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A Darker Rose

In Classical Music, Opera, Review, Richard Strauss on December 30, 2016 at 3:11 pm

Review – Der Rosenkavalier (Royal Opera House, Thursday 22 December 2016)

The Marschallin – Rachel Willis-Sörensön
Octavian – Anna Stéphany
Sophie – Sophie Bevan
Baron Ochs auf Lerchanau – Matthew Rose
Herr von Faninal – Jochen Schmeckenbecher
Marianne Leitmetzerin & Noble Widow – Miranda Keys
Valzacchi –Wolfgang Ablinger-Sperhacke
Annina – Helene Schneiderman
Italian Singer – Giorgio Berrugi
Police Commissioner – Scott Conner
Major Domo – Samuel Sakker
Hairdresser – Robert Curtis
Noble Orphans – Kathy Batho, Deborah Peake-Jones, Andrea Hazell
Milliner – Kiera Lyness
Animal Seller – Luke Price
Innkeeper – Alasdair Elliott

Director – Robert Carsen
Set Designers – Paul Steinberg
Costume Designer – Brigitte Reiffenstuel
Lighting Designers – Robert Carsen and Peter van Praet
Choreographer – Philippe Giraudeau 

Royal Opera Chorus
Orchestra of the Royal Opera House

Andris Nelsons (Conductor)

It’s often tempting to dismiss Der Rosenkavalier as ‘ein farce’. Shrouded in the Eighteenth Century setting, the opera is as much about change – inevitable both in terms of relationships as well as society – as it is about love. And it takes an exceptional director to bring out its darker side.

Robert Carsen is such a director. I’ve long been a huge admirer of his works – strong on narrative but full of insight and inventiveness. His Iphigénie with Susan Graham, his Frosch in Vienna, his take on Handel’s Rinaldo and the more recent brutal and heartrending Les Carmelites are among those productions that have had the greatest personal impact.

While this Der Rosenkavalier had its lighter moments, it was Carsen’s attention to detail that made it so involving. Combined with an innate understanding of human behaviour and his intellectual capacity to tell a story, this is of the most rewarding productions I have seen.

Visually the staging was stunning. The Marschallin’s own room, with its paintings of Emperor Franz Josef and other Austrian and Habsburg aristocracy, immediately created a world of ivory tower privilege. Faninal’s palace was in rude juxtaposition. The howitzer and other weapons immediately made it clear how he had amassed his new wealth and also underlined the cruellest irony that his daughter’s future husband – at this stage Ochs but ultimately Count Octavian Rofrano – would be victims of his class’s aggrandisement. For the final act a seedy bordello masquerading as an elegant brothel, complete with the cross-dressing maitre-d’ of Alasdair Elliott and the two-way paintings. The detail paid to individuals as well as to creating specific images led an additional depth. For example, the Gigli-like Italian Tenor – beautifully sung by Georgio Berrugi – presenting an autographed record; the forward looking fashion for the Marschallin to peruse but ultimately dismiss; the arrogant militaristic snapshot that closed the second act. All these and many other effortlessly created a sense of time. Most interesting was the Marschallin’s ‘chemistry’ with the Police Commissioner and final departure from the stage with him. Arm in arm, Carsen intentionally or not seemed to hint that the Marschallin had decided to eschew young men for boys. Without a handkerchief to retrieve at the end, Carsen was able to end of the darkest of notes.

On stage, Covent Garden fielded a cast that was strong if yet all wholly establishing themselves in these particular roles. Given time, I’ve no doubt that some of these singers will become closely associated with their specific roles.

Without dispute however, the Octavian of Anna Stéphany dominated the evening. There was a strength – almost a masculinity – to her singing with hardly any hint of strain throughout the evening. If her ‘Viennese’ dialect was not as strong as that of other singers I have heard in this role, her acting definitely convinced. She effortlessly shifted from spoiled boy, to privileged youth to beguiling maid.

Sophie Bevan was a scintillating and experienced namesake – finding the right balance between ingénue and young woman. Vocally the part held no terrors for her. From the stratospheric writing of the presentation scene to the final duet her liquid tone was full of warmth without any hint of strain.

The Ochs of Matthew Rose and the Marschallin of Rachel Willis-Sörensön were both works in progress but show much promise, particularly Willis-Sörensön. She has a warm and resonant soprano and hopefully more experience in the role will deepen her characterisation as well as result in more fluidity and seamless phrasing of the vocal line as well as more colour

The remaining cast, led by Jochen Schmeckenbecher as Faninal and the Valzacchi and Annina of Wolfgang Ablinger-Sperhacke and Helene Schneiderman – completed a strong ensemble cast. Special mention must also be made of Miranda Keys’ Marianne Leitmetzerin.

Sadly, the efforts in the pit were not as polished. After a stunning Rosenkavalier in Birmingham, it seemed that Andris Nelsons couldn’t find his mojo for this performance. The playing of the orchestra – usually so burnished and warm – sounded decidedly brittle and rarely matched the magic of Strauss’ score and his direction wasn’t focused enough to pull out the transparency that is much needed in this music.

