but Ventris, almost more than any Parsifal I've heard or seen, gets this across and it's an emotional, cathartic moment.

I've always felt that after his feet have been washed in humility by Kunrdy, Parsifal must remain barefoot for the balance of the opera. Too many Parsifals (including the Met's) don him in kingly/priestly garb, and I find this the wrong direction for this character. I've always believed Parsifal should be almost bared at this point - bringing a true sense of humility and openess as the realm of the Grail moves into another dimension, another "being." That Ventris, stripped of armor, and barefoot enters the temple and performs the rites this way is EXACTLY right! (Siegfried Jerusalem's early Bayreuth Parsifal in the late 70's also remains barefoot for the ceremony).

Waltraud Meier knows Kundry better than any singer alive. It might even be called her signature role. While the very top of the voice can be a little wild - tight and constricted - it is only those notes - which she still can it. Actually the upper range of her voice works well and, as already stated, she knows what this character is all about.

A giant giant eggshell/cocoon apparatus comprises the first part of Kundry's costume which dominates and then transmogrifies throughout Act II. Next is an 18th century looking gown, which leaves her inert and unable to move - which is finally shedded revealing a simple (and sweat stained) shift laying Kundry down to her bare essence. Powerful, powerful imagery.

Tom Fox's Klingsor is creepy, larger than life - almost Kabuki in its intensity. Suspended - balanced in some bizarre glass circle above the stage it lends a really sinister air to the proceedings.

Thomas Hampson is just a touch light of voice for Amfortas - but for once, it doesn't matter a whit. He is inside this role and I couldn't keep from crying at the torture - this eternal night of woe this King must endure. Hampson brings a sense of tragic horror to the role that adds yet another layer to this complex character. His sense of wonder and release, finally able to die at peace, released from the curse of his wound is profoundly moving.

I found myself crying - as I have since my first Parsifal at 14 years old. But this time by the end I was sobbing out loud. I probably would have held it together seeing this in the theatre, or in the company of others, but I'm glad I got to watch this all by my self and fall apart just as this work demands of me.

Nagano leads such a magnificent performance with nuances and shading that are rare indeed, not just in Parsifal, but in any work. The responses from the chorus and orchestra - the differences between even pianos and pianissimos is astonishing and add a gauze like delicacy in sections that make the score all the more moving.
fair.

I usually prefer my Kundry to die. I don't think it's a Victorian "judgment" call - it's what she wants. It's what she's waited for for centuries. Release and to sleep without waking.

I like the direction Lehnhoff takes this production. There is a sense of having to move on to keep the brotherhood of the Grail alive. We can sense the fetid stagnation of the present condition of the Knights. In the Act I ceremony the contrast between Parsifal - so youthful, so alive - with the Knights grey and stiff, could not be more vivid. Yet, the Grail sustains them still and the beauty of the ritual remains evident and enthralls Parsifal - even without his understanding.

Kundry does not die here, but rather leads Parsifal, and eventually we see the Knights, one-by-one following them down abandoned railroad tracks into the unknown, a procession into another realm, another order as Wagner's postlude offers promise, hope and redemption. An utterly beautiful ending which makes great dramatic and philosophical sense.

How special and rare it is to experience a production of so familiar a piece that continues to work on such a cathartic and profoundly emotional level - yet equally challenges and stimulates the mind as to its meanings.

This is easily one of the finest, best produced and most satisfying opera on DVD I possess.

Thank you, Lena Horne

2010-05-10T11:38:00.009-04:00

This was the first news I heard when I turned on my computer this morning and I nearly dropped my coffee. Lena Horne was one of my first "crushes" as a boy (Angela Lansbury, Mary Tyler Moore were right there with her). My dad was a fan, and I remember being about 5 or 6 watching movies with him and thinking she was the loveliest thing I'd ever seen. Her voice, beautiful - was not particularly "bluesy" but rather elegant and perfect . . . as everything about her seemed to be.

This is embarrassing to admit, but I remember being shocked when about 13 or so I found out Lena Horne was black. Color simply didn't register with me through my childhood (being Latino didn't help), but it still surprised me. Then it finally made sense to me as to WHY she hadn't been in more movies - as well as the types of movies she had been in. After college, I decided to attend theatre school and enrolled in the (overly-named) National Conservatory of Dramatic Arts. There, my dance instructor practically made it a requirement that each of us go to see Ms. Horne in her new show: Lena Horne: The Lady and Her Music when it came to DC after she (and it) practically claimed Broadway as her own. I cannot speak for the rest , but I believe each one of us has still not fully recovered from that amazing event. As my teacher said, "it isn't just a concert, it is theatre, she is theatre."

The gods were with those of us in Washington those days, and Horne quickly fell in love with DC and its rich African American culture, moving from Manhattan and settling into an enormous apartment building on Columbia Ave. in Adams Morgan where several friends of mine also lived. Not often, but occasionally we would catch her somewhere around the neighborhood and though we wanted to respect her privacy, it was impossible NOT to notice this legendary beauty and her casual elegance, so sometimes you'd hear someone (usually one of us) shout out "We love you Lena!" and she'd turn around and smile and wave as though you'd been a lifelong friend she was thrilled to see. You would melt right on the spot haaving made contact with a legend, still electrifying - and still soooooooo beautiful.

What she endured through her early and middle years makes me embarrassed for our history and its horrible legacy of inequity to non-whites - our own caste-system. That amazing people like Lena Horne endured and struggled and not only survived, but played the game her way, commanding respect and admiration along the way should serve as inspiration to believe that truly ANYTHING is possible.

I can still feel the rush and the gooseflesh as she closed that show with "If you Believe (in yourself)" and the unexpected, amazing high notes she interpolated into the line, and how she couldn't even finish the song before literally every single person in that theatre rose up in tears and cheering that seemed to go on endlessly. She stood there before us beaming. We believed. Rest in peace and thank you, Lena Horne - for believing.

Villazon ain't done yet: Not even close!

2010-05-09T23:11:00.003-04:00

Good gravy some people really do enjoy nothing more than jumping to conclusions. Villazon returned to the opera stage a month or so ago singing magnificently two major roles: Lenski and Nemorino . . . and to outstanding reviews, sold out houses and enthusiastic audiences. I've been lucky to hear two of those performances, as well as some of the recent Handel outings which he's currently touring. I heard him as recently as last night and the voice is in fine shape, with a thrilling, pulse-pounding way with difficult florid passagework, his coloratura not always perfectly even, but measured and full of ping and yes, some hypermusical instincts.

He is not singing purely tenor arias, but a number of the most difficult mezzo/castrati arias which find him dipping down into notes more in the bass/baritone range, which he simply does not have. Blessedly, those notes are mostly short - quickly hit, let go and moved away from, but yes, if one is going to do this sort of thing one should also have those notes. Nevertheless, despite this shortcoming what is working are the middle and upper registers and they sound absolutely beautiful. I find it utterly remarkable that anyone would even be stupid enough to think this to be the end of someone's career
when there are plenty of working tenors who would love to have this facility and tone quality.

I simply don't get the twisted logic of the doomsayers who love to express "concern" that he's destroyed himself and believe they know the singer better than he knows himself. Remarkable.

The "Times" article was a hack job, as unrelievedly biased a piece of doomsday journalism, as any ten puff pieces I've read. Paragraph-upon-paragraph piling on as many negative aspersions as possible: the failed "pop star" reality TV show, that "mezzo soprano" pop singer, his resemblance to Mr. Bean, the bushy eyebrows, the crazy hair, the too wide mouth, the more-than-hinted at affair with Netrebko (which I still don't believe) the "Fourth Tenor" nonsense, his weekly psychiatric sessions. Several times, the article
references Hugh Canning's "review" which, like the article itself, spends most of its paragraphs setting up and tearing down its subject before ever critiquing a single note of music.

Canning makes the ridiculous charge that "the concert was clearly rescheduled to cash in" on his recent appearances in the failed (though oddly popular) reality show. Mr. C, seemed not to have noticed (or conveniently forgot) that the London concert was but a single one on the Handel tour with stops in Baden-Baden, Munich, Berlin, Hamburg, Paris, etc. Or perhaps merely by not mentioning the remainder of the tour he is able to make the tenor look greedy and desperate? Ah, yes, THAT's where he's going, as he ends that particular paragraph making the singer sound "broke" as he explains how "Villazon
cancelled many lucrative engagements. As Brecht wrote: 'First comes food, then morals.'" Yes, Rolando has been starving to death and just out to earn some scratch. Right.

He goes on to criticize the manner in which Villazon sings Handel "as if the past 50 years of scholarship and performing practice had never happened, transforming the music of the baroque era’s greatest opera composer into a sort of genteel, polite verismo." This is, of course, his prerogative, but "genteel" and "polite" do not show up in Villazon's Handel singing - it is wild, passionate (and mostly) accurate singing with an almost crazed,
unleashed energy that has most audiences exploding in cheers. Yes, yes, I know, people are idiots and don't know any better. Not in London, nor in Paris, Munich . . .

Of course Canning spends as much time talking about how he "feels" Villazon looks uncomfortable - but I find he's mistaken the tenor's naturally manic, hyper-animated stage manner for "discomfort" when it's simply not the case. No one (I believe) says the same about Ms. Bartoli and her similar frenetic stage energy, but with Villazon it's a different story.

Here's Rolando as Lenski, singing "Kuda, kuda" only a month ago. It took my breath away. If this is the end of a career than "oops, wrong planet" - black is white, up is down and wrong is right. You decide if, along with Mr. Canning, he is nothing more than a cash cow "alongside the Bocellis, Jenkinses and Pottses of this world," and if it's time to for those who "care passionately about opera will shed a few furtive tears over what might have been."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wn_ez9qQywk&feature=related

Like him or not I sense Rolando is on the right track and I, for one, couldn't be happier. Long may he sing!

Met's Lulu: Lasciviously Delicious!

2010-05-09T00:21:00.002-04:00

What a riveting, thrilling roller coaster ride of musical emotion was the Met's broadcast of Lulu today - closing the broadcast season.

Marliss Petersen, who seemed to struggle with poor Ophelie a month or so ago, nailed the difficult assignment of Berg's heroine with style, substance as though it were the most natural thing in the world. The stratospheric top notes were landed upon with such fullness and depth of sound, clear and open - they were stunning. The many trills came off as well - or perhaps better even - than I've ever heard them from almost any other Lulu (Christine Schaffer is up there in this role, too).

James Morris has fit into Schön like the proverbial hand-in-glove. I was thrilled to hear him sounding like he was really living the role - and sounding rather good doing so! Garry Lehman - one of the Tristans who saved the Met’s butt a couple seasons back - was equally wonderful as Alwa.

Anne Sophie von Otter’s Geschwitz was sung with ravishing beauty of tone as the role seems to demand and blessedly, often seems to be the case, but it was a treat to hear this amazingly versatile artist’s first go at one of most interesting, pathetic and noble roles in the entire mezzo oeuvre. (Loved how she stated about her make up and costume: “I look gooooood!” what a charmer she is!)

Fabio Luisi continues to absolutely and utterly blow my mind. What a sensuous, rapturous reading he led from the Met band this afternoon. The score absolutely sparkled in his hands, the sound emanating from the pit so well rehearsed the clarity of Berg's remarkable score truly revealed a lyrical beauty and allowed to shine in a manner one just doesn’t typically hear in this music, particularly from an opera house orchestra. It was a remarkable achievement and Luisi's absolutely stunning leadership and performance was greeted with a wall of cheers as rapturous as any I've heard in a good, long while!

Thank St. Cecilia and/or the gods for Cerha and his marvelous completion of the third act of Berg’s second greatest opera - ;-> - I know there are champions for leaving the third act off (Franz Welser Most, for one) but I always think those arguments are so much nonsense because the work simply fails to make its point when ending with the second act. It’s an unacceptable practice and I, for one, am happy the Met abandoned it almost as soon as it was possible. After two acts of difficult emotions, blasé attitudes, creepiness, disdain, total self-absorption, and (seeming) heartlessness, Lulu almost NEEDS to be violently killed in order for us to be won over to her side, to see her with pity and feel what we ultimately NEED to feel for this anti-heroine. And c’mon . . . who doesn’t wanna see Jack the Ripper on the stage?

Not all THAT long ago, when I was still a kid, all one needed was to MENTION "Lulu" being a beautiful work and you’d practically start a riot. Today? Well, it‘s nearly impossible to get a ticket - with something like 100 seats TOTAL available - and spread over the final two performances!

The second best thing I heard today was that the incredible Met telecast of “Lulu” featuring Julia Migenes, will soon be available on DVD. After wearing out several VHS copies, this is happy news and I hope I heard it right!

As if all of the above weren’t enough, Eric Owens was a masterful Quiz host, charming, hilarious and kept things rolling perfectly so well that for once one wished intermission could’ve been even longer! What an absolutely terrific gift from the Met to all of us, and what a marvelous way to end the Saturday broadcast season! Bravo, bravissimo! Until next season . . .

Jonas Kaufmann Decca Recital: Mozart, Schubert, Beethoven & Wagner

2010-05-04T21:57:00.007-04:00

For weeks now I've been obsessed with two extremely different CD recitals. I've written already about Simon Keenlyside's outstanding Wigmore Hall song recital and now it's time to rave about Jonas and his Opera Arias of Mozart, Schubert, Beethoven & Wagner.

In ''Dies Bildnis Ist Bezaubernd Schön'' I was immediately struck by a similarity to another tenor's rendition of it: Fritz Wunderlich's. No, the two German tenors don't sound all that much the same - but Kaufmann's almost seemingly innate beauty of line felt nearly identical to Wunderlich's. It is Mozart singing of an exquisite and unusual beauty.

The "Wunderlich Connection" continues with Schubert's too infrequently performed "Fierrabras" (of which a gorgeously sung, but bothersome regie production exists on DVD, Kaufmann gotten up as a young Schubert). As rare as the work tends to be, Wunderlich also is featured in a live performance. The opera has problems, but the recit and aria ''Was Quälst du mich, o Missgeschick . . . " might make a few converts to at least selections from this rather beautiful work.

An even more persuasive case for Schubert comes in one of the most exquisitely sung (and marvelously phrased) "Schon wenn es beginnt zu tagen" from Alfonso und Estrella. There is such delicate, almost gauzy shading in the middle of the aria, with Schubert's lied-like aria smelling strongly of Beethoven at times - and wondrously so. This really is a breathtaking performance in every way.

In the natural progression, Beethoven DOES arrive next in Florestan's great scene "Gott! welch Dunkel hier!" Here, Claudio Abbado's leads the Mahler Chamber Orchestra in one of the most sensitive preludes to this scene I have ever heard in a recording. Here, also, Herr Kaufmann outdoes himself from his live performance recording in giving a sense Florestan's depth of despair. - his opening "Gott!" - almost inaudible when he first enters - reveals a true groan of anguish as it swells to full tragic hopelessness - and from there builds into the ecstatic hymn of hope and love of life and Leonore at its end. Unbelievable. For a moment I searched my mind, "has there ever been a more sensitively and beautifully phrased performance of this? Vickers sprang immediately to mind, but I left him alone for a moment to answer myself with "with singing of such beauty and passion, why compare?"

