Review – The Beauty of Baroque. Danielle de Niese, The English Concert/Harry Bickett

A lesson learned – never listen to a new CD when in a bad mood. If I hadn’t revisited this album once again I would have missed what is, overall, a delightful, if not compelling, recital disc.

Danielle de Niese first came to public notice for her memorable performance as Cleopatra in McVicar’s Glyndebourne production of Giulio Cesare. Since then she has played other roles, notably Poppea as well as released a disc of Mozart arias. This new album focuses, as the title makes clear, on a mixed bag of music from the baroque era – namely Monteverdi, Purcell, Pergolesi, Bach and naturally, Handel. And in some of the numbers she is accompanied by the countertenor Andreas Scholl.

The disc opens with Purcell’s Come again: Sweet love doth now invite and What if I never speed? both of which de Niese delivers with charm, delicacy and attention to the texts. However from the start de Niese displays a noticeable breathiness, and while this may, in part, be due to too close a recording set up, personally I also believe it’s also to do with her technique which during the recital affects her ability to produce a smooth, legato line as required.

Next come two old Handel stalwarts, Ombrai mai fu from Serse. and Let The Bright Seraphim from Samson. While de Niese does justice to the first aria, singing it with great simplicity and musical intelligence, she fails to deliver, as I mentioned above, the requisite fluid, legato line, but instead chops the vocal line and – in some cases – seeming to snatch her breaths. It might not be a definitive performance but her rich, golden tone is hard to resist. In the second aria, with it’s accomplished trumpet obbligato, de Niese’s bright and agile soprano comes into it’s own. And thankfully she doesn’t succumb to the common practice of superfluous ornamentation on the return of the first section.

They hand Belinda … When I am laid from Purcell’s Dido and Aeneas is a deceptively difficult aria. It requires an ability to spin a smooth, almost unbroken line and surprisingly de Niese delivers it to produce what I think is almost the strongest performance on the disc. Her diction is crystal clear and her delivery of the phrase ‘Remember me’ is particularly poignant, emphasised as it is by subtle use of vibrato.

From Acis and Galatea comes Heart, the seat of soft delight. With its gentle recorder accompaniment, De Niese achieves the requisite sense of pastoral rapture. Indeed it immediately recalled her wonderful performance as Acis at Covent Garden when it was then second part of a double bill after Sarah Connolly in Dido and Aeneas. If you get the chance snap up a copy of the DVD.

Monteverdi is represented by the wonderful duet Pur ti miro from L’incoronazione di Poppea and Quel sguardo sdegnosetto. Joined by Andreas Scholl in the duet from the closing act, this is the crowning highlight of the recital disc. Their two voices entwine and blend perfectly above the delicate accompaniment in this rapturously erotic music. The second Monteverdi number with it’s fleeting lute work doesn’t work so well, de Niese failing to match the dance-inspired infectiousness of the her accompanist.

Scholl returns for Io t’abbraccio from Handel’s Rodelinda. It’s clear that he provides a clear focus of inspiration and support for de Niese as this duet rivals the previous for the top slot. However it fails to ignite in the same way but is still well sung.

Guardian Angels, Oh, Protect Me from The Triumph of Time and Truth is the last Handel aria on the disc. The rather turgid, plodding accompaniment from Bickett doesn’t help de Niese as she tries to convey what is one of Handel’s finest arias. Again the breathiness returns here and interestingly in this aria alone does she seem to have almost imperceptible problems with intonation.

The first movement of Pergolesi’s Stabat Mater follows and again de Niese and Scholl entwine their voices to beautiful effect although the performance lacks any sense of light and shade – sung practically at one volume throughout.

It’s a shame that de Niese’s disc ends with JS Bach, as personally these two arias are the least convincing on the disc. I am not sure that her voice suits his music at all. Sich üben im Lieben from the wedding cantata Weichtet nur, betrübte Schatten is marred by the obbligato oboists intonation problems and generally feels laboured rather than loved. Schafe können sicker weiden fares slightly better although she is challenged by the sustained vocal line and therefore remains unconvincing in this specific repertoire.

Ultimately however De Niese’s breath control – which I believe can only be blamed in part on the close recording – somewhat marrs what is a good, if not compelling, recital disc. Throughout de Niese is ably, if somewhat unimaginatively supported by The English Concert conducted by Harry Bickett.

However it is worth it for de Niese’s and Scholl’s magical performance of Pur ti miro alone.

An Apple-Pie Ring – High on ‘doh!’, low on ambition. Saved by Stemme.

Wotan – Mark Delavan
Brunnhilde – Nina Stemme
Siegmund – Brandon Jovanovich
Sieglinde – Anja Kampe
Siegfried – Jay Hunter Morris/Ian Storey
Erda – Ronnita Miller
Loge – Stefan Margita

Director – Francesca Zambello
Conductor – Donald Runnicles

It’s not uncommon for directors to reinterpret opera productions through the prism of either contemporary or historical events. This can mean everything from the anonymous war-torn landscape and bombed-out buildings to specific references and, or, setting their productions in specific historical periods – actual to the original composer’s wishes, or not.

There are plenty of examples and naturally some work more effectively than others.

Peter Sellars’ use of contemporary settings for the three Da Ponte operas, updating them specifically to then-modern-day New York for example worked well overall. As did his use, with devastating effect, of Death Row imagery in his famous production of Handel’s Theodora.