Carsen’s Der Rosenkavalier is a joy to observe and listen to. Rachel Willis-Sörensön is definitely a Marschallin to keep an eye out for and when Covent Garden revives this –soon rather than later – I hope that they will cast her again.

Misero, dove son?

In Classical Music, Opera, Review on December 18, 2016 at 3:55 pm

Review – Ezio (Oper Frankfurt, Saturday 17 December 2016)

Valentiniano – Rupert Enticknap
Ezio – Max Emanuel Cencic
Fulvia – Cecelia Hall
Massimo – Theo Lebow
Onoria – Sydney Mancasola
Varo – Michael Porter

Director – Vincent Boussard
Assistant Director – Carerina Panti Liberovicí
Staging – Kaspar Glarner
Costume – Christian Lacroix
Lighting – Joachim Klein
Video – Bibi Abel
Dramaturg – Zsolt Horpácsy

Frankfurter Opern- und Museumorchester
Simone Di Felice (Conductor)

Gluck originally wrote Ezio for Prague in 1750, for which there is an excellent recording by Il Complesso Barocco under the late Alan Curtis. Gluck subsequently edited the opera for Viennese performances in 1763, replacing some of the music that had found its way into Orfeo and adding new arias.

Eighteenth Century opera – and in particular Metastasian opera seria – is all about balance. Admittedly for some it might not always seem like that if you view sitting through one as an ‘interminable marathon of da capo aria and secco recitative’ as a friend once put it. He’s still a friend – we just don’t go to opera seria together anymore. The balance is more that just the music. It’s the relationships between the characters. Their interplay as the drama unfolds. And following the rules set out by Metastasio himself, and followed almost slavishly by composers including Gluck – at least to start with.

Without that balance something doesn’t quite feel right and that feeling grew as my evening in Frankfurt passed by. I’m far from an expert on this opera – despite enjoying Curtis’ vibrant recording – or opera in general but something seemed awry. And I don’t just mean the singing, playing and production. I don’t know what hybrid of the original score(s) were used but by the end it felt that Attila – Ezio’s adversary – had himself taken a sword to the score. Personally I don’t see what the problem is with performing all three acts as originally intended – squeezing the drama into two halves is simply nonsensical. There were also specific moments when it was clear that arias had been ejected. For example, the end of the first ‘half’ didn’t end with an expected aria or duet, but rather a slightly awkward glove puppet narration by Varo. Any sense of dramatic momentum from the first half – which was already minimal – was completely destroyed. The second half opened with a huge swathe of secco recitative – by my watch almost, if not over fifteen minutes. I can’t imagine that this would have been in the original score unless Gluck really wanted his patrons to finish another round of canasta in their boxes. Even for me, it was almost interminable.

On stage, Rupert Enticknap’s Valentiniano was ultimately entitled to Caesar’s laurels. He may have tired towards the end, most noticeably in the trio, but his voice was bright, light and true. At times Enticknap’s voice could have benefitted from more heft and as with the rest of the cast, his da capo lines could have shown greater originality in their ornamentation. As this lack of inventiveness was true of all the singers, I had to wonder if Broussard and his dramaturg Horpácsy had forgotten that Gluck wrote this before his own reforms excised ornamentation from his music.

Of the remaining cast, Theo Lebow’s Massimo and the Varo of Michael Porter came off best. Lebow’s singing was both characterful and mostly effortless – matched by some pretty smart acting – and Porter had a mellifluous tenor which came across well in his single aria.

The two women, Cecelia Hall’s Fulvia and Sydney Mancasola’s Onoria were miscast for different reasons. Both had pleasant enough voices although Mancasola’s was on the slightly harsh and brittle side, but neither had the necessary heft nor range of colour. This was particularly true of Hall with a distinct lack of colour or dramatic delivery missing most of the time. She was more often than not inaudible in the Gluck’s excellent trio and in Misera, dove son? she failed to deliver any of the range of emotions contained therein.

However, Max Emanuel Cencic proved the greatest disappointment. Having recently seen him in London, I had hoped that on stage, sans score, there would be a noticeable improvement. There was some, but not much. It may be the fault of the direction – there was a lot of leaping on benches but not much else – but Cencic’s dramatic vocabulary didn’t extend beyond raising his hands quite a lot. Vocally, his diction was indistinct much of the time, his da capos lacklustre and at times he failed to carry above the orchestra.

The orchestra itself didn’t acquit itself from the start. There was a lack of vigour from the opening notes of the overture, with brass and winds mysteriously muted. Simone De Felice single approach to the music seemed ‘tutissimo legato’ although as if to banish the aural cobwebs that had collected at the beginning of the second act, the subsequent aria had more bite before the musicians returned to a more lax – even lazy – performance attitude. Indeed, by the final chorus everyone sounded like they just wanted to go home. Judging from the audience departures at half time, they weren’t the only ones.

