A Remarkable Giulio Cesare from Il Pomo d'Oro!

Yesterday, the series Elbphilharmonie LIVE livestreamed a spectacular concert performance of Handel's most popular opera - and my favorite, opera, Giulio Cesare in Egitto.

Francesco Cort  led his brilliant Baroque ensemble, Il Pomo d’Oro  in a reading that brought out every element of the complete score in a performance of almost four seamless hours that passed like a dream.  They have been touring Europe with the same cast headed by the much anticipated first performances of Jakub Józef Orliński in the title role.

Last night there was one major change:: Cleopatra, and I must admit disappointment Sabine Deviehle, whose Cleopatra I've heard and raved several years ago, would not be singing this performance.  In her stead, the always excellent French soprano Sandrine Piau would assume the role of the Egyptian Queen. As much as I have loved her in the past (she was, on more than one occasion, a stunning Semele), I've not heard about her much in recent years. Well, let me tell you, for someone who will be 61 years old in a few months, Ms. Piau's was a jaw droppingly beautifully, exquisitely sung Cleopatra. Ms. Piau looked splendid and sounded even better than that. Cleopatra's arias were dispatched with ease, each like a great jewel completing an exquisitely crafted necklace . . . or, more appropriately here . . . . a crown.

While the voice remains in remarkable shape, it is not as fresh as, say, Deviehle for the spectacular Théâtre des Champs-Élysées performances a few years ago, nor could or should it be. Sabine was 36 or 37, really just entering her zenith years (where she remains) while Sandrine was one of the first Baroque Soprano Superstars of the early 90's, collaborating frequently for performances and countless recordings with William Christie, Christophe Rousset, Hervé Niquet,  Emmanuelle Haïm, Marc Minkowski  and other leaders of the Baroque revival movement. At 60, the tone remains firm, the coloratura formidable, ornamentations dazzling, and the breath control of this singer - her ability to spin lines almost endlessly, remains exquisite.  Add to that some twenty years with this role (I recall a glorious 2008 performance with René Jacobs)  what she adds here is a depth of - and insight into - this character - one that is uniquely dramati, and her own.

I was excited - but also worried about Mr. Orliński's Cesare. The voice (for me) has always been on the brighter and lighter side of countertenors (not a complaint, I love the guy's sound), but my ideal interpreters have almost always been mezzos - for a number of reasons.  As I get older, I'm finding - unlike many of my friends - I'm  more accepting and even excited by, different ways of singing a character - and of different styles of voices presenting music so familiar we're often locked into thinking  it absolutely must be performed this way.  Really? Must it?  In my now "senior years" I've grown to love performers and performances I may well would have have turned my nose at twenty or thirty years ago, and finding, I'm far happier. Sue me.  

Orlinski''s sound remains bright here, creating a more youthful sounding Caesar than history might dictate - but this isn't history, it's opera!  What helps him convince, is there seems now to be an expansiveness to his sound - particularly in his rich lower register, that adds not just color, but more purpose to the singing of the text. 

There are so many arias in this opera that I can't - or won't (at least here) go into any details of them, except to say there were none that disappointed, and I was glad for the inclusion of them all. (I think they were all in there, at least!)

The rest of the cast, Yuriy Minenko (Tolomeo), Beth Taylor (Cornelia)  Rebecca Leggett  (Sesto), Marco Saccardin (Curio), Alex Rosen (Achilla), and Rémy Brès-Feuillet (Nireno) each delivered performances that equalled - in drama, thrill, beauty and musicality - the two leads.  The singing all night - stunning enough that it was a pleasure NOT seeing sets and costumes and STILL getting the drama of Handel's masterpiece. 

Though I'm not mentioning the arias specifically, I will single out the duet, Son nata a lagrimar as one of the most powerful, and moving moments of the evening. Beth Taylor and Rebecca Leggett, as mother and son, completely took my breath away in delivering one of the most mournful, and touching expressions of grief in all of opera. 

