Serebrennikov's Parsifal from Vienna: Profound and Compassionate

Images of  Kirill Serebrennikow's new production of Wagner's final opera, "Parsifal," have been playing in my head constantly since finishing watching it, filmed live at the Vienna State Opera.
Being my favorite opera, I've seen and listened to countless productions, either live or on video.  Serebrennikow's ranks among the very best, if also among the most disturbing.  

Set in a rundown Russian prison, the normally placid Grail Knights here become prisoners - violent, corrupt, proud, but every bit as doomed as in Wagner's original  The director, (who is under house arrest and had to direct from Russia via camera) is clearly knowledgeable of the enormity of Russian Prison Tattoo Culture, and here, the ink flows and is on display constantly.  We even watch on as Gurnemanz tattoos one of his fellow prisoners.  The tattoo culture brings the men together and, in a sexualized, capitalist way, is their legacy to the outside world. 

In and out of that world is Kundry, who appears to be an opportunistic  photo journalist fascinated by these men who easily stop their fighting to remove clothing articles, striking poses they appear to perceive as dominating masculinity.  They may be aware of being used, but also aware, it's all they have.

The first two acts represent a memory play for the hero who is now older, and invisible, watching as if a ghost - the violent, lonely history of his past, younger self - the innocent fool.  Serebrenikow fills the action with symbolism and uses this premise to create an unexpected if pointed poignancy that belies the violence of this microcosm.  At one point, Parsifal watches himself asking "Wer ist der Gral?"  And, clearly having played this moment over a thousand times in his mind, mouths the answer Gurnemanz provides.  

Another moment:  As Amfortas, mad with self-inflicted pain, is finishing his howling - just before the Grail ceremony music begins he scrawls the first part of the lynchpin on which everything hangs:   "Durch Mitleid wissend,"  - "Enlightened through compassion. . . "   and is shown that compassion first by Gurnemanz, then by the boy Parsifal who gently caresses the head of Amfortas, before embracing him, and in a gesture of comfort and respect, kneeling beside, then placing his head on the tortured king's shoulder.  

The act continues with these overwhelming images, matched to Wagner's magnificent score, and ends as solemnly and beautifully as any production you might imagine. With such an overwhelming first act, the ensuing ones have their work cut out for them.  Unfortunately, each begins somewhat weaker, less inspired and gave me cause for concern that the best was not yet to come. 

Fortunately, both acts, whether by design or "just one of those things" spring into life midway through and are, in their own way, equal to the mesmerizing first.   Throughout all three acts, a trio of enormous projection screens above the stage provide us a voyeur's perspective of the prison goings on - which can make for tough viewing - as well as the young Parsifal's journey to, in, and out of the beautiful, haunting ruins of the prison and the beauty of nature surrounding it.

I could go on with more of the imagery that provides emotional suckerpunches, i.e., the meeting of the two Parsifals, Kundry's ultimate recognition of who this hero is, the heart tugging (and Fidelio-esque) opening of the prison, but must stop somewhere.

Silent throughout, young Russian actor Nikolay Sidorenko - bearing a striking resemblance to a young Kaufmann, portrays the youthful Parsifal powerfully, his journey (both onstage and onscreen) moving and inspirational.

Musically, this is as satisfying a Parsifal as I can recall.  I don't believe anything is "perfect" - but this comes about as close to that mark as it gets.  

Jonas Kaufmann gives, for me, the most complete performance I've seen from him in any role, vocally and theatrically - he is perfect, the voice sounding more "tenorish" than baritonal and (at least in this recording) able to pour out the sound in a way I've not heard from him live or on recording. 

Perfect IS the word I want to use in describing Georg Zeppenfeld's Gurnemanz - a role I've now seen/heard him twice in, and who is the finest interpreter of it today.  I'd add him - quite easily - to the best who've ever sung it.

Of late, Amfortas is portrayed with more and more violence and/or torture, and Ludovic Tezier's Amfortas while definitely in that mold, is still somehow different.  His beauty of tone is here used to express a world of pain that is outside of anything else we see or hear in this production.