Boussard’s direction was handsomely supported by costumes by Monsieur Lacroix, although Fulvia almost came a cropper on her first entrance. There was some clever use of light and reflection but nothing could quite mask the overall lack of inspiration. I’ve already mentioned the quite distracting – almost comic – leaping on and off strategically placed benches which seemed to be the extent of the acting lexicon. At the end, the transition to a modern museum seemed more like a desperate attempt to inject some actual interest than a logical part of the drama. If Fulvia was lost, so were we.

I am not saying that Eighteenth Century opera has to be performed precisely as it was in the 1700s but Oper Franfurt’s Ezio didn’t so much fall between stools as much as leap off the creative abyss. I’m sure the company is excellent in many operas but I’m not sure Gluck is ‘their man’.

Drama Queen

In Review on November 23, 2016 at 1:16 pm

Joyce DiDonato (Mezzo soprano & executive producer)
Director – Ralf Pleger
Lighting Designer – Henning Blum
Dancer/Choreographer – Manuel Palazzo
Video Designer – Yousef Iskandar

Il Pomo d’Oro
Maxim Emelyanychev (Director)

The idea of concept albums and recitals are not new. Cecilia Bartoli is probably the foremost exponent although there was the ill-advised Prom concert last year featuring Alice Coote and a bath. Less said about that the better.

It was inevitable that Joyce DiDonato would at some point embark on a ‘concept’ herself. There is no denying her heartfelt and deep devotion and commitment, and combined with the sheer level of her musicianship and musical intelligence the idea is more than appealing. If any musician can call for revolution – as she did at the end of the entire performance – then it is she.

The musicianship – the vivacity, the pathos, the verve the tragedy – was all more or less there. DiDonato’s formidable talent combined with a genuine passion for the music itself makes her a compelling and intelligent performer. Each aria was a vehicle for a range of very emotions and in some cases breathtaking technique from the very beginning.

In the first half, the tortured souls of Handel’s Jephtha in Scenes of horror and Andromaca in Leo’s Prendi quell ferro were exquisitely counterbalanced by heartrending performances of Lascia ch’io pianga and Dido’s Lament. In the latter Barbara Bonney’s rendition remains a favourite – but whereas Bonney is a queen, DiDonato is very much the abandoned woman. After the interval two Handel arias – the beautiful and oft-overlooked Crystal stream in murmurs flowing from Susanna and Augelletti, che cantata – were beautifully off-set by an almost-coquettish Da tempeste and a suitably jubilant Par che di giubilo from Jommelli’s Attilio Regolo. One small gripe? Being robbed of Agrippina’s Pensieri in its entirety.

Il Pomo d’Oro performed the instrumental numbers with confidence if not entirely the distinctiveness that I’ve heard from them before. The exception was Pärt’s Da pacem, Domine – a piece I was more than happy to be reacquainted with.

So why, for me at least, didn’t it work?

I think because ultimately it was a ‘concept’ that DiDonato didn’t need. As well as being a consummate performer, the mezzo is set apart from many others by being an incredible actor. In countless recitals, staged and concert performances she convincingly inhabits the characters she is portraying. But more than that, she draws the listener into a sound and imagined world without the aid of props.

At the Barbican what we got was a layer of artifice that didn’t add, but rather distracted from the recital. Especially, I am afraid to say, Palazzo. His cavorting in the Pärt ran the high risk of undermining the piece’s sublimity.

The most telling evidence of this however was her ‘real’ encore – Strauss’ Morgen! Laid bear with no choreography or light projected distractions it was as pure a performance as I have ever heard. Pure in terms of its musicianship, integrity and emotional candour.

Ms DiDonato has asked us all where do we find peace.

Hand on heart, Ms DiDonato, it was in that hushed performance. Locked into my memory I will return to it again and again.

Semi-detached bravura

In Uncategorized on October 2, 2016 at 11:27 am

Review – Max Emanuel Cencic (Wigmore Hall, Thursday 29 September 2016) 

Max Emanuel Cencic (Countertenor)

Il Pomod’Oro 

Maxim Emelyanchev 

Max Emmanuel Cencic repeated the same successes and failures of his last recital at Wigmore Hall two years ago. Whereas in 2014 he focused on Venice, on this occasion Naples was the epicentre. Composers included Porpora – every countertenor’s repertoire staple – as well as Sarro, Leo, Vinci and Scarlatti pere. 

With the cohorts of countertenors on stage today, Cencic stands apart in terms of the smokiness of his vocal timbre. It’s coupled with an expansive range – although what has crept in is a tendency to over emphasise the highest notes – and an impressive fluidity in terms of delivering coloratura and the limpid vocal lines so associated with composers of this period. The way Cencic can shape an expansive vocal line is enviable. 

However, unlike colleagues such as Iestyn Davies, Andreas Scholl and David Hansen, Cencic and others are challenged in terms of clearly annunciating the text. Whole words were lost. Clearly a case of prima la musica poi la parole. Metastasio and Zeno would be furious. 

And this was further exacerbated by what could perhaps be called a Cencic-ism. As in 2014, throughout the recital, the performer rarely if ever raised his eyes from the score in front of him, and because of this, there were times when the arias felt more akin to vocal exercises. Even in the slower numbers, Cencic was glued to the score. 