More recently at the Met, I witnessed a finessed Capriccio set in 1920s France, as well as an Il Trovatore where the only real saving grace were McVicar’s Goya-inspired sets. And closer to home there has been everything from the ‘corporate re-engineering’ of ENO’s recent Simon Boccanegra – which worked with varying degrees of success scene by scene – counter-balanced by their simplistic Germanic view of Faust and their dreadful reinterpretation of Ulisse. It has to be said that when ENO get something wrong, they do so magnificently.

And naturally, Wagner’s operas lend themselves to more than their own fair share of interpretation through the lens of history. And more often than not, it’s own.

Again plenty of examples can be found. For Tristan und Isolde there is everything from the authentic Cornish setting that inspired the Met’ production and countless others, to the starker and as brutally effective settings of Loy at Covent Garden and Marthaler at Bayreuth. And again at Bayreuth, look at the recent Meistersinger which so offended the audience.

And of the The Ring cycle itself, interpretations abound aplenty. For me, LePage’s current cycle at the Met is an uncomfortable combination of the traditional overridden by his personal obsession with technology – a modern day deus ex machina gone mad. Phyllida Lloyd’s often maligned, but to me wonderful, cycle at ENO drew on contemporary events, and sometimes with telling effect. It might have offended some people, but Brunnhilde’s immolation as a suicide bomber seemed ‘so right’ at the time. As did the Rhinemaidens as pole dancers – a reference to the sleaze and greed of the Gods that they served. And if ENO ever does revive the cycle, I’ve no doubt that these images, as well as others throughout the cycle, will remain as fresh and contemporary.

The Ring, with it’s themes including greed and the abuse of power – and Parsifal for that matter with it’s theme of redemption – often give directors the opportunity to develop a narrative centred on particularly difficult, or controversial events in history. Of course the first that come to mind are productions that focus on Germany’s own early Twentieth Century legacy – from the birth of their imperialism through to Nazism. But let’s not forget Chereau’s brilliant cycle – a damning view of capitalism.

Francesca Zambello set her sights high. Arrogantly high. She aimed to create an ‘American Ring’, based on that nation’s history, that would ‘teach’ a lesson and send a ‘warning’ to the audience of the eco-disaster that their continent potentially faced.

She aimed. And missed. Four times.

Das Rheingold was set during the Gold Rush. If greed and avarice were the prime motivations for her narrative, why not the carpet-bagging era after the Civil War and the end of slavery? Or more pertinently a scene of modern day Wall Street, the birthplace of the current recession that has driven so many opera houses in the US into closure. Clearly the racial overtones of the first, and the potential insult the second might cause to people in the audience, made her choice for her.

Die Walküre leapt from the wilderness of Middle America via the boom years of the 1920s and 1930s to the Valkyrie dressed – supposedly – as Second World War fighter pilots. But in reality they more closely resembled a bevy of Amelia Earharts, alas without neither her grace nor her bravado. Weirdly, the confrontation between Siegmund and Hunding seemed to then take place beneath an abandoned section of San Francisco’s own highway. The final act, set on the most traditional of Rocks offered what should have been a subtle touch – images of dead soldiers from wars dating from the Civil War to the current conflict in Iraq – but it simply seemed contrived. Again why not in Die Walküre confront a real issue in America’s history – the current war in Iraq and the events preceding it? Or if that was too real, the Vietnam War?

And so to the trailer park for the opening of Siegfried and the hero portrayed as juvenile ‘white trash’. It didn’t work, as Jay Hunter Morris is simply a wooden actor. The second act transported us to outside what seemed to be a warehouse. Alberich as homeless man in the same vein as Wotan’s Wanderer. Again this hinted at a possible parallel with the current homelessness situation in San Francisco itself but it came to nothing apart from a few laughs from the stalls.

And Fafner’s dragon? A miniature industrial ‘machine’ of sorts – short on menace, and long on the kind of awkwardness felt by at school plays when the dragon is made out of egg boxes. ‘Could do better’. Clearly there were budgetary considerations as the final act – and the opening act of Götterdämmerung – returned us to the Rock. Only this time it had obviously not stood the ravages of time, and looked dilapidated.

The Norns opened Götterdämmerung Matrix-style. In bright green outfits and overlaid with an animated circuit-board, their rope was replaced by cable which they fixed to either side of the stage only to have it explode. Control-Alt-Delete. If only.

And then back to the Rock. Following their adolescent running around at the end of Siegfried, we return to find the hero and Brunnhilde still running around the joyless Rock. Surely they first thing they would have done would be to at least build a shack?

Zambello’s sets trundled painfully on and took us to a faceless silver and black interior. Factory spewing plumes of smoke in the background. Hagen’s own bedroom featured for his dream sequence. A nice touch was the inference that he was, in fact, having an affair with Gutrune but again Zambello took this nowhere. The hunting scene saw the return of the Rhinemaidens and a river filled with refuse that they were clearing up. At last a clear environmental message. Sadly too late.

The Immolation scheme – thankfully – was so blandly directed that it allowed us to focus on Nina Stemme. Using bags of rubbish to create the pyre again seemed contrived but was nothing compared to the ridiculous decision to leave Gutrune on stage with Brunnhilde or having Hagen murdered by the Rhinemaidens.

And connecting all the scenes throughout the cycle, Zambello used a sequence of predictable films. Shots of running through a forest, water, clouds and, of course, factories spewing out pollution. It would have been bearable apart from the fact that Zambello chose to simply rewind them when we returned to previous locations.

It was almost a relief when the curtain came down. And yes there was booing for Zambello on the final night.

So instead of taking an opportunity to do as other directors have done – revisit uncomfortable moments in a nation’s history to make the narrative of The Ring relevant to the audience – Zambello offered her audience a saccharine, shallow, unchallenging Ring that failed to achieve add up to anything.