In one of the most significant role debuts in memory Elīna Garanča, with Serebrennikow's inspiration, puts a spin on Kundry unlike any of past temptresses I can recall.  Physically, with her silver wig, she remains one of the most gorgeous creatures the world of opera has been privileged to see.  Vocally, Wagner's anti-heroine has seldom sounded as good.  Even through all ranges, her top notes have a shine, a security and power, that eludes most mezzos, as well as sopranos who attempt the role.  

The chorus of the State Opera is the equal of the principals, offering up volume and when required (which is often) a hushed tenderness that is  heavenly.

Philippe Jordan begins the opening Vorspiel and shapeshifts it in a manner that befits what we shall see over the next four and one half hours.  At times, I found his conducting a bit foursquare and with an almost martial quality.  When I thought about the setting, and the drama as given here, it made perfect sense.  The tightness would, without forewarning, grow, gleam and expand into a tonal universe that was filled with awe and wonder, taking the earthbound and sending it into the heavens.

Serebrennikow is already receiving angry criticism from traditionalists who cannot find their way into accepting this type of interpretation.  Sadly, much of that criticism is coming from those who have not - and never will - bother to experience it for themselves.  

As for me?  I can only praise all of the efforts made to bring this to life during this impossible time, right down to having to film the production because of an outbreak of the dreaded COVID-19.  I can't think of a Parsifal more appropriate for our time.

Hamilton Comes to The Met!

It's finally happening. Peter Gelb has scrapped plans for this season's opening of TRISTAN UND ISOLDE, and, in an effort to draw in younger audiences and raise ticket prices to truly ungodly levels, has announced its replacement: Lin-Manuel Miranda's hit, hip-hop musical HAMILTON.

Though Mr. Gelb could not yet be reached for further comment the cast list has been released as follows:

Alexander Hamilton: Jonas Kaufmann
Aaron Burr: Johann Botha
Eliza Schuyler Hamilton: Maria Guleghina
Angelica Schuyler Church: Renee Fleming
Marquis de Lafayette/Thomas Jefferson: Juan Diego Florez
George Washington: James Morris
King George III: Franco Farina
Peggy Schuyler/Maria Reynolds: Deborah Voigt
John Laurens/Philip Hamilton: Richard Bernstein
Hercules Mulligan / James Madison: Thomas Hammons

Condctor: Nello Santi

Tickets go on sale at midnight and the run is expected to sell out.

p.
http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com/

Killing Carmen: Thoughts on a Classic

I’m lucky. It has never been a requirement of mine that I like or even particularly admire anyone in order to find them fascinating enough to want to watch or read about. This is true of fictional as well as historical (or even currently alive) persons.

I think somehow many of us feel “guilty” for watching things like Carmen because we’re preoccupying ourselves with a central character possessing so little, if anything, perceived as redeemable. But, Carmen is an eternally interesting character, so, as with many colorful criminals or outcasts of society, we may become fascinated . . . even mesmerized, by the way they work in lives vastly different from our own.

As with any stage creature, Carmen opens herself to a wide variety of interpretations, and while many view her as being an archetypal character (in the Jungian sense), I don’t think she is. Not at all, in fact.  I believe in Carmen less as a symbol, and more as genuinely, deeply flawed character living her days according to her own set of principles, the rest of the world be damned. While she may come across as over-the-top, nothing she does, according those principles, is ever really too much so as to make her the comically unbelievable character many see her as. Still, all of the symbolsim we typically associate with the archetype of such a character can actually add to our enjoyment, even when we don't fully grasp it, or disagree with one another as to what it all means.

When first we meet our Carmencita, she’s working at the cigarette factory, and we like her.  We like her mostly because she's colorful, and likes to sing and dance a lot. But, ah, she also likes to fight. She's what some might call a spicy lady.  While she may seem like a girl who just gets into the occasional bit of trouble, the fact of the matter is this:  from the outset, Carmen is criminal.  

The most famous number in the opera, the Habanera is simply Carmen taking in the lay of the land, scoping out a possible escape from the trouble she's already planned on getting into. She can't help herself.  As she sings and mesmerizes the crowd, she identifies Jose as someone she can use; a man to trick and manipulate into doing whatever it is she needs him to do. And likely do it most willingly.  Does she sense his weakness? His criminal past? Ever shrewdly attuned to all that is around her, Carmen senses this from the very beginning.  It's not too far a stretch for us to believe she'd use the factory fight to this end, and so it becomes a preliminary exercise in gaining Jose's assistance for her subsequent escape from a situation of her own creation.  It's all part of her game, and quite possibly a test to see how strongly her hold will be on this deeply troubled man, using the military to escape his own murderous past.

