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!

Beczala and Katz: Carnegie Hall Land of Smiles

I made the decision to forgo Semiramide at the Met for a recital I hadn't planned on attending. A decision that turned out to be unknowingly wise, for a truly thrilling, moving and lovely evening of singing and piano playing occurred last night in Carnegie Hall. The recital had been announced, long ago, as "Sold Out," and indeed, the sidewalk was bustling with people holding up signs asking "Need 1 Ticket!" Oddly, when the recital began, there were almost entire rows of empty seats. My row had only 3 people, me on one end and two at
the opposite.

Beczala selected fascinating and unusual recital for a star, no long evening of cycles, and few "standard recital pieces." The recital consisted of an all Italian first half, and and all Polish second. He began with four songs by Stefano Donaudy that showed him to be in stunning voice. I didn't recognize all of the songs by title, but when he sang them, I had several "aha!" moments. He ended the set with one I knew from an Arlene Auger album, O del mio amato ben, and it was positively exquisite.

Next up; a quartet of songs by Wolf-Ferrari that were sung just as beautifully, even if in his voice they didn't sound particularly Italianate. The songs were wonderfully varied, with one, E tanto c'e' pericol ch'io ti lasci, whose beginning and repeated theme sound nearly identical to the beginning of America the Beautiful. It was here we first got to hear Beczala pump out volume that was nearly deafening. One doesn't typically think of this "sized" voice as "loud, but loud it was!

Six songs of Respighi followed and were dispatched with an almost aching beauty.  They're not wholly unknown, but they need to be much, much better known than they are, Becazala making a strong a case for them in that regard. 

The first half finished with a trio of songs by Tosti that could not have been more fitting, and allowed the tenor to show off again, that marvelous technique, thrilling top, and his delicious manner of playing to the audience. Delightful.

Following intermission came the more serious matter of the songs of his native land. In reading the texts I could barely suppress a gale of laughter.  While the Italian half had been comprised of almost all "beautiful days of love . . . perfumed meadows forever in flower . . .kisses, and breezes," the Polish half began with "wilderness, naked and yellowed, drags its groaning wings over they grey moss . . . your lips are cold . . . what sorrow, unfathomable, unbounded!"

Never mind the mood swing, the first set was Six Songs, Op. 2 of Karol Szymanowski, and Beczala sang them, as he did everything, nearly perfectly, with an added, palpable sense of pride.

Seven songs of Mieczyslaw Karlowicz followed this, and while less serious in most ways than the previous set, they were more in a traditional lieder format even though Karlowicz was only five years older than Szymanowski. Beczala once again lavished great artistry and poured out both volume and passion throughout. The last of these could have been a deleted aria for Lensky out of Tchaikovsky's Onegin - I can't imagine this not showing up on more tenor recitals, Polish natives or not. Stunning music.

Four songs of Stanislaw Moniuszko wrapped up the recital. All more lighthearted with the second posessing an energetic almost "drinking song" quality, so much so I had to fight the urge to clap in rhythm and shout "Hey!" at points where the song almost seemed to call out for them. Beczala spit out the words with clarity, energy and a crispness that pointed up the song's fun nature. Yes, fun is the correct word here.

Martin Katz remains the consummate accompanist, and, in particular, the Polish composers provided him with a thorough workout.  Most of the songs had long preludes and/or postludes that called for virtuosity and technique which Mr. Katz had in spades.  Mr. Katz never faltered (has he ever?) and was engaged as thoroughly as his singer. This was not merely singer and accompanist, but in every sense true chamber music making. Throughout the recital the rapport between these two masterful musicians who've worked together a number of times was made evident at the end of each set; Beczala would clasp Katz's hand, then, hand-in-hand, the pair walked offstage together, like a beloved uncle and nephew. It was touching to behold.

Following the predictable roaring ovation, came four encores - each following another exit and ovation. The first two by Karlowicz, then Dvorak's Když mne stará matka (“Songs my mother taught me”), each introduced with a quick word, e.g., "A favorite of mine, I hope you like." Like we did. After a rather long ovation Beczala returned, almost shrugging, smiled and launched into what may be the most familiar encore of all time: Strauss' Zueignung.

I told my friend, "The Met is nuts if they don't get on board quickly and mount a production of Szymanowski's Krol Roger for Mariusz Kwiecien and Piotr as soon as humanly possible. It would be another much needed hit!

