A Spectacular Die Tote Stadt From Frozen Boston

Erich Korngold's Die Tote Stadt is one of the best known underperformed operas in the repertoire. More popular in Europe than the U.S. Die Tote Stadt made a rare appearance last night at Symphony Hall in a blazing debut at by the Boston Symphony Orchestra and Boston Lyric  Opera, and the packed house the braved  the single digits temperatures were rewarded with the type of unique warmth only great art can provide.

I had been looking forward to the pairing of Christine Goerke and Brandon Jovanovich in this opera, so naturally disappointed when the tenor had to bow out shortly before due to illness. I'd heard, and very much liked British tenor, David Butt Philip  a number of recorded performances, but hearing him live for the first time was one of those unexpected pleasures you dream about. From his entrance through the moving finale, Mr. Philip's voice shone with a heldentenor ringing brilliance, but also possessed a delicious warmth that had me - literally - on the edge of my seat. Rare is the last minute replacement who can create so vivid and haunting a character as Paul, but we heard and saw just that last night . 

His work clearly was inspired by his "other half" in this tale, soprano, Christine Goerke whose performance was simply (or not so simply) magnificent. Marietta is a complex character offering vocal and dramatic challenges, but Goerke's performance while gloriously natural and spontaneous, also revealed - and revelled in - the preternatural world of Paul's deceased wife, Marie.  Goerke's Marietta also brought out the darker moments chillingly, responding brilliantly to both the real and dream worlds inhabited by Paul. 

Korngold gives Paul and Marietta a diverse range of scenarios from flirtatious and playful (though playful is not an adjective that remotely describes Paul) to ecstasies both passionate and dangerous. Ms. Goerke and Mr. Butt Phillips electrified the audience throughout.

Karen Cargill was luxury casting as Briggita, proving the adage, "there are no small parts."  She was joined by the elegant Frank of Elliot Magore, whose beautiful voice was, unfortunately at times drowned by the enthusiasm of Maestro Nelsons and the band. The excellent company comprising Marietta's theatrical troupe featured vivid, energetic performances from Amber Monroe, Elisa Sunshine, Neal Ferreira, and Joshua Sanders that brought the troupe to life.  

Korngold's score is a miracle of sound and effects making huge demands on a huge orchestra. The complexities of sound which shift between scenes of realism bending to trancelike delirium are ever breathtaking offering both sheer excitement and breathtaking pathos. It's nearly impossible to consider Die Tote Stadt premiered (simultaneously, in two cities) when the composer was but 23 years old. He'd begun working on it at age 19, but had to stop after, you know, being drafted to fight in WWI. 

Andris Nelsons chose Korngold's opera as one of the works to celebrate his tenth anniversary with the company, and we can only say thank you, Maestro!  It was absolutely clear how much Nelsons adores this work as he lavished every moment of it with passion that could sometimes overwhelm the singers. Indeed, there were several moments my ear strained to make sure I was hearing them.  How fortunate we were to be blessed with a cast where, aside from those few times, were able to ride on that enormous cloud of sound. Adding to the gorgeous aural tapestry were the beautiful contributions of the joined choruses from Tanglewood Festival and Boston Lyric Opera Choruses, and the always delightful boys from St. Paul's School Choir.    

At its heart, Die Tote Stadt is ultimately a tale of loss and acceptance, and while its score is a circus of sound, running the gamut from the carnival-like to hauntingly melancholic, the libretto (written by Korngold and his father, collectively under the pseudonym "Paul Schott")  provides the composer a text that allows its characters - and us - to explore how death, loss, grief and acceptance affects each of our lives. That's a lot to ask from an opera, but the young Korngold delivered. Big time. 

At its conclusion there were few dry eyes around me, as the spell remained unbroken of what we'd all just witnessed, blessed with what felt like an eternity of silence before an ovation of madness ensued. Yeah , it was one of THOSE nights. 

Adès' Journey from Hades to Paradise

 

It is no overstatement to say the Boston Symphony's performance tonight, led by Thomas Adès and consisting of Stravinsky's Perséphone, with music from his epic Dante Project - The Dante Suite, Paradiso, and Awakening, was among the most important and moving concerts I have experienced in a lifetime of concertgoing.  I realize how that must sound, but there it is. Performed together, we are given two of the great ballets of the last century, each proving just how strongly their scores can exist, independently, and away from the ballet stage.  Without choreography or sets, without costumes, lighting, or, indeed, dancers, these prove to be concert works of bold artistic vision, powerful and profoundly moving on their own musical merits.