I'm convinced Carmen always looks ahead to the future and always foresees trouble there. Of course she does . . . it's almost all she knows.  

I've never bought into Carmen being as carefree as she pretends to be, or always singing about. There are reasons she consults and holds stock in the tarot.  She is bound by fate, and ever aware of that fact.  I believe that those who believe in the romance between Jose and Carmen are buying into something that just isn’t there and thus, not unlike Jose, seduced by something unattainable on either of their parts.  

Like so many criminals, Carmen appears to be an adrenaline junky, always and obsessively moving on to bigger things, bigger risks and highs to feed and satisfy her addiction. The adrenaline rush which comes from criminal activity can certainly be experienced by other means, for example, extreme athletics . . . risk-taking activities such as cliff diving, or parachuting and, of course, sex.  Adrenaline junkies are forever looking for that rush, so are ever pushing themselves further and further, often right to the point of their demise.  The ultimate rush.  I hold this is precisely what happens to Bizet's anti-heroine.

Now, Carmen’s attraction to Escamillo is something entirely different.  I believe it is an instant one because here, for lack of a better word, is an Übermensch; a man who, advantaged through superior intelligence and artificial weaponry plays a game involving fighting to the death another physically powerful animal – a male from another species. Escamillo is a creature who, like Carmen, appears to have no natural fear of death, he challenges it . . . and wins. In this regard, as exciting as it sounds, winning the bullfight would seem to be only the penultimate orgasmic experience, the ultimate rush achieved only through death itself.

Carmen, is the same, and we can look at her actions her self-orchestrateing her orgasme final and, for whatever reasons, has chosen Jose as her executioner. By taunting and humiliating him, she increases the element of danger and violence to a point where, physically and psychologically, they have arrived arrive at the blistering point of no return.  Now there is nothing left for her to do other than that which she set out to, very likely from the start.  

 That Carmen often uses sex to get everything she “wants” is, at minimum, symbolically interesting, not to mention more than just a bit disturbing. One needs only consider how her demise is achieved by: (a) the violent plunging of a dagger into her; and (b) outside of the bull (i.e., masculine) arena.

Carmen never asks to be liked, but, like a beautiful, poisonous spider, she lures us into her web, making us think she may have something pretty to offer. She doesn’t. That appearance, much like the music Bizet gives her, is all façade. What she really offers is a bloody, violent, unromantic, and ultimately irredeemable, look into our own baser nature which, while perhaps not pretty, is endlessly fascinating.

(Photos: Kate Aldrich as Carmen/Jonas Kaufmann and Richard Troxell as Jose).

Fierrabras: Say Goodnight, Franz.

Schubert's Fierrabras has long been poked fun at, considered musically uninteresting, unstageable and given every other imaginable excuse for rarely being produced. Needless to say, I was thrilled to receive the new DVD set starring Jonas Kaufmann. I can honestly say rarely have I been more let down by a production. Musically, it is terrific, but what I had to endure watching was dull, insipid and so over-directed I decided then and there to never warch this again.


Claus Guth's production occurs entirely in a pink-striped drawing room surrounded by 30+ doors, the only scenery, a riduclously oversized chair and piano, the dimensions of which are about 15 feet high with the lid open, and which occupies half of the stage. Seated at the piano is a chubby, diminutive actor miming Schubert, seated in a 4 foot tall high chair, working on (presumably) the score. Awesome. The Schubert Clone looks like James Levine doing a bad Jackie Mason imitation, and seems to have been directed throughout to look "nervous" - his mouth, more often than not, opened in the manner of an inflatable sex doll. It's both annoying and ghastly.

Dialogue is taken away from the characters and given to him, allowing us to hear him shrieking each and every syllable as if in audition for Volker Schlöndorff's "The Tin Drum." His major action is about the stage, handing singers freshly written music and, before they run out of notes, posing their limbs, heads, etc. as if mannequins, into gestures he finds heroic or tragic. The opera has been reduced to a single concept: Schubert staging this misguided pageant in the home of a patron, the characters garbed in the formal wear of the day. Schubert, identifying himself with all three of the heroes means, of course, Roland, Eginhard and Fierrabras are all costumed identically to the composer, right down to his little spectacles. When the four are grouped together, all I could think, "early 19th century boyband."