One has to wonder if Cencic can perform on stages sans score, why he needs to rely on it as a recital prop so intensely? I’m not asking that music be memorised – although Emelyanchev was able to surrender his score to Cencic for the encore with no difficulties whatsoever. No, but in a recital, the connection between audience and performer is paramount. It’s intrinsic to the experience. If the singer remains buried in the music, the emotional connection – the ability of the singer to effectively convey the words and to involve the listener in the moment – is lost.  

The bravura moments written by these composers – let alone the moments of more lyrical expressiveness – were not merely to display the singers vocal prowess and vigour but also to underline the text and emotion at a time when dramaturgy was all but non-existent. Part of communicating this directly to the audience was by a physicality of expression and gesture.  

That stage presence was virtually missing with Cencic. Except for a few moments in Alessandro Scarlatti’s Miei pensieri and No, non vedete mai from Leo’s Siface.  

That’s not to say that musically this was a thrilling evening, technically. The fastest arias were despatched with a brilliance of technique that was dazzling. Most impressive was Qual turbine che scende from Porpora’s Germanico in Germania, and the encore Si, di ferri mi cingete. Surprisingly this was the only aria from Hasse – his opera Irene. 

Il Pomo d’Oro provided sonorous and energetic support to Cencic and shone in the individual instrumental pieces. Auletta’s harpsichord concerto was a pleasant enough divertissement, but it was Hasse’s Fuga e Grave that particularly stood out for it intensity.

There’s no denying that hearing Cencic is exciting, but had he looked up for the score then seeing him perform would have altogether made this a more thrilling and emotionally satisfying evening. 

Look up, sir. Look up.   

Stormin’ Norma

In Classical Music, Uncategorized on September 16, 2016 at 11:52 am

Review – Norma (Royal Opera House, Monday 12 September 2016)

Norma – Sonya Yoncheva
Pollione – Joseph Calleja
Adalgisa – Sonia Ganassi
Oroveso – Brindley Sherratt
Flavio – David Junghoon Kim
Clotilde – Vlada Borovko

Director – Àlex Ollé
Associate Director – Valentina Carrasco
Set Designer – Alfons Flores
Costume Designer – Lluc Castells
Lighting Designer – Marco Filibeck

Royal Opera Chorus
Orchestra of the Royal Opera House

Antonio Pappano (Conductor)

It’s an almost impossible as – to sing Norma at Covent Garden. All those ghosts in the wings. Replacing a colleague who’s much trumped assumption of the role failed to materialise.

But it was, in my opinion, a triumph.

Sonya Yoncheva not only ensured the ghosts remained firmly in the shadows but delivered a fine debut. Of course, there are elements that need working on – no interpretation remains static but with time Yoncheva’s will be Norma to be reckoned with. Vocally this was an assured performance – she didn’t shirk from the challenge of either the coloratura or the tessitura that was at the extreme of her range. She tackled them head on, and it made for a thrilling experience. She is also firmly in control of a formidable technique that allowed for the exploitation of the dynamic range that is often missing on any stage. Casts Diva – so early on that the expectation was almost tangible – packed the necessary punch. Yoncheva’s control of the vocal line, spinning it out over chorus and orchestra, was impressive. I’ve no doubt that even in the space of the remaining performances at Covent Garden she will relax more and more into the role and begin to experiment with vocal shade and colour. The opening of Act Two was equally thrilling. Her torment and anger spilled out across the auditorium as she vacillated between thoughts of revenge and maternal love. Yet it was that single, simple moment when she makes her fateful admission that sealed her debut performance. The stillness of it. Bellini’s knows drama. Yoncheva made it come alive.

And yet Yoncheva wasn’t alone in this endeavour. It’s something that I realized while listening to Netrebko’s latest and possibly defining recital disc – the influence of Pappano. He always been a fine conductor, always a singer’s conductor, but at this moment in time Pappano has become pre-eminent. The relationship – that elusive bond – between soprano and conductor was front and centre in a way that wasn’t as evident with the rest of the cast.

The rest of the cast was fortunately caught up in the eddies of that musical and interpretive association. Calleja, always a wooden actor, sprung more to life in the second act but his singing was not his best. A slow start and moments of strain distracted. Ganassi, despite formidable technique and a voice that produced some fine light and shade, seemed lost in that space. She truly came to life in the Second Act duet within Yoncheva. Sherratt’s Oroveso was the strongest of them all, carrying clearly above chorus and orchestra in the first act. His final act was unexpected and shocking. Denying his daughter not only a painful death, but robbing her, I thought quite cruelly of her dignity.

The booing for the production team honestly left me nonplussed. Set, so it seemed to me in an alternate version of Franco’s Spain, the clash of religious fervor and military might was undermined by a simple reversal of roles. Women, led by Norma, as Catholic priests. A simple ‘heresy’ that was effective in raising questions of God, power and ultimately equality.