The rest of the album's contents are five Wagnerian selections which bookend the disc. First up are Lohengrin's two famous arias and in them I think we're catching the beginning phases of one of the major Wagnerians of our very near future. The recital opens just about perfectly with one of the most heartfelt, richly nuanced renditions of "In fernem Land" I have heard in a long, long time. The conversational nature of the aria begins so gently, but with no loss of intensity as it builds, Kaufmann and Abbado stretching Wagner's lines with an almost gauzelike delicacy of dynamics that waver back and forth in the type of performance that has one on the edge of the seat, held rapt throughout as it explodes into the stunning climax only to again recede all of it so captured as if almost by some religious magic. And so it goes through all five Wagnerian arias.

Among all the operas I love, perhaps none is more dear to me (for many reasons) than Parsifal and in his two selections, Kaufmann captures that perfect balance of spirituality and storytelling so necessary in this role. The tenor's first cry of "Amfortas!" - the intensity and heartbreak inherent in his sound - almost as if built into it, reminded me (again) of Vickers in this moment.

To end this album with the entire final Grail Ceremony is an incredible touch (to me, at least) and while generally I would prefer this music not be taken out of context, Abbado leads his forces (including the Coro del Teatro Regio di Parma) in an effective reading that can only be commended and Kaufmann's
two shining moments as the Innocent Fool become the Grail King only whet
the appetite for what's to come. It should be something special.

Simon Keenlyside: Wigmore Hall Recital (CD)

2010-04-28T01:54:00.007-04:00

I’ve been giving another listen to Simon Keenlyside’s wonderful Wigmore Hall recital with pianist Malcolm Martineau, given on 26 October 2008 and what a joyous celebration of song this recital is.

Opening with a set of Schubert that is not without a couple of flaws here and there, Keenlyside takes risks that seem uncommon today to recitalists today, seemingly shading texts and lines with something that approaches equal part musician and singing actor. There is a touch of huskiness when he approaches head voice that I‘m sure will drive some listeners running. For some this sort of thing simply will not do, but for those who love genuine interpretive singing those blemishes seem actually to enhance the text. Schubert’s “Verklärung“ (Transfiguration), which begins with a rather grand operatic recitative before segueing into its gentle lied the baritone alternates between almost painfully beautiful tone to hushed, slightly rasped sound . . . but with the text “let me dwindle away gently,” such an effect is (to these ears) not only welcome, but raises the song to something beyond the
beautiful noise that many lieder singers - and audiences - seem satisfied
with.

The following “Die Sterne” has a lilting, almost dance-like quality . . . and so it goes, throughout with Keenlyside making the most of every line of text, wedding it beautifully with the music and unafraid to change the tone from robust to delicate. His observations to appogiatura, turns is exemplary in each song. The Schubert set ends with that old chestnut (which seems rarely heard anymore) “Ständchen” - as lovely as I’ve heard in a very long time - and seemingly the audience as well as I can rarely recall a first set of a recital ending with cheers as well as applause.

Even better is the set of six Wolf lieder, though moments of the first “Der Knabe und das Immlein” have a couple of intonation and tonal issues which, as the singer portrays the song’s several characters sound as if they threaten to lose control. Immediately on its heels however follow absolutely gorgeous readings of “Gesang Weylas” and “An die Geliebte” that are positively swoon--inducing. The best of the Wolf, however is grandly theatrical “Lied vom Winde“ which ends with Keenlyside saying his goodbye as if he’s floating away himself. It is nothing short of brilliant musicmaking and word painting, which is what this sort of thing is all about anyway, ja?

The singer really excels at programming for each set seems to move from strength to strength and the Wolf is followed by eight gems by Fauré. His French sounds (to me anyway) near perfection, and the colors in his voice match the composer’s requirements. Again, here Keenlyside show a fearlessness with an ability to float in some head voice - usually to exquisite effect. In “En sourdine” - the richness of his voice blends to stunning effect with a natural leaning into the nasality of the language that . . . well, here comes that word again . . . “exquisite.” If he does not break your heart in “Spleen” . . . see a doctor, it may not be fixable.

I tend to love the Fauré the most, but really, Simon’s best singing comes in the Ravel that closes the recital. Here, the most beautiful part of his voice - the middle - is allowed to shine more than in any other portion of the recital. As elsewhere, Keenlyside’s attention to textures and word painting is captivating and “freed” (if that’s the right word) from the rhythmic structure of more standard poetry verse, his reaching for dramatic effects is more welcome than - even using straight tone and other vocal “effects” to maximize the wedding of word to music.

Simon gets a nice little laugh announcing his encore, Poulenc’s “Hotel” - but no laughs from the beautiful rendition he closes the recital with.

Throughout the entire program, Mr. Martineau proves to be an absolutely compelling partner to the singer, the two seemingly breathing every phrase and nuance in tandem. Even more remarkably, Martineau seems to sense what appear to be "on the spot" (though this is clearly the work of a well rehearsed team) sudden changes, as when the singer suddenly produces an instant - and ravishing diminuendo - the piano subsides immediately, giving a sense of spontaneity both rare and wonderful.

For lovers of classic style vocal recitals, this is a must have and I can’t imagine ANY fan of this wonderful singer being without this release. Get it. Seriously.

Armida at the Met: On Sirius

2010-04-13T19:17:00.003-04:00

Well, while Chloe Sevigny, Maggie Gyllenhaal and other gliterry types may have been in the house, the focus at the Met last night was Rossini and opera's own glamor gal, Renee Fleming.

I don't understand those who call this opera "dull," as I've always found it to be a richly textured, highly theatrical work - perhaps a bit more Rossinian "bubble" than his other seria-type works but that (to me) is never a bad thing. Ms. Fleming did not have her best night last night, but it was hardly the disaster that some are calling it; one online poster said it was a complete disaster and that he'd never felt more embarassment for a singer than he did for Fleming last night. Must've been one of his first trips to the opera, or an even bigger "Pollyanna" than I'm supposed to be. The coloratura felt labored, a bit aspirated early on, but as she warmed up, more natural and the first act came off rather nicely by the time the curtain fell.

Act II sounded a bit more problematic from Renee and by "D'amore al dolce impero" I was fairly concerned about how she would fare about an hour from then. There were breathing and pacing problems, the coloratura did not feel at all right and more "squeezed" between the barlines than freely flowing through the measures, but she made it through. Oddly, while I often feel Fleming's emotional take on a role is a bit generic or glossed over, when she DOES inhabit a role, she does so fiercely and beautifully, (such as her Desdemona and Tatyana) and even when things were not always going perfectly last night, I nonetheless felt that SHE felt Armida very strongly. That counts for a lot to me.

The third act, however, may have been her best overall, and by the time of the final scene/rondo, Fleming had found her pacing and, letting it all out actually brought not only a passable Rossinian style, but genuine excitement and fireworks. I was holding my breath and could feel the tension and thrill in a "will she make it/won't she make it" way and she sure as hell made it! I'm betting future performances will find her even more relaxed into the role and finding her rhythm within it. I remember being a tad disappointed in the Pesaro recording (not all her fault), but having my entire world rocked when hearing the live broadcast of the OONY performance from Carnegie a bit later.

The Tenor Sextette assembled by the Met for this production did an outstanding job, particularly Messrs. Brownlee and Banks - two of my favorite Rossini tenors, today. Mr. Zapatta's voice isn't one I'm particularly attracted to, but I liked his work here. Mr. van Rensberg's vocalism has always been a bit "dry" for my taste, but again, I found him more on gracious ground here than I have previously so in Handel or Mozart. During the tenor trio in the final act I found it impossible to keep my face from hurting from too much smiling out of the sheer joy of the damned beautiful thing!

I don't get any of the complaints about Riccardo Frizza and the Met band making this "boring." I felt the score sparkled along beautifully and in a vivid, animated fashion that was paced just about perfectly. The ballet that some complained felt too long, simply breezed by over the airwaves. Bravo, Maestro! Of course I couldn't see the thing, but was surprised (why?) at the booing. I'd never tell someone not to boo if they feel so strongly about something, but these days it seems if some find something even mildly not to their liking, "booing" is the panacea. Wrong.

One thing I "felt" about the staging (and this is pure assumption, I understand) was that Ms. Zimmerman might have been playing it a bit safe. Having read descriptions, seen photographs and listened last night it all did feel a bit "pleasant" which, given the story, bothers me at least a wee bit. This is not a comedy but a wild tale of anger, lust, betrayal and loss jammed into an opera seria by a master: that wildness did not come across frequently enough for me, though it did do so beautifully (and thrillingly) in the finale).

DVD: Dialogues des Carmélites

2010-04-11T15:01:00.003-04:00

Opera National du Rhin 1999

Yesterday, and again today, I spent a nice couple of hours reacquainting myself with this performance which I had not seen perhaps since its release over a decade ago. I remember being very moved by it then, and fail to understand as to why I waited so long to experience it again.

What a stunning, theatrically compelling and insightful production Marthe Keller put upon the Strousburg stage. Many would complain about the starkness of the set which is, more frequently than not, bare. Poulenc's opera (as John Dexter's similarly spartan stage proved decades before) holds up well in such a "setting" allowing not only more detailed portrayals of its finely nuanced characters, but for the viewer/listener to focus on those portrayals. The reward is a rich one in such a case as this.

Anne Sophie Schmidt gives us a deeply touching portrayal of Blanche, her face - particularly when framed by her wimple - registering every one of the frightened by the world, heroine's emotions. Those nuances come through, too, in her handling of the music, though (as is the case with several other cast members) high notes can feel a bit screeched out (of course, Poulenc is not easy on his singers, requiring some specatcular "leaping" effects at the ends of phrases).

The always wonderful Patricia Petibon gives a performance of Constance that elevates the chirpy young nun to a place of genuine dramatic prominence. The scenes between Blanche and Constance are powerful, a real connection is made between these two young novices which makes the final moment of an already overwhelmingly emotional scene, almost unbearable in its poignancy and strength.

Hedwig Fassbender is a strong presence, and captures brilliantly the almost over zealousness with which she wants the order to pursue martyrdom - it's almost an obsession. Her street scene with the Priest when she realizes she is not to be martyred presents a powerfully conflicted and wilfull woman denied the one thing she most desired.

Even if it took a few minutes for me to warm up to the voice of Valérie Millot, she made a fine and touching Mme. Lidoine - entirely believeable in her modesty.

I have always been something of a fan of Nadine Denize and she captures, quite perfectly, the severity, hope and charm of Madame de Croissy. Her death scene is (as it built into the role itself) one of the most chilling, terrifying moments one can experience on stage. I loved the connection here between de Croissy and Blanche, the young nun cradling the dying woman - a symbol of authority and order she so much needs in her life. I dare anyone to keep a dry eye here!

As a director, Keller provides some amazing effects in her production, an almost air-raid style roar near the end, the filmed sequences in black and white which are captured beautifully on DVD (and which only during the curtain calls does one notice the movie screen at the rear, meaning the in- house audience got the same effect). Particularly, the violent ripping off of the sisters' facial veils by the Revolution Council officers, and the March to the Scaffold.

The final scene is simply staged, the nuns - all now in tattered white with self-decorated black grease chalked crosses each marked herself with as they were condemned to death, holding each other together in a huddle, hands and arms draping themselves almost as a single organism before simply lining up for the guillotine, each collapsing at her moment of death until Blanche's turn, whereupon she walks amongst the corpses of her fallen sisters, fearless and serene.

Film director, Don Kent, in (apparently) his first televised opera production does not have a single faux pas - capturing every moment for maximum impact. His ability to captures the myriad - almost never ending - dance of shadows and light, minimizing the use of the facial close-up too prevalent in opera videocasts these days, all revealing someone with a genuine gift. (Kent has since gone to be video director for some truly wonderful operatic DVD experiences: Platee, Lucia, Onegin, Traviata, Ariadne, and more).

Conductor, Jan Latham-Koenig "feels" this score to his bones and the results show in his work with the chorus and orchestra of the Opera National du Rhin forces.

Domingo Becomes The Fat Man

2010-04-01T13:41:00.005-04:00

UPSS International/Arts Desk

Domingo Becomes "The Fat Man"
UPSS International/Arts Desk

The latest new role for supertenor Placido Domingo will be playing another supertenor: Luciano Pavarotti. "I'm excited for this opportunity to portray my friend and . . . we can admit it now . . . sometimes rival, the wonderful Luciano Pavarotti," Domingo told a small clutch of television and news reporters gathered outside of the Deutsche Oper Berlin, the company which has commissioned the new opera scheduled to open its 2011-12 season.

Titled "The Fat Man," the new opera is being composed by controversial German composer, Beat Furrer, whose previous opera "Begehren" was an enormous artistic success at the 2003 Festival in Graz where its enormous staging required it to be produced in a converted factory space large enough for its installation.

"Begehren was a controversial retelling of the Orfeo and Euridice myth," explained Furrer, "very static musical language with very little stage movement and with the enormous lighted floors that rose and fell . . . . they were as important as the music. But with my new opera of the Pavarotti things will be different. I will enjoy making the Italian music sounds - or my idea of this sound and working with a man - Domingo - who knew the Pavarotti."

As for portraying his former colleague, Domingo seems to be up to the challenge and approaching it with great humor, "I am a Spaniard singing in German about the life of an Italian opera singer . . . the world of opera is crazy like that! But I'm used to singing in French about Russian Czars and in Italian about French kings and poets and in German about Spanish knights," laughed the still handsome and youthful 69 year old. "So, why not now sing in German about an Italian tenor, right?"

As for what follows "The Fat Man," Domingo laughed again, hinting his portrayal of Pavarotti may be his final operatic role, "After singing 200 different roles, The King of the High C's is a nice exit to the stage, yes?

Maybe.

The Red Shoes

2010-03-11T13:51:00.006-05:00

For several days now I have been held under the spell of "The Red Shoes" - in
the newly restored version playing film festival circuits, but still not available
on DVD in the United States (why? It's been available in England for close to
a year now).

As I've been reading nothing but raves about its new appearance and the restoration, and with not a single word about a U.S. release (again, why?) I headed over to Amazon.UK.Com and snagged a copy of this deluxe 2-disc set for the grand total of $12.01 (yes, that included international shipping from the U.K.!) This really is the crowning achievement of the Powell & Pressberger films and all I can say is: C'est magnifique . . . and give me The Red Shoes!

"Stunned" isn't nearly strong enough a word for my reaction as I had gooseflesh sustained for pretty much the film's entire 133 minutes. First off; this new print is nothing short of remarkable with a life-like vividness that (literally) must be seen to be believed. The color saturation is without a doubt the richest I've ever seen in any restored old film - the Technicolor restored as gloriously as promised (though achieved with today's digital technology making a very convincing argument for whatever process they used).