Why? It took me a while and perhaps I am wrong. But could it be that Zambello either thought her audience would be too stupid to follow a narrative that might ask them to confront a darker side of their history? Perhaps it was a fear that the rich San Franciscan donors would reject any attempt to make them face this reality and therefore she opted form a dumbed-down, Homer-Simpson narrative for her ‘American Ring’. Or maybe this is exactly the kind of Ring that Americans want. Glossy. Shallow. And not requiring any thought at all.

It was also interesting to note that the surtitles skipped along and over the original text, and in my view, dumbed it down. And secondly the audience laughed at those very moments in Wagner’s drama when he challenges us to confront some uncomfortable truths about ourselves.

However, often a bad production can be negated if the quality of the performances on stage are remarkable or at least consistently strong.

Unfortunately this wasn’t the case for the most part.

Undoubtedly this cycle belongs to, and was saved by, Nina Stemme. In this, her first full Ring cycle, she dominated as Brunnhilde. Her singing, musicianship and sheer stage presence outshone everyone else on stage, as well as Runnicles in the pit. From her opening Hojotoho to her final immolation, Stemme held the audience transfixed as we watched her transform from feisty warrior to woman betrayed to woman redeemer. Striding onto stage for her first appearance, she inhabited the role completely and confidently delivered a performance of the highest standard. Her voice was rich, even and clear throughout her register and she clearly annunciated each and every word of Wagner’s text. The standing ovation at the end of Götterdämmerung was so clearly deserved. I can only think that by the end of the third cycle, she will completely own this role and be heading towards the Brunnhilde firmament. On Stemme alone can be laid the success of this Ring and hopefully the audience realise the privileged of hearing her first full Ring cycle.

However there were other singers in the cast that also stood out. Anja Kampe made her San Francisco debut as an impressive Sieglinde. Having heard her in the past when her voice had a slightly brittle tone, it was good to hear that it had ripened and filled out. Hers was a convincing Sieglinde, with intelligent and nuanced singing and acting skill that brought out the character’s vulnerability.

But the most pleasant surprise was contralto Ronnita Miller as Erda & First Norn. Her deep, resonant voice was ideally suited to Erda, and her diction was incredibly clear. And similarly she stood out significantly among the three Norns. I believe that she has an incredibly bright future ahead of her and hopefully she will be heard in Europe – and hopefully the UK? – before long.

Brandon Jovanovich also made a strong impression as Siegfried. His clarion-like tenor may have tired in places – I think that has more to do with learning pace himself than anything else – but his was a truly credible warrior. He effortlessly, for the most part, rose above the orchestra and he had the character’s arrogance and impetuosity down to a tee.

Stefan Margita’s Loge was also well cast. A strong actor, his bright and light tenor shone out over the orchestra in sharp relief to the majority of his half siblings’ shortcomings.

Mark Delavan was a singularly disappointing Wotan. He had neither the heft nor the flexibility of voice required for the role. This was particularly evident in Die Walküre when he struggled to be heard above the unsympathetic conducting of Runnicles, particularly in the final Act.

Casting Siegfried is often a challenge but the casting in San Francisco was doubly disappointing with Jay Hunter Morris in Siegfried and subsequently Ian Storey in Götterdämmerung. Morris’ attempt to play Siegfried as a surly teenager failed to light the stage and he was hampered by an inability to spin the vocal lines of the role, once again above Runnicles’ band. More of a shame was Storey’s indisposition in Götterdämmerung. Clearly he marked the role in the First Act only to try and compensate in the Second and subsequently damaged his voice. A plea by the opera administration as we entered the Third Act did not bode well, but surprisingly his performance seemed stronger. Perhaps the medical assistance he received in the interval was some kind of vocal steroid. But it wasn’t enough to compensate and overall his was a weak performance. A shame as given the right circumstances, Storey could be an impressive Siegfried.

Additionally Andrea Silvestrelli may have made a strong impression as Fasolt but, despite his rich and mellifluous bass, his Hagen was woolly and unfocused. A shame.

And while the role of Gutrune is often miscast, nothing prepared me for the sharp and brittle voice of Melissa Citro. Clearly she was cast for her looks – although the cheap, two-dimensional Anna Nicole was misplaced – that her voice clearly could not match.

And finally to Runnicles and the orchestra. First and foremost, the brass were frustratingly disappointing on all four nights, but particularly in Die Walküre and Götterdämmerung, where they have a key role. But generally Runnicles – whom I have always rated and whose conducting I have always admired – delivered a mediocre, lacklustre set of performances. There was little attention paid to either orchestral detail or colour, some wayward speeds but most frustratingly, a lack of sensitivity to the singers on stage which all added up to a consistently bland level of orchestral playing. It took a singer of the talents of Stemme to consistently, and successfully, cut through the noise coming from the pit. Hopefully the orchestra and Runnicles will clean up their act for the remaining cycles.

So, all in all, a disappointing Ring bar Stemme. It promised so much and delivered almost nothing. Zambello aspired to deliver a contemporary narrative but instead produced something that was either ill-thought out and conceived, or simply baulked at confronting some of America’s real demons. Runnicles was pallid and unresponsive in the pit. And Stemme was less than ably supported by the vast majority of her colleagues on stage.

At a time when opera companies throughout the US are scrabbling to survive it’s frustrating to see a major house waste such an unique opportunity. But sadly I think that this Ring will run and run in the city of San Francisco.

Because it made the audience laugh.