For the second act, the piano has been to one corner and, of course, tipped over. The men now sport breastplates and wield instead of shields, miniature evergreens. Genius. At the French front Schubert runs about the stage, opening doors to reveal the soldiers; men in suits, and wearing either a Fez or some sort of tiny helmet. To rally his troops, Eginhard pulls out a child's toy horn and blows. The moment is neither cute nor is it heroic.

Whenever a scene ends the stage empties, as Schubert wanders its width, open-mouthed (I swear I saw drool pooling in close ups) more and more bemused and confused than the last time. It's actually ugly and difficult to watch.

Fierrabras' glorious finale is ruined as we spy a prone Schubert atop of piano, feverishly completing the score, and racing to hand copies of it (he did his own copying?) to the chorus and soloists, then arrange them into concert formation as they sight read it, never taking their eyes from the music in their hands.

I can't begin to describe how angry I got watching this. Musically, Fierrabras remains the treasure trove of gorgeous melodies, solos, ensembles, choruses, military music, etc. that I fell in love with years ago, but I felt this a missed opportunity to surprise those who felt Schubert's only worth is to be found in his songs or symphonies. Schubert's symphonic style actually works brilliantly in the work's extended pieces, where solo moves into ensemble with consummate craftsmanship. the aria cum duet for Eginhard and Emma "Der Abend Sinkt Auf Stiller Flur" which morphs from an aria into a duet for Eginhard and Emma, is simply one the most beautiful things Schubert ever wrote.

I'm simply too exhausted . . . and angry from the watching this to go on about the singing other than to say, from top-to-bottom, it is well cast, everyone seguing from dialogue through song splendidly, notably soprano Twyla Robinson's in the most exciting performance of the evening. Kaufmann is predictably excellent (though it is a rather short role) Juliane Banse sounds dark and wild as Emma (reminding me of Mattila in the role some 15-20 years ago) and Laszlo Polgar shows he still has it all in spades. Franz Welser-Most has the Zurich forces working magic and the score really makes a strong case for the opera. If only the staging did.

What should have looked like this:




Instead looks like this:

Met's Stunning Parsifal in HD

This was simply (or, perhaps not so simply) one of the most amazing performances I've experienced of Parsifal, which is, of course, my very favorite opera. The new production is stunning, the hand-picked cast superb, each character caught up completely in the drama. I was only mildly concerned for my seatmates who'd never before seen Parsifal (though familiar with it from recordings). I needn't have worried for they were, as I was, blown away by all we saw and all we heard. During the intermissions  found myself chatting with the chap sitting on my other side, a longtime Met goer since his army days and being on leave in New York, yet had never managed to see it before. At the end, I asked, "So, how was your first Parsifal?" With tears streaming down his face, all he could manage was a faint,"I'm undone. Completely." Two complete strangers sharing the same experience and having the same reaction. Wagner can do that to us.

Musically, Gatti had the score so firmly in hand, and under him the Met Orchestra responded splendidly through every inch and measure of this amazing score. His nuanced, non-rushed reading glimmered in all the right places; the transformation music of the outer acts truly was transforming, the pulse (and pace) in Act II's opening, actually dangerous sounding ... chilling, as it should be. The Met Chorus, as ever, was superb, the multiple choir effects of the different levels of sound Wagner indicates coming through incredibly throughout the cinema's sound system.

Rene Pape's Gurnamenz is one that stands alongside the very best, his face registering so many emotions it was almost unbearably beautiful at times. During the first Grail ceremony, where Wagner finally gives him a vocal rest, his acting alone made every gesture, every movement and glance, genuinely felt. As he stared at Parsifal, Pape's eyes and even his mouth, registered a look of one who barely dared to hope that this young man could be "The One." As is always the case with this elegant singer, his way with the text remained a miracle.  In the Good Friday scene, just the simple way he uttered the phrase "Nun freut sich alle Kreatur" took my breath away, revealing a dignified rapture . . . a genuine rejoicing of nature and the meaning of this holiest of days. 

