The Mahagonny of My Dreams . . . or Nightmares

 

I finally was able to watch Ivo van Hove’s remarkable production of Weill’s The Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny from last year’s Aix Festival.  The fact that I watched it twice, staying up until 4:30 this morning to do so, gives some indication of what I thought, and will, eventually shed some light on its effect on me. 

 

I’ve always felt the work, despite being lauded by connoisseurs and scholars, gets short shrift by most companies and it is not a show guaranteed to sell out a run.  On that front, I remember when the Met premiered it in the late 70’s and telecast it live. I was away at school, and begged my father to record it for me on the old Sony Betamax.  He obliged, and when gave me the tape said, “I tried to watch it, I don’t know what the hell it is – but here it is.”  It’s grown in popularity over the ensuing decades – but probably not by much for some.

 

van Hove eschews standard sets and scenery instead employing a wide, open film studio's sound stage, an enormous video screen and an even bigger “green screen” to create brilliant images.  Additionally, there are camera men darting about capturing zoom-in close ups of the faces and features of the cast, creating an experience that feels part graphic novel – part midnight movie.  The resulting effect is ever at the service of Brecht’s libretto and Weil’s sui generis score.  All of this was served up by a cast I simply cannot imagine being bettered today – or possibly ever, along with Esa-Pekka Salonen leading the Philharmonia, the Aix chorus and the tremendous ensemble, Pygmalion, as the men of Mahagonny.

There are so many characters in Mahagonny, I’m going to stick to the central ones here.  First off, there has never been a Widow Begbick to quite match what Karita Mattila brought to this vulture-like criminal – not in my experience, anyway.  Gorgeously terrifying she recalled the aged film beauty, Jean Morreau with a touch of Mamie van Doren, Jane Mansfield and a scary bit of Baby Jane.  She was marvelous and monstrous and daring.  At one point when Jimmy thrusts a wad of cash into her hand she jams it into her lady parts, twisting her hand and .  .  . well, you know what she means here in no uncertain terms. 

 

At 74 years old in this production, Willard White is nothing but incredible, the voice sounding, if possible, better than it has in years, and a newish “gym body” that is age defying.  His Trinity Moses is as vibrant and cold blooded as one could wish for.

 

Interesting, too, it was seeing and hearing Alan Oke in so different a role as Fatty, adding his own tang to the horrible trio of Mahagonny’s founding fathers and mother. 

 

Annette Dasch was a lovely Jenny, playing the role with less spit and more polish than we’re used to (or than I’m used to) which made her feel more of a victim than usual, and given her “family background,” gave another layer of depth to the whore. 

Sean Panikkar, Thomas Allemans, and Peixin Chen gave Jimmy’s lumberjack buddies equal measures comedy and earnestness of friendship, with Panikkar, making an especially appealing Jack (his death by gluttony both humorous and moving). 

At the center of all of this is the transformational performance of Nikolai Schukoff as Jimmy Mahoney.  Schukoff is one of those actors who demands your attention, not by calling attention to himself, but by forging himself into a character with such depth and myriad nuances that one can’t help but wonder what comes next – which in an opera you know well, is something significant.  In his Jimmy there is hubris, bravado, boredom, fear, rage, hopelessness and ultimately an ineffable sadness that breaks the heart.  That he is capable of this while singing so beautifully – words and music coalescing into a unified whole, makes this Jimmy, easily the best I’ve seen or heard. His "melt down" and longing for home, segues into a bit of brilliant threatened violence, followed by the hurricane where, as everyone else runs seeking shelter, he stands at its center, spinning - almost dancing - gloriously seeing the ravages of Mother Nature as some sort of saviour.  It is chilling.  It is brilliant. 

van Hove’s staging throughout is a miracle of vision, but the entire hurricane scene ending of the first act, and Jimmy’s execution and the mad destruction of the city at the end of the second must be seen to be believed. 

The production is still available to watch on YouTube, and, if the powers-that-be had any sense it would be released onto DVD and BluRay.  I wouldn’t hold my breath though.  In any regard, this Mahagonny should not be missed.

Don Carlos: As It Should Be (mostly)

Verdi: Don Carlos
Theatre du Chatelet
Antonio Pappano, Conductor/Luc Bondy, Director
Roberto Alagna, Karita Mattila, Jose van Dam, Thomas Hampson, Waltraud Meier

Pappano leads an almost achingly beautiful effort from his soloists and the Chatelet orchestra and chorus. Perhaps my favorite Verdi opera, this is also regarded as one of his most unusual and problematic scores - often sounding simultaneously traditional yet somehow remarkably modern for its time. Pappano brings out all of these elements and his pacing of the entire long evening is beautiful, near perfection never once feeling either dragged out or rushed.