He Didn’t Drink The Poison

Siimon Boccanegra, English National Opera, June 10 2011

Simon Boccanegra – Bruno Caproni
Paolo Albiani – Roland Wood
Jacapo Fiesco – Brindley Sherratt
Amelia – Rena Harms
Gabriele Adorno – Peter Auty

Director/Set Designer – Dmitri Tcherniakov
Conductor- Edward Gardner

After the recent disappointments on the stage of English National Opera, it was good to see something resembling a return to creative form with Simon Boccanegra. Overall the production was good, and I can only hope that when it reaches the even higher standards of their co-production partner, the Bayerische Oper in Munich, it will lift itself even further artistically.

As I said, I have been disappointed with recent productions at the London Coliseum, so much so that I have yet to renew my ENO Friends’ membership. And while this production has gone some way to restoring my confidence it doesn’t quite counterbalance the recent rash of ill-conceived endeavours.

Figgis’ simply ridiculous Lucrezia Borgia, where it seemed that the entire stage budget had been spent on a handful of badly made, ‘let’s-play-the-opera-for-titillation’ episodic films. At the expense of any drama on the actual stage. The whole evening was short on quality on the stage and in the pit and this was exacerbated by the disastrous decision – backed by conductor and former house Music Director, Paul Daniel – of cutting some of the music as well.

Their complete gutting of Monteverdi’s masterpiece, Il Ritorno d’Ulisse was even worse. If the opening S&M prologue was an early low point, nothing prepared me for the smearing of greasy fried chicken on the walls and a lazy execution of Personregie. After that nothing could save the evening for me, especially not the majority of miscast singers. And despite a hope that Gilliam’s debut with The Damnation of Faust might be a turning point with subtle observation and some wit judging from the massive PR campaign behind the production, it proved hollow and desperately crammed full of clichés. Even the singing was only passable.

Thank God, therefore, for Tcherniakov.

Simon Boccanegra is a difficult opera in many ways. First, let’s face it, the story is convoluted to say the least. But Tcherniakov’s simple way of keeping the audience up to speed was effective.

Secondly, setting the opera itself. There is, naturally, the option to set it as originally intended in Renaissance Genoa. This was, of course, what Covent Garden did, scoring some success with a very traditional production by ????. But I also remember the more anonymous production that preceded the current attempt at ENO itself.

Tcherniakov is clearly a director cast in a more modern mould and overall – with some nice touches – the production generally works well. The pseudo ‘café italia’ of the opening hinted slightly at a Latin setting, as did the hysterical ‘Nona’ as Simon tried to steal Maria’s dead body. But I particularly liked Amelia’s opening scene. Here the director shrunk the tableau of the previous Prologue into a frame. A neat visual trick. The emptiness of the space – a single arm chair, the aforementioned picture and a large opaque window, seemed indicative of her state of mind.

His interpretation of the subsequent Council Chamber – a faceless office with theatre style seating which then dominated the rest of the opera – worked less well. A quick glance at the programme inferred that Tcherniakov had taken some inspiration from the European Commission or some other nameless chamber of deputies. Rows of chairs arranged theatre-style however, gave more of a sense of a corporate meeting room than the seat of government – although it did give an opportunity for some chair slinging.

However – and this was a relief – there was clear attention to detail in the direction of the main protagonists – who played their parts effectively for the most part. From the beginning it was clear that the director had spent some time with the singers, exploring their characters. In particular, I noted how Fiesco literally seemed to shrink, and Bocanegra himself grew more weary as events unfolded. But best of all was the Amelia of Rena Harms. She captured the real sense of an adolescent in rebellion, slightly damaged by her past, and desperate for love and identity. Personally I am surprised that Boccanegra would want to reclaim such a testy teen. Her final transformation, from goth in black leggings and baggy jumper to teenage bride in a suitably ‘off-the-shelf’ wedding dress and veil was another nice touch.

Some critics have made much of the direction of the chorus. While I do think that the ENO chorus is one of the company’s best assets – together with its orchestra and Music Director – I didn’t think that there was anything remarkable or different about their stage management in this production. For example, I think the chorus was far more effective and dramatic in a previous production of Jephtha.

As an ensemble, the cast were strong and melded well and this has always been a strength of ENO. Any weaknesses that individuals might have displayed effectively disappeared in the ensemble.

Bruno Caproni’s Simon Boccanegra was – for me – probably the weakest of the soloists as h3 didn’t project any real presence or dimension on stage. His voice lacked the rich, deep sonority that I think is necessary in this role. Additionally he sometimes lacked the heft to rise the above the orchestra. But his was a musically astute and sensitive performance.

The Albiani of Roland Wood reminded me of former Labour minister Ed Balls. I wonder if that was deliberate. Bar the almost comedic, Basil Fawlty moment when his ambition to marry Amelia is thwarted, it was a finely caricatured performance supported by some very fine singing. Particularly chilling was his reaction during the curse scene. I wouldn’t mind seeing Wood as Iago in the future.

Brindley Sherratt, a regular at ENO, delivered the finest performance of the evening. His rich, sonorous voice, even in tone throughout brought every scene he was in alive with drama. A strong actor, he successfully went from grieving and vengeful father, to a broken and resigned man.

To be honest, I didn’t know what to make of Peter Auty’s outfit. When he first entered, crash helmet in hand, I wondered if Gabriele Adorno was a part-time stunt man. However as the evening progressed I decided that he was, in fact, a pizza delivery boy cum hero. He was in fine voice and had no problems delivering the notes on the page with its often taxing tessitura. However his was not a performance of particular finesse, with no real sense of light and shade, and for the most part, one single volume – loud. This was particularly true when singing with Rena Harms.

