Defending Trovatore

Whenever I read complaints about operatic plots or libretti as being unbelievable I just want to shake my head, scream or both. This insistence of "realism" by some is something that has absolutely nothing to do with the art form of opera and, frankly, does not belong there. For starters, we're talking about an art form where everything is sung, so, immediately, right off the bat, we are entering into a dramatic art form (or entertainment if you will) which is in an entirely different realm than any other.

These criticisms, and ignorant rantings, are, more than any work I can think of, most frequently laid at the feet of one of the greatest Italian works in the repertoire, Verdi's Il Trovatore.

Verdi was consumed by Gutierrez's early 19th century Spanish drama, El Trovador, which had been translated for him into Italian by then girlfriend, Giuseppina Strepponi, and he turned immediately to one of the greatest librettists, Salvadore Cammarano for a treatment to begin his opera.

Cammarano was a man of impeccable taste, theatrical wisdom (Budden refers to him as "the born operatic poet") and Verdi understood right away, he was he was right the man for the job. Cammarano was born into a theatrical family, his father being a highly respected set designer and scenery painter. And, lest we forget, Cammarano was the genius who gave us Lucia, Poliuto, L'assidio di Calais, Roberto Devereux, Maria di Rohan, Luisa Miller, and much more. Still, there seemed to be some uneasiness between composer and librettist, Verdi asking for more bizarre and bold elements of the Spanish drama while Cammarano was infusing the work with more poetry than passion for Verdi's taste. During most of their work together they were in constant communication, but then there became stretches Verdi went without hearing from Cammarano. All of this was, of course, further complicated by Cammarano's death before they could complete the project. Eventually, Leone Emanuele Badare made additions to Cammarano's libretto before the prima.

As to the original source, Gutierrez's play, it was viewed by critics and public alike as a revelation and enjoyed wild success, which (not unlike some of his other works) brought a source of inspirational genius to Verdi who "had to have it." What's remarkable is that, even today, scholars still consider El Trovador to be among the first and greatest of modern works commentating upon the corrupt irrationality of rival political and social factions seeking complete control of their worlds. Also, just to up the dramatic ante, the play remains a harsh commentary upon the blind rage vendettas that needlessly took so many lives for centuries. Sound familiar to anyone?

If someone finds Trovatore to be too far-fetched or unbelievable, well, that's their problem, isn't it. It sure is not mine, and it sure was not Verdi's.

In Trovatore, Verdi, (and other composers similarly in other works), were able to see not only beyond any perceived deficiencies of the art form, but, if they saw them at all, then only as challenges to be faced head on, and without apology. In so doing, the composer cuts out . . . designs and creates a world he believed in, and presents us with an invitation to enter into it and escape from reality. To complain "it's not real enough for me" is . . . well, frankly stupid.

Sadly, more so than in Verdi's time, we find ourselves living in an age where people are too comfortable . . . too limited, and tend to apply their own modern sensibilities and logic separate from the characters' and to me, that's just a lousy way to enjoy opera . . . as well as calling into question the nature of enjoyment.

To question, Azucena's motives, or Di Luna and Manrico's actions and contemplate them with "Well, I'd never have done that" is to miss the point entirely. To complain about Leonore's motives and behavior is, unless you're a teenage noble woman living in fictional 15th century Spain, idiotic.

It becomes all the more frustrating to witness how, as far as entertainment goes, we as a society are accepting of more "far out" occurrences in our other entertainments, e.g., movies where men can fly, spin spider webs out of their wrists, stop time, science fiction and super heroes who defy both death and gravity, yet we have great difficulty buying into the tales of gypsies and curses. It's puzzling to me, particularly, as the time when people actually believed such things, behaved similarly to these characters, are not only not far removed from our own era - but, in many instances, still with us. Add to all of this Verdi's impeccable, tuneful, passionate, hit laden score, and arguments against it - any and all of them- are laid to rest and ultimately meaningless.

Long Live The Troubadour!

Alagna and Alfano's "Cyrano": Panache!