I've had ups and downs in my listening experiences with Roberto Alagna, but here, vocally and dramatically he perfectly captures every nuance, and every heartbreaking weakness of this character, taking a weak, problematic "starring role" and somehow turning him into Hamlet. It doesn't hurt that he is in astonishingly beautiful voice, his tone ringing and with a remarkable sheen. His ability to shade the voice in a variety of colors and dynamics made this an uniquely individual portrayal. He is not the "hero" Don Carlos some old-timers may wish for, but I hold this role to be almost the antithesis of heroic.

The production is simple effectively emphasizing the story telling and Verdi's music. Clearly well rehearsed, Luc Bondy's production has not a false note throughout its considerable length, every detail, every movement flowing with a rare and natural ease. In Gilles Aillaud's sets, Moidele Bickel's costumes and Vincio Cheli's beautiful lighting, every frame looks like a Murillo or El Greco masterpiece coming to life. Two particularly arresting images stand out in the St. Just scene; the first, just before the the entrance of Philip and Elisabeth - Carlos accepts Posa's request to return with him to Flanders, as Carlos kneels, Posa rests his head Carlos's shoulder. The second such moment follows the King and Queen's procession; Carlos extends his right arm out towards the now offstage couple as Posa grabs his other arm preventing his friend from following; creating a canvas of tortured angles: all arms, necks, heads, legs, backs, walls and shadows - all transformed into a tragic tableau of pain and comfort rejected.

The Fontainebleau scene (the opening cut a bit) is remarkably done and should convince any naysayers that it must be included to make the rest of this difficult work make true sense. In a barren forest of white birch, Carlos and Elisabeth draped in deep crimson, become as a single heart beating in this forest of death. Karita Mattila brings a dramatic quality that I've never before encountered in this role; at first coltish, tom-boyish, as Carlos lights the fire in the woods. Then, as he mentions that she will marry the son of Philip, becoming girlishly nervous. In only a few moments she establishes a bewitching and compelling character. In true princess manner, this Elisabeth is slightly vague yet clear she is smitten by and flirts with Carlos, her outward strength a facade - clearly a girl raised at court, aware she is but a pawn and dutifully plays the part she's given. At the news Elisabeth is to marry Philip instead of Carlos , the young lovers are crushed as the chorus, in ghostly white, enters singing her praises, lifting her into the air, placing her on a white horse and led away, knowing she is not leaving behind not only home and family, but any dream or hope of happiness as all turn away from Carlos who, alone, falls onto a rock, utterly destroyed. "Destiny has shattered my dreams." Having seen the Fontainebleau scene scene so staged I can't imagine its being left out of any production again.

Throughout this production Bondy and Pappano have encouraged their singers to live these roles and the electricity between all of the characters is stunning. Here is a theatre director who understands opera, and makes enormous use of music's ability to expand emotions in a unique way. Another example of his vision is the sheer physicality of the scene between Carlos and Elisabeth outside of the convent which takes on a desperate, violent quality that is, to say the least, startling to experience in an opera house.

As Rodrigue, Thomas Hampson gives what one of the best performances of his career. Combining humility, loyalty, compassion, pride and a sense of justice, his Posa is remarkably complex, and by far one of the most interesting good guys in all of Verdi. The voice is never big, but rich, well controlled and his sense of phrasing and attention to detail nothing short of remarkable. He also has a wicked good trill. At times, especially in his big scene with Philip, Hampson's voice seems to take on a tenorial quality - a remarkably lyrical Rodrigue, but with a sure sense of strength of purpose.

Mr. Van Dam's Philip is firm of tone, every word distinct, filled with meaning. The role, at times lies a bit low for him, but for the most part fits him like the proverbial glove. I have always want to despise Philip, but Bondy and Van Dam have made him more pathetic, a mere pawn of the Inquisitor, and Van Dam pulls off this vulnerability without once
sacrificing the strength of his character. A most complex, interesting characterization.