Jonas Kaufmann with his medium-sized tenor, gave a performance that captured the youthful casualness of the Innocent Fool, throughout the first act. He places the voice just right to be heard even softly, yet was fully capable in Act II of opening up for "Amfortas! Die Wunde!" With a sound that grows increasingly through its pain, his Parsifal finally comprehends . . . discovers what his purpose must now be, and ends that great monologue. with his desperate cry: "Erlöser! Heiland! Herr der Huld! Wie büss ich Sünder meine Schuld?" The intensity Kaufmann exhibited from this point onward was tremendous in every way. This really was Parsifal.

I enjoyed the interview with Peter Mattei, who spoke about people (like me) wondering something along the lines of, "Amfortas? You?" Haha! As it stands, Mattei, who we have grown to love in Mozart, Rossini, Tchaikovsky gave one of the most riveting, painfully beautiful accounts of the role I've seen or heard, his great narrative in Act I, heartbreaking. The integration between singer and role was perfection. What a glorious gift - and surprise this debut was. 

Evgeny Nikitin was as spooky and commanding a Klingsor as one could hope for. Malevolence, like blood, literally dripping from him as he made wild gestures and seemed to be uttering dark-god incantations.  This was a far cry from previous Klingsors in my experience, who were no more threatening than Uncle Fester, bald and sexless.  There was a verility still on display and again, that malevolence manifested itself in voice and deed and was not only palpable, it was terrifying.

Katarina Dalayman clearly knows the essence of Kundry down to her toes and her three (well, four) appearances captured every nuance of this eternally tortured woman. Girard took full advantage of his staging and whereas most Kundrys have been around for centuries, his has her having existed for millennia. The chemistry between Dalayman and Nikitin, Dalaymand and Kaufmann, Dalayman and Pape here made one of Wagner's most fascinating creatures even more so.

In the penultimate scene, we witness the spring in the dry, scorched topography coming back to life as water again flows with life, the perfect segue to the finale.  Entirely unique, Girard makes the entirety of the scene uniquely special, and, for me, the most overwhelming since Wieland Wagner's.  We watch Amfortas' healing, almost still in disbelief, and feel the awe and wonder of Gurnemanz, whose tested accepts his new King, were infinitely moving. Then, there is Kundry. Taking her rightful place in the final ceremony, and uniting with Parsifal the Grail and Spear, she is finally redeemed and allowed to die.  How much more satisfying this was rather than decades old trend of having her live on. The lady's tired, let her rest, already! . 

Francois Girard's production was a most remarkable achievement, along with Maestro Gatti and the company achieving a true realization of gesamtkunstwerk the likes of which I've rarely seen at this level. Even in this barren post-apocalyptic wasteland, there was a genuine, if raw, beauty about it all. The choreographed movements of the Flower Maidens - like Ninja roses from Hell, will (along with everything else I saw and heard) be burned, forever in my mind. Literally, unforgettable. Wagner's score has my eyes moist, and a lump in my throat from the opening notes of the Vorspiel to the curtain's final fall and today's performance - visually and sonically was no exception.

While I used not to be a fan of Barbara Willis Sweet, her work for the Met has not only improved, her video direction for today's performance sets the benchmark for how it should be done.  There were blessedly few long, intrusive close-ups, and instead she chose to capture the stage either in its entirety, or large portions of it. I didn't miss seeing long stretches of singers' dental work or nose hair.  Not one iota.

Our theatre was not only packed, it seemed there were no defectors, with everyone remaining, cheering, bravoing and applauding until long after the final credits had faded.

I shall not forget this afternoon and the exemplary work the Met gave us from start to finish. I'm on a high right now that is going to stick around for days. I look forward to a (hopeful) release of this performance on Blu-ray, to experience this slice of Wagnerian heaven again . . . and again.

Met's New Parsifal: Broadcast Review

A good Parsifal stays with me for days and last night's prima threatens (happily) to do just that. I remained awake much of the night thinking about what I heard (and wish I could have seen). For the principal roles I cannot imagine a cast better than last nights.