Maestro Corti's impeccable musicianship, his shaping of the score and ability to coax a deliciously rich sound from his Il Pomo d’Oro players made for a sensational performance, and it is a joy to watch him bouncing from condcuting, to jumping down onto the harpischord , t hen back up again like an Olympic athlete.  

For anyone who loves Handel - and this opera in particular - I can't recommend this joyous, stunningly sung and played gem of a performance. Outstanding!

Bartoli Sacrificium: She Does it Again!

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.

Rolando Villazon Sings Handel

I've waited until I've had more than just a few opportunities to listen to this recital full through before writing a review. I know we had some discussion on this BEFORE the album's release, but I can't recall seeing a review here yet. So, let the fur fly!

The majority of reviews and comments I've read have not been at all favorable - some even a bit scathing. This is something I can't quite comprehend as the more I listen, the more I've grown to love what Villazon does here. Some have called it a "throwback" to the "bad old days" of full voiced singers singing Handel as though it were Mozart, or worse, Mahler. I disagree and rather strongly. While it certainly sounds as it could be a different approach to Handel singing, , I find it to be more of a a "modern romantic tenor" bringing his own style and deploying it in a decidedly bravura approach that makes most of h is choices in this repertoire exciting and true to the spirit of the baroque.

The strongest criticisms seem to take issue with Villazon's somewhat over-the-top manner in delivering this material. That may be what I enjoy the most. Listen to the second track, the recitative to Grimoaldo's aria "Pastorello dun povero armento" or Serse's aria "Crude furie degl' orridi abissi" When has a tenor gone "there" so willingly, performing baroque music with this kind of abandon, not to mention intensity? This type of excess is oft considered "thrilling" when done by a female performer - indeed, Joyce diDonato in the same aria ("Crude furie") was praised to the rafters (and justly so!) for not only her bravura way with the fiery coloratura, but for the thousand different hues she hurled into the music, sinking her teeth into the meat of the text and almost spitting it out. But a tenor heard primarily in Verdi, Tchaikovsky and Puccini seems not to be able to make those same choices.

What's particularly interesting to me is the way Villazon and McCreesh move through this material in ways that are almost unexpected, but which make perfect sense. After having heard some thrilling - near gasp-inducing leaps and flourishes, something like "Ombra mai fu" feels almost pure and cleansing and the simple addition of a well-executed trill makes the scene "pop"with life that is almost rare in a number like this.

This is not to say everything is perfect on this disc, and sometimes the low tessitura (e.g., the central portion of "Scherza infida") can find our tenor getting a tad growly in music sitting a bit lower (even if only a note or two) than he's usually addressing. Still, we seem to be more forgiving when a soprano (or lyric mezzo) gets a bit gravelly on a low note. But, as heard in Villazon's "Scherza infida" there is a melting musicality thatmakes up (to these ears at least) for any shortcoming in the inability to sound perfect in every range.

Another thing I love about this recital is the freedom of the ornamentation employed. Villazon's trills, runs, appogiatura, grupetti, etc., come off with a natural ease and authoritythat would be the envy of a number of singers who sing almost nothing BUT baroque music!

Above all there is a sense of love and admiration for this music that comes shining through from start to finish. The level of musicmaking between Villazon, Paul McCreesh and the early instruments of the Gabrieli Players is never less than top drawer and all wed to a sense of joyousness and meaning which infuses every bar. Regardless of what one might think of his choices, I dare anyone to listen to, say, "Dopo notte atra e funesta"and not feel the thrilling connection between the performers and the music they're sharing.

Then there is the "dark" theatricality that permeats some numbers - with the tenor taking choices that can understandably be seen as controversial. The strangled whispers with which he ends Bajazet's emotional scene has been much commented upon - but you know what? I like it. Look at the text:

"My sight is already fading . . . death, I feel you! This horror is your punishment."

While I can understand purists cringing here, we can't know for certain such a "device" was not employed in Handel's time and here and now, singer (and maestro) seem to find it a valid way of interpreting this dark moment and pull it off with complete conviction.