Waltraut Meier couldn't have been anybody's idea of an ideal Eboli, yet, she inhabits the character so fully turns in a magnificent performance, and looks damned stunning in doing so. Her vocalism in the Veil Song was kind of bizarre - it had a "warble" like quality that made it difficult to tell just what pitch she was actually on, yet she was beguiling and pulled it off. Once that was out of the way, everything else came from strength. I do wish that this mezzo would cultivate some chest voice. Her low notes seem to be her weakest and they sound exactly (except nearly inaudible) as her middle voice.

As Elisabeth, Mattila is, quite simply, a wonder. A voice capable of so many colors while retaining a unifying, individual sound. Having previously heard her in so much of her native music and Mozart, it's a tough voice to categorize, capable of riding the orchestra and cutting through it with laser like clarity, yet retaining a youthful sweetness most unusual to the typically "steely" type of voice we associate with that type of singing. Her sustained, high piano singing is nearly miraculous, a thin thread of sound perfectly placed, as clean as can be imagined then producing an effect that sounds as sensuous as silm gauze feels (two examples: her farewell to her lady-in-waiting, and reminding Carlos she is now his mother). It's all sung piano, yet she makes these moments sound entirely different. This is singing rare and refined. And remarkable. Every movement, gesture and sound came directly from this Elisabeth straight into my heart.


With the least amount of stage time, Eric Halfvarson's twisted, crippled Grand Inquisitor truly becomes a dominant central figure; the very physical embodiment of evil setting a tale of corruption, politics and religion already near chaos and spinning it completely out of control.

Nearly every scene in this long work is filled with heartbreaking magic and beauty, making it difficult to single out one scene in particular as standing out from the rest, though Posa's death perhaps takes place of honor in an evening filled with memorable music making and drama.

As one would imagine, the Chatelet audience responds with a thunderous and extended ovation, making me wish, even more, I'd been there.

Schubert's Fierrabras. Another Unjustly Neglected Singspiel

There is so much wonderful music in Fierrabras, listening to it one can only wonder why it is seldom, if ever heard.
Sadly, this may be one of the classic cases of a libretto doing in a musical composition of exquisite beauty. I myself have not a single problem with the libretto being a little far-reaching. It is often dismissed as being melodramatic, but personally I’ve never had a problem with operas being melodramatic for that is exactly what they’re supposed to be.

Having said that, let me try to relay Fierrabras’s plot, which exposes a veritable hotbed of ideas covering just about everything: religion, war, strife, freedom, imprisonment, enemy battles, betrayal, loyalty and love all taking place in the time and court of King Charlemagne. Florinda, daughter of the Moor Prince Boland is in love with Roland. Boland’s son, Fierrabras is in love with Charlemagne’s daughter, Emma. Emma, in turn, has the hots for the tenor, er, I mean Eginhard (well, he IS a tenor!).

There is war between the Franks and the Moors, the Franks win and Roland takes Fierrabras as his prisoner. Meanwhile, the Moors successfully capture Eginhad and Roland, who are then condemned to death. Florinda plots to free the Frankish prisoners, but only Eginhard (whom Emma is in love with) makes it out. Fierrabras returns with reinforcements and they free their comrades. Charlemagne and Boland declare peace and everyone pairs off, save Fierrabras, who, having lost Emma, remains alone.

There are two recordings I know of, both taken from live performances. The first, available on Myoto is a concert performance with the incomparable Fritz Wunderlich in the role Eginhard, and exquisitely conducted by Hans Müller-Kray. I know little about the rest of the cast, but it is, for the most part, expertly sung and, considering it’s being live and recorded in the 50’s, has mostly excellent sound.

The other is taken from a glorious live performance (an actual staging) with Abbado conducting the Schoenberg Choir and the Chamber Orchestra of Europe. With the exception of Wunderlich, the cast, in my opinion, could not be improved upon: Josef Protschka, Karita Mattila, Cheryl Studer, Thomas Hampson, Robert Gambill, Robert Holl with some outstanding lesser known singers in smaller roles. Like Müller-Kray, Abbado wants for nothing in expressivity, nuance and paying attention to details. Neither recording includes the dialogue.

Fierrabras’s score posseses some thrilling, over-the-top arias such as “Die Brust, Gebeugt Von Sorgen.” In the Abbado recording this is sung by Cheryl Studer with such rapt, breathlessness that its urgency jumps out of the speakers, taking one by surprise. As remarkable as the melodic line is, Schubert’s orchestrations here and everywhere throughout the opera could serve as a textbook of operatic orchestral writing with spectacular integrations of vocal underscoring/voice doubling as well as independent movement and almost visual imagery created through his instrumentation. It’s quite amazing stuff.