Since childhood, I have had a few problems with the end of this film - nearly two hours of sheer amazingness and character development followed by a rushed, forced and not entirely believable denoument with Vicky as "monkey in the middle" as she's torn emotionally assunder by Lermontov and Julian each making their bid on her life. Still, that's a minor quibble.

Moira Shearer probably never looked lovelier in her life than here - she is freaking delicious - an odd combination of ingenue but with a bit of Nora Desmond in her eyes. It's a wonderful effect.

"Put on the Red Shoes, Vicky!" When Anon Walbrook as Lermontov utters these words to her on the train - it sent a chill down my spine just as it did the very first time I saw it as a kid. Walbrook's Lermontov is one of the most richly detailed villains in all of film (I hate calling him a villain at all). Offering both subtlety and super-sized obviousness Walbrook has a field day creating this wonderfully complex monster.

The "Red Shoes Ballet" looks simply spectacular and one can only watch in marvel and wonderment at how its brilliant effects were achieved. Visually, it is one of the most incredible, eye arresting things I've seen created for the screen. A marvelous, surrealist nightmare/dream - portions of it reminded me (very strongly) of the expressionist silent masterpiece "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" - so much, in fact, I couldn't help but wonder if it might not have been borrowed from . . . or at least inspired by it.

With two disc sets, I'm finding that often I'm a bit let down by the "extras" (and was so here as well). Nevertheless, this is one of the better efforts for this sort of thing and definitely has some features of interest. The short (23 or 24 minute) documentary about the making of the film was more than merely fascinating - and could easily have been an hour longer and held anyone's attention.

In it I learned the film was actually HATED by the producers, at its first showing to them (they walked out in disgusted silence), and panned by the British generally as a "failure" and a mess. We learn about a theater owner in New York who asked to show the film and was given a copy - and played it to sold out houses over the next two years. (This is where Scorcese first saw the film as a child). tTwo years after it premiered, Universal thought the film should be a hit, picked up and marketed across the globe and the film entered that rarified status very few films ever achieve.

The most fascinating extra of all however, is the 17 minute film made of "The Red Shoes Ballet" - in which the score for the ballet is wed to the storyboard's color paintings by the film's production designer, Hein Heckroth (assisted by Ivor Beddoes) which was shown to the producers, etc. to get the project off the ground. It is in and of itself amazing - and even more so to consider that the actual production would look nearly identical to the paintings.

All in all, this is a truly remarkable achievement which took years to put together and was the centrepiece of the Cannes Festival last year.

Just to keep it "topical" - we should not forget the third wheel in this story is the young composer, Julian Craster (Marius Goring) Vicky's romantic interest who hopes to achieve fame with his opera "Cupid and Psyche" (sounding a bit like Barber)- which we get to hear the "world premiere from Covent Garden" over the radio. Of course the entire story has a "Vissi d'arte" "I live for art" feel about it which should still resonate strongly with those of us who believe - one way or another - that indeed we do!

This new print really must be seen and I cannot recommend it highly enough.

In Memoriam: Philip Langridge

2010-03-06T17:52:00.004-05:00

I heard this terrible news last night and my immediate reaction was one of horror and utter disbelief. I have always been a fan of this great man and artist and his amazing artistry - all the way down to his marrow. I join others in thoughts of sympathy and prayers for his beautiful wife and their family and friends at this time of great loss.

I had pretty much grown up with Vickers and Pears as "Peter Grimes" and was therefore unprepared for the almost entirely different perspectives - both musically and dramatically - that Mr. Langridge brought to the role. The characters he created onstage were always so actorly and believable in a way that is all too rare in the world ofoera. I'd always felt a sympathy for Grimes, but Langridge tore my heart out with his portrayal.

Loge, Vere, Aschenbach, Idomeneo, Laca, Tito, Paris ("King Priam) and countless other roles became vivid theatrical creatures through his work - coming through powerfully even sometimes only through recorded sound (which was how I first encountered him). Concert and oratorio work, lieder, baroque, classical, contemporary - the man did it all - and did it all brilliantly. With his passing, a major light has gone out in the world of music. He will be missed.

Thank you Mr. Langridge for bringing so much of the joy of music to the world. May your loved ones be comforted in the knowledge of how well loved you were the world over, and may you, good sir, rest in peace.

Attila & The Nose@ The Met

2010-03-06T17:17:00.005-05:00

In less than 24 hours The Met has had two of the season's most exciting broadcasts on Sirius and I, for one, am one deliriously happy man!

Last night I was glued to Shostakovich's "The Nose" - so much so I was two hours late to a party - I didn't care! I'm surprised that an eighty-plus year old work would still meet with "it's too modern" or it's "all wrong notes" type of comments - and that seemingly most or all of the few comments I've so far read have been so negative (though I shouldn't be surprised by that at all).

I found the entire affair - even just over the radio - to be absolutely mesmerizing; a a glorious romp of sound with contrasts of darkness and light that overlapped perpetually in a manner that grabbed on and never let go.

Friends who attended said it was a major event and a "must be seen" live experience. I would gladly have given up half of this years HD transmissions to have had "The Nose" and "From the House of the Dead" on the HD roster. Hopefully one of the companies sharing the production will have it telecast and become available on DVD. Even if it doesn't, I'll cherish and smile at the memories of this score so beautifully - and entertainingly played over the airwaves last night.

The follow up of the Attila of Verdi this afternoon makes it al - to me at least - all the more sensational. The already typically amazing Met band sounded - from the very opening notes of the prelude to the prologue - breathtaking - amazing. The richness of the string sound was particularly lovely.

I feared what might happen when Ms. Urmana was announced as suffering from and struggling through a cold. I was not prepared for the way she hurled her voice out in "Santo di Patria" - it wasn't necessarily "pretty" singing, but it thrilled me right to the core. Later in her Act I aria she nailed a perfectly executed trill and through in a pianissimi that Caballe would have been proud of!

Vargas sounded a bit frantic - but in a good, slightly unhinged way that is not typical of him. He seemed to be - like everyone else - caught up in the fervor and the fever of it all. Even the intermission features today seemed of a higher level, with nice interviews and blurbs from Messrs. Muti, Abdrazakov and Ramey (with some nice clips of Ramey's Met debut in Rinaldo).

I read what seems to be perpetual criticism of Mr. Gelb and The Met - but too little praise for the things that go right. Last night and today show him and
his company doing things very, very right. Two so very different, contrasting works of different eras masterfully performed. Bravi!

The sun is shining bright and the past two days my home has been filled with glorious sounds orchestral and vocal from The Met. What a wonderful world this can be when we let it!

Sir Arthur Sullivan's Glorious "The Golden Legend"

2010-02-26T13:25:00.003-05:00

I spent a wonderful morning listening to the 2001 Hyperion recording of Sir Arthur Sullivan’s magnificent cantata “The Golden Legend, with Janice Watson, Jean Rigby, Mark Wilde, Jeffrey Black with the New London Orchestra and The London Chorus led by Ronald Corp. I‘ve heard excerpts before, but this was my first hearing of the entire score in one sitting, and I did something I don’t with great frequency do: listened to it all over again.

“The Golden Legend” was so highly regarded during Sullivan’s lifetime, that it became one of the most performed choral works, surpassing most other favorites of the time, including “Elijah” with only Handel’s ubiquitous “Messiah” surpassing it. That, like so many performance worthy works, it has fallen forgotten by the wayside is, in my estimation, a tragedy. Of course many - most of whom will never hear the piece, would love nothing more than dismiss the work unheard, and nothing more than an asterisk to the dustbins of Victorian kitsch.” They’d be wrong to do so, in my opinion as the work is so imminently enjoyable, brimming - start-to-finish - with truly top drawer Sullivan; gloriously atmospheric music bearing the influences of Wagner, Mendelssohn, Berlioz and Liszt (with whom Sullivan had worked prior to his composition of the piece).

Following the premiere, Gilbert wrote his former partner to congratulate him on the success of “the biggest thing you’ve ever done.” Many performances and two years later there was a performance held at the Royal Albert Hall by command of Queen Victoria, who upon the work’s conclusion sent for Sir Arthur to offer her praise, and offer a request, to write a “grand opera,” planting the seed for the recently much discussed “Ivanhoe.”

The critical reception for “The Golden Legend,” was nothing short of sensational, with music critics outdoing each other with praise for the work both in its music and sense of drama. Like many things Victorian, more critical (and in my opinion less accurate) 20th century analyses of Sir Arthur’s cantata found it wanting, overly melodramatic, sentimental and overreaching. I’ve actually heard the piece called “quaint,“ and “naïve” which, in my opinion, is about as far away from the truth as possible. The most damning condemnations informing us that our “modern sensibilities“ (e.g., higher degree of sophistication) the lessening role of religion in modern life, etc. render the work little more than a curiosity of a bygone era. Poppycock, I say. Sir Arthur did not write, as does no composer, for audiences of the future but rather for those in his own time.

When this recording was issued critics who wrote in praise of the music essentially said the work deserved it’s neglect because of the sappiness of the story told by Longfellow’s poem from which the libretto is culled (calling certain portions glutinous in its sentiment. Again, I simply don’t understand the reasoning here as such can be said of many great operas and oratorios who sweep us away with the grandeur and power of the music which, in my opinion, far (FAR!) outweigh any negligible qualities of the text.

Clocking in at just under 100 minutes, the six scenes of Sullivan’s cantata have a beautiful (if necessarily episodic) flow and would make a wonderful afternoon at a concert hall - or cathedral.

There are moments of such thrilling musical drama, such as the conclusion of scene iv. Here, Lucifer, disguised as Angelo, a doctor/monk, leads the heroine (Elsie) away to sacrifice, Prince Henry, realizing things have gone very, very wrong, cries out “Angelo! Angelo! Murderer” the thunderous chorus responding in shouts of “Murderer! Murderer!”with chorus, soloists and orchestra in full cry. This intense surging of this scene alone, for me, makes “The Golden Legend” worthy of revival.

With its vivid storm music, the Prologue instantly recalls “Die Fliegende Höllander” and while mention seems often to be made of the opening with quiet bells summoning images of “Suor Angelica” - so can the same be said of anything with quiet bells.

The final scene leading to the redemption and marriage of Prince Henry to Elsie provides the couple with a beautiful duet, followed by a choral finale of great sweep and grandeur. If one enjoys British choral music (as you should!) I can’t think of a more fitting ending to this beautiful “Legend.”

There are many such moments throughout the piece as Sullivan provides his soloists with gloriously melodic arias and scenes, weaves aural tapestries of music that foreshadows by decades music yet to be written by Elgar, Finzi, Vaughn Williams and the other giants that followed him.

As Elsie, Janice Watson is wonderful throughout her music capturing a keen sense of the period without ever dipping into the waters of cheap sentimentality too often bridged in this sort of thing.

Jean Rigby is always a treasure to hear and no less so than as Ursula in this recording and her handling of her prayer scene in scene five grows in lyrical intensity throughout before its gentle finish.

Prince Henry is taken by Mark Wilde who offers an attractive, if not quite the heroic timbre, I’d have preferred for the role. But he sings with an earnestness and never betrays the hero’s sensibilities and partners beautifully with his Elsie.

Jeffrey Black offers a Lucifer of variable quality, sometimes sounding properly sinister, other times falling a bit flat and wooly of tone. He does seem to rise to the occasion at most of the big moments, but overall I find his performance not as satisfying as his costars.

Ronald Corp conducts the New London Orchestra and The London Chorus as if he truly believes in the piece, never rushing and properly pacing the numbers to achieve their greatest possible effect on the listener. It worked for me.

While I understand and appreciate the necessity of moving on with an eye toward the future, it’s a pity it’s too frequently done while forgetting the past. As at least one wise person has stated, “without “The Golden Legend” we would never have gotten Elgar’s “The Dream of Gerontius.” There is, for me, enough praise in that statement to make Sullivan’s neglected masterpiece worth having and hearing.

Portland Stage: The Mystery of Irma Vep

2010-02-21T23:08:00.008-05:00

This afternoon I attended the final performance of Portland Stage's production of Charles Ludlam's "The Mystery of Irma Vep." It is no stretch to say I haven't seen an audience enjoy a show this much in years. The laughs, cheers, guffaws and groans emitted from the house served as an almost constant rhythmic counterpoint to the deliriously delicious delivery of the two actors required to play all of the characters in this mystery/horror/camp comedy.

Tom Ford (no stranger to either Portland Stage or playing multiple characters simultaneously) and Steven Strafford (making hopefully his first of many appearances with the company) delivered Ludlam's potent cocktail of high and low comedy (replete with horror spoof zingers, wicked double entendres, nods to Shakespeare, Joyce, Ibsen, etc.) making everything feel as fresh and new as when it premiered some 25 years ago: a modern classic.

Ford moved breathlessly between the randy peg-legged groundskeeper Nicodemus and the new mistress of the manor, Lady Enid, energy never flagging and a surefooted (even when with only one foot) sense of comic timing that left the audience equally breathless.

Wonderfully angular in form and face, Strafford struck a brilliantly delicate balance as he waltzed between the deadpanned Jane (the housemaid in this chamber of horrors) and the manic Lord of the Manor, famed Egyptologist Edgar Hillcrest. He was, in a word, remarkable.

Quicksilver costume (and wig) changes and nonstop dialogue at times made it seem like 3 or 4 characters were onstage at once - but nay, it was just this talented pair performing theatre magic.

Director, Christopher Grabowski paced the show beautifully, with nods to pop music culture at various points (e.g., Jane's breaking into Melissa Manchester's gooey,"Don't Cry Out Loud," and Lady Enid's energetic "I Feel Pretty" from West Side Story), allowing his actors breathing room (rarely) in a show that barely stops for its intermission. Oh, yeah, the soft shoe number lip-synching Bob Hope & Bing Crosby;s "Road to Morocco" caused near hysteria throughout the house!

Greg Carville's ingenious sound design had a Bernard Herman-esque film score quality (indeed, the theme from Pyscho makes a vivid and appropriate appearance) as well as endless rumblings of the storms that seem to eungulf the haunted estate of Mandacrest.

Lighting by Christopher Studley was as quick to change as our actors, fog rising here, the brilliance of a full moon filtering through the French doors of the drawing room, and a hilarious dimming and brightening to signify Lady Enid's seeming passage into madness. The tin can footlights added an inspired touch - and well used by the cast.

Anita Stewart created the locales - the Victorian mansion with its balconies, bleeding portraits, hidden torture chambers behind sliding bookshelves, a garden leading to the mysterious Hampstead Heath, and a wildly hilarious send up of the Egyptian horizon with two foot tall pyramids and Sphinxs that moved across the stage as Lord Edgar and his guide cross the desert in search of a tomb untouched by human hands since its sealing. At one point the stage curtain lowered almost to floor level as our bumbling pair navigate on their bellies through a "dangerous" crawl space to gain entrance to a resplendent tomb chamber with elaborate sarcophagus. Beautiful!