A set constructed of crucifixes was offset by what I could only see as a crown of thorns made from the same crucifixes. Àlex Ollé is clearly deeply affected by his upbringing in some way – that clash in Spain between Church and State.

Unlike others, I didn’t find the set distracting. I found it effectively oppressive. I believe that was the intention. The opening scene of the second act, suddenly thrust us into the twenty-first century. A secular world at odds with Norma’s life. It was no mistake that this world sunk into the ground, and out of sight. It was a world that needed to remain out of sight. And mind. And the significance of Warership Down? A desire for freedom? An escape to a new life free from authoritarian diktat? Perhaps.

I’ve already mentioned that special bond between Pappano and his chief protagonist but his mastery extended to the orchestra and chorus. From the opening notes of the overture, the precision was impressive. But he reached into the score and found the colour and timbre needed. Strings were lush. Woodwind and brass striking out above them plangently.

All in all, a strong opening for a promising season.

 

 

 

Arts about tit.

In BBC, BBC Proms, Classical Music on September 8, 2016 at 12:44 pm

Why can’t the BBC ever get their commitment to classical music right?The latest blunder in quite a long line of missteps is their dedication of Saturday nights to the arts.

Laudable. To an extent.

Landing it on a Saturday night, a veritable ratings graveyard for BBC Two is simply an admission that they should stop competing. If they’d made a commitment to a midweek arts night, it would actually have demonstrated that Tony and his cronies are serious about putting arts at the heart of the schedule.

I suppose they didn’t want any risk – however small – of cannibalising their own ‘alternative’ schedule of baking, sewing and, no doubt at some point is in the future, celebrity candlestick making. 

It’s not that I don’t like poetry. Or Julie Walters for that matter. But, let’s be honest, do we really need to hear Kate Tempest darken this world yet another hip-hop version of someone else’s more original idea?

So in this cornucopia of the arts, where is the classical music?

Non-existent. You’ve got more chance of hearing a countertenor in X Factor.

What about the Proms, I’m sure the BBC will argue. Run by the BBC since 1927, it’s hardly new. And the very few concerts that are broadcast on television are on BBC Four. So basically relegated to the garden shed of television, just past the compost heap of BBC Three.

Young Musician? Similarly, a faux commitment to young talent sidelined because quite possibly unlike the endless programmes about young people making it in the ‘real world’, the BBC doesn’t consider an aspiration to becoming a world-class musician a ‘real job’.

The same for Cardiff Singer. A wholly missed opportunity.
And what about such ventures as Maestro at the Opera, or the new venture to find an amateur orchestra for the Prom In The Park? No. That’s not commitment. It’s badly oroduced entertainment and the BBC finding s way to simply fill their supposed arts quota with cheap fodder.

Sky Arts recently gave us the Bayreuth Ring. When was the last time the BBC gave us an opera? It’s been a while.

When will the BBC commit to an arts strategy that is meaningful and universal?

Rather than continuous slip of the banana skin of false intention to fall unceremoniously on its arse?

Probably never. 

Perfectly Don

In Classical Music, Mozart, Opera, Review on June 21, 2016 at 6:16 am

Review – Don Giovanni (Classical Opera, Cadogan Opera, Friday 17 June 2016)

Don Giovanni – Jacques Imbrailo
Leporello – David Soar
Donna Anna – Ana Maria Labin
Don Ottavio – Stuart Jackson
Donna Elvira – Helen Sharman
Zerlina – Ellie Laugharne
Masetto – Bradley Travis
Commendatore – David Shipley

The Philharmonia Chorus
The Orchestra of Classical Opera

Ian Page (Conductor)

It’s sometimes easy to forget that Mozart’s later operas are ensemble affairs. Of course he wrote stunning and psychologically insightful music for each protagonist, but it is in the ensembles that the music really comes alive. And I don’t only mean in Così fan tutte and Le nozze di Figaro but also Clemenza and Die Zauberflöte as well.

But it is in Don Giovanni – dare I say his greatest late opera – that the ensembles are truly magnificent. Not only defining the characters but literally driving the drama forward almost as if jet-propelled.

And all credit to Ian Page, Classical Opera and the eight performers that this was truly an ensemble performance. With the exception of a rather speedy La ci darem la mano, the arias were all performed beautifully – so beautifully in fact that I can (almost) forgive Mr Page for his purist approach and not giving us Mi tradi. But it was in the ensembles that the evening took on an even greater dramatic frisson that at the end of each act was palpable.

Page directed an energetic and colourful performance from the orchestra – the first notes of the overture, with the surprisingly timpani sound eradicated any risk of an ‘end of the week’ feeling in the audience. The woodwind in Madamina, il catalogo è questo buzzed over energetic string playing which was throughout meticulous and the brass barked threateningly both in the overture and in the final scene.