If I've any disappointment it is in the way the recital ends - with St. John's two numbers from "La Resurrezione." This is not to say that they are not sung beautifully, or that Villazon is found wanting in the emotional intensity heard throughout the rest of the recital, but for my money they simply don't have the"oomph" to draw a disc like this to its conclusion. This, however is purely grousing on my part.

This disc will ever find its way into a widely accepted Handelian catalog, but I think those willing to go along for a wild ride, fueled by fury, passion, joy and total admiration of one of the greatest composers of any era,will find something very, very special here.

DiDonato's Fiery Furore

Few albums in recent times have I anticipated the arrival of more than Joyce DiDonato’s Furore – an album of Handel arias that should dispel the myth of baroque boredom for many. I’ve had to digest it before reviewing it, wanting to absorb its flavor, take a break and return to see how I felt on repeated hearings before just offering a rave. Having done so, here's the expected rave.

DiDonato is one of those artists who seem to have everything in the world going for her. A unique, sexy look (ever reminding me of the young Bette Midler), great sense of style (remember her Nancy Sinatra get-up as she hosted the Met's HD Orfeo offering.
From Teseo she offers Medea’s breathtaking yet oddly constructed “Dolce riposo” that, while a little quicker in tempo than I would have liked, manages still to convey the emotions of the title, the brisker tempo allowing for no singerly indulgences or unduly stretching the vocal line out of proportion. This offers a nice constrast a more rubato delivery of the interior recitative sections, returning to the da capo with a hushed intensity, embellishing the line with varying rates of vibrato and volume, the dispatch of perfect trills and a perfect Handelian line. As much as I love the virtuostic pieces (and boy do I), it is in these quieter, introspective numbers that Handel wows me every time and DiDonato knows exactly how to put these types of arias over.

Following the “Dolce riposo” comes one of those very virtuostic arias – the one, in fact, responsible for the title of this delightful disc.

Recently I’ve been involved in discussions about historical singers, e.g., Callas and Sutherland and singers capable of fully understanding the text, scratching deeper than its surface and working within the musical framework the composer has laid out, DiDonato makes abundantly clear she is perfectly in tune with this school. The voice is rich with color, like an accomplished jazz singer (and, I imagine, the great singers in Handel’s own time) she is unafraid to bend a note’s shape and pitch (while landing squarely on it – most of the time) vary the velocity of her vibrato – and when necessary, hold it back entirely. She will spread the vowels of a syllable almost to a level of vulgarity (listen to “Iris, hence away!”) that a more prim and proper singer wouldn’t dare imagine, yet in so doing, she infuses this very familiar music with an added frisson long missing from even the other outstanding interpretations we’ve heard over the years.

Her upper middle voice has a naturally rich, fruity quality which she also can color with skill – darkening it one bar and instantly lightening the sound to something resembling sunlight – all of which fits Handel’s music like the proverbial glove. I can think of no more perfect example of this than her work in the aria “Moriro ma vendicata” – the first piece in this remarkable recital which requires her to pull out all of the stops.

I’m asking for the moon here, but the only way I can think this album may have been improved is a pipe dream: Yet I’ll admit it freely here: Oh how I would have loved a “a multi-track recording of DiDonato singing both parts of the great Cornelia/Sesto duet.

I first fell in love with Miss Donato as Meg in the premiere performances (televised) of Adamo’s “Little Women.” I (and everyone else) recognized immediately this was a standout talent. It wasn’t long before Opera News did a feature on her and the candid, unconventionally pretty young mezzo sounded like one smart cookie. Two years later she took Paris by storm with her Rosina in Colline Serreau’s breathtaking “Barbiere” set (in of all places) Moorish Spain, revealing a young artist of supreme depth, innate comedic abilities, musical integrity, stage assuredness and genuine star quality. All of this is in abundance in this recording of Handelian masterpieces. All, you ask? Yes, all. Even the “stage” qualities come off in this recording. Rare is the artist who can sing a recital of arias, yet invoke the sense and spirit of the entire work she’s execerpting it from. DiDonato does this, evoking the personality of each character, distilling the essence of their entirety to miniature portraits that reveal each strength of character as well as each flaw. Lorraine Hunt Lieberson had this identical quality, but this is not to compare these two singers who in many other ways are as different as day from night.