Loyce Arthur's costumes captured everything fun about this era, particularly Lady Enid's over elaborate multi-petticoated, bustled number . . . not to mention a wig I'm sure Maria Callas wore once in Andrea Chenier!

Ludlam may have subtitled his play "A Penny Dreadful" - but I can think of no better way to chase away the mid-winter blues

Degout & Dessay: Pelleas et Melisande

2010-01-14T16:41:00.003-05:00

On Virgin Classics DVD

Melisande … Natalie Dessay
Pelleas … Stephane Degout
Golaud … Laurent Naouri
Arkel … Phillip Ens
Genevieve … Marie-Nicole Lemieux
Yniold … Beate Ritter
Doctor, Shepherd … Tim Mirfin

I have to agree with the critics who found Laurent Pelly's production for Theater an der Wien of Debussy's Pelleas et Melisande missing too many elements to be considered a great one. Still, that should not deter any fan of the opera (or the curious) from spending time with it as there remains PLENTY to rejoice about. The set is worth owning for the performers, if not the setting. Though Pelly seems to be bumbling in the dark at times, he still has found moments - and is blessed with a marvelous cast of singers/actors.

As blind old King Arkel, poor Phillip Ens seems to have been practically forgotten by Pelly for most of the opera, and spends the evening sweeping the floor with the hem of his too-long and heavy looking overcoat as he shuffles along in bad ol' generic "old man" business (think Tim Conway on the Carol Burnett Show). Vocally, the voice is often beautiful. His interaction with Melisande is touching (the line "If I were God, I would take pity on the hearts of men" delivered with genuine poignancy. Ens's Arkel dominates the final scene with great lyrical beauty of sound and seems to believe every word he was singing. So did I.

Laurent Naouri (Dessay's husband) gives a properly brooding and confused performance of Golaud that wavers between subtlety and over-the-top - which is not a bad choice for this complex, tortured character. The curtain drops too quickly after the murder of his brother, but it appears that this Golaud has a crazed smile that would have been a nice touch to see more of. His abuse and foiled attempt of raping Melisande is enough to make a viewer cringe. A good Golaud will always make me pity him for his life choices and uncontrollable temper, and Naouri does the job well.

Natalie Dessay's first essay of opera's most enigmatic heroine is a nice, solid one and the role sounds good in her voice. One of the world of operas finest actors, Dessay really gets under Melisande's skin, however, with choices I think she will reconsider if she keeps this role in her repertoire (and she definitely should!). Twice during the show she spins around like a whirling dervish, and at the second, adding a bit of goofiness to Melisande's plight as, clearly dizzy, she stumbles a bit before regaining more sure footing. Speaking of footing, as Pelleas and Melisande head toward the cave, there is a wonderful moment as he helps her down from a platform about 7 feet, by her simply stepping into his open hand as he then lowers her to the ground. It lasts but a few seconds, yet it is touches like these which add immeasurably to both the complexities and believability of the character.

Stephene Degout joins a long list of really marvelous Pelleas's, the hesitancy in his voice (and manner) of the first acts leaving plenty of room for the character's development. Vocally, he opens up thrillingly in Act IV, singing in some of Debussy's greatest music with great ardor and near vocal abandon. Physically, he and Dessay - who have most of the night restrained and hidden their passion, burst into a fiery embrace, her leaping up into his arms - the music freezing in silence along with the tableaux - just enough for the viewer to catch his breath and then MURDER! (I still can't fathom how any one calls this opera "boring.")

I'm a fan of Bertrand de Billy but I tend to like a better mixture of the Debussy's gauzy/haziness and full throttle playing then de Billy gives us here leading the Radio-Symphonieorchester Wien. It is still rock solid, but (to my ears) felt a bit heavier, more Wagnerian if you will, than I typically want to hear this score.

The production is what I'd call "very theatrical" - a turntable revolving the set nicely to change the locales of the operas many scenes, sometimes to brilliant effect (e.g ., Golaud standing on the apron of the stage as the world seems to spin around him). It isn't a particularly attractive group of sets, but it doesn't take away from the fine work of the cast. Pelly is, I believe, on to something, but his work here feels unfinished, and as though not given enough thought. I'd like to see Pelly have another go at this, with the same cast, but as is, this DVD offers much to enjoy.

Marilyn Horne Makes Magic as Mignon

2010-01-06T23:35:00.002-05:00

Mignon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Marilyn Horne
Wilhelm Meister . . . . . . .. . . . Alain Vanzo
Philine. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ruth Welting
Lothario . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Nicolai Zaccaria
Frederic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Frederica von Stade
Jarno . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Claude Meloni
Laerte . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Andre Battedou
Antonio . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Paul Hudson

Ambrosian Opera Chorus & Philharmonia Orchestra
Antonio de Almeida

Once upon a time, when I was a lad of 18, I used a gift certificate from Columbia House to purchase a 4 LP Box set of Thomas’s “Mignon.” I had never before heard the opera and was wholly unprepared for what came out of that box. Sadly, the records were given away in one of my many post-college moves and has been decades since I listened to it. Happy news when the set was finally issued on compact disc, but then pulled almost immediately causing unrealistic prices in the hundreds of dollars for a “used” copy on eBay and Amazon.

This past week I got a bargain notice from Amazon listing the recording in a reissue in a German pressing (or burning) and for the low, low price of $16.98 American, I received the welcome package within a matter of days. and spent a few joyous hours last night and this morning re-acquainting myself with the ol’ girl.

It’s never been a secret that Alain Vanzo is one of my supreme tenor gods – and though his voice is never far from me, it has been a coon’s age since I’ve heard his Wilhelm and when he began the gorgeous first aria “Oui, je veux par le monde promener” – I fell into the swoon that had been threatening since about 10 bars into the overture. Vanzo’s way with the language, the elegance of phrasing and even when he needs to “hoist” the voice a little on a highflying note mid phrase, he does so with a panache and a grace that never fail to dazzle. I adore this man.

Nicola Zaccaria has a vintage blush to the voice that is ideal as the appropriately named Lothario. He can (and does) wander in-and-out of pitch at times, but this doesn’t bother me as much as it might some others, and he sings with such expression that even the state of the voice at this point can be quite beautiful.

Ruth Welting’s trills are variable – but I mean that in the very best way. They are not (as are most singers’) of a single style but rather this singer possesses that rare ability to spin them at almost endlessly different velocities from elegant turns to sounds to make heads spin like tops. This is an especially nice gift for a singer to give his or her listener particularly when your role calls for roughly eight hundred of the darned things! Despite her perpetually youthful sound, Welting manages to make her perpetually youthful voice sound commanding enough to really give the full measure of Philine’s womanly charms and arrogance without sounding cloying.

One of the chief delights of the entire set (for me) is the performance of the young Frederica von Stade in the trouser role of Frederic, eliciting all the charms of the young worldly student and makes the absolute most of m’y voici!” with elegantly paced trills and a sense of the almost unwittingly droll lad.

Of course no matter how wonderful the rest of the cast is it isn’t worth doing if you haven’t got a Mignon and this recording has one in Marilyn Horne who breathes so much life into the role you can practically see her. Horne starts out marvelously, and even though a mere recording, puts across as good a sense of the character as one could hope for. She is (predictably) excellent in moments like “Connais-tu le pays” where she makes the most of that incredible breath control, holding notes past their “sell by” date and shaping - REALLY shaping phrases with aplomb and style. Jus as excellent – and equally predictable (as well as great fun) is the way she can turn out some of the more florid moments like the Act I duet with Lothario “Legeres hirondells” all of that fine filigree work never sounding fussy or merely ornamental. Horne gives a lesson in how to put across a character many audiences would find difficult to believe today. That is the beauty of what she – and this entire cast – does: they make you believe and love these characters.

It’s almost a crime that this score is so little heard today. It is truly ravishing with all manner of interesting special effects and (not that this is any measure of its greatness) one can almost hum or sing along with the entire thing after a single hearing – or twenty years after last hearing it. The choruses throughout are glorious in their old-fashioned beauty, and to hear Vanzo (typically thought to be small of voice) sailing over the ensembles (particularly in the final act) is enough to make one’s heart explode from the sheer beauty. The entire thing sparkles like diamonds.

While there are plenty of deeply moving numbers, the entire score is the aural equivalent of champagne. Besides nearly every single number marching along almost in “hit parade” fashion, I love the manner in which Thomas’ frequently connects his dots making it all of a piece. At several points, he makes excellent use of melodrama in its truest sense (dialogue spoken over music) that adds immeasurably in propelling the drama along so that nothing seems to be standing still. Ever. Fortunately, in this recording the cast performs these bits as though the most natural thing in the world; spoken text morphing seamlessly into recitative then into melody and sometimes back. Some will denounce this sort of device as old-fashioned (and it is, so what?), but while listening to it I felt astonishment at how not only how well it works. If for no other reason (and I think there are reasons aplenty) than for the sheer novelty and uniqueness I think it’s long past time for Mignon to make it’s long overdue entry back into the repertoire.

The sound quality on this is fresh and natural – and listening through headphones the whole thing came alive with a crispness that matches anything recorded digitally today. (Though when Ms. Welting’s Philine reaches the stratosphere there is (understandably) a bit of flutter to the sound (not from her).

Antonio de Almeida whips the Philharmonia into such a swirling froth of Frenchified delights that at several points I half expected to see Can-Can girls pop from out of my speakers. The Ambrosian Opera Chorus matches the Philharmonia in the sheer sense of beauty, fun and sheer deliciousness of the almost absurdly over-the-top ending. Both alternate endings to Acts 2 and 3 are included.

What a treat it is to return to this score after so long. For anyone needing a winter warm-up I can’t think of anything more fun (and note-for-note affordable) than a dose of this Mignon! Merci!

p.

T'was the Night Before New Year's

2010-01-01T12:44:00.003-05:00

And once again, with great apologies to Clement Clarke Moore!)

T’was the night before New Year’s and all through the Met
Garanca was smoking (I mean sans cigarette!)
The boo-birds were readying for opening night,
All dripping with malice – all spry for a fight.
While just hours before, there had been a debut
Dave Pomeroy sang Hoffmann (and pretty well, too!)
Some pronounced the voice “small” . . . others, “vin ordinaire”
Others yawned “he’s not Gedda, why the hell should I care?”

“I miss the old days” seemed the theme of the season
“We had real stars back then,” was the most proffered reason.
“We’d Tebaldi and Milanov and Schipa and Jussi
We had bassos like Pinza, so just keep your Pertusi!”
Others fought back, “they’re dead now, a new day has dawned!”
But the old guard dismissed them and collectively yawned,
“Oh yes, now there’s Handel and di capos galore”
So much quicker than Ambien, do you mind if I snore?”

So, this year we had Tosca, all stripped down and edgy,
Some praised it as “boffo” some yelled “goddamned reggie!”
They clamored for Franco, they demanded “tradition!”
They made it quite clear, “the old way’s our mission.”

Then the Janacek came and the ticket sales ceased
“Why the hell would they do such a depressing piece?
His music’s all spiky, all self-reverential
And with no tunes, why it’s all so damned inconsequential!”
“There’s no plot” - “There’s no story”- “there’s no love scenes” they cried
(And without intermission their bladders were fried!)

So they waited for Hoffmann, they waited so long,
While others complained “the acts’ orders all wrong!”
They wanted the trio, Antonia and such
They wanted it badly, they wanted it much
Then came coughs, cold and fevers as replacements came
(Though Held and Netrebko held fast to their game)
And while Bartlett’s production got mix-ed reviews
The show’s been a hit (so what else is news?)

Still they turned on the Gelb – a great list of complaints
(Turning men like Joe Volpe and Bing into saints)
“Why he’s ruining the Met and he’s killing tradition,
With his operas ‘bout Gandhi and . . . nuclear fission
We want things with nice tunes, we want sets that are pretty!
Not these dirges in darkness all dirty and gritty,
Bring back halcyon days of Nate Merrill and O’Hearn,
For this surely is what TRUE opera lovers yearn,

So, tonight we get Carmen, that hot Spanish wench,
Performed by a Latvian singing in French,
And we’ll see what distinction is brought by Brit, Eyre
(Who made Billy Crudup a hot dame with flair!)
But remember, what matters here most is the story
And of course, Bizet’s score – which is covered in glory . . .

So in honor of opera from Berg to Bellini
Let us bury all hatchets, let’s all raise a martini
(or a glass of champagne or of cider or beer)
And with opera all welcome a Happy New Year!

Happy New Year Everbody!

La Boheme: The Movie

2009-12-24T11:54:00.002-05:00

Just when you find yourself wondering “can I take another Boheme?” Puccini’s score proves itself one of the most evergreen in the operatic canon. This film was a fairly faithful representation of a “traditional” Boheme with minimal liberties taken by the director – generally to good effect.

Subtitles seemed a mite wrongheaded and sometimes downright awkward sometimes as much as half the text seemed to go untranslated then at other points so many titles were going one couldn’t both watch the action and read the titles.

This is where I ran into a few problems: Knowing Boheme by heart (I’ve been in a half dozen - in a variety of roles) since my student days – including a touring production) and with no way to turn the titles off – my eyes kept wandering to the bottom of the picture – then looking up and being jarred by middle-aged singers/actors playing at being young with varying degrees of success.

There were other issues, and one can endlessly quibble away picking the thing apart to make it “the worst movie ever” – but I found FAR more here to enjoy than to complain about, particularly the performances of Villazon and Netrebko who made a wonderfully believable pair of lovers. I very much liked Netrebko’s more mature and slightly less innocent approach to Mimi rather than trying to have a go at being 19 or 20, which would have not worked in either voice or body (loved her pulling Rodolfo into her room on their way to Momus. I found ending the act with the camera focusing solely on the candle a stroke of genius – the simplicity of it bursting with multiple symbolisms. Just beautiful.

Momus was fun, and despite the opulence, actually feeling more stripped down and lower key than most live productions (the Met has more people in Act II alone than this entire movie!) The lighting – with a delicious almost golden glow to the scene – was enchanting as was Nicole Caball’s “Thoroughly Modern Musetta.” The director did yeoman’s work here, beautifully balancing the stage picture far more than the score typically allows where the tendency is to focus almost exclusively on Musetta, forgetting there are other people singing throughout the act.

Having the camera drop in on Mimi & Rodolfo throughout the scene, we became privy to their “I only have eyes for you” exchanges otherwise impossible live, as these are typically swallowed up by the swirl of activity going on about them. This afforded that tone of sweet oblivion where, when in first flushes of love and passion, the very world disappears. It was in little touches such as these where I felt this Boheme made its strongest mark and made a strong case for its being “La Boheme: The Movie.”