And so to the Amelia of Rena Harms. Again I understand that she did not find favour with some critics. I beg to differ. Despite a somewhat shaky start, Harms has an incredibly flexible instrument. It has a rich warm timbre, except perhaps at the very top of her range where it can take on a slightly harsh tone. But she produced a clean vocal line with an real ability to float her highest notes. And she performed the role wonderfully, both as soloist and as a member of the many, beautiful ensemble moments. And her keen acting communicated her truly damaged character. This wasn’t the wooden cipher of the Amelia portrayed by Marina Poplavskaya at Covent Garden, but a real flesh and blood girl verging on womanhood but unable to cope. And Harms delivered the most memorable image of the opera – her breakdown in the closing scene. It will stay with me for some time.

And so to the most puzzling thing for me. The poison and the end of the opera itself. When I say poison, I mean the lack of poison. At the seminal moment of the opera, Simon Boccanegra does not drink from the poisoned glass. Now I realise that sometimes Personregie – and from here on in, I detected it’s particular influence – can result in some strange decisions (bamboo in Cologne’s production of Der Rosenkavalier for example), but for the main character not to drink the poison made no sense at all. Especially as it was constantly referred to in the text. More on the translation later. So having not drunk the poison, the final scene almost stepped from reality. For example, Boccanegra’s fashioning of an admiral’s hat from a piece of newspaper (clearly one he had made earlier) seemed nonsensical as it was the single reference to his nautical past in the whole opera. Indeed, at the beginning he seemed more ageing Fonzie than successful pirate. Then his descent, not into death, but rather into a trance-like state, or breakdown didn’t seem appropriate. His ambling exit stage right – quite literally – detracted from the emotional impact that Ed Gardner had led the audience to at that precise moment. Fortunately the brutal physicality of Harms’ breakdown returned us to the stark reality of the denouement, heightened even more by her inability, moments before, to hug her own father as he implored her to do.

I have always supported ENO’s mission to perform opera in English. But a small plea, and I know that this isn’t always possible, but it seems ludicrous and somewhat distracting, that the libretto can’t be more reflective of the drama onstage. The references to swords for example, seemed ridiculous coming from a man in a motorcycle outfit.

And finally to Ed Gardner and the orchestra. Without doubt the most thrilling part of the evening. A remarkable conductor and Music Director, he clearly has an exceptionally close relationship with the orchestra and they respect him immensely. He drew exceptionally fine playing from them, sympathetic to the singers, and tuned in to the fine detail of Verdi’s score. The sonorous brass at the opening, the wonderful string and wind playing for Amelia’s Come in quest’ora bruna, demonstrate now far the musicianship of the orchestra under Gardner has come,

So, all in all, a good evening and a welcome return to a higher standard for ENO. Hopefully in Munich however, Tcherniakov will allow Simon to drink the poison and die with dignity on stage.

Shuffling Amidst Genius

Listening to JS Bach Cantatas (Soloists, Monteverdi Players & Chorus, John Elliott Gardiner)

JS Bach is simply one of the ‘greats’. Even his most intimate works – for example the works for solo keyboard – have a quiet grandeur and emotional impact that is not only unmatched by the majority of his Baroque colleagues but even by the generations of composers that followed. There is a clarity of form and an innate sense of musicality that often just leaves me speechless.

His cantatas must stand near the pinnacle  if not at the summit, of his musical œuvre. Bar the Passions they encapsulate all the things that make JS Bach a great and magnificent composer and a genius.

I have all twenty-odd CDs recorded by John Elliott Gardiner and his Monteverdi Soloists on their pilgrimage. It’s impressive, to say the least, that when Deutsche Gramophon cancelled their commitment to record all Bach’s cantatas, Gardiner took it upon himself to launch a label to finish this mission. Thus Soli Deo Gloria was born, a clear tribute to the phrase that Bach himself wrote at the end of each and every cantata that he wrote. And what an amazing achievement it is to complete the task with such aplomb and near perfect performances.

But I have to admit that it’s more than a challenge to contemplate listening to more than two or three complete cantatas in immediate succession.

So thank goodness for technology and in particular the shuffle function on my iPod. Naturally listening to complete cantatas is still the best way to appreciate the skill and the overall emotional impact that Bach achieved in each individual work and I love that SDG’s Facebook page gives a much needed helping hand in indicating which cantatas play on particular days. However selecting shuffle does afford the opportunity to marvel at the breadth of Bach’s ingenuity and skill as well as getting a sense – even if only fleeting – of the depth and sincerity of his religious belief.

It should be said that without the texts in front of me – and only a very rudimentary grasp of German, the focus here is very much on the music. Apologies. I love Bach’s cantatas so perhaps at a later date I’ll return to write about specific works as a whole – texts, symbolism and all.

So hitting shuffle – and in admission skipping over chorales and simple recitatives throughout – the first piece is – quite surprisingly – the opening chorus from Cantata No. 78, Jesu, Der Du Meine Seele. This is based on a chaconne and reminds me immediately how Bach took contemporary dance forms and integrated them into even his most devotional works. Taken at a stately tempo, Gardiner and his chorus let the delicate interplay of the various orchestral parts in the instrumental episodes have equal importance. From the start there’s an overriding sense of momentum as Bach constantly develops and modifies the descending motif and, at one point inverting it – a simple yet beautiful effect. As the rhythmic development intensifies he ratchets up the tension in the instruments, floating the vocal lines above them, imploring God’s attention. I wonder what effect the juxtaposition of dance-inspired rhythm and the chorale-style vocal lines would have had on the most devout Lutherans in the congregation?

