Beczala and Katz: Carnegie Hall Land of Smiles

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ever Onegin . . . Metropolitan Opera's New Eugene Onegin

I spent the early evening watching the Deborah Warner/Fiona Shaw production of Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin filmed at the Metropolitan Opera this past fall.

For the most part I enjoyed the production, though a few things I found unnecessarily challenging, and downright in the way of otherwise excellent story telling. First up was the lack of a bedroom for Tatyana's all night vigil and the opera's most famous scene. Another problem was the duel . . . I know I'm not the only person who found rifles instead of pistols just an overall bad idea.

Other than several other similarly odd choices. the production worked well, and the development of its characters and their dramatic choices/direction from the singers throughout was fascinating and frequently moving. Onegin made clear his desire not to kill his best friend, when Lensky extended his hand before the duel and Onegin grabbed and hugged him, only to be rebuffed and pushed away in order to get on with the business of death. In sinking to the ground and cradling his dead friend in his arms, we immediately sense that Onegin will be forever haunted by this unnecessary, preventable tragedy.

I'm not the greatest fan of Anna Netrebko, but Tatyana turns out to be an ideal role for her vocally and histrionically. She struck several nicely juvenile poses in her first meetings with Onegin. Nebs's Tatyana seemed a tad distant during her Name Day celebration but her development into the Princess Gremin nicely balanced a newfound maturity with a bit of the passionate girl still left in her.

Mariusz Kwiecien offered a terrifically nuanced and theatrically compelling Onegin. If not as plush or warm of voice as Hynninen, Allen, Hvorotsovsky and other great interpreters of Tchaikovsky's ennui-ridden antihero, his was a more complex and frequently more likable Eugene than we frequently get, adding to Tatyana's dilemmas both early on and at the end.

Piotr Beczala's Lensky was a bit too sunny of character making his jealous outrage and violent treatment of Olga in Act 2 seem like that of a man unhinged, a light in which I've never previously considered seeing Lensky in. Nonetheless his singing throughout, and in the duel scene particularly, was exemplary, nuanced, passionate and, ultimately, heartbreaking.

Oksana Volkova, Elena Zaremba, John Graham-Hall and most of all, Larissa Diadkova, sang well, each having invested their characters with the kind of "lived in" naturalness that aids immeasurably to the storytelling.

As Prince Gremin, Alexei Tanovitski produced some of the strangest singing I can recall; a throbbing sound with an oddly coiled vibrato, the tone itself was not entirely unpleasant, but the result was too odd for these ears not to notice.

I'm divided on the final kiss offered by Tatyana to the astonished Onegin before leaving him to crumple to the ground, hopeless, desolate . . . but no longer bored. I very much liked staging this scene outside in a nighttime winter landscape, the falling snow bestowing a chilly beauty to the almost overheated proceedings.

Valery Gergiev had things well in hand in what must have been his umpteenth performance of the Russian potboiler. Never once sounding routine Gergiev pulled out all the stops for those big, glorious Tchaikovskian climaxes which, even though coming through a home sound system, got my blood pumping just the way I always expect them to.