Sorge nell ‘alma mia allows the singer her first genuine “I’m gonna tear the roof right off this place” moments of this recital – and it is, in a word, thrilling.

Another stand out gem, and one of my favorite mezzo arias, is There, in myrtle shades reclined. I’ve heard this aria sung many times and DiDonato (followed closely by von Otter) takes pride of place in melting my heart and causing me to swoon.

In her delivery of one of Handel’s most acclaimed arias, Ariodante’s “Scherza infida” DiDonato strikes as nearly a perfect balance between Handelian showmanship and introspective interpretation., as one is likely to hear. While the accompaniment by Christophe Rousset’s Les Talens Lyriques is outstanding in every moment of this recital, it is, here, flawless – at complete oneness with the singer, its ebbs and tides, flowing through Handel’s music with such delicacy as to be positively gauzelike. Every moment here is one of exquisite beauty.

I cannot ignore what is perhaps a representation of this singer’s most remarkable interpretation to date, her Dejanira from Hercules. The speed of the coloratura, the hurling out of sound, the seeming abandonment of all good senses in her approach may (and has) put off some more gentle listeners, but if you can just relax and let go, DiDonato will, take you on a roller coaster journey of the heart and mind offering a frightening and breathtaking look into Dejanira’s madness. It is, to be sure, rather an odd way to end a recital – but it is theatrical and thrilling and exactly the type of surprise we should be expecting from the delightful DiDonato.

Highly recommended. Make that VERY high recommended!

Semele: Still awesome after all these years!

Following the Olympic coverage last night I settled in for the insomniac special: a performance of the David McVicar/Marc Minkowski production of Semele at the Theatre de Theatre des Champs-Elysees. In a word: wow. Deciding to move the story out of antiquity, but not wanting to drop it into the 20th century, McVicar wisely shifts the action to the time of Handel, having it play out on a curved, nearly bare, two tiered stage (with portal windows at the highest level and a sliding panel center stage for entrances and exits) in what appears to be the rotunda of some grand palace, the cast attired in mid 18th century costumes. The only props and set alterations are dozens of white chairs in the first act and an enormous bed for scenes in Acts two and three (though there is a nice deux a machina near the evening’s end). Often, as in the scenes between Iris and Juno, the stage is entirely bare, the floor lit up with tiny lights that appear as stars with the goddess sisters seemingly wandering through the heavens – quite breathtaking. After so many “razzle dazzle” and “in your face” productions, the director’s favoring of simplicity is nearly as revelatory as it is refreshing.

Such a sparseness of setting, of course, places an enormous responsibility of selling the story, on the shoulder’s of the singers. Minkowski’ cast provided some magic there, as well. Initially, I found Annick Massis’s take on the title role a bit too removed and distant, but I noticed something – and clearly it was McVicar’s intent to have her begun thus, and slowly warm up, becoming more open and erotic as the story progresses. In this light, Massis’ Semele becomes an entirely different creature than the oft-portrayed vapid princess that stops the show with a half dozen of Handel’s greatest arias. This was a complex, moving performance that, by Semele’s demise, was a complete journey through a brief, complex life. Vocally, Massis fairly sails through the role, though she is stripped of a couple of arias (including the great “Endless Pleasure,) given here to the nearly ever present, mostly silent character “Cupido.” McVicar’s staging pays homage to the old operatic tradition of bringing down the curtain for certain arias to be sung at the footlights, and we first experience this with Semele’s touching “The morning lark.” While there is no ballet, the director does ask his singers (including the remarkable chorus here) to be in near perpetual movement lending an almost, and not unwelcome, balletic feel to most of the proceedings. The coloratura flights Massis takes during “Myself I shall adore” are almost comically fast and intricate, but she pulls them off earning a huge applause.