Through a proliferation of commissions and representing a diversification of forms both wide - and wild - Adès has established himself as one of the most important composers of our time. His works have played and are playing among the major opera houses, including Covent Garden, La Scala, The Met, Vienna and more, as well as virtually every major concert venue across the globe. As its first Artistic Partner, the Boston Symphony has, these past seven years, been the fortunate recipient of his gifts as he has given premieres of major works, conducted the various ensembles of and within the BSO, performed recital and chamber work, made recordings for Deutsche Grammophon, and served as Director of Tanglewood's Contemporary Music Festival.  

Adès' love of Stravinsky is well known, and his selection of the too-rarely performed  Perséphone was a wise and telling choice. Arriving over two decades after Le Sacre du printemps, Perséphone is Stravinsky's second ballet focusing on Spring, though the differences between the two are immense if not glaring. While the earlier ballet has become more popular, in many ways the latter exposes a far more experienced and nuanced composer and the massive score reflects that employing, a huge orchestra, two choruses, tenor soloist and narrator. Within that score one hears "most" of Stravinsky's styles, here is the jaunty dancing rhythms of Dumbarton Oaks, here the sheer power of the choruses and tenor soloist from Oedipus Rex there, the delicacy of The Rake's Progress, and so on.

In Adès's hands all of this - as well as his love for this composer's music cme through brilliantly.  The nuances and textual transitions were seamless . . . . sudden . . . effective.  Eumopolus, the Priest, begins the first Tableaux with an invocation setting the tone for the story to follow and tenor Edgaras Montvidas was ideal and engaging in the role, his clear, bright tenor precise and lyrical in much of the role, but expanding in power in those moments demanded by the score. As the Narrator, soprano Danielle De Niese was a vision, stunning in her flowery, billowy dress that "felt" like Spring in this cold, gray New England weather. Unamplified, it took a minute for ears to adjust to the soft grained, girlish timbre her voice, but then her delicate intensity of the spoken was touching, effective, her face, arms and hands reflective of the moving story she presented us. 

The Tanglewood Festival Chorus, and the Boys of Saint Paul's Choir School, did yeoman's work, and, again, led through their paces by Mr. Adès, and the soloists every moment pulled together forming a seamless and entirely satisfying whole.  The first half of this epic night was a major success, the appreciative (if smallish) audience calling back the principals, and cheering the splendid work of the chorus.

The second half, featuring Adès conducting music from his Dante Project could not have been more highly anticipated. On the heels of nothing but raves for performances both onstage (The Royal Ballet Covent Garden), and in concert (the Los Angeles Philharmonic under Gustavo Dudemel) the composer looked positively on-top-of-the-world as he took to the podium.  As with Perséphone, Adès is a fun conductor to watch, while not wild he is, nonetheless, a conductor of big gestures, and it was an enormous pleasure to watch the interactions between him and the musicians, most of whom looked as excited as he did.  Even the crimson lining peaking through the vents as he moved felt special.  The eight movements of the Inferno Suite revealed a composer adept at virtually every style of so-called "modern" music - a bit of Hollywood here, some nods to Wagnery-Mussorgsky magic there, delicate, almost seemingly invisible music yielding suddenly to a bombast of brass and pounding drums . . .  it's an exhilarating, glorious and yes, fun, cachaphony of sound. Nowhere is that sense of fun more evident than in Section XII The Thieves - devoured by snakes.  Here Adès just cuts loose in what I can only describe as a fistfight between Shostakovich and Rossini.  Fast and furious, the conductor even at one point jumping into the air, it obviously did not matter that there was still one movement to go, for at the conclusion of this penultimate one, the hall burst into roars with cheering, and frenetic applause - many even jumping to their feet before XIII Satan - in the lake of ice was allowed to conclude the suite.  Honestly, I cannot recall a similar reaction in the middle of ANY work, ever. I almost sensed the composer "daring" us to stay quiet.    

Following a brief pause for the ladies of the chorus to assemble, we continued with Paradiso, and here was the magic of programming made manifest.  Dante's presence - his influence on this "project" is fulfilled in Adès' amazing use of an immense palette of colors from the orchestra. An almost endless development of a simple theme that rises slowly, hypnotically, at times almost imperceptibly, builds, feeling as though it might never end  (nor did I want it to).  As it rises, weaving through a tapestry of riches, it evokes our notions of heaven . . . of the cosmos. And then . . . oh, and then . . . we are greeted by the entrance of the worldless female voices - the heavens opening, and the full beauty of this moment feels as splendid as the sun. My eyes misted with tears, mouths fell open (yes, they did!) and it was, indeed, as magical as any music I have experienced in any concert hall.  So powerful was this effect . . . so beautiful, that for a brief moment nobody did - or could do - anything. As the music faded, it gave way to an explosion of bravos, cheers, whistles (the good kind) and a pounding ocean of applause. There was, a palpable sense we had witnessed something rare.  We had.  