As Don Giovanni, Jacques Imbrailo might have been slightly too light vocally but what he didn’t have in total heft and the occasional wandering tonality in the occasional recitative he made up for with a strong and underlying threatening characterization and a deft way of singing the vocal line. And while David Soar relished this Leporello, never missing a beat, it was good to see Bradley Travis reprise a vocally strong Masetto in a stronger production that the recent one by ETO. Stuart Jackson, a regular performer for Classical Opera, performed a vocally impressive Don Ottavio – performing a confident and fluid Il mio tesoro, As the Commendatore, David Shipley rounded off an overall impressive cadre of men.

Ana Maria Labin led an equally strong line up of women, her bright and shining soprano demonstrating equally impressive flexibility. Non mi dir, bell’idol bio rightly got the loudest cheer from the audience.. The Donna Elvira of Helen Sharman was vocally distinctive from her noble counterpart, rich and seamless but occasionally slightly marred by distracting vibrato. But personally, I would have enjoyed to see her bring her dramatic talents to Mi trade. Ellie Laugharne’s Zerlina was suitably coquettish in both Batti, Batti and Vedrai Carino, although occasionally sharp in at the top of her range.

This wasn’t part of Classical Opera’s ambitious Mozart 250 project but it did reinforce what everyone at Cadogan Hall already knew. Ian Page and his ensemble are consummate Mozartians.

Can we hope that, having performed Don Giovanni in concert now, when it returns in a few years time it will be fully staged? I hope so, but regardless of how it does return, expectations from the remaining da Ponte operas will be very high indeed.

Classical Opera won’t disappoint.

Deathly Hollow

In Classical Music, Opera, Review, Richard Wagner, Uncategorized on June 10, 2016 at 4:29 pm

Review – Tristan and Isolde (English National Opera, Thursday 9 June 2016)

Tristan – Stuart Skelton
Isolde – Heidi Melton
Brangäne – Karen Cargill
Kurwenal – Craig Colcough
King Marke – Matthew Rose
Melot – Stephen Rooke
Young Sailor – David Webb
A Shepherd – Peter Van Hulle
A Helmsman – Paul Sheehan

Director – Daniel Kramer
Set Designer – Anish Kapoor
Justin Nardella – Associate Set Designer
Christina Cunningham – Costume Designer
Paul Anderson – Lighting Designer
Freider Weiss – Video Designer

Orchestra of English National Opera
Edward Gardner (Conductor)

It’s hard not to be incredibly disappointed by ENO’s new production of Tristan und Isolde on every front except one – the magnificent playing of the orchestra under the baton of Edward Gardner. His tempos weren’t always convincing but the opening prelude – and the singing of David Webb as the Young Sailor from on high – set up a sense of expectation that was dashed like a ship trying to negotiate entry to Kareol.

Everything else – the confused staging, the poor direction and overall, the quality of the singing, just left a great empty hole which even Wagner’s music couldn’t fill.

Arguably, Tristan and Isolde are two of the biggest roles in opera and ultimately the two leads, Heidi Melton and Stuart Skelton, did not deliver. As Tristan, Skelton sounded mostly vocally under-powered and musically distant in the First Act. While he improved in the Second Act, he was hampered both by lacklustre direction and having to negotiate the set and in the Third Act he sounded vocally strained and at times literally ragged. Ms Melton was sadly wholly unconvincing. Vocally, this was much more than just a stretch and she sounded severely compromised at the higher end of her range. Top notes seemed only to be achieved through sheer physical effort and jarred Wagner’s vocal line. The resultant stress and strain then created a sound that was often harsh and unappealing – the greatest shame being the strangled final notes that sank below the lush, luminous sound of the orchestra’s closing bars. Personally I don’t think that this role is suited to her voice and in the long term could actually do some damage. Her acting was similarly under-developed.

In the supporting roles, Matthew Rose made an uneasy start but steadied quickly. Karen Cargill delivered a rich and mainly nuanced performance although there was at times a worrying amount of vibrato. Colin Colclough’s Kurwenal was also vocally strong but marred but a characterisation that – like the rest of the production – betrayed the opera itself.

And what of the production? Anish Kapoor has clearly researched previous productions of Wagner operas – from Wieland to the present day. Fused with his own previous work it just created a lack of coherence. The set for Act One was visually arresting, smartly creating both the idea of a ship as well as the distance between the two protagonists, but I did wonder about sight lines issues and the clumsy management of the two lovers once the potion had been drunk. The Second Act presented its own problems. Having the singers clamber around destroyed any sense of intimacy or – let’s face it – eroticism, and I would imagine that quite a few in the audience became distracted by the lightshow. And what were they clambering around? The moon? Their imagination? Or did King Marke really have an ugly grotto in his forest? Who knows and by that point did anyone care. The sudden appearance of surgeons and hospital beds upon their discovery by Marke felt contrived – a need to create a sense of sudden and unrelated drama. The final act – again relying on animation as distraction became tiresome and lacked any sense of dramatic impact.

As this production trudged inexorably it wasn’t helped by Kramer’s direction – or general lack of it as evidence by a reliance on stock dramatic gestures. There were some well observed moments in the opening act, but overall Kramer leeched any emotional intensity or electricity from the stage. Isolde’s self-harming was an interesting insight but wasn’t developed except by the two leads smearing themselves in blood and I why Kurwenal’s brutality towards Brangäne? He is a squire if not a knight after all. Neither eroticism nor sensuality stood a chance in the Second Act and the drama of Tristan’s monologue was undermined by Kurwenal’s clowning.