A most remarkable DVD. Just about every aspect of this production from Montpellier Opera is flawless, making as strong a case for a revival of this opera as possible. First off, there is the Cyrano of Roberto Alagna. We first see him before the opera starts darting down the stairs of the opera house and running through the lobby. Once the opera begins, he makes a sensational entrance from the back of the house, moving among the audience, before hopping up on the stage. Second, the production by the Alagna Brothers is a sumptuous, visual feast full of color, marvelous stage effects and, when called for, theatrical simplicity.

There is no way to describe Alagna's Cyrano as anything less than sensational. In excellent voice, with thrilling top notes and his natural French the text is sung with elegance and plenty of panache. Whether running, strutting like a peacock, swashbuckling or hiding from view, Alagna's every move is executed with the elegant grace of a dancer. It is a joy watching someone have this much fun in a role. He executes some fine sword fighting and even as diminutive as he is, makes this character larger than life. His arioso "Oh! Paris!," which ends the first scene begins so hauntingly, beautiful building to a crashing, thrilling conclusion. The call to arms for the Cadets of Gascony (I don't know what it's properly called) is as rousing as one could hope for. If Alagna's Cyrano had called, I'd have rushed to join the Muskateers, too!

Richard Troxell strikes all the right balances as Christian. The duet between he and Cyrano pledging their allegiance to become "one man" develops beautifully, and rushes into an breathless finish. Anyone who criticizes Alfano's gifts as a composer needs only hear this duet to be proven wrong.

The music opening Act II is the equal to Massenet in Manon at conveying both musically, and eloquently, a sense of a specific time and place without actually resorting to composing 18th century style music.

What a gem is the Roxane of Nathalie Manfrino. Physically and vocally she could be the twin of Christiane Oelze - nowhere more so then in the final act where, with Alfano's so very French music she recalls Oelze as Melisande. Manfrino is a genuine beauty and the voice, a lovely lyric with some wonderful bloom to the top notes, constantly impresses. Like Alagna (and Troxell) her acting felt genuine, one believed her Roxane at every turn. There were times I was a little angry with her shallowness and cruelty towards Christiane, but it all works out.

The physical production by the tenor's brothers David and Frederico, along with costumes by Christian Gasc make this a visual feast. I don't know how long they all worked on this, but the flow of this Cyrano, the quality and naturalness of the acting (particularly Alagna's title character) is as fine as one could hope to see from any opera video.

There were plenty of gorgeous musical highlights; the amazing Balcony Duet, with everybody firing on all cylinders; the wordless chorus sung by the soldiers . . . , so many others.

It is, however, the final act that absolutely destroys me. Alfano's heavy use of woodwinds, descending scales on flute, a vibrant buzz of reeds, and with swirling strings, it could easily be mistaken for Debussy (especially with the uniformly excellent French coming from this cast). Alagna's transformation of Cyrano, from cocky showman to now a tired and frail man, (but no less proud) is a heart breaker. As soon as he arrives at the convent, it is evident the tenor is giving one of the best performances of his life. As death approaches, the score grows more and more delicate, with unaccompanied passages sung by Roxane (also reminiscent of Debussy's Melisande), but branded with Alfano's own original stamp (which I'm getting to know better and better). As Cyrano reads the final letter to Roxane, the clarinet takes up the soaring melody and it shoots right to the heart in music that is nearly overwhelmingly poignant.

The efforts of all involved pay off in a wonderfully theatrical and musically exquisite performance. For the longest time I believed Alagna could do nothing better than his performance in that amazing Bond prodeuction of Don Carlos from the Chatelet, but this Cyrano truly is a creature that touched me as profoundly as any I can think of.

Highly recommended.

Alfan's "Sakuntala" Finally

(From my review previously posted February/2006)

For years I’ve heard snippets (some long, some not so) of the work, and looked for a complete recording in vain. No more.

There is so much Debussy and Strauss influence in the score it’s almost not “Italian” sounding! Quite simply, Alfano’s instrumentation and use of color is nothing less than remarkable and gorgeous - exotic. One definitely can hear where Puccini got some of his ideas for Turandot here. (Similarly, part of the long first act duet between the King and
Sakuntala is strongly reminiscent of what Alfano would do in Turandot’s finale). That first act duet between the lovers is nearly Tristan length and Alfano never seems to run out of ideas.