Wozzeck: Berg Triumphant in Boston

 

Saturday, three Mainers made the trek to Boston in unanticipated ice, snow and wind for the Boston Symphony Orchestra's concert performance of Alban Berg's WOZZECK.  Despite the treachery of the roads, and taking about twice as long as usual to get there, it was worth every minute, every slip and slide to be part of this magnificent evening.

Andris Nelsons began the performance with a little bit of concern as one saw audience members looking at each other with puzzled faces, as the conductor simply had the orchestra overpowering Wozzeck and the Captain.  As Wozzeck, Bo Skovhus fared a bit better than poor Toby Spence who could barely be heard in the scene. At one point Spence's jaw was moving, his lips forming words, but one had to take it on faith he was singing.  Collectively, the audience seemed to will Nelsons to reign it in a bit, and somehow (though doubtful it was owing in any part to our "will") he did just that.  Balance was achieved for most of the rest of the night and everyone now being heard, things settled in brilliantly.  

Mr. Spence always seems a bit young for the roles he's been taking these days, Eschenbach, Vere, et al., but the beauty and shape of his voice, combined with terrific dramatic sense makes him a singing actor of the first order, and his Captain Saturday was both comical and troubling in all the right ways.

Mr. Skovhus has been thrilling audiences with his take on Berg's antihero for a quarter century now and the role rarely sounds as good as when Bo takes it on.  Indeed, the first reviews from his earliest performances in Hamburg had that "not since Fischer-Dieskau" moniker attached.  It held then, it holds now.  The tragic Everyman is a tightly wound ball of nerves, pathos, and despite his directness in almost all things, always misunderstood, increasing his desperate frustration.  Skovhus presents all of this in his hushed singing, spoken anxiety, cries and ragings against the world.  Wozzeck is pathetic in many ways, but Skovhus, without eschewing that quality, adds a nobility that makes it impossible to not root for him.  Each of his interactions - Captain, Doctor, Andres, and most importantly, Marie, reveals the myriad facets of this complex  tortured soul most (all?)  of us cn identify with.  Add to this Skovhus facial expressions and body language and the role is complete as it can be in every regard, fulfilling his description as a man "running through life like an open razor."  Indeed.

In her role debut with this run, Christine Goerke reveals a Marie equally as tragic, noble and heartbreakingly beautiful as her man.  And as complicated as well.  Like Wozzeck, Marie's character comes through with each of her own interactions - her child, Margaret, the Drum Major, and, of course, Wozzeck. Goerke was in magnificent voice all night; tender here with her son, bawdy girl talk with Margaret, touching and frightened by Wozzeck, all of the nuances of the role pouring out with plush, feminine sound.  Berg provides Marie with one moment that can stop the show; when the Drum Major goes beyond a mere seduction, Marie cries out "Do not touch me!" - and here, Goerke unleashed a tsunami of sound - "Rühr mich nicht an!"  - an explosion hanging in the otherwise silenced hall like a Walkyrian war cry.  It. Was. Thrilling.

Franz Hawalta's Doctor was appropriately slick and egotistical.  Renée Tatum made the most one can out of Margaret, with voice one hopes to hear in much roles.  Christopher Ventris still showed plenty of voice and stage presence as the Drum Major, while Mauro Peter ’provided a different, more delicate tenor as Wotan's comrade, Andres.  Zachary Altman and David Kravitz were terrific as the Apprentices, with Altman displaying a voice that immediately made me sit up and take notice of.  The :"Bar Singers" were as good as I've ever heard - better than most, in Berg's beautifully husehd pseudo-Palestrina.

With the least amount to sing, the children of the final scene, along with Marie's Child, made the ending as chillingly tragic as one could hope for - if "hope for" is even the right phrase to use here.

Nelson's reading of the score was crystal clear at every moment, amplifying Berg's nightmarish soundscape throughout, and all of its beauty with virtuoso displays from his players.  Of course it happens easily, expectedly in the big bits, but here, too, we were treated to memorable magic in those quiet sections.  A perfect example is the introduction of the celeste at the end of Marie's lullaby where the notes sparkle ;like stars in the darkness.  

Then there are the two biggest orchestral moments.  First, that twice repeated chord following Marie's murder, its crescendo swelling anjd puncutated by timpani like the definition of violence broken by the out-of-tune piano like a welcome to hell.  Then, the intermezzo before the final scene. Nelsons milked them for all they were worth and the effect was chilling.

As the final notes repeated, dissolving into nothingness, the audience held quiet, complete silence, not a rustle of programs, a cough . . . nothing, for perhaps 20 seconds - which felt like eternity, before the house erupted into a roar of cheers and bravi.  

If I were near New York, I'd be at the Carnegie Hall performance tomorrow night (March 15). Go! 