I had reservations about Ms. Dalaymanin the first act, I like a Kundry to be a bit more "pliable" vocally, and at times
Dalayman had a thickness to her sound that I felt occluded the writing.Nonetheless, in Act II, particularly after her first long narration, and her exchange with Parsfial beginning "War dir fremd noch der Schmerz" . . . here was genuine drama between the pair and I sat up straight for the remainder of the act, sometimes with chills, sometimes with tears.

Peter Mattei gave one of the most exposed readings of Amfortas' first Grail narrative in my entire experience, the voice gloriously rich and pouring out with a velvety sheen that made the character's torment all the more heart rending. Emotionally, it felt as if he was holding nothing back and the voice responded in a manner that enhanced every syllable of the text. Beginning with his pained cry/command to keep the grail covered ("Nein! Lass ihn unhenthüllt! Oh!") my heart began breaking for this wounded grail king. I can only imagine the effect it had on the innocent fool . . . going directly to Wagner's directions being alternately petrified, profoundly moved, and transported.


While some felt Jonas Kaufmann in the title role sounded "tired," I heard nothing that would make me think such. That burly, rich sound which annoys some and thrills others, feels just right in this music (perhaps more than any of his other Wagner roles, though his recent Lohengrin was amazing is still resonates with me powerfullly). His scenes with Gurnemanz both in the first and third acts were highlights and there were moments when the flow of one's voice into the
others revealed a quality that made me think they could've been long lost brothers. Act II slowly, but eventually took fire and Kaufmann truly came into his own at that critical moment singing "Amfortas! Die Wunde! Die Wunde!" with a strength and volume (at least over the radio) that altered the course of the story (as it should). This moment of epiphany was truly revolutionary and I FELT Parsifal's transformation immediately. Amazing, really.

Evgeny Nikitin was a tremendous, evil-sounding Klingsor. I was fully amazed at the almost complete change of voice he made from his entrance "Die Zeit ist da." with this almost thin quality - then growing into menacing mastery as he
summons Kundry forth. Nikitin was appropriately chilling. I look forward to (eventually) seeing how he plays this.

I first saw Rene Pape's Gurnemanz in 2003 (meeting him briefly the night before) and I immediately felt in both voice and interpretation he belonged inthe company of Moll, Salminen and Talvela. In the Good Friday music, Pape's Gurnemanz had me in the palm of his hands. The softening of this character from the first act to this is expressed so beautifully and Pape's command of the language ensures certain phrases that can slip by as little more than beautiful noise from non-native singers are turned into magic. This was particularly noticeable in a phrase like Nun freut sich alle Kreatur" where just the way he pronounces the word "Kreatur" is capable of creating a feeling that goes beyond the notes and the text. Far beyond.

I've seen some very mixed reviews so far on the conducting of Daniele Gatti. I liked what I heard, a lot. Sure there were some problems in the opening Vorspiel . . . enough at the very beginning to actually cause me to cringe a
couple of times, as the synchronization between conductor and about half the orchestra struggled to stay together. Finally, at about 5 minutes in (right around when all we hear are the flutes) . . . following a luftpause they all
seemed to pull together and coalesce and I felt the magic I feared I might not hear. A couple of other bumps along the way aside, I felt Gatti's slowish approach worked very well.

Slow, however, was not what we heard at the opening of the second act. Here, Gatti and the band blasted their way through Klingsor's music in a manner that would've made Boulez' head spin . . . it certainly did mine, and I LOVED the
almost dizzying effect Gatti provided here. (No, I don't want to always here it this way, but it was fun, and why not have a little horror house fun here?) I felt the temple scenes worked beautifully, Gatti and his singers finding the right (if frequently slowish) pace and the final moments were sublime.

I read where someone mentioned that listening last night the final sung note of the opera was completely inaudible. Not over my transmission and I've played it several times . . . it's ethereal and floating just the way it is supposed to.

I loved the inteviews with Terrance McNally and first lady of punk (and a personal idol) Patti Smith. Each offered their own thoughts on Wagner in general and Parsifal in particular. Insightful, contemporary and thought provoking from a pair I'd expect nothing less from.

So, all-in-all a terrific night of music making, the Met's musical forces allowing me to hear my favorite work while far away from Lincoln Center. That's a miracle in itself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Tenor Wars: Tenors, Tenors, Tenors!