As we all finally took our leave, one could easily have called Carnegie Hall The Land of
Smiles, as that's all anyone could see.

Elektra Triumphant: Goerke and BSO Light up Boston

(Photo borrowed from Boston Symphony Orchestra)


There was no set, neither were there costumes nor director, but make no mistake about it, the hottest night of opera on planet Earth last night took place in Boston, Massachusetts. I’d bet the farm on it.

The Boston Symphony presented a concert performance of Richard Strauss and Hugo von Hofmannsthal groundbreaking 1909 opera, “Elektra,” and, over a century after its premiere, shows it still can make an effect on an audience that is rare in any opera house. That this performance took place not in an opera house, but rather in Symphony Hall seemed almost to heighten that effect. While there was no platform for the singers to "act on" (and blessedly singing from memory) they "gave the play" on the limited space before Maestro Nelson's podium and his players, most with the skill of finely honed actors.


Strauss gave no mercy to his title character who is onstage for the entire evening, even during “breaks” from singing and in what may be considered by general operatic standards a rather short opera (under a pair of hours) he has gifted his heroine one of the most challenging, exhausting ... and ultimately rewarding roles in the dramatic soprano repertoire.

Last night Christine Goerke faced those challenges, met those challenges and blew the roof off not only the hall, but of every audience member’s head. It was THAT kind of night. From her entrance from the audience, until her collapse of death, it was impossible to keep one’s eyes off the girl in the crimson gown. Goerke’s naturally electrifying radiance that, when matched with a voice of such power and command of her language created an Elektra that was never just pitiable or terrifying (though she certainly brought those elements to the forefront) but formidable, yet feminine.

This unique take was established instantly during Elektra’s opening monologue, surely one of the greatest “entrance arias” in all of opera. During its roughly 10 minute length, the soprano never appeared to give less than everything she had, yet those accustomed to her performances feared not about what was left in the reserve tank for the rest of the evening. Indeed, at every climatic high note moment Goerke seemed to go for broke in a manner few Elektras are afforded or capable of.

As sister Chrysothemis, Gun-Brit Barkmin could hardly have been more effective and played in contrast to Goerke’s Elektra. The voice, deceptively slender, is nonetheless capable of making mighty sounds and was, even decible-wise, easily up to the challenges of holding her own against her formidable sister. The two ladies played beautifully off each other and, coming together after learning the (false) news of their brother’s death, were jointly heartbreaking. Similarly their joy at the murder of mother and stepdad was explosive, effusive as the Tanglewood Chorus, joined in Strauss’ merry mayhem, whilst pouring out and singing from the doors of the hall’s second balcony. Amazing.

Jane Henschel brought vocal glamor and rock solid musicianship as Klytemnestra. The long mother/daughter scene was, as it should be, the linchpin to the evening’s drama and while Henschel’s presence was more “stand here and sing” than the other characters, the scene was enormously effective, ending with her cackling laugh to destroy her daughter’s sense of having won the battle.

As Orest, James Rutherford exhibited some of his mother’s stoic quality, which made his sister’s final recognition of him infinitely touching. It’s not a slap in the face, but in the longest male role of the opera, Orest is almost a prop (I know some baritones who will hate me for that) for Elektra to sound off of. Indeed, Strauss, here, gives his heroine the most beautiful music she will have all evening (one can hear strongly the Vier letze lieder which would come 40 years later). Though “unstaged” Ms. Goerke again proved to be in complete sympathy with her character and after a passionate embrace, moves away, staring at the hand that touched her brother, the image of him almost fading away as if a dream, while he was still there. It added something immeasurable and in a way, the gesture became part of the music.

Gerhard Siegel’s Aegisthe had as much fun belittling those around him as Strauss allows, before being murdered and providing his stepdaughter with the greatest line of the night: “Agamemnon hört dich!” (“Agamemnon hears you!”)

In supporting roles, Elizabeth Byrne, Nadine Secunde, Meredith Hansen, Nadezhda Serdyuk, Claudia Huckle, Mary Philips, Sandra Lopez, Rebecca Nash, Mark Showalter, and Kevin Langon all contributed enormously to the success of the performance.