For my money, even more wonderful than the arias are the numerous ensembles and choruses, such as the duet “O Mog' Auf Froher Hoffnung Schwingen” or the ensemble and chorus “Der Landestochter Fromme Pflichten” each breathtaking in its beauty. In the latter Schubert takes a melody, almost folk like in its simplicity, then weaves it into an orchestral tapestry of almost bucolic bliss, strongly recalling Beethoven. Indeed, I believe much of the music of Fierrabras shows Beethoven’s influence on Schubert – not a bad thing, in my opinion. (My opinion also is that Schubert and Beethoven should have given us a lot more opera than they did.)

Another gorgeous duet, “Selbst An Des Grabes Rande” has an infectious waltz quality which Studer and Hampson perfectly capture with an almost Viennese lilt – then the men’s chorus enters and the whole affair will almost make
you forget The Merry Widow!

While some may say Fierrabras isn’t inspired I’ll disagree strongly. It is a nearly perfect example of Singspiel which I wish would have more of a presence in today’s world of opera.

Mattila IS Salome!

I wasn’t in the house for it this time, but listening to the Met’s Salome with Karita Mattila last night I felt almost as though I was. Like many in the
audience, finding my breath after those great crashing chords, I let out a roar in appreciation for what I’d just heard.

First, let me defend Patrick Summers, who I keep hearing bashed over and over again. Maestro Summers led a gorgeous, enormously lyrical while still thoroughly dramatic performance from the orchestra. Rather than the thickly textured soup some conductors can make of Strauss scores of this period, Summers brought out the widely varied colors - an array of hues from the band, revealing layer after layer of delicate, gauzy sound in best Straussian fashion. I heard solo instruments last night, where I barely - if ever - hear them in other performances, and like the Gergiev-led run of four years ago, one got to hear that deliciously creepy organ music so rarely heard in a live performance of this immensely popular work.

Vocally I was wowed from the moment the curtain rose, beginning with Joseph Kaiser’s beautifully nuanced reading. I love the slightly reedy yet smooth texture to his voice and his sense of line through this music evoked youth itself.

Mattila stunned me with the way she began the evening. There was this delicate near Mozartean lean sound, youthful, virginal yet powerful enough to swell in those few places the role calls for early on. The voice was fresh and free with everything delightfully pointed up. As the story grew darker, so frequently did the tone and color of Mattila’s voice, at times sounding like an
entirely different (and fully deranged) singer.

Sometimes a singer will insert gasps, grunts and groans for dramatic purposes, usually in lieu of being able to sufficiently convey the drama through the music. Mattila inserts these effects aplenty including sucking in air and moaning as she waits to redeem her bloody prize, and what made it all so effective was that instead of masking any deficiencies of voice, they were
merely embellishments on a deliciously over-the-top reading of vocal prowess and often gleaming sound. This sound grew and bent like a prism through Strauss’s complex score, the final scene radiant, confused and triumphant. The ultimate phrase: “Ich habe deinen Mund geküßt, Jokanaan, Ich habe ihn geküßt, deinen Mund,” found conductor and soprano stretching out the line to the point where it felt suspended in time – the aural equivalent of a gazing at a painting. After last season’s worrisome Manon Lescaut, I think more than a few of us had been holding our collective breath to see how she would do and once again Karita put on the mantle of Mattila the Magnificent!

I was unfamiliar with Ildikó Komlósi, who I found to be a very attractive and lyrical Herodias, especially against her husband’s often gruff vocalism and slightly exaggerated mannerisms provided by Kim Begley, an artist I usually enjoy more than I did last night. This was too bad, since Alan Glassman who four years ago made gave the best performance I’ve ever heard of that role, was last night singing one of the Jews.

It was difficult at first to judge Juha Uusitalo’s debut as Jokanaan. From the cistern the voice itself seemed a bit loose and hollow, which always gives me pause for concern. Later, the sound seemed freer, if somewhat tight and rather reigned in. Yet, in one or two of the explosive moments he revealed a big, thrilling sound that poured out easily, which, seemed almost to come another singer altogether - I’d like to hear more of THAT from him.

The performance flew by in the proverbial blink-of-an-eye and ran only an hour and 36 minutes, with a nice, fat ovation for Mattila and company at the end.

After the bloated excess of the opening night gala, THIS was the right way to kick off a high energy season of opera at the Met. Bravo . . . Bravissimo!