Like all Glimmerglass productions this season, Donald Eastman’s sets are culled from the company’s 2005 production of Britten’s Death in Venice. And while some listeners may feel an understandable sense of déjà vu when they return this season to the Alice Busch Theater, the familiar slanted tripartite walls from past productions look entirely simpatico with Major’s tidy staging of the new Figaro.

One of the challenges in directing opera buffa is managing the placement of the characters during the fast-paced action endemic to comic opera, particularly during the busy ensemble numbers (duos, trios, quartets, etc.). Major’s staging was visually appealing and sensibly choreographed to avoid overpowering the dramatic situations as they unfolded onstage. While I was initially taken aback by the director’s early 20th-century venue for the Enlightenment-era setting envisioned by the French playwright, Beaumarchais, I soon found myself buying into the premise: a timeless application of the universal themes of temptation, betrayal and forgiveness.

Schnaible was strong in voice during his lengthy aria of rage during the mighty third-act aria, Vedrò mentr’io sospiro ― sung after he realizes he’s been duped by Figaro and Susanna. It was Schnaible’s ensemble numbers however that impressed me the most, such as in his charming duet with Susanna (Crudel! Perchè finora), where he believes she will at last succumb to his advances, and during the attractive second-act trios with the Countess and Susanna. When in the end Schnaible turns to the Countess and begs her forgiveness, it’s not empty words we hear but a sincere expression of a man who is truly remorseful.

Soprano Lyubov Petrova crafted a visually appealing Susanna and sang well throughout the afternoon, culminating in a tender and delicate Deh vieni, non tardar ― her signature fourth-act aria that proved one of the highlights of the production. Still, the dark and thickly textured timbre of Petrova’s voice tended to obscure her vowels, making diction unintelligible at times and muddying the balance of voices during ensemble numbers, such as in the sharp-tongued first-act duet with Marcellina (Via resti servita). 

I would love to hear Petrova sing Venite, inginocchiatevi one more time ― only without being rushed by conductor David Angus, who appeared to be in a hurry throughout the performance. This delightful aria, in which Susanna playfully dresses the page Cherubino in women’s clothes while coaching him on girlish mannerisms, deserved a better fate.

As the Countess Almaviva, Caitlyn Lynch sang in an exquisite, dignified soprano that underscored not only her elevated station in life as the Count’s wife, but also her character's virtue and integrity.

As an actress, Lynch played her part to perfection ― forging a sympathetic character who remained steadfast and loyal to her husband though all the lies and deception, and ultimately choosing to pardon him in the end after he begs her forgiveness. Although Lynch’s phrases were obscured by too fast a tempo in her second-act Porgi, amor, her vocal talents shined forth during her signature third-act Dove sono, which was gently delivered with great nuance of phrasing ― particularly at the recapitulation, where Lynch repeated the main theme in a soft, sweet whisper.

Aurhelia Varak cuts a cute and loveable character in the pants-role part of the confused teenage page, Cherubino. She does however limit her role to that of a one-dimensional shirt-chaser ― enough to get the laughs, certainly, but falling far short of the librettist’s design of a confused, angst-ridden boy unable to comprehend the hormonal changes that seems to have hijacked his body. Yet in spite of the dramatic shortcomings Varak crafted a sympathetic figure compelling enough to earn the listener’s compassion, and her comedic visual antics onstage (transversing a variety of disguises and hiding places) were invariably amusing.

Varak’s handsome mezzo-soprano is well-suited to invoke the image of the troubled teen. While I wished that there had been more hint of angst in Non so più cosa son ― the aria in which Cherubino explains how women make him dizzy (Mozart intentionally writes in short hyper-ventilating phrases here, as if to capture the youth’s throbbing pangs of anxiety) ― Varak gave a credible performance in her two signature arias, and her pitch