Next is Siehe, ich Stehe von der Tür und Klopfe an from Cantata No. 61. What a beautiful arioso, clocking in at just over one minute from beginning to end compared to the previous chorus. A simple pizzicato accompaniment and the vocal flourish for the bass soloist on Klopfe clearly signify the knocking – simple yet effective musical painting of the text. Brilliant.

What follows is the first aria with obbligato instrument. In this case violin for Ich traue  seiner Gnaden and tenor soloist. It’s worth saying here that consistently throughout the whole series of cantatas the standard of soloists – instrumental and vocal – is of the highest standard. Here the delicate violin writing gently wraps itself round the – at times – equally florid vocal writing and great emphasis around trust (traue) and grace (Gnaden).

Murre nicht, Lieber Christ (BWV 144) for alto soloist with it’s pulsing string accompaniment, highlighting the murmuring of the text, shows a different approach. Here Bach adds depth to the instrumental writing by doubling up the lead violins with the warm, sonorous tones of an oboe d’amore. The middle section with it’s running bass and ‘sighing’ motifs from the upper strings has an interesting rhythmic gear change just before the returning of the first section. Interesting to note that throughout the cycle  it is incredibly rare to hear any of the soloists ornament their da capo sections. How very different from church music written for their Catholic counterparts!

The bass arioso from BWV 71, Tag und nacht ist dein opens with obbligato flutes and oboes. Bach again sets the scene vividly yet with great economy. The first, almost pastoral  section – literally day and night are yours – immediately brings to mind for me that cantata about ‘sheep safely grazing’. It contrasts with the florid writing for the soloist and change of tempo in the middle section, with particularly fine handling of triplets in the vocal line just before the return to the opening section.

Next yet another wonderful aria, Ach! Ich sehe from Ach, ich sehe, itzt, da ich zur Hochzeit gehe which opens with this bass aria. Here Bach uses a trumpet in a very unmartial manner to again add a very distinctive colour to the strings and their gentle lilting perpetual motion. The walking bass gives a real sense of ‘walking’ the the Hochzeit quite literally.

Aha,  A chorale! O Große Gott von treu breaks with the norm with it’s recorder obbligato throughout. Nice.

Du machst, O Tod, Mir nun nicht Ferne bange (BWV 114) with its jaunty oboe solo did throw me with its countertenor soloist. Ably sung but did Bach employ castrati? It’s one I will have to look up! Jury is out on that one.

To end, Verzage nichts, O Haüflein Klein. My first duet and a fitting place to draw a line. For soprano and tenor, it’s dance-like spirit is made even more distinctive by the  appogiatura’d bassoon obbligato which adds a slightly rustic feel. Again Bach uses the simplest of forces to great effect.

Of course I could just keep going. In total there are over one thousand individual tracks in my Bach cantata/Gardiner folder on my iPod but I will stop here for now.

Just from listening to these nine unrelated selections from his cantatas I’m simply in awe of Bach’s brilliance. His is an unending ability and talent to create completely different sound worlds each time using the simplest of means and, at the same time, painting the clearest of pictures and conveying the whole spectrum of devotion and emotion.

And it’s also clear from these performances that Gardiner and his players enjoyed every single moment of their amazing pilgrimage. If only I had been able to be in the audience just once.

A genius performed by brilliant, talented and totally committed singers and players.

Soli Deo Gloria? Too bloody right.

Which Performance? The potential pitfalls of recommendation.

Listening to Chopin Ballades, Baracolles & Fantasie Op. 39, Krystian Zimerman.

A few days ago a friend of mine asked me to recommend a recording of the Vier Letzte Lieder by Richard Strauss for a member of his family. I should disclose immediately that these marvellous lieder are among my most loved pieces of music. Ever. I must own every single available recording and listen to all four songs at least once or twice a week. My relationship with these four wonderful songs is, however, for another time.

However it did get me thinking about the whole idea of recommendation. I suppose one of the reasons for this blog – particularly as I scribble about CDs – is to recommend particular performances and performers. I don’t pretend to be a professional musician or a professional critic (again, a subject of another blog methinks) and I don’t delude myself that people will agree with what I say. But I hope that my observations give people food for thought. Writing this all down definitely makes me think more – both during and after the exercise.

So anyway, my friend knows my love of – or perhaps it is an obsession with – these masterpieces by Richard Strauss and asked me for a recommended recording that he could give as a gift. For a bit of background I gave the person in question a recording of the songs many years ago. At this stage I won’t say which recording. And we have attended performances of them together more than once.

I was about to fire off an immediate response based on my most recent listening and stopped dead. At that point I realised that this wasn’t just about offering an recommendation and therefore an opinion – take it or leave it – but more than that. He was asking me to select a recording which he would then be giving to someone else. In a sense then, the recommendation was a two-part transaction.

I suppose it is the same for everyone when it comes to buying someone a CD as a gift. For me the initial impetus is the performance itself. I’ve bought and enjoyed a particular performance for whatever reason and then – be it as a spontaneous gift or for a particular event – I will then buy it for a specific person. First and foremost for me it is because the performance itself is outstanding in terms of musical standards but secondly because it’s – for want of a better phrase – had an emotional impact on me. Let’s not kid ourselves, we have all been to performances and listened to discs that have elicited a strong emotional response. For me, for example, Leb wohl, du kühnes, herrliches Kind! either at the end of a complete Die Walküre or as a bleeding chunk as on René Pape’s recent CD gets me every single time. God knows what I will be like in under two weeks when I see it in San Francisco as part of my first complete Ring cycle!