Andris Nelsons appeared, all night, to be dancing on the rarest of clouds. To be able to present this orchestra in this score and allowing Herr Strauss to “do his thing.” There were moments, rare as they were, where I wondered if he’d forgotten there was singers onstage having to compete with the sheer decibel strength the band was capable of putting out. He seemed to luxuriate in the knowledge that, at least with this present cast, he had to hold nothing back, and acted accordingly. The end result was the immediate explosion of sound from an audience who’d been held enraptured the past couple of hours. While standing ovations have become a norm for many performances these days, not many of them involve the entire audience and fewer still begin when the house collectively leaps to its feet while the final chord (and what a chord Strauss gives us) is still hanging in the air. The shouting and cheers went on for a good long while, few even daring to leave the hall.

There was nowhere better to be than Boston last night. Anyone who can possibly make the next performances (Boston on Saturday, Carnegie Hall-NYC next Wednesday) would be foolish not to go. Seriously.

p.

Joyce DiDonato at Carnegie Hall

Thanks to this marvelous, sometimes frustrating technology, I was able to watch it live in real time on Medici TV, so while not quite the same as actually being there, it's the next best thing . . . and a very good thing, too.

Applying the theme "A Journey Through Venice," to the program, allowed the mezzo and her marvelous pianist David Zobel to examine a wide spectrum of music devoted to one of earth's most celebrated cities. Through the music of Vivaldi, Rossini, Hahn, Faure and
Michael Head, DiDonato revealed why she's one of today's most versatile and unique singers, approaching everything with a freshness and sense of wonderment that is infectious to the listener, drawing one in as though being gently pulled by a friend from a large party into a side room for one-on-one.

So fluidly did DiDonato move through the two gorgeous, elegant arias from Vivaldi's "Ercole su'l Termodonte," "Onde chiare che sussurrate" and "Amato ben," which opened the recital, revealing a precision and elegance smoothly seguing from the virtuosity of the first into the delicate intimacy of the second, and applying a hushed intensity to this music that was breathtaking.

Hot on the heels (after a bit of banter from the singer) came Fauré's delightful set Cinq mélodies 'de Venise, the first of which feels more like Poulenc or Debussy than one usually gets from this frequently introspective composer. With her quick vibrato and slight reedy quality, DiDonato sounds almost as though born to sing French music and hearing this entire set made me curious to hear what she might do with his Pénélope. Whether or not that happens, more Fauré, please, Joyce, it suits you like an elegant glove.

The first half of the recital closed, and the second half began with Rossini, a composer one frequently identifies with this singer, his outsized La regata veneziana contrasting nicely with Desdemona's Assisa al piè d’un salice ... Deh, calma. Again a single composer providing two sides of the same coin and an opportunity for this singer to color, bend and stretch - to play with the music - in a manner many singers seem incapable of, or uncomfortable in doing.

A bit more banter ensued as DiDonato described Michael Head's Three Songs of Venice, written for Dame Janet Baker, and still sounding mighty good from another singer in the here and now.



The crown (for me) of the recital was "Venezia" the "Venice" set of Reynaldo Hahn, long one of my favorite songwriters. They were, of course, glorious sounding, with DiDonato interrupting herself to describe how, if time allowed she'd enjoy being able to change into a costume for "Che peca!": "I would go into a white sleeveless t shirt that's about 20 years old . . . a couple stains and holes, because I would be that man who sits on his porch . . . over the canal, and I envision this song with the man whose had a lot of pasta in his life and he likes a bad cigar, and he's had it . . . and this is what he would sing about." DiDonato struck a swagger-ish pose and presented a sort of artificial huskiness and sprechstimme (built into the song) that was hilarious, and felt natural and it was clear who was having the most fun of the night.

After a warm ovation, and before presenting her two encores, Rossini's "Canzonetta spagnuola" DeCurtis great hit "Non ti scordar di me," both marvelously sung, DiDonato spoke from the heart:

"I know I'm a bit of a Pollyanna about this, but when you look at the world today and it can get a little discouraging at times . . .right? This is our teacher, right here . . . because here we are of different gender, different religion, different politics, different everything . . . and yet in this moment there is harmony and there is peace. This is our teacher, and our goal is to take this that we create here and go out. So that's why . . . and I hope I'm not lecturing you all, I just want to share with you how amazing it is that we get to do this."

Amen, sister.