I felt the film worked best in the third act where Netrebko poured on the sound and emotion, looking terrifyingly frail, giving me a little start as when we first see her from behind, she’s lurching forward almost as one already dead. She was also working the Louise Brooks melting eyes to the furthest limits. She broke my heart in the scene with Marcello, followed by my favorite moment of the entire opera; her overhearing Marcello and Rodolfo’s conversation. This is where I judge EVERY Boheme – if it can turn me into a sniveling, teary mess, well then, I’m sold. I was sold.

Villazon’s hyperactive nature seemed to infect his fellow Bohemians – particularly so in the first act where the pacing tended toward the frenetic. But he really did own this Rodolfo and I genuinely LIKED the character he made him out to be (though again, he wasn’t always helped by the poor titling). The singing from all was generally gorgeous and I liked the filmic aspects which were mostly tasteful and allowed for reaction shots.

And can I just say how wonderful it was to see opera (even filmed opera) on Public Television and what a joyous gift I found it to be for this time of year. So, kvetch away ye olde curmudgeons, if this be where thou dost find thy joy.

Racette Soaring Angelica

2009-12-21T14:31:00.003-05:00

I made it to New York for an unexpected and most needed trip (not without trial and a little tribulation due to an equally unexpected blizzard in Maine). Though mostly unexpected with mostly last minute decision tickets, I could not have planned a better time! The penultimate performance of this trip came Saturday afternoon at the final performance of glorious Jack O’Neil production of Puccini’s “Il Trittico,” starring my favorite soprano, Patricia Racette in the three female roles. I was gifted with these tickets and took a friend who otherwise would have also been able to attend. Needless to say, the afternoon was one of pure, verismo magic!

The day found Ms. Racette electrifying both in voice and manner, with no problems being heard at any point in any of the three operas. (As opposed to some comments from those who heard it on the radio, there was neither strained or pitch problems in any of the heroines). This was singing of such blazing intensity that it was, at times, almost too much to take in – so keenly invested was the artist with her art.

Being the final performance I believe Racette may have taken risks she otherwise would not have – (hardly the first singer to do this) and perhaps even pushed a couple of spots as Angelica which may not have had the same effect on the air as in the house where she inhabited the role to a level I’ve rarely encountered. The second half of the opera was so personal as to be almost unbearable to watch, as though one were voyeuristically spying on someone’s most private moments. The resultant effect finding folk sniffling, and sobbing much earlier than the usual spot in this profoundly touching opera.

The moment Angelica inquired of her son there was a combination of body language, face and voice that overwhelmed. (The woman in front of me actually lurched forward in a sort of spontaneous, convulsive sob/moan she had no control over.) This occurred even before “Senza Mama” which found Racette pouring on the emotion yet also pouring out her liquidy, wet sound with exquisite phrasing and holding all before her breathless. Though giving her all, there was no doubt this unique artist was more than up to the challenge and met it head on. The final 10 minutes of this Angelica became one of those experiences when one knows they’re witnessing something not only special but unique. By the final curtain, it was clear 4,000 others were having a similar reaction. When the curtain rose to reveal Racette’s Angelica alone on the stage, the house erupted into truly grand and prolonged ovations.

Surprisingly, after such a harrowing reading, Racette seemed utterly refreshed, composed and relaxed offering us a thoroughly delightful, Lauretta, gorgeous of sound, in a touchingly comic “O mio babbino caro” and with still enough “oomph” to easily launch up to the high D flat with the thoroughly charming Rinnucio of tenor Saimir Pirgu in the final duet of the opera.

But this Trittico was far, far more than merely a soprano’s hat trick – it was a completely wonderful afternoon of operatic theatre, strongly directed and with attention to details of relationships as vivid as any non-opera theatre I can think of and offering major performances by a number of outstanding singers, all of whom were rewarded by a large and thunderous ovations for their efforts.

Zeljko Lucic’s Michele, which felt (to me) limited in its dynamics at the prima was a richly nuanced and heartbreaking performance, the duet and scene before “Nulla silenzio” that of a man in his last herculean desperate attempt to keep his wife’s love. It’s nice to see an audience react to the tragedy of all the characters. Salvatore Licitra sounded (to me) better with a bad cold than
he has on many other occasions.

Stephanie Blythe in all three operas was a force of nature. As Frugola the relationship she had with Giorgietta was deeper and much more complex than I’ve ever seen in this opera; their farewell, a truly heartwarming exchange between close friends. Each of the three operas enjoyed many moments of this level of detail that raised the level of intensity and increased one’s
enjoyment of the drama (or comedy, as the case may be). Her Principessa offered a volcanic-like liquidity that matched the characters intensity, frustration and personal agony. The confrontation with her niece, no mere stagey struggle of wills but two opposing forces each coming away from it far worse for the wear. Her Zita nearly stole the show with that incredible voice meeting Puccini’s comic challenges squarely on (though never letting Zita think these moments were "comic.") She was hilarious!

Jennifer Check, offered a sweet take as Sister Dolcina, and came up to Blythe’s level as Nella in “Schicchi” and Patricia Risley should have her own sitcom!

Alessandro Corbelli repeated his charming, thoroughly engaging (and almost overly wise) Schicchi – causing much roaring from the audience. What a gem of a performance his was!

I’m not seeking to cause an endless argument nor am I disputing anyone else’s experiencing the broadcast as a “disaster” but as I have not yet seen a single comment from anyone actually AT the performance, felt the record here should reflect at least one attendee’s point of view.

Racette is certainly a singer to divide audiences leaving very few sitting on the fence. Some of my closest and most respected music-loving friends cannot abide her singing AT ALL – while others (like myself) fall into swoons at nearly everything she does – the intensity and radiance that comes from her work, particularly in Janacek and Puccini, the composer’s who speak to her the most. So all-in-all a glorious afternoon of ensemble singing in three masterpieces – but we all know who the stars were: Racette and Puccini!

Bondy and Puccini and Tosca: Oh My!

2009-12-17T11:46:00.001-05:00

Well, I had a BALL with this Tosca – which I found thrilling and great fun! I just don’t understand the anger directed towards it. Not at all.

Proclamations Bondy was pulling the wool over our eyes, collecting a paycheck, etc., are as outrageous as anything I’ve read here. A respected director known for working closely with his actors, forcing them to explore their characters actions is an ethic to be respected, not derided. One needn’t like the result but sneer or belittle it speaks volumes about one’s own prejudice. Bondy actually opened my eyes to things I seldom think about in Tosca.

One of the gripes since the prima has been that Tosca would not lie down and fan herself, or go home and change her outfit. Why not? “Tosca would BOLT out of Scarpia’s apartment,” we keep hearing, but would she really?

There are compelling theatrical reasons for her, chiefly that she’s rattled and reeling from having just killed the most powerful man in Rome. She heard his send off to Spoletta so aware no one’s coming back to bother him while he’s claiming his prize. So, we’ve got what? Another five hours . . . six before Mario’s “fakexecution?” The gals needs to pull it together and right now Scarpia’s pad is the absolute SAFEST place in the world for her: he’s dead and his goons won’t be back til dawn. I found this action well conceived and executed.

By the way, it’s obvious that if she’s got time to kill at home collecting jewels and whatnot, then why the hell not slip into something a little less – oh I don’t know – GLARINGLY OBVIOUS than the fire engine red number she was last seen wearing at the scene of a murder (besides it’s stained with “his” blood . . . gross).

I fell in love with Gagnidze’s voice from the prima on Sirius – and think his one of the best sung Scarpias I’ve heard in a while (and his Italian sounded the best of the three principals). Deliciously malevolent this is a pure “rotten to the core” monster take and I loved it. Aarguments Scarpia would “not behave like that” are silly, as though evil must play by some code of honor, or law set in stone. I saw or heard nothing here that went one iota against the libretto; nothing. Yeah, yeah, yeah, we all like the sophisticated, elegant monsters like Gobbi or London, but there’s something exciting and satisfying about a purely evil, creepy, sleazebag receiving his just desserts. Jjust call me old-fashioned!

I enjoyed the dynamics between this Tosca and her Mario (his repeated attempts to get her to leave – hilarious and sweet). Mattila’s maturity gave Alvarez a sort of “boy toy” status (I kept thinking Sunset Blvd. or Sweet Bird of Youth) making her jealousy and desperation for him palpable. I didn’t find Mattila overacting but rather pushing the text it to its furthest reaches and since when did THAT earn a singer scorn or a ticket to crucifixion?

I sense an unwillingness from some not in exploring new things, but rather familiar things in new ways. There’s not a single soul here who knows Tosca so well, they can’t gain from seeing it in a fresh perspective or find something new by having some its trappings stripped away. I also sense many went in to this fully expecting to hate it (a feeling reinforced by prior postings of what opera “should” be.)

This Tosca had dozens of “aha!” moments - something I’ve not done in years with Tosca. Among these: The guards dry run of the execution during the Shepherd’s song giving off a sense of how even amidst the horrors and subterfuge of Scarpia’s bloody tyranny, life still goes on (ob la di . . . ). The crushing, forward momentum of the Te Deum participants which I found absolutely thrilling – frightening actually.

Act III found Mattila in some of her best singing of the show, and the unison “trionfal” duet was thrilling – in tune (listen to when the band re-enters – no shifting of mouths, no need to raise or lower the pitch, etc.) and the touch with Tosca showing Mario how she would fall – sliding down the wall – after being shot was one of those genius touches.

Mention has been made of how “ho hum” or “boring” folk found this. Well, not me – and certainly not any of my friends who all were on our seat edges, following the drama breathlessly as though our first Tosca. Boring? Yawn inducing. Not on your life!

I loved all the details Bondy brought even to the smallest roles with everybody popping to life in vivid, dramatic relief. I loved also, Tosca (now deranged beyond the point of grief) – egging on her tormenters, shoving Spoleta and waiting until the final second to hurl herself out of the tower!

If I had any problem with the presentation it was the intermissions with Ms. Graham’s answering her guests questions, and talking over their answers and when they finally get to speak, cutting them short. I love this lady, but Interviewer was not a particularly good role for her .

So while everyone else wants to whine, I’ll again say: Thank you, PBS, Met, Messrs. Gelb and Bondy – and Maestro Puccini.

p.

Elektra at the Met: Susan Bullock's Triumphant Debut

2009-12-16T11:44:00.001-05:00

Well, I was surprised to read much negative blogging about the Metropolitan Opera Company debut of soprano Susan Bullock in her most famous role: Richard Strauss’s Elektra. Despite these negative remarks (mostly from people who heard the Sirius broadcast – and admitted to not being in attendance) the house – including me – seemed to have a wicked good time. Bullock was formidable in the role, singing it with a loveliness of timbre rarely encountered in this voicebusting warhorse. I loved her dance at the beginning and was worried she wasn't going to dance at the end, but then she stalked awkwardly up the stairs grabbed the ax and began waltzing with it until she danced herself into a frenzy. One blog referred to her dancing as ridiculous and risible? Not to me ! It was (if you’ll pardon the pun) - Elektrifying! Witness the fact that she was brava-ed to pieces when the lights came back on for one of the best bows in opera (you have to look to the Minghella Butterfly for a better solo bow!) If one wasn’t moved by this performance, she's simply not your cup o' tea, but wow.

Many commented that Ms. Bullock simply "is not an Elektra for the Met" - a statement I simply don't understand. I was in standing room under the overhang and the voice filled the house - beautifully. It's a softer-grained voice than usually heard in the role, but it carried over the orchestra EASILY and I never once strained to hear a note from her. The highest notes seem to be a bit of a trial for her - more willed than sung - but I didn't mind that for a minute because the rest was so beautifully shaped. I couldn't stop crying during the Recognition Scene, which she shaped and phrased with exquisite control.

And what about Debbie Voigt? My jaw dropped - this is easily the BEST singing I've heard from her in . . . I'd bet five or six years. Big, gleaming, the top notes don't have the spin they once did, but they were formidably sung and HUGE. She and Bullock played nicely off each other.

Felicity Palmer was wonderful throughout – her voice rich with sound and she sang (rather than shoved her way) through the role in a manner I’ve not heard really since Christa Ludwig. Even so, the pacing in the middle of her long (long) monologue needed some help which conductor Fabio Luisi didn't provide, seeming to indulge the singer rather than taking the proverbial bull by the horns and moving it forward. Here was (for me at least) the only moment where the drama seemed to sag. By the way, if that Palmer screaming at the end (which I doubt): then Wow!

Maestro Luisi shocked me with the attention to detail he brought out - and which I did not expect at all (I like him generally, but would never have imagined him for Strauss - particularly THIS Strauss!) What a pleasant surprise and I'd like to hear him after he's figured out a couple of the pacing issues.

Though I preferred the previous “director” of stage action in the Met’s last go ‘round with this beast (Polaski, Mattila, Lipovsek and Held) I also rather loved the slight changes David Kneuss brought to the blockings (many of which were identical when this production was new and with Behrens - still MY favorite Elektra ever). The best change came in the staging of the Recognition Scene – the entirety of which was profoundly moving, acted well by both brother and sister, and gorgeously sung by Ms. Bullock.

The Serving Maids were (as they tend to be at the Met) sounded good, improving as the scene went on but with some real stand out singing from Jennifer Check and Maria Zifchak.

Wolfgang Schmidt should not be singing. Not even Aegisth. Wow, was he bad. Just awful, actually.

Evgeny Nikitin was also something of a major disappointment. Decent actor, but the sound is rather unlovely. I still liked what he did physically, and the falling down as his sister calls his name - followed by her falling to the ground felt exactly right.

Everyone around me had a ball, and it was WONDERFUL hearing Voigt sound this good again. I hope it continues going this way for her and not as it's been for too long now. The older couple to my left – long time Wagnerites and Met supporters were attending their first Elektra – said the Mrs.: “I’m coming back to see this one a few more times . . . it’s so short – and so wild!”

All in all a welcome debut for Ms. Bullock and I hope to see and hear a lot more of her.

A Breathtaking Pénélope at Manhattan School of Music

2009-12-10T15:16:00.005-05:00

For lovers of rare French opera, and fans of Gabriel Fauré last night's premiere of Pénélope at the Manhattan School of Music was a nuit divine!

Martin T. Lopez's elegant unit set proved to be a remarkable use of space and created a playing area for the large cast. A central portico (the top of which was ingeniously used for the surtitles) was flanked on either side by immense vertical cubes. The cube to stage right featured a single enormous frame staggered lanterns arranged all illuminating a beautiful calligraphied section of Homer's text on what appeared to be a large distressed scroll with Pénélope's lament surrounding the frame. Two hidden doors at the top would open to reveal the suitors spying on the heroine, as she un-wove Laerte's from her loom. Stage Left's cube was divided into three vertical cubes the front panel of each featuring an immense rose in three stages (one on each cube).

The scrims would illuminate to reveal characters in various scenes e.g., Pénélope's serving woman working their spinning wheels, Ulysse's entrance (in the top cube); the sheperds' choreographed miming of the arrows Ulysse shoots from his bow, and the final bloody tableau of the suitors' corpses in piled in the heap of Ulysse's revenge. There were entrances from either side of the portico, and mounted at its center (and illuminated beautifully during just the right moments) were Ulysse's immense shield and bow. The top of the portico was a raked stage upon which almost the entirety of the second act took place, the "sky" dominated by a beautiful astrological chart.