So, here’s the first transaction. You choose to buy a particular recording of a specific composer, performer, performance etc as a gift because you personally enjoyed it. But more importantly there is an emotional dimension to the choice as well. Because you choose it for that particular person based on your friendship, the nature of the event or moment and finally because of what it says about your friendship and the emotional connection you want to make. On the last point it could simply be because you want them to – hopefully – enjoy it as much as you did, or because – as is sometime the case – it marks a moment in your relationship. Or because you think that it will be of some kind of help or support.

However if they are in fact asking for a recommendation as a gift does that change anything? Should it change anything? One of the fundamental reasons for giving someone the CD is because you have enjoyed it yourself. And it would be mad to think that that enjoyment wouldn’t necessarily be the same ‘second hand’ as it were. However the emotional dimension will not be there. Unless of course they are giving the same CD to someone under the same – or similar circumstances – that it was originally received.

Enough to make your head spin? Did mine. Especially when you think of how many recordings of the Vier Letzte Lieder there are to consider.

Of course I could have recommended the recording I had originally given him but somehow that didn’t seem like the right thing to do. There had been a specific reason for that recording at the time. In fact it was because it was the first recording I had purchased. Other recordings – although not necessarily better recordings – had been made since then. So having first thought the answer was easy I now face a pleasurable task. Selecting which performance to recommend. Not an unpleasant task I have to admit. I already have reduced the mental shortlist to four recordings. But there are many factors to consider.

So all I have to do now is sit back. And listen.

Review – Ne Me Refuse Pas, Marie-Nicole Lemieux/ Orch. National de France/Fabien Gabel (Naïve)

Having enjoyed Karin Gauvin’s recital of Porpora arias accompanied by Il Complesso Barocco, I jumped forward a hundred years or so ahead to listen to Marie-Nicole Lemieux perform a very different type of vocal recital and demonstrates how versatile an artist Lemieux is.

As I have previously said, I was much impressed by Lemieux’s performance in Ariodante, she has a rich, warm tone, and on this recital disc she does not disappoint overall. Drawing her arias from Massenet, Cherubini, Berlioz, Thomas, Bizet and Saint-Saens she spans a high point in French opera from Medée in 1797 to Werther in 1892. There is no attempt at chronology in this recital but rather a simply alternation between moods. However each aria has clearly been carefully chosen and it’s always a pleasant surprise to listen to a recital where not absolutely everything has been heard before.

The title for the disc comes from the the first aria, Hérodiade’s aria from the First Act Massenet’s opera of the same name. In typical French manner, this is not a straightforward retelling of the Salome story. To cut a long story short Salome, having tried to die along side Jean (the Baptist) and failing attempts to kill her mother before stabbing herself. Opening in suitably dramatic fashion, Ne me refuse pas sets the emotional momentum for the entire disc with Lemieux immediately demonstrating her ability to annunciate the French text clearly and with passion. In my opinion, French is a difficult language to sing in and while Lemieux may be Canadian it is still a pleasant surprise to be able to understand the text without referring to the booklet.

A delicately played bassoon obbligato opens Ah! Nos peines seront communes from Cherubini’s Médée, written at the height of the French Revolution. Clearly influenced by Gluck, this famous aria continues the sense of emotional suffering with Cherubini spinning out a wonderful sustained vocal line which is sensitively sung by Lemieux above a sympathetic orchestral accompaniment. I imagine that even the French paused from guillotining people during this opera!

Next is Halévy’s Sous leur sceptre … Humble filles des champs. Halévy is not a composer I am well acquainted with yet this scene offers the temptation to investigate his operas further. Clearly he was a composer of opera in the ‘grand’ manner and Charles VI was written in 1843, eight years after the success of his La Juive and ran for an impressive 61 performances after it’s premiere. An impressive accompanied recitative section is followed by two-part aria. The opening section has a pastoral bent with flutes, horns and pizzicato strings. Again the influence of Gluck is not too far in the distance. But inevitably the second section sees Odette – for whom the aria is written – stepping up a gear above martial brass and what is clearly a call to arms and clearly aimed at getting the audiences it’s feet in applause. Lemieux shows herself more than able to travel across the emotional span of this aria with remarkable ease.

Qu’Apollon soit loué … Ombre d’Agamemnon is by the unknown André Wormser from his cantata Clytemnestre which won the much vaunted Prix de Rome in 1875. Notable wind in the recitative and the impassioned vocal writing in the aria itself underscored by the relentless drive of the string writing driving to the word propitié makes this scene stand out on the disc.

The aria Connais-tu le pays? from Ambroise Thomas’ Mignon is from the original 1866 version of the opera when the title role was written for a mezzo. It’s probably the most famous aria from the entire work and relates Mignon’s memories of her childhood in an unknown country before her abduction. As this is opera, she inadvertently finds herself in her family home by the end of the opera and Thomas repeats the melody in the final trio. All credit to Lemieux for making the aria sound more emotionally substantial than, in truth, it is in reality.

Massenet returns with Werther, Werther! Qui m’aurait dit la place, written just over a decade after Hérodiade. Clearly his musical language had developed in these ten years and the orchestral accompaniment for this famous letter scene clearly portrays the emotional turmoil of Charlotte as she realises the inevitable and the audience the inevitability of the final tragedy. Again, Lemieux skilfully traverses the emotional highs and lows of music and makes one wish that original mezzo role was adhered to more often.

Berlioz also gets two arias in this recital – from Roméo et Juliette and Les Troyens. Technically a symphonie dramatique, Berlioz’s take on Shakespeare’s immortal love story is one of his best works and the hushed wonder of Premieres transport … Heureaux Enfants with it’s gentle harp accompaniment and closing choral entry is one of the recital disc’s highlights.