The Tenor Wars: Tenors, Tenors, Tenors.

All one needs to do in circles operatic is utter the word “tenor” and within minutes a more bitter and far bigger argument will arise than any of Callas’s callouses or Battle’s battaglia. One will hear diatribes aplenty: there hasn’t been a decent tenor since Tucker; Giordani is Caruso’s successor; Boccelli is Pavarotti’s heir apparent and even more opinionated and insane squabbles, all argued with conviction, passion and by all manner of lovers of tenorial splendor.

I’m going to mention a few favorites and not so favorites of my own to get the ball rolling, but during the bitter cold arctic blasts I’m certain we’ll generate some heat. Hopefully we won’t start a forest fire! I DO ask that we keep the discussion (at least as much as possible) to the current crop of tenors and not wax reminiscent on our favorites of yesteryear . . . we do enough of that already!

Let me begin by stating how LUCKY we are to have Roberto Alagna singing today. He is, by far, my favorite tenor in (most of) the repertoire he makes his career in. Once again, as example of how differently we all hear, I’ve recently read reports of the same performances I’ve heard where Alagna’s voice is described as “dry . . . tough . . . leathery . . . out-of-tune.” I find his sound, rich, slightly muscular at times, but with a touch of honey. I find him also (ducking here) more consistent in performance than Giordani who, when he’s on is absolutely thrilling but when he’s off – YIKES! Very few times has Alagna disappointed me. I also don’t get the mean spirited comments about his acting or stage presence: I almost always find him to be a compelling actor onstage and think he looks fine, handsome even. His Don Carlos (still a major course of criticism from his detractors) remains one of the finest complete performances I’ve seen – a total, nearly Shakespearean performance that, no matter how many times I watch it, continues to leave me in absolute awe. His Werther does the same thing (and, having heard excerpts, I still anxiously await the DVD release of him and Kate Aldrich in this opera).

It was almost exactly two years ago I got blasted for “sticking up” for Alagna after his unfortunate behavior at La Scala where here, and elsewhere the general consensus seemed almost to be the operatic equivalent of “you’ll never work in this town again.” One lister wrote that just as Callas was, Alagna’s career will forever be defined by his walkout. Another told me that I was, like Mr. Alagna himself, “full of bullshit.” LOL – Oh, c’mon, already! Yes, it WAS an ugly incident, poor judgment on his part – though I remain convinced his health was more of an issue than it was made. We seem to conveniently forget the man had, months before, been hospitalized only months before and in critical condition with highly unusual and severe complications due to hypoglycemia. Typical of some of the nastiness thrown his way I recall someone here writing something like “For Christ’s sake, couldn’t he have just eaten a candy bar?”) He had collapsed onstage, had to cancel a boatload of engagements while he was hospitalized. Angela cancelled her engagements to remain by his side causing further brickbats to be hurled at her. He can be a bit much in his interviews and defenses of his wife (which I understand, even while balking at some of them), but when the man steps onstage: I’m nothing but 100 percent pure fan. I love him.

While Juan Diego Florez gets the lion’s share of tenorial praise these days, I’m one of the few who just doesn’t quite understand his phenomena. To my ears, it’s a pleasant, slightly distinctive, but not particularly beautiful sound, with (again to my ears) very little color or range of dynamics to it. Clearly my ears are out of synch with the rest of the world (and I realize that it is MY problem) but so many of his performances sound the same. When I hear Almaviva, Ramiro, etc., I want a (pardon the expression) ballsier sound. Having heard Richard Croft in Barbiere, Cenerentola, or d’Ory, this is by far the masculine yet “refined” sound I want in this music (likewise Croft’s Handel and Mozart). Of the younger tenors, I find Lawrence Brownlee a far more appealing sound in the similar repertoire as Juan Diego. Trust me, this is no bash of Florez, I’ve enjoyed a number of his performances both live and in recording/DVD, but he’s simply not my favorite type of singer. (I can hear already the thwack of the slings and arrows!)

Speaking of Croft, he remains, probably, my favorite tenor working today, period. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve moved away from the warhorse operas (which I still adore, but generally prefer singers no longer available in many of those roles). With Debussy, Handel, and Mozart high among my favorite operatic composers, it’s only natural Mr. Croft who excels in the music of all three, should keep me plenty happy. Also his recent efforts ranging from Gluck to Glass these past few seasons have been a major cause major celebration in my opinion. His Gandhi in last season’s “Satyagraha” was one of the most beautifully, ethereal and spiritual experiences I’ve ever had in an opera house.