Miranda Hoffmann's period-themed costumes captured each character to perfection. Pénélope's first, an empire-style number in sky blue that flowed down into a mix of aquamarine and green - seemed exactly right. Her second, a deep royal blue gown with jacket and regal jewelry was stunning. The serving maids all in identical gray gowns and long braids added measurably to the unison feel of their roles. The Suitors, had a marvelously individual, yet collective feel, making them stand out each from the other, and from the Ithacan culture as well, each wearing a long, vividly patterned skirt with individual shirts.

Renowned conductor Laurent Pillot led an almost breathless performance from the pit, the student orchestra belying its name with thoroughly professional playing and polish. Fauré's music - rapturous here, sudden bursts of fortissimo there, with nuance and style. The orchestral interludes, postludes created a spell that seemed to overtake everyone in the noticeably well behaved audience.

The performance of the evening - and one that will be talked about for a while to come, was that of the title role sung by soprano Lori Guilbeau. Folks, this is a voice to watch out for - huge, gleaming sound, amazing control, vocal shading of the music and pointing up the text as if to the manor born (or in this instance "the manner borne").

It wasn't only the voice but her presence dominated everything. She's by no means the petite creature that modern opera culture seems to be demanding, but rather what I like to call, "an opera-singer sized singer." She is also rather beautiful of face and a wonderful actor, already a master of grand old-fashioned operatic gestures (the good kind) and knows how to strike and keep a pose. (Her third act entrance - from one of those cubes, the picture of stillness, evoked a DaVinci painting, a study of noble tragedy. It was breathtaking.

Guilbeau's performance captured every nuance of the complicated and tortured queen, there was brittleness and open hostility in her manner with the suitors in moment's like "Tous, je vous hais!" where she reminds everyone who is queen. Then, in the blink of an eye she could take your breath away as with with utterances like the glorious "Je suis seule . . . " revealing her pain and longing for the return of her beloved. The third act, she simply hurled out earsful of sound with Ah! Malheureux! Malheureux!" riding the orchestra in a manner that made me think she will eventually find her way to Senta and Sieglinde (but not too soon, please!). It was a thoroughly polished performance that garnered the sustained roars that greeted her curtain call. I think I'm in love.

The rest of the cast sounded marvelous, well-trained with (mostly) excellent French - in fact once "home" (I'm visiting) and thinking about it, the French was better than one typically hears from most professional opera companies. Honestly.

Naturally with such an immense cast there were standout performances and chief among those was baritone Joo Won Kang as Eurymache. This is yet another young singer whose name one should watch out for. A handsome man with a major voice of great beauty, style and elegance. Fauré's Eurymache is clearly the leader of the suitors and Mr. Kang's performance ably filled that role - and he appeared to be having a ball playing this delicious bad guy.

Cooper Nolan's Ulysse captured the "ugly old man in rags" brilliantly, hunched almost to the floor as he leaned on his walking stick. (That costume was splendid, complete with hideous mask, foot and leg makeup, enormous scars and a wig that recalled Jon Vickers as both Samson and Peter Grimes!) The voice isn't particularly large, but held his own and he paced himself brilliantly, allowing the "feeble old man" disguise to "gentle the voice" revealing plenty of sound held in reserve for the big sing at the end of the show - where he and Ms. Guilbeau rang out with Fauré’s rapturous music making my eyes fill with tears.

Nolan (and the orchestra) were able to accomplish this earlier as well during one of the most beautiful moments in the entirety of Fauré's oeuvre; Ulysse's brief arioso, “Epouse cherie!" Fauré fills this brief moment with pure magic, revealing the hero's initial hesitancy but then committing fully to his plan, the composer continuing the flow with an ethereal postlude in which he weave's the central theme of the opera through the entire orchestral fabric . . . this gently ascending three note pattern that rises until your heart explodes from tenderness. (Insert heavy sigh here).

Though Euryclee hasn't a lot of music she is one of the most essential elements to the tale, and Victoria Vargas made a meal of the old nurse her rich, plummy mezzo dipping beautifully into the lower registers and her physical attack on the suitors to protect her queen as one of the evening's most touching moments. Likewise her secret chumming up with the old beggar/Ulysse to plot their revenge on the suitors added the necessary element of tension that holds the entire story together.

Lawrence Edelson left not a nook or cranny uncovered in his direction, helping make these characters come to vivid life. Visually there were so many wonderful moments in this staging it would be impossible to recall them all here, but several were just too beautiful not to mention. The serving maids entrance, with their Greek masks and beautifully uniform choreographed gestures and the human "wall" they make to prevent the suitors from attacking the palace. Pénélope's despair as she sits weaving at her loom, the metallic silver threads and its frame weaving her into a sort of visual tapestry. The entire second act with the shepherds on the hill, the despondent Pénélope thinking of hurling herself off the cliff into the sea (a moment which also had me worried for the singer's safety as she bravely stepped onto the edge of the second story high, raked platform!), and the final image of the reunited king and queen on their thrones, with an enormous shower of rose petals being tossed from the shepherds on the second level. All of this - and so much more, were just beautiful to behold.

For so rarely performed an opera, this performance set a standard. In a perfect world, this run would be extended, the performance captured for DVD release, but, helas, such is not the world in which we live. There are only two more performances and anyone able to, really should go.

Thinking 'bout Parsifal . . . again (and again)

2009-12-08T14:23:00.003-05:00

I’ve been in some interesting discussions, thoughts and reactions to Parsifal - perhaps my favorite opera of all (in actuality it’s a permanent “toss up” between this Grail story, Elektra, Wozzeck, Pelleas & Traviata . . . an odd mix, yes?) but it’s definitely my favorite work from Herr Wagner. From the moment I first heard the opening Vorspiel (I was, I believe 14) I've been under its spell (Good Friday or otherwise!) ever since.

One of the comments was that the work is too sad – unrelievedly so. I have to agree; few operas other outside of Parsifal (Don Carlos and Wozzeck come to mind) possess such an ineffable sadness and this fact seems to disturb and even alienate many. As a child surrounded by a lot of death, I long ago discovered sadness to perhaps be the most complete and honest realization of "beauty.” Sadness isn’t necessarily “hopeless” (though some would see it only this way); it doesn't scrimp or pretend the ugliness and pain away but rather shows it is inherent in all truth and beauty. In sadness one tends to recall things – to hearken back and reflect on more than mere joy – but on everything. I find this to be one of the chief strengths of Parsifal’s magic.

While the work is of course illusory, it presents no illusions, and in its artifice not a false moment shows. Wagner, gives us a handful of truly remarkable characters – almost the entire panoply of humanity. Parsifal, Kundry, Gurnemanz, and Amfortas are all immensely flawed, yet all good people trying to find their way. Even the “evil” Klingsor coveted membership to the Grail Knights, and his sin – egregious and ultimately damning as it was – was done to help him achieve this. Interestingly, Amfortas' own wound was a direct result of his own dalliance and broken vow, (and fraught with symbolism that STILL can confound one’s reason!) It’s always been fascinating to me how Amfortas remains Grail royalty, while the same “sin” keeps ol’ Klingsor out of Ye Ol’ Boys’ Club.

All of these characters seem to be wandering endlessly (in Kundry’s case, literally), almost as though spirits of one realm endlessly longing to belong to another.

As I moved through my teens and young adulthood, Parsifal was always (always!) made fun of, e.g., “I just got the best seats for Parsifal – they’re at Fiorello’s” (restaurant across the street from the Met”), etc., always dismissed as too static – “five hours of nothingness,” etc., etc. I never got that (even when I didn’t understand the opera) having always been fascinated by totality of Wagner’s achievement, his application of its music to his own borrowings of various Grail legends. Nonetheless, I accept that this is an opera more of ideas than one of action, and those who need love scenes, sword fights, crossed-identities, etc., and other (perfectly desirable) operatic trappings, simply will never cotton to it, and I’m okay with that. (I, years ago, gave up my juvenile and slightly creepy mission to make everyone adore it as I do; you’re welcome!)

Wade mentioned how there seems to be no relief or release in Parsifal but I find that Wagner DOES offer it – particularly (and repeatedly) through the outer acts.

I find this the perfect opera (for me) for so many reasons because while it is an entertainment, it also offers what I desire most: a great ol’ brain scrambling allegory mixing variations of ancient legends, elements of spirituality both primeval and modern, and music that is frequently beautiful beyond adequate verbal description.

Yes, this is an opera that demands to be paid attention to and those who find it boring are merely torturing themselves unless willing to pay that attention. Doing so, reveals Wagner at a level of text setting that, though frequently achieved in other works is rarely sustained as well as it is in Parsifal (at least in my estimation – which of course means nothing to anyone else – nor should it).

Wagner is accused of bastardizing the grail legends, and that is a little, if not entirely correct. Wagner of course changes Amfortas’ parentage (Titurel is actually his grandfather, not his daddy), and while Herr Wagner does acknowledge Parsifal’s mother to be Herzeleide, he obfuscates completely the fact she is also Amfortas’s sister – and therefore Parsifal his nephew! (I told you I was a grail nerd!)

Still, if we accuse Wagner of bastardizing the legend, so then must we also damn Wolfram von Eschenbach, Chretien de Troyes, De Boron, Malory, et al., for their doing the same with these ancient legends (and who is “right? in such matters? The first? I don’t’ think so.) In changing up the story, Wagner gave us libretto that perfectly fits the drama he bestowed us with, just as his raiding of various Norse and other myths suited his purposes for his “Ring of the Nibelung,” and just WHO is going to dare complain about THAT?

Parsifal will always hold a special place in my heart. While others of my favorite operas offer catharsis (Elektra) or tragic romance (Traviata) in no other opera does the music bring me back so completely to the innocence purity and ultimate tragedy that is childhood. In this score Wagner paints amazing life-sized murals filled with shadows and fog lifting from countryside streams, scenes in which one can all but smell spices from the far and near east; view misty shafts of light beaming throughout a hidden, secret mountain temple, ceremonial martial music that itself seems bathed in mystical, celestial light, brings hope out of sorrow and ends with the possibility of redemption for all.

Of course when can cite Klingsor as “irredeemable” – in the sense he plays the “devil’s role” in this drama. Nonetheless, one can have (as I discovered as a child) a genuine “sympathy for the devil” – even this devil. Still, Klingsor needs no redemption since Wagner sees fit to conveniently dispose of him once he’s served his purpose and moved the story forward. But what is so marvelous about Parsifal is – that outside of Klingsor – everyone is redeemed, including (as the text tells us) “The Redeemer,” - \Oh, how those words when sung in that final chorus, stir and move me.

When people speak of the power of art (in all its guises) and its ability to move us, nothing comes to my mind more instantly than Wagner’s glorious Grail legend.

Mary Curtis-Verna: Rest in Peace

2009-12-07T11:13:00.002-05:00

I’m very sorry to learn of the passing of this wonderful singer. As an opera- obsessed teenager I knew the name of Mary Curtis-Verna as a sort of “joke” – which I always heard older opera-lovers going on about. They would laughingly mention purchasing a ticket to see “Tebaldi or Nilsson or Milanov,” etc. – but instead “all we got was Mary Curtis-Verna.” I was well into young adulthood before I found out there really WAS a singer named Mary Curtis-Verna, and it was a few more years still until I happened to stumble upon a recorded performance of hers.

To say I was “shocked” is an understatement. This was a beautiful, major voice and I was then a bit horrified that such a major singer (who apparently was also one gracious lady) could have been the recipient of such bitter, malicious, queeny “jokes.” Honestly, it made my blood run cold then – and still does.

The first thing I heard with this wonderful singer was the 1958 Chenier with no less a Chenier than Richard Tucker. I know Tucker fans who crow endlessly about this recording yet barely mention the soprano, and yet while I’ve heard Tucker this good (at least) before, nothing prepared me for the full onslaught of Curtis Verna’s Maddalena. She is at least the tenor's equal here, appearing fully engaged and noble throughout, and offers one of the most emotionally
touching (yet maudlin-free) renditions of “La mama morte” – I've yet encountered. She understood how to put the aria across in masterful fashion with resorting to . . . well, what this aria can sometimes unnecessarily bring out in a soprano. Even that aria, however, didn't fully prepare me for the blazing intensity she brings (and matches Tucker in) in during the final duet.
Holy smokes, I needed a respirator after hearing this! It has become - hands down - my favorite performance of that final scene out of all the Chenier’s I know. It isn't ALL the tenor, y'know!

I recall an article describing how Curtis-Verna was a minor singer who added a fake Italian name in hopes of a major career., and another claiming she was less than a blip on the radar. It would take no one more than minute of internet research to discover this lady successfully sang many
major roles throughout Europe and Italy. She was frequently commented upon as not only an excellent singer but “a tall, good looking blonde and fine actress on the stage.” She sang with a number of established and rising stars including no less than Franco Corelli.

She was only 30 when she came to the Met and for a decade or so become the major “Go-To-Girl” routinely jumping in without rehearsal virtually at the last minute to save Tosca or Aida or Turandot or Don Giovanni whenever Tebaldi, Steber, Nilsson or Milanov and others could not go on. That she wasn’t appreciated didn’t seem to phase her (publicly at least) and she seemed to be a singer who was happy to be making great music on a great stage with great partners. That, in and of itself is, to me, a definition of class and contentment and a knowing self-worth; something to be admired rather than ridiculed or mocked.

Her roles at the Met included: Tosca, Elisabetta in Don Carlo, Aida, Mimi; Amelia in both Ballo and Boccanegra; Donna Anna, the Forza Leonora; Gutrune; Violetta; Turandot; Adriana Lecouvreur; and Alice Ford. She frequently was partnered by and/or sang with the Who’s Who of the Met’s so-called “Golden Age”: Richard Tucker, Leonard Warren, Franco Corelli, Jean
Madeira, George London, Walter Cassel, Robert Merrill, Carlo Bergonzi, Giorgio Tozzi, Birgit Nilsson, Nicolai Gedda; Licia Albanese, Cornell Macneil, Jussi Bjoerling, Roberta Peters and Irene Dalis. She was conducted by - and apparently spoken well of by; most of the major conductors appearing with the company including Fausto Cleva, Max Rudolf, Dimitri Mitropoulos and Silvio Varviso.

I know too few of her performances, but virtually everything I’ve heard from her was stellar, tasteful,, beautifully and stylishly sung. Many dismissed her as “adequate” – but whatever I’ve heard from her was always far more than what I’d consider “adequate.”

About a decade ago I posted something about Ms. Curtis Verna, and received a lovely note from a friend of hers who said my note had found its way to her (as seems to happen more and more in this computer-age) and she had been most touched by it, as well as a bit surprised that she was evidently still “discoverable.”

Thank you, Mary Curtis-Verna for all you gave to the world of music and opera – and for your generosity and beautiful spirit which will live on.