In terms of the costumes the clash of styles was more suggestive of time bandits than timelessness. The Eighteenth Century inspiration for Isolde, Brangäne and Kurwenal – by way of the blockbuster Mockingjay series it seemed – contrasted with the oriental-inspired costuming for King Marke’s court, except for his doctors. Yet by the Third Act, time seemed to have moved on – the characters had been aged with the resultant loss or growth or grey hair. Tristan had the stamina to survive a mortal wound, and Isolde was rowing herself to his rescue.

Ultimately, this Tristan und Isolde failed to convince, impress or excite on any level but one – the orchestra and Edward Gardner. The singers were disadvantaged; the direction was devoid of dramatic intent and Kramer, unwittingly I hope, bleached this great love story of any emotion.

A tragedy? Yes, but in every wrong way.

 

Son-King

In Uncategorized on June 2, 2016 at 8:26 am

Review – Oedipe (Royal Opera House, Thursday 26 May 2016)

Oedipe – Johan Reuter
Jocasta – Sarah Connolly
Tirésias – John Tomlinson
Theban High Priest – Nicolas Courjal
Créon – Samuel Youn
Antigone – Sophie Bevan
Sphinx – Marie-Nicole Lemieux
Merope – Claudia Huckle
Phorbas – In Sung Sim
Shepherd – Alan Oke
Laios – Hubert Francis
Thésée – Samuel Dale Johnson

Directors – Àlan Ollé (La Fura dels Baus) and Valentina Carrasco
Set Designer – Alfons Flores
Costume Designer – Lluc Castells
Lighting Designer- Peter van Praet

Royal Opera Chorus
Orchestra of the Royal Opera House

Leo Hussain (Conductor)

While history may be kinder to Kasper Holten, his tenure as Artistic Director of the Royal Opera House has been more of a miss than a hit. However, two productions that stand him in good stead of a more positive place in Covent Garden’s history are the superlative Król Roger a year ago and George Enescu’s Oedipe.

Oedipe is Enescu’s only opera and, from reading the programme, had a troubled and complex gestation. In four acts, and classified as a tragédie lyrique it tells the story of Oedipus from birth to death, or perhaps transfiguration. Musically there are hints from folksong to Debussy, passages of opulent lyricism contrasting with scenes more reminiscent of the Second Viennese School an attention to orchestral colour that makes this opera enthralling. Stylistically, the vocal writing is forged from similar sources, with the choral writing also hinting at traditional Orthodox church music.

It is also written for a larger than usual cast – fourteen generously listed in the programme and a significant role for the chorus. In the leading role as the tragic son and king was Johan Reuter, who made Oedipe a compelling and flawed but very human character. Vocally he was on top form, wonderfully radiant, shading his voice with a angel of colour to underline the range of emotions this tragic character had to endure. And as with the majority of the cast, his diction was excellent. But it was in the final act and in particular the closing scene, that Reuter was truly masterful – a performance that won’t be forgotten easily. As his mother and wife, Sarah Connolly matched him note for note, word for word, emotion for emotion. Ms Connolly seems to be making a name for herself playing tragic Greek queens – not that I am complaining. The agony of having her son torn from her in the first act was more than matched by the horror as she realized whom she had married. It was a shame that Enescu didn’t write more for the character, but what music she had, Connolly revelled in. Her rich mezzo was perfect for this music and she invested it with both vocal colour and depth.

Similarly, John Tomlinson – as he did with both Moses and Marke – commanded the stage as Tirésias both vocally and dramatically. A consummate singer-actor he was rightly and loudly lauded at the end of the opera. It’s strange that we don’t see Marie-Nicole Lemieux more often in the UK. Her Sphinx was as dramatically imposing as her singing, perched precariously it seemed atop a Stuka bomber. The final members of the central quintet of singer was Nicolas Courjal’s accomplished and secure High Priest.

There was also luxury casting in the smaller roles, with very notable performances from Sophie Bevan as Antigone, Samuel Dale Johnson as Thésée and the Créon of Samuel Youn.

Special mention must also go to the Royal Opera Chorus – their singing was both impassioned and fulsome and a worthy reminder that there is more than one excellent opera chorus in town.

The production was slightly and unintentionally – in parts – reminiscent of Król Roger. The opening scene, as the programme suggested, seemed inspired by bass relief from an ancient sarcophagus, with each act moving us through time from Ancient Thebes to the 1930s of Corinth, via 1940s France complete with Stuka and berets to an apocalyptic plagued-infested present day. The final scene was set in a future with a white suited Thésée reminiscent of Logan’s Run, for Oedipe’s final death cum transfiguration. Despite this canter through history, Ollé from La Fura dels Baus and Carrasco never allowed their direction to impede the story – each action and reaction from cast and chorus was fitting to the moment and allowed them, when required to increase the emotional intensity with only the slightest adjustments but achieving incredible impact.