Then there is that Maltese fellow: Mr. Calleja. When I first heard his voice I thought I was listening to a cleaned up recording from a century ago – it’s THAT kind of sound. While I’ve thrilled to his Rigoletto Duke several times now, it is in French music that I want to hear him most. The first time I heard his “Ah ! lève-toi, soleil!” I swear the ghost of Vanzo had entered my home. On its heals was a “Pourquoi me réveiller” that put me into a swoon, so fabulous it was. (I rarely use the word “fabulous” but it is entirely appropriate here.) Everything I hear from this singer is infinitely appealing and sung with an almost unlikely mixt of chutzpah and grace. The sound of this tenor is, in my opinion, among the most beautiful before us today and I cannot wait to see and hear more from him.

We have also a whole crop of young/youngish tenors in an almost endless parade of debuts singing major roles like Romeo, Lensky as well as other appropriate works by Handel and Mozart – and they’re singing all over the place: Joseph Kaiser, Sean Panikkar, Gordon Geitz, Brandon Jovanovich, Brad Cooper, Eric Margiore – all of them have star potential and have shown there is a place for them on the world stage. Then there are the major players who don’t get the recording contracts or press coverage and whose names don’t pop up with great frequency here, yet who have garnered fans the world over – tenors like Tom Randle, Garrett Sorenson, Kurt Streit and a host of others who have thrilled and entertained me as much as anyone has in an opera house.

A number of AYT’s (“aging young tenors”) have risen – rather quickly – to superstar status, but whom we can still see (and hear) developing before our eyes and ears. One of these is fast becoming a favorite of mine, the German Jonas Kauffmann. With matinee idol looks and a dark-tinged voice, he keeps proving himself over and over again in a wide-ranging repertoire that almost always seems not tailored to his voice, but which he tailors his voice to. I like this idea of “serving the music” and Kauffmann seems always to do precisely that. Most recently I have enjoyed his Covent Garden Don Jose to the unexpectedly thrilling Carmen of Antonnacci. Kauffmann seems poised at the ready to move into the lighter-fached Wagnerian roles, such as Lohengrin and I think, with his intense, introspective way of approaching roles, will be a marvelous Parsifal before we know it.

Rolando Villazon had one of the most meteoric rises to fame of any singer in recent times, and while it was not entirely undeserved, it thrust him into a dangerous sphere of too much work, tackling roles that are not 100 percent grateful to his still very lyric voice and, along with several other issues, sidelined him for the better part of a season and had fans concerned about his return which has been (wisely) a cautious reentry. Not cookie-cutter tenor handsome, Villazon has an odd exoticism to his look which he makes work for him meaning no lack of female friends and fans. Still, when he first came onto the scene I noted a seemingly strong musical and work ethic that seemed to lapse a smidge once he began filling his engagement book, jet setting ‘round the world when rest and study might have been better friends to him than adulation and praise (which would have come to him regardless). He is an exciting, likeable and immensely convincing stage personality and seems always to be a passionate actor. I cross my fingers that this one will get it all right and be around to enjoy and admire for a long, long time.

I can’t not mention Matthew Polenzani. A smaller-scaled lyric, there is still some nice weight to his sound, but it is not a big sound and I have worried about him in certain roles. A recent run of Traviata was the cause of concern for a number of opera lovers, but personally, while it will probably never be his greatest role, I found myself far more moved than I imagined – not to mention how much beauty and musicality he infused the young Germont with. His Romeos of the past several seasons for Chicago and later, the Met, were never anything less than breathtaking.

Another tenor in the Richard Croft mold is the British born, Toby Spence. Spence has the same flexibility and warm, eternally youthful sound as Croft, along with that amazing facility for coloratura. I have heard him in a number of roles, and seen him in several and he has that relaxed excitement unique to certain British Isle tenors that always straddles the line between careful thrill and throwing all caution to the wind.

I’m going to call this “Part I” – because there are so many more tenors who keep popping into my head. Let the games begin!

p.