Richard Croft has been singing Jupiter for close to 20 years – and, in my opinion, no one sings it better than he. His opening aria doesn’t make quite the impression I was hoping for, but catches fire before the end. Croft dispatches the fiery coloratura in “I must with speed amuse her!” with an almost breathless quality that defies all speed limits – missing not one of the insanely fast notes . . . and puffs on a live cigarette between verses. It’s just crazy! No matter the tempo or dynamic, every syllable uttered is understood, clean and clear, without once becoming fussy. The attention to detail in his recitative work is actorly and equally remarkable, with lüftpauses creating silences that hauntingly point up Congreve's beautiful text.

As good as he is in all of the showiness of Jupiter, his finest moment comes in the opera’s most celebrated air “Where ‘er you walk.” I first heard Croft in this role around 1994. At the conclusion of this aria, my opera-savvy friend, (hearing Croft for the first time), leaned into me and whispered “that was the most beautiful singing I’ve ever heard.” He may not possess exactly the same dewy youthful freshness as he did 14 or 15 seasons ago – but most of it is still there, and with an added depth of character and style. As one French critic noted in this aria Croft is “distilling each note with wonder: within his voice seem to appear the zephyrs, and the wind of which he sings.” O, ‘tis true, ‘tis true, friends.. When he finishes the “B” section on “where ‘er you turn your eyes” – he does so on the most exquisitely shaded pianissimo, gently heralding the da capo, which he renders in the purest mezzo voce imaginable . . . almost whispered. As he sings, Jupiter raises an arm, to invoke a gentle shower of petals which rains down upon the innocent Semele, now looking on in wide-eyed wonder. It is a scene of absolute magic – the type of gentle singing and pastoral action that can take your breath away. It did mine.

As Ino, Charlotte Hellekant very nearly steals the show. Even attired in gray, and as the dejected, “old maid” – her runway model looks come through. Like everyone else in this cast, she is unafraid to modify her voice, to sing, at times, in almost vocal whispers, carefully shading the text and pouring every one of Ino’s outsized emotions into a sound of heartbreaking beauty. Following an exquisite “But hark! the heav'nly sphere turns round, she and Semele attack “Prepare then, ye immortal choir!” with sustained, rhythmically free melissmas recalling the timelessness of renaissance music, their voices uniting beautifully.

The pairing of Sarah Connolly as Juno and Claron McFadden as Iris is tremendous fun. The goddess sisters elegantly move in their own little universe, stunningly lit. McFadden has such a pure, clear soprano with clarion high notes and Connolly, not so elegantly, blasts through her assignment with a quality that is best described as “fierce” and “accurate.” She’s having a grand time here and it shows, nowhere better than her blazing Iris, hence away!”

McVicar introduces the character of Cupido early on, and the diminutive (doll sized, really) coloratura Marion Harousseau appears in scarlet 18th century gentlemen’s dress, blind with dark glasses and an elaborate cane. She dances (literally) through the entire role and is always present in the scenes with Jupiter and Semele. It’s an interesting touch, though at times the persistent send up of cutesiness becomes cloying and ultimately distracting.

McVicar does add some new, well thought out and rather interesting (and amusing) touches. He has Cupido, smoking a large peace pipe, offer the smoke to the earthly sisters, causing, first Ino, then Semele to pass out – and making at least part of what ensues feel part of another realm – not quite dreamt, not quite real. In a brilliant touch , Semele listens to her sister, who is doubled now by Juno . . . Juno and Ino each lip-synching the other’s music from this point on – each on the opposite side of the mirror Semele will soon use in “Myself I shall adore.”

Minkowski leads a spirited, glorious and remarkably involved reading from the chorus and orchestra of the period ensemble “Les Musiciens du Louvre” that is comfortably dazzling. There are, however, several moments where the excitement of a breakneck tempo threatens to derail the proceedings, though nothing ever quite falls apart. Still, there is that not quite tangible feeling of watching a possible train wreck staying on course which can get an operalover’s blood pumping pretty wildly!

When so well thought out, so lovingly performed, Handel’s oratorio stands triumphant, as vibrant and entertaining as anything in the opera house.

p.