Leo Hussain teased out the colours of the score without ever diminishing the rhythmic foundation on which Enescu has built his opera. While there were moments of laxness –due to Enescu’s own challenge in composing the opera – Hussain never let the tension fade and inspired both singers and orchestra to an incredible performance.

I hope that this production of Oedipe is not a one-off and that it will return. Perhaps in a time after Holten, Covent Garden may consider some thematic programming inspired by Greek tragedy – Oedipe, Elektra, Il ritorno d’Ulisse, Ariadne auf Naxos to name but a few.

Perhaps someone on Bow Street could suggest it.

 

All Hail, Hallenberg

In Classical Music, Mozart, Opera, Review on May 28, 2016 at 12:21 pm

Review – Che puro ciel (Wigmore Hall, Monday 23 May 2016)

Ann Hallenberg (Mezzosoprano)
The Orchestra of Classical Opera
Ian Page (Conductor)

Ms Hallenberg has a thrilling bottom.

Don’t get me wrong, she has a most magnificent instrument – her voice gleams at the top, she can deliver the most beautifully sustained singing and her technique, especially in terms of her coloratura, is second to none. And in terms of musical intelligence, this was a masterclass in period performance. Not an embellishment out of place, no extravagant ornamentation in the da capos.

But when she sweeps down to the low notes, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

This recital, with Classical Opera at Wigmore Hall will be one of the most enjoyable and memorable concerts that I will undoubtedly attend this year. If not in a long time. Programme-wise, it was perfectly balanced – a combination of the unknown, the vaguely familiar and the instantly recognizable. But it all sounded so fresh, and so new that it sounded like we were hearing some of the music for the very first time.

Ms Hallenberg’s selections from Gluck – Il trionfo di Clelia, Paride ed Elena, Orfeo ed Euridice and Ezio – showed the full range of Gluck’s prowess and musical development. Opening with the bravura of Resta, o cara complete with messa di voce entry – a common technique to showcase the castrati of the day – Ms Hallenberg’s performance was beautifully poised with the coloratura delivered not as a virtuosity vehicle but wedded to the overall feeling of the aria itself. Similarly, Misero dove son … Ah, non son io che parlo might be better known as a concert aria by Mozart, but Gluck’s aria in the hands of Ms Hallenberg matched it note for note for dramatic intensity. Biting into each note, this performance was a fitting end to the first half. From Gluck’s ‘later’ operas – a sensitively performed O mio dolce amore – one of my favourite arias by Gluck and Che puro ciel. Ms Hallenberg’s performance had the requisite ethereal quality required, her phrasing and diction spot on. It’s a difficult aria – it is really an aria? – to carry off cold but this performance was exquisite. And bravi to the members of the orchestra who provided the chorus.

In the second half, Ms Hallenberg turned to Mozart. Personally I’ve not heard her in this repertoire but I hope that a recital disc is being planned. Ms Hallenberg effortlessly steered from the drama of Che scompiglio, che flagella written by 12-year old Mozart to the more flirtatious Se l’augellin sen fugge however it was the other two arias that were the highlight of the seconda parte if not the entire evening. The confidence and bravado of her Dunque sperar … Il tenero momento from Lucio Silla made for a flawless performance. The coloratura held no terrors for her and indeed her technique gave her ample space to elaborate even further in the da capo. But it was Sesto’s Deh per questo istante solo that personified the incredible talent of this singer. This aria epitomises the new direction that Mozart’s music was moving in just before he died – an even purer ‘classical style’ than he had achieved before. One can only marvel at what direction classical music would have gone in had he lived a while longer. Ms Hallenberg’s opening phrase – which I had forgotten was so exposed – summed up the entire evening – beautifully even and controlled, richly hued and resonant. Each phrase was perfectly placed, with the orchestra – who had played magnificently all evening – finding from somewhere the ability to meld even closer with the singer.

And the Orchestra of Classical Opera was indeed on top form. I’d dare say better than I have heard them in a long time. Their surprise was Kraus’ symphony in c minor. With its rich textures and it seemed copious independent viola writing, it made JC Bach’s g minor symphony beautiful as it is, seem almost like a ‘typical’ Eighteenth Century run-of-the-mill minor key symphony. No mean feat. And while accompanying Ms Hallenberg, clearly someone they love performing alongside, there was a real sense of partnership and enjoyment. So rare to see on the stage these days.

However it was the encore that sealed it for me. My money had been on Che faro – it seemed an obvious choice – but Ms Hallenberg surprised us all with Giordani’s Caro mio ben. The simplicity and innocence of her rendition – avoiding the all-too common pitfall of making this aria sound cloying – surprised everyone. For me, it she sang it as if, somewhere in the back of her mind, it held a particularly importance. It made it all the more special. A perfect end to a perfect evening.

I asked if Classical Opera would be recording this recital. Sadly not.

If it’s a case of economics, I am pretty sure it would be something that many people would more than happily help crowdfund.

Any offers?

 

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