Wozzeck: Berg Triumphant in Boston

Saturday, three Mainers made the trek to Boston in unanticipated ice, snow and wind for the Boston Symphony Orchestra's concert performance of Alban Berg's WOZZECK.  Despite the treachery of the roads, and taking about twice as long as usual to get there, it was worth every minute, every slip and slide to be part of this magnificent evening.

Andris Nelsons began the performance with a little bit of concern as one saw audience members looking at each other with puzzled faces, as the conductor simply had the orchestra overpowering Wozzeck and the Captain.  As Wozzeck, Bo Skovhus fared a bit better than poor Toby Spence who could barely be heard in the scene. At one point Spence's jaw was moving, his lips forming words, but one had to take it on faith he was singing.  Collectively, the audience seemed to will Nelsons to reign it in a bit, and somehow (though doubtful it was owing in any part to our "will") he did just that.  Balance was achieved for most of the rest of the night and everyone now being heard, things settled in brilliantly.  

Mr. Spence always seems a bit young for the roles he's been taking these days, Eschenbach, Vere, et al., but the beauty and shape of his voice, combined with terrific dramatic sense makes him a singing actor of the first order, and his Captain Saturday was both comical and troubling in all the right ways.

Mr. Skovhus has been thrilling audiences with his take on Berg's antihero for a quarter century now and the role rarely sounds as good as when Bo takes it on.  Indeed, the first reviews from his earliest performances in Hamburg had that "not since Fischer-Dieskau" moniker attached.  It held then, it holds now.  The tragic Everyman is a tightly wound ball of nerves, pathos, and despite his directness in almost all things, always misunderstood, increasing his desperate frustration.  Skovhus presents all of this in his hushed singing, spoken anxiety, cries and ragings against the world.  Wozzeck is pathetic in many ways, but Skovhus, without eschewing that quality, adds a nobility that makes it impossible to not root for him.  Each of his interactions - Captain, Doctor, Andres, and most importantly, Marie, reveals the myriad facets of this complex  tortured soul most (all?)  of us cn identify with.  Add to this Skovhus facial expressions and body language and the role is complete as it can be in every regard, fulfilling his description as a man "running through life like an open razor."  Indeed.

In her role debut with this run, Christine Goerke reveals a Marie equally as tragic, noble and heartbreakingly beautiful as her man.  And as complicated as well.  Like Wozzeck, Marie's character comes through with each of her own interactions - her child, Margaret, the Drum Major, and, of course, Wozzeck. Goerke was in magnificent voice all night; tender here with her son, bawdy girl talk with Margaret, touching and frightened by Wozzeck, all of the nuances of the role pouring out with plush, feminine sound.  Berg provides Marie with one moment that can stop the show; when the Drum Major goes beyond a mere seduction, Marie cries out "Do not touch me!" - and here, Goerke unleashed a tsunami of sound - "Rühr mich nicht an!"  - an explosion hanging in the otherwise silenced hall like a Walkyrian war cry.  It. Was. Thrilling.

Franz Hawalta's Doctor was appropriately slick and egotistical.  Renée Tatum made the most one can out of Margaret, with voice one hopes to hear in much roles.  Christopher Ventris still showed plenty of voice and stage presence as the Drum Major, while Mauro Peter ’provided a different, more delicate tenor as Wotan's comrade, Andres.  Zachary Altman and David Kravitz were terrific as the Apprentices, with Altman displaying a voice that immediately made me sit up and take notice of.  The :"Bar Singers" were as good as I've ever heard - better than most, in Berg's beautifully husehd pseudo-Palestrina.

With the least amount to sing, the children of the final scene, along with Marie's Child, made the ending as chillingly tragic as one could hope for - if "hope for" is even the right phrase to use here.

Nelson's reading of the score was crystal clear at every moment, amplifying Berg's nightmarish soundscape throughout, and all of its beauty with virtuoso displays from his players.  Of course it happens easily, expectedly in the big bits, but here, too, we were treated to memorable magic in those quiet sections.  A perfect example is the introduction of the celeste at the end of Marie's lullaby where the notes sparkle ;like stars in the darkness.  

Then there are the two biggest orchestral moments.  First, that twice repeated chord following Marie's murder, its crescendo swelling anjd puncutated by timpani like the definition of violence broken by the out-of-tune piano like a welcome to hell.  Then, the intermezzo before the final scene. Nelsons milked them for all they were worth and the effect was chilling.

As the final notes repeated, dissolving into nothingness, the audience held quiet, complete silence, not a rustle of programs, a cough . . . nothing, for perhaps 20 seconds - which felt like eternity, before the house erupted into a roar of cheers and bravi.  

If I were near New York, I'd be at the Carnegie Hall performance tomorrow night (March 15). Go!