At the end other end of Berlioz’s emotional scale is Lemieux’s performance of Didon’s death scene Je vais mourir from his grand opéra Les Troyens. While her performance is rather cool, she does in the closing adieu spin a rich vocal line.

Similarly her performance of L’amour est un oiseau rebelle is not the strongest performance on the disc. She doesn’t really the necessary sultriness for this role.

The final two pieces on the disc however are a return to then nigh standard of the recital. Saint-Saëns’ Mon coeur s’ouvre à ta voix is a gem. With the naturalness of her French – she relishes each and every vowel of the text – and with the most sympathetic support from the orchestra would have made this a suitable end to the recital.

Yet Ms Lemieux ends with with coquettish Examinez ma figure from La fille de Tambour. Again underlining how important clear diction is – particularly in French opera – she delivers a fitting ending to a strong recital disc.

Bar a few inconsistencies this is a very enjoyable recital. Unlike Gauvin who focuses on a single composer, Ms Lemieux travels through a century of French vocal music, alternating better known arias and others which are more rarely, if ever performed, yet bear repeated listening – here I think particularly of André Wormser.

The Orchestra National de France conducted by Fabien Gabel are considerate and sensitive supporters throughout the recital with particularly fine playing from the various incidental soloists.

This is definitely a CD I shall return to regularly.

Review – Arias by Nicola Porpora, Karina Gauvin/IlComplesso Barocco/Alan Curtis(ATMA Classique)

Having enjoyed both Karina Gauvin and Marie-Nicole Lemieux at a recent concert performance of Ariodante alongside the most wonderful Joyce DiDonato, I decided to search out their solo recital CDs.

Recital discs are unusual creatures. Some are faithful to one composer. Some try to capture the mood of a specific period or style. And others follow a programmatic narrative. Each has its own merits and on the whole are normally enjoyable whatever format they take. In the case of Ms Gauvin, accompanied by Il Complesso Barocco, she has dedicated the whole disc to Nicola Porpora, a contemporary of Handel. Marie-Nicole Lemieux, with the Orchestra National de France conducted by Fabien Gabel, has created a disc derived from French opera from the late 1780s to the early 1890s. A separate review will follow shortly.

So first to Ms Gauvin’s disc. The entire recital – as I have already mentioned – is drawn from operas and serenatas by Nicola Porpora. Two operas written specifically for London – Arianna in Nasso, Polifemo and La Festa d’Imeneo – provide the majority of the arias in this recital. During this time he was employed by the Opera Of The Nobility to best Handel, but considering that during that time Handel composed Ariodante and Alcina, it is hardly surprising that the ‘noble’ enterprise failed. Interestingly Gauvin/Curtis do not perform the arias in strict chronological order – Adelaide (1723); Ezio (1728); Polifemo (1735); Imeneo (1723); Angelica (1720) & Arianna in Nasso (1733). Additionally Handel himself composed operas on Ezio (1732), Imeneo (1740) and of course Acis and Galatea in English in 1718.

On the strength of this recital disc, Porpora was not a bad composer and in fact, while he does not attain the brilliance of Handel’s greatest arias, it is easy to see why they thought he could rival the Saxon.

The arias from Polifemo are well crafted and – as with Arianna in Nasso – can be directly compared with Handel as they were written to compete. The arioso-style of Aci, Amato mio bene for example with it’s recorders and mood swings is a highlight of the recital and well sung by Gauvin. The subsequent siciliana, Smanie with it’s delicate coloratura and interplay between the vocal line and the violins is equally memorable.

The arias from Adelaide, Nobil Onde and Non sempre invendicata, with the runs, trills and generous use of martial trumpets clearly show that Porpora was writing for particularly skilled singers and, more importantly, knew how to write for the voice. Non son io che parlo from Ezio has a particularly pathetic yet beautiful character as does Mi chiederesti from Imeneo and in fact there is something remarkably similar about them. Another notable aria is drawn from Angelica. With its suspensions and use of dramatic pauses its an unusually beautiful aria to be found in a serenata, and clearly the event for which it was written at the Palazzo del Principe di Torella was of particular significance.

Arianna in Nasso, might predate Polifemo but is the stronger of the two ‘London’ operas and therefore awarded more space in the recital. Following the overture, with it’s modified French-style structure, it’s easy to see why the Nobility thught they might be onto a ‘winner’. Il tuo dolce mormorio and Misera sventurata with it’s oboe obbligato are particularly fine. The final aria Si caro ti consola comes the closest to Handel in terms of beauty and musicianship with dramatic recitative interrupting and replacing the aria and makes a fitting ending to the recital.

Karina Gauvin, Alan Curtis and Il Complesso Barocco make more than an eloquent argument for Porpora with this disc. Even more than at Ariodante at the Barbican, Ms Gauvin displays a very sure and confident technique balanced with intelligent singing and embellishment. Perhaps because it is a studio recording, her tone sounds warmers and more silken. She clearly enjoys the arias and her diction is clean and meaningful, and while it is well-nigh impossible to impart any sense of character, she makes a real bid to make these characters seem more than one dimensional.

I know that Il Complesso Barocco is not everyone’s cup of tea, but personally I think they are a great band of players. As on their Handel recordings they play with great sensitivity and style.

I did read somewhere that Handel was directly influenced by – and in some cases plagiarised from – his contemporaries. And while very few of these arias stand the comparison test, there are moment when my memory was pleasantly jolted. So if you like Handel operas, and on the merit of the performances on this disc, then this recital would make more than simply an interesting addition to your collection.