There’s a moment or two toward the beginning of Act II which sounds like where Philip Glass seems to have gotten his best ideas, as well!

In the second act Sakuntala has an enormous, 9 minute voice busting aria that is just breathtaking as it segues into the next scene. Holy Moley, this is a BIG sing.

Alfano’s vocal writing here is far different than Puccini’s - longer phrases, more Wagnerian-style parlando (but not Wagnerian sounding - at all).

A dance/ballet opens the final act that (very) strongly recall’s Strauss.

(Side note: I believe those who’ve enjoyed Enescu’s Oedipe will find much to enjoy here.)

This performance was from 1979. The principal roles are sung by:

Sakuntala - Celestina Casapietra
The King - Michele Molese (anyone remember him from City Opera?!)
Kanva - Aurio Tomicich
with the RAI Symphony and Chorus conducted by Ottavio Ziino.

Casapietra is unknown to me. I would have liked a juicier, firmer voice but she handles the difficult high music quite well and sings with a lot of feeling. The lower voice can be a bit shaky (often) with a hollow quality that isn’t particularly lovely. The third act goes much better for her with the top notes opening up in a way they hadn’t earlier and that is quite thrilling (except for one squally high C, unfortunately on the word “orror!). Again, her commitment shows and that’s an important thing in this work.

Molese starts off just a wee bit thin, but within minutes the voice takes on a rich bloom and his voice past the passagio is often thrilling. Like Casapietra he sings the music with conviction and the two of them almost seem to get carried away by Alfano’s sumptuous outpourings.

The final scene looks so much to the final bars to what he composed for Turandot that no doubt can be left who’s ideas closed that opera.

Though the sound is not flawless (there appears to be some bleed through in spots which I’m guessing stem from the original tape source) it is more than good enough to convey the sense of wonder Alfano infuses through much of the work.

I really couldn’t be more pleased to have discovered this, and as ever: Bravo, Alfano!

The Full Monteverdi: Where Love Comes to Die

Where love comes to die.

Several years ago I attempted to watch this film and, truth be told, couldn't make it through the first madrigal, and I adore Monteverdi. This morning, bored and with time on my hands, I decided to give it another shot, and my reaction could not have been any more different to my original. I was, in a word, 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 to a lip-synched film of 21st century couples breaking up in a posh London restaurant, well somehow it just didn't feel right. This time through however, I got exactly what director John La Bouchardiere must have felt when he thought this to be a great idea for a 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 have for centuries made their points beautifully sans pictures, La Bouchardiere achieves something beautiful, managing to capture the heartbreak of love in sharing the emotional separation of these couples, all occuring simultaneously in a single night.

Through the use of shifting cameras, lighting, filters and various techniques, often in cineme verite) style, along with brief flashback sequences, we see the couples at their most vulnerable, high and low, loving and losing: camping trips, christenings, post love making (discretely, no nudity here) sense both their feelings of elation and doom. All of this somehow gracefully compliments Monteverdi's difficult, stunning harmonizations and beautifully complex polyphony. The richness of the madrigals lays wide open the naked emotions with a brutal power which LaBouchardiere captures with a sure and natural sense of timing, knowing. He knows where to place, move, and leave his cameras, when to cut to a flashback, where to allow reaction shots all flowing in seamless rhythm with this amazing music.

The vocal ensemble I Fagiolini, paired with silent actors make up the entire cast, holding the story together as though their lives depended upon it. I Fagiolini approach Monteverdi powerfully, often in full voice as opposed to the delicacy so frequently heard in this music from other early music ensembles. The result is an often thrilling, sometimes raw soundscape of theatricality, both original and unique in early music. The sighing quality so necessary in Monteverdi is not eliminated by this approach but rather highlights that quality through the use of more complex dynamics and shadings with which I Faiolini imbues the score. It's rather marvelous.

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

Attila & The Nose@ The Met

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!

Colbran the Muse: DiDonato the Goddess

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!

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!

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