The Right to Scornful Reviews

2009-11-25T15:06:00.001-05:00

I was recently in an argument with someone about the role of critics. I mentioned that wrongful criticism has killed more than one promising career – and not always for the reasons one might think. My challenger countered by saying:

“Any creator of art who can't stand heat, should stay out of the kitchen. The truth is a critic has every right to create a scornful review and it needs no justification.”

Really? That’s “The Truth?” Well, needless to say, this hit a nerve with me. A really big, raw nerve. Honestly? I’ve grown far beyond merely being weary (and wary) of such “one size fits all/can’t stand the heat” rationalizations.

Throughout my life I’ve seen absolutely amazing paintings, murals, sculpture and jewelry created by artists who gave up because of cheap shots taken by a critic reducing their work, their worth and stature before potential audiences and consumers could have an opportunity to size them up for themselves. Likewise, some of the finest musicians I’ve ever heard – in an enormous range of styles - have disappeared before being able to make their mark on the world. Arguments are made that these artists are “too sensitive” or need to toughen up. Perhaps sometimes, but that is too simple a way out – a copout if you will. It also happens to sometimes be a mere matter of economics. More often than one might imagine it is an artist’s money issues not an inability to “stand the heat” which forces the gifted away from their true calling. I know.

I continued my argument stating that there should be some sort of competency test for a journalist who – no matter how terrible a writer – nonetheless wields a power he or she may not fully realize (and those who do, can be prickly insufferable bastards). My aggressor countered that such an expectation should be ignored – the periodicals job is to simply “sell” itself and most people don’t believe what a critic writes anyway.

Hmmmm . . . perhaps, but then why do we have them? Why, then, would anyone read something they know going in, will be false or incorrectly/inaccurately reported? Besides, we all can cite examples of a show that did poorly because no one attended why? Oh yes, the critic’s review declared it “an atrocity”

Merely because we, on a daily basis, read critics who are insipid, guilty of dumbing down, egregiously inaccurate, egotistical (or any other host of what should at minimum be deemed as detriments to journalistic integrity) is less than an insufficient reason of a periodical or newspaper keeping such a writer on its staff. I find the complacency of these organizations sickening and the inaccurate manner in which the arts are often covered (not to mention the “news” itself) absolutely rattles my cage.

I realize that I could be in the minority here (could be?) but millions of people read and rely on these writers to help shape their opinions on everything from what to wear, eat, hear, look at, and in some instances, live. The power exerted over both artist and public positively chills me.

Several years ago I watched the animated Disney film, “Ratatouille,” (I've since purchased it on DVD). This little movie went beyond my wildest expectations in very many regards. The film’s villain, an arrogant, boastful critic appropriately named “Monsieur Ego,” has an epiphany that brings about the tale’s dénouement. He begins his speech:

“In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little, yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face, is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism
designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talents, new creations. The new needs friends.”

I had tears in my eyes – my heart swelling up to bursting point as I listened to this monologue. While M. Ego was specifically referring to food, the points he made go straight to the heart of any criticism.

“One person's ‘inflammatory writing’ is another's ‘truth’”.

One of my dearest friends happens also to be one of my favorite critics. I once commented on a less than glowing review of a performance I had found amazing. I realized that he was attending at least one performance – sometimes more each day all of which needed to be processed and reviewed. Somewhere in there he had to cram in some fast food and sleep. He didn’t complain but it was clear he was exhausted and quite possibly – despite his love of this music and the performers of it – the very last place in the world he wanted to be that night was “there.”

I realized the difficulty of what sounds like a “dream job” to many of us and, with some bit of embarrassment he admitted "You know, I think we lose perspective having to go things all the time - and sometimes we don’t have enough time to think about separating the junk from the genius."

Now what was that about truth?

Met Trittico: Racette's Wrenching Angelica

2009-11-21T12:55:00.005-05:00

Few singers seem to divide audiences today the way Racette does. I've been with her from the start - it is, quite simply one of the most beautiful voices I've ever heard. In opera today few sopranos "sit" in my ear so completely in whatever role she takes as does Racette.

I have always found Racette a "throwback" to so many of the singers of the 40's 50's and 60's - Albanese, de los Angeles, Kirsten - with a shimmer and a radiance to the voice and unafraid to put all those extramusical sounds (grunts, gasps, sobs) that were pretty much robbed from most singers post 1970-'s, which are damned by many today as too "over-the-top." My God, people, "over-the-top" is what opera is all about in the first place? Heart-on-sleeve emotions being let loose in volcanic explosions that while unseemly (or downright dangerous) in real life - in opera allow us all to feel. Racette does that for me.

I remember reading nothing but rave-after-rave after each of Racette's Trittico performances in San Francisco just a month ago and waiting in restless anticipation for last night's prima. I was not disappointed. There were some bumps in the orchestra, tempi and synchronization gaps, but minor blips that will all iron out as they tend to do in repeat performances. Unfortunately, my Sirius connection fizzled completely about 10 minutes into Schicchi.

In listening, what was amazing to me in both roles I heard was the streak of independence I'd never really heard in all three roles before - not like this. Giorgietta - even the tougher ones - tend to have a slight "wimpish" factor, but there was muscle in Racette's delivery - not just vocally, but in the character. She didn't sound as beaten down as Giorgietta usually seems but rather a still vibrant young woman on the verge of a new life - with husband OR lover. Lucic - a favorite of mine as well - felt a mite one-dimensional as Luigi early on and the tessitura felt a little uncomfortable until midway - by his "Ritorna" scene though the emotion was pouring out of him and he (as Michele always can) broke my heart. By "Nulla Silenzio" everything he had was boiling and from that point on I was teetering on the edge of my seat.

Giorgietta's re-entrance for the final scene is one of the biggest teases in all of opera: we all have seen what's happened, we know what's next and that little "foreplay" is nearly unbearable. I think this is one of Puccini's most brilliant theatrical moments and it is UNBEARABLE to wait for that chilling denoument!

Antonenko thrilled me in Rusalka last season - and in the Gala. And again last night. What an exciting "masculine" tenor sound his is. It's almost ferocious and again, while singing his passionate arias and duets with Racette I had that "feel of yesteryear" sound that was pure old-fashioned grand opera and I loved it!

Blythe made not just a meal, but an entire banquet out of her brief scenes as Frugola. The sound is truly a force of nature and she is such a great vocal actress that even just across the airwaves I sensed that grand bag lady's joie de vivre. Brava!

Where Racette shone the most - as one would expect - was her intense, beautiful Angelica. Her opening arioso was so delicately sung, the phrasings absolutely exquisite. Additionally, her diction is superb, every perfectly rolled "r" the tying together of vowels - ever word clear and painted like a picture. This is the kind of singing that makes my heart explode. Something else happened in this Angelica that I rarely sense even in some of the greatest interpreters of the role - and it came in Angelica's interactions with her other sisters in those middle sections of the drama that can sometimes feel like filler in a lax performance. Here, they burst with rustic life that felt natural a part of every day and Puccini's genius shined through yet again.

Even over the airwaves Blythe's entrance as La Principessa had a sort of Grand Inquisitor feel to it that was chilling. The voice was like molten lava and I truly got the relationship between aunt and niece and it was a bit terrifying. Her aria truly sounded like she was having a vision - and again Puccini pours on effect-after-effect that the air almost seems to change before your eyes. Amazing.

The independence I mentioned in Giorgietta was even more present here - creating a backstory for Angelica that made me go "Aha!" To Auntie, Angelica was ALWAYS a coltish, independent gal and when Angelica confronts her several times, it is with real backbone. Here especially, Racette reminded me of Sills' performance in the role as she stood up to her Aunt and it made for some gripping - and chilling - theatre.

This Senza Mama was one of the most remarkable I can recall hearing. Breathtaking, heartbreaking, each phrase nuanced beautifully and simmering with passion. Every single line was infused with intensity and this address to her child was simply shattering.

"ed aleggiare intorno a me,… ti sento…
sei qui… mi baci… m'accarezzi.

The simple repeated "sei qui . . . sei qui" gave me the shivers - the same as could be heard in her voice - then the excited little kisses melt into a deep caress

"Quando in cielo con te potrò salire?" the voice grew deep again - with an old-school glottal attack in "salire."

At "Dillo alla mamma, creatura bella" - I don't know what the singer was doing, but I "saw" Angelica whispering in her baby's ear in an almost metaphysical experience that quite took my breath away. How she held on for nearly ten seconds to the final A -even letting the breath and sound fizzle to a gasp took my breath away. Lest anyone think that that "A" was the limit, the following sequence - one of the most beautiful in the opera - led through a long held, perfectly placed high C that was literally pinned onto the final "Lodiam."

Still, little prepared me for the explosion of the "mad scene" with Racette shaping this music as I've really heard very few do before in the past 30 years. She was hanging onto high notes, sobbing between them in a manner that was nearly unbearable in its poignancy and I felt like a voyeur or an intruder witnessing the most private moment of this tragic girl's life. The manner in which Racette stretched forever holding out the High C of that final desperate "Salvami" as they angels offered their salvation was overwhelming in every sense; I was choked up - almost immobile with grief at this girl's death yet simultaneously bursting with joy at the mother and child reunion. Who but Puccini could do this to me? Mio Dio.

The roar that went up as the curtain rose on Racette alone on the stage was volcanic and long. It was also, in my opinion, very well earned. It was an exquisite, enormous performance and now, a day later, I'm can still think of almost nothing but. Brava, Patricia!

Bernstein's Exquisite Peter Pan

2009-11-12T12:49:00.005-05:00

“Peter Pan” was a score I was once in love with, heard live in concert performance, but which I (as well as many others) have put in the back of the memory banks.

While I no longer have the original cast LP, the discussion had me pull out a wonderful five year old recording on Koch Classics I’d also not paid much attention to, but which I’ve played a number of times the past few days and have fallen in love with this score – to the point of being enthralled enough that I’d wish someone would mount a major revival of this Peter Pan. The score is an absolute gem.

The first song is Wendy’s lullaby “Who Am I?” – a lovely, lyrical piece but showing Bernstein’s penchant for difficulty of extremes of range requiring a singer who can sustain some hushed, piano high notes. Similarly, Wendy has more high note challenges – keeping them within the scope of the hushed music in the exquisitely tender “Build My House.” Bernstein’s mastery of this kind of music produces a sort of swoon in the orchestration that spills over into the listener of this most beautiful song. The lyrics themselves raise this far, far beyond a mere children’s story –

Make the ceiling strong
Strong against the storm
Shelter when the days grow shorter
But build my house of love,
And paint my house with trusting.
And warm it with the warmth of your heart.
Make the floor of faith.
Make the walls of truth
Put a roof of peace above.
Only build my house of love.

They fit right in with the universal, almost archetypical themes Bernstein yearningly makes in nearly all of his stage works from West Side Story to A Quiet Place. A bit more wistful is Wendy’s closing song “Dream With Me” though still hardly your typical Broadway ballad. (And it’s a wonderful final number).

As stated this was a “play with music” – NOT a “musical” in the sense we think of today. Historically, this sort of “score” harkens back to the great theatre music composed by Beethoven, Grieg, Debussy, Mendelssohn – a sort of lost practice that (with few exceptions) is just not much enjoyed anymore. A pity.

Though the songs come few and far between (and no spoken dialogue is offered in the recordings) there appear to be three principal singing roles: Wendy, Captain Hook and the chorus. As with Wendy and Hook, Bernstein has given challenging, difficult and exquisitely atmospheric music for the choristers. (Some will note how the women’s chorus “Neverland” has a hypnotic, almost Philip Glass-like minimalism – even in the manner Bernstein chooses to end the song. (Can’t tell me Glass was not familiar with this score!)

Similarly the chorus for The Pirate Song – provides wonderful, rhythmically comical work for the men with a sort of built-in theatrical bravura aria for Captain Hook.

Hook gets it even better in “Captain Hook’s Soliloquy” – called a “song” – it is in every other way but title an “aria” (and has been picked up by operatic baritones, and recorded as such by no less than Thomas Hampson). Again, though set for a “children’s story.” – the dark inward look and psychological insights Hook sings of would confuse almost any child. But for grown ups it is glorious stuff.

Hook and his henchmen get another doozey of a tune in the hilarious “Plank Round” (a wonderful bit where every line rhymes with “plank” – and the accompaniment is a brilliantly minor-key rendition of the opening of Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 3. Genius – and guaranteed to put a smile on yer mug!

With such wonderful songs as these, the bulk of Bernstein’s “Pan” score falls to the incidental music and overall, it is a rich score full of surprises, and covering a wide range of emotions. Melodically, rhythmically and theatrically we hear a lot of Bernstein’s ideas we’d hear earlier and later from “On the Town,” “West Side Story,” as well as from his symphonic works.

In the new(ish) recording, the original orchestrations by Trude Rittman and Hershy Kay are expanded upon by a team led by Alexander Frey, who also restored and edited the score. Broadway/Pop soprano Linda Eder, baritone Daniel Narducci and an uncredited (but wonderful) chorus join the Amber Chamber Orchestra under Frey’s leadership in a reading that is atmospheric, respectful of the original, and (sigh) just a real treat to spend some time with.

A “bonus” comes in the form of “Spring Will Come Again” a lovely, but forgotten song Bernstein composed for – but dropped from Wilder’s “The Skin of Our Teeth.”

This recording was clearly a labor of love and the efforts are well worth it. For anyone looking for some off-the-beaten-path, wonderful, music, some delightful and touching unfamiliar songs I can’t recommend this recording highly enough.

Bartoli Sacrificium: She Does it Again!

2009-10-29T12:31:00.002-04:00

How does one even begin to review such an album as this? With the recording industry in basically a shambles, little attention paid to serious classical vocalists, this has been, so far, a year of remarkable releases for which this one goes to the top of a very distinguished pile.

Bartoli has crossed a line most unique here in sharing her magnificent obsession with the castrati of the Italian baroque. The very title of the album itself is awe inspiring and thought provoking. While the very notion of castration is abhorrent and screams against nature without it some of the most amazing, most beautiful music ever composed would have most likely never been composed. Sacrificium is about an apt a name for this project as there could possibly be.

Through 15 selections, Bartoli – brilliantly partnered by Il Giardino Armonico and Giovanni Antonini – takes us on a voyage – a journey of remarkable musicmaking that is exhilarating as it is exhausting, as joyous as it is tragic and as intellectually stimulating as it is emotional. We begin the journey an aria by the nearly forgotten Porpora, Come nave in mezzo all’onde, a virtuostic exercise that shows almost every baroque trick compacted into a whirlwind lasting just 4 minutes. Bartoli sails through with an energy that is matched by the spirited ensemble and what a thrill it is to hear brass instruments play with this kind of fierce “to the devil” kind of tone and energy. Thrilling seems too gentle a word for this kind of performance.

Immediately things settle back down to earth only to rise upwards again in an entirely different direction as Bartoli and the musicians offer an inspired reading of the prayer Profezie, di me diceste from Caldara’s “Sedecia.” The final line “Let the moment that ends my days bring everlasting peace,” captured with a sound that is both captivating and heartfelt. Bartoli shows us (again) that she can hold us, can dazzle us and move us with music of such quiet gentility every bit as she can with the coloratura showpieces. Her range in this music is never less than astonishing and while her top remains bright and tightly coiled, her singing from the lower voice has never been more attractive as can be heard in these slower arias.

Throughout this set Bartoli captures our imagination and spirit and instantly transports us back centuries going to one of the most exciting – and dangerous – eras in music history. Her trills, roulades, pinpoint accuracy, sense of line, attention to details both musical and textual reveal a commitment that is never less than total and what a supreme joy it is to spend time with this set. The album is fiercely and attractively packaged, its two CDs wedged on either side of 150+ pages of essays, notes, photographs both disturbing and stunning, including the 100 page “Castrato Compendium” – an alphabetically listed mini-encyclopedia of all things castrati.

Typically I would be hard pressed to pick a favorite moment from so extraordinary a set, but having now listened to it several times – at least for the time being – will nominate Porpora’s aria “”Parto, ti lascio o cara” from his 1732 opera “Germanico in Germania.” One of the slower paced arias (with a fierce, short-burst of a “B” section), it is as beautiful and perfectly sung a piece of music as I can ever recall hearing.

Lovers of baroque opera, of the beauty of the human voice as well as those fascinated by undiscovered musical treasures should all have good reason to rejoice. The sacrifice has been made, and we’re all the richer for it.

Portland Symphony: It is Enough

2009-10-29T11:31:00.003-04:00

I’m still in “awe” both in mode and mood from Tuesday night’s concert by the Portland Symphony. It was, for me, one of the most exciting programs this ensemble has put together. Brahms’ Academic Festival Overture opened the performance and while there was a slight glitch in timing (two halves of the orchestra seemed momentarily out of sync) and an occasional muffling (soundwise, NOT notewise) of the strings, from early on in the piece there was a sense of occasion and purpose to the playing that expanded brilliantly as the piece grew.

Music Director, Robert Moody brought out all of the disparate qualities Brahms instilled in this miniature masterpiece, offering the full range from raucous energy and humor (one can almost taste the beer in the steins) to the sense of stately elegance and pride with which the work closes. So stirring was the performance that nary a minute between the final chord and a chorus of bravos and general cheering ensued. It was on.

Next up, everybody’s favorite old chestnut, Berg’s Violin Concerto. Okay, maybe not. First, I must say this: Berg is among my favorite composers and 13 years ago when I moved to Maine I already knew my Berg quota would be met only through trips away and recordings. When I saw the first announcement for this season I wrote (or called) friends near and wide . . . repeatedly, that “Berg was coming to Portland.” And not just in something like the more easily accessible post-Mahlerian “Three Orchestral Pieces” but full on with the Violin Concerto. I’ll admit a touch of dismay when before the piece ensued Moody picked up a microphone, though a photocopy of the Bach chorale “Es ist genug” inserted into the program forewarned a lecture on atonality and serialism might ensue, and so it was. I’m always of the opinion the music should speak for itself. Dismay, however, turned to joy, Moody’s enthusiasm (as well as a touch of nervousness) for the piece came through as he explained the structure, and had the orchestra play several of the themes, and involved the audience in a mass choral reading of Bach’s chorale.

What followed was nothing less than remarkable. PSO Concertmaster Charles Dimmick began with a reading that combined three things necessary to pull off this work: a technique that was spot on with amazing intonation and undaunted by the work’s technical challenges; an ability to move within the duplicity of both the confines and excesses of serialism; and finally, an obvious passion for the work itself. That passion was matched and fueled, measure-for-measure by Moody and the orchestra in a performance that oftentimes approached the incandescent. The second movement began (as it should) with a roar and Dimmick’s technical prowess here was allowed to shine with as virtuostic display which was every bit the equal as those from the great Romantic violin concerti. At the work’s conclusion Dimmick’s violin climbed higher – as if to heaven, holding that impossibly high harmonic in the air for an eternity, as the final chords played out. By now my eyes filled with tears and afterwards realized this was a moment I will remember and cherish for the rest of my life.

Intermission found some patrons confused by what they’d just heard and some negative comments about the piece, but I didn’t mind, finding almost all of them comical (particularly the gentleman who claimed to love 12 tone music, but finds this piece to be an example of “another case of the Emperor has no clothes.”

I’ve always wanted to hear Sibelius in Maine. Ol’ Jean was my favorite symphonist when I was growing up, and the Second Symphony was what nabbed me in the first place. As much as I love the work (and as frequently as I’ve heard it performed) only a few performances or recordings have ever felt completely “right” to me. Two would be Sir John Barbirolli and the Halle Orchestra and the decades later recording with Neeme Jarvi and the Gothenberg Orchestra (part of BIS’s complete Sibelius project that remains one of most rewarding projects in modern recording history). Too many conductors bring too much flash and fire to this symphony seemingly forgetful of where Sibelius was from and that fire is not the only thing that burns. Moody and the band got it just right creating an aura that appropriately swept through crisp north woods and might oceanic waves. The first movement danced its way through in typical Sibelius fashion, fragments of stunning melodies and motifs that sometimes are developed and sometimes simply slip away like the end of an icicle hanging from a tree.

As with the opening, the inner movements found Moody alternately playful and intense, allowing the orchestra to move through wildly changing rhythmic patterns and ever shifting sound choirs with a judicious (and remarkable) use of lüftpausen not only allowing the band to “breathe” but also serving to point up the sheer number of extraordinary tunes Sibelius nearly overwhelms us with. The final movement built up a head of steam that swept over us all like a tidal wave of sound, that central theme soaring in that Nordic/Ruski fashion (which some critics dismiss as “too obvious”) but which musicians and audiences cannot seem to get enough of. The final page brought a roar of sound from the orchestra followed by a roar of applause and an ovation from the audience.

It was as perfect a night of musicmaking as I’ve ever heard in this hall – magnificent in every regard. Bravo a tutti to Maestro Moody and the PSO!

Sotto Voce: Why the Whispering?

2009-10-17T15:44:00.003-04:00

I have to ask: When did whispering become synonymous with "intense acting?" Sure, Clint did it as Dirty Harry, Linda Evans' Krystal Carrington could barely get that growly baritone above a mezzo piano in Dynasty, but today nearly EVERY drama I see has actors whispering when it simply doesn't make sense. Two FBI agents out in the desert - no one around, and their conversation is at such a diminutive acoustic I must crank up the volume just in order to help me read their lips. Of course, at that same level, ten seconds later the sound of a T Mobil commercial blasts the glass out every window for a mile around and car alarms begin going off in the neighborhood.

Close to 30 years ago I remember Bette Davis on Letterman complaining about the same thing. Between puffs of her cigarette (in a holder!) she asked something like, "When did everyone stop acting and start whispering?"

This whispering has become out of control, almost epidemically infecting every television drama and far too many motion pictures. We've got to stop it. Won't you help stomp out sotto voce? Maybe, just maybe together we can make a difference and for once and for all, put an end to wondering what the hell people are saying on our television screens.

p.

Colbran the Muse: DiDonato the Goddess

2009-10-09T22:00:00.003-04:00

Fierce is just about the only word I can come up with so bowled over have I been by listening to this new disc from Madama DiDonato (on Virgin Classics).

It opens like gangbusters with the spectacular rondo "D'amore al dolce impero" from Armida - a very impressive way to open this recital, every minute of which is thrillingly AND gorgeously sung. DiDonato hurls her voice through coloratura that will practically make your head spin - showing off a more dazzling range than one usually encounters in a mezzo. Then again, she seems to be almost channeling Colbran.

The selections from "La Donna del lago" remind me of another mezzo I loved in this music; the young von Stade, with DiDonato possibly earning the laurel wreath here. Of course 35 years ago when Flicka was singing this music Rossini scholarship and performance standards were not quite what they are now, and she was singing it live (in Dallas) with an opera house orchestra in that old barn and recorded by pirates. In 2009 Ms. DiDonato has it considerably better - but none of that would matter if she couldn't sing this stuff and sing it she does - most impressively - and with high notes, grupetti, wild and fierce (there's that word again) variations that pose not a single problem. Her upward scale work in the finale is just nuts!

Putting away the fireworks for a minute, DiDonato summons up ravishing tone and pours her heart into Maometto II's "Giusto ciel in tal periglio" - I've heard many versions of this aria, and DiDonato virtually matches the tragic pathos that Sills brought to this in her La Scala debut, and with a similar quality that's both sunny and sad. The entrance of the chorus - then her decorated line is gorgeous (and I didn't even miss the impossible high note (D#?) Sills tacks in that makes me swoon). I DO miss that Maometto doesn't include the gorgeous cabaletta that follows (which Sills is ridiculously great in).

It's fun to hear the "e cento trappole prima di cedere" music from "Una voca poca fa" pop up in the middle of Elisabetta regina d'Inghilterra's "Quanto è grato all'alma mia" (or was it vice versa?) and Joyce and Co. make it soar.

It's also great to hear a nice chunk of Otello (aided beautifully by Lawrence Brownlee) making me wish this opera were more popular than it ever got to become (thanks a lot, Verdi!). I'm thinking SOMEONE needs to mount a production of this for these two. Talk about a hit!

Eduardo Muller leads the Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia forces in glorious, full blooded readings the orchestra playing as if to the manner born and the choristers, clearly inspired sing with the same infectious love for Rossini as their golden tressed collaborator.

I won't go into detail of every number here (you're welcome!) but the entire disc is so well conceived, so lovingly put together, the singer's phrasing, breath control and sense of drama is all so damned exciting it moves right to the top of this year's "favorites" pile!

Puccini's Edgar: Complete At Last!

2009-10-08T14:49:00.003-04:00

This one starts off rough, but allow me to offer three words of advice: Stick with it.

This performance begins fairly lackluster, with singing that is, quite frankly (and brutally) terrible, particularly from the two prima donnas, Amarilli Nizza and Julia Gertseva. The men (Jose Cura as Edgar, Marco Vratogna as Frank and Carlo Cigni as Gualtiero) fair considerably better.

For whatever reasons (and keeping with the current "update" trend) Lorenzo Mariani moves the action up - SIX HUNDRED YEARS - so instead of a medieval tale of lust, blood and redemption, the whole thing looks very "Sunday in the Park With George" - in fact, the unit set is a lush, long grassed expanse like a meadow or unkempt park, steeply raked to appear hilly and fitted with enormous columns giving the feeling of a field near a courtyard. It's lovely to look at and . . . eventually, makes a terrific setting.

If you think you know Edgar well, (as I did), you're wrong. This is the original four act version that received only three performances - at La Scala in April 1889, was declared a failure, and put away never to be heard again, except in a variety of truncated three act versions. The Fourth act is a revelation and consists primarily of a nearly half an hour of music for Edgar and Fidelia - an almost Wagnerian length duet, broken up with asides, choruses - pumping out an array of explosive emotions ranging from the tenderness and elation of love, to the crowds howling at the villainess as she's dragged off to the executioner's sword. It is thrilling.

The second act is slightly laughable - where I've always imagined a filthy 14th century orgy worthy of Hieronymus Bosch what we see is the same grassy park of act one but now with those circular Victorian-era sofas each wrapped around the columns of the first act. The woman are ghastly gotten up in bloomers and elaborate bustiers, their hair piled high a la "Gibson Girl" - and a sextette of them are donned up in Eartha Kit Catwoman masks and long red opera gloves. The whole thing feels like The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas decided to mount The Merry Widow. Julia Gertseva, gorgeous to look at vocally not at all impressive in Act I, here reveals a sizeable high mezzo, with amazingly free top notes, the voice sailing through Puccini's "big girl" music with no fears. In black and red, with a kind of silly tiara, she creates a fascinating, deceptively shallow creature that is one part Lady Macbeth, two parts Thais. (When Edgar abruptly stops making love to her when he hears the military trumpets, you can throw in one part of Carmen, too!). The scenario is a tough one to fall for, but by this point you just have to go with it.

The glory of Edgar is its third act, Puccini's stunningly beautiful Requiem, and everything goes right here (even if it looks like a scene from Jane Eyre or Bleak House). The chorus is terrific, the children's chorus touching and effective and most of all, Amarilli Nizza makes you forget her awkward first act by giving a performance that is soul searing. Her "Addio, mio dolce amor" lets out all the stops, and the glory of her voice - a free and remarkably thrilling top - gives gooseflesh. She dominates the ensemble that follows and her second aria over the shouts of Edgar and the villagers, as she defends the memory of the man all believe dead, before she and the others leave for home, is infinitely moving.

Tigrana's reappearance - to pay her respects, grieve and make her first attempt at prayer - is fouled by being set up and horribly taunted by Edgar and Frank, before she gives in to their offer to betray Edgar's memory. Edgar's revelation provokes another response entirely from the reassembled crowd and the act ends in a moment that is as theatrically compelling and musically thrilling as anything else Puccini was to give us over the ensuing decades. It is a phenomenal moment and a great curtain bringer downer.

The final act opens with Fidelia in her wedding veil, kneeling under and embracing the flowering almond tree she fell in love with Edgar. She has been keeping vigil and the aria about her dream of marrying Edgar in heaven - which on paper sounds almost comically naive - is simply beautiful as handled b Ms. Nizza. Carlo Cigni's Gualtiero's rich, beautiful bass baritone soars beautifully over the chorus in his prayer. Marco Vratogna doesn't get a lot to do as Frank, but his actorly presence is strongly felt throughout each act and when he sings, it's with an impressive voice.

Jose Cura has a major success as Edgar, this performance finding him mostly in glorious voice - the top notes exciting and every once in a while a gleaming hint of squillo creeps in that made me go "oh yeah!." He croons a bit in some of the softer music, sounding like he's coming in for a rough spot at the end of one of his duets with Fidelia. (To her credit Nizza, who sounded as though prepared to hold onto that note duet for eternity, cuts it off short like a true stage partner).

Yoram David leads an a sometimes clunky, but mostly spirited and beautiful performance from the Teatro Regio Torino forces. There are moments that feel under-rehearsed or not thought too much about, for instance he doesn't really milk some of the Requiem music which cries at times for a more expansive reading while here it can be just a bit foursquare. But, mostly he gets it right and the biggest moments ring out with a feverish passion that a work like this needs.

The accompanying pamphlet gives a nice article about the work. Of immense interest is how Linda Fairtile had been trying to re-orchestrate the fourth act, believed to either have been destroyed or forever lost, from Ricordi's piano-only version, when she was approached by Puccini's granddaughter, who brought with her the entire full score which hadn't been seen in 121 years!

I've been a bit surprised a discovery of this magnitude wasn't more publicized, but this is a unique - and downright weird - opera, but don't let that put you off. And don't give up after Act 1 - it's so very, very worth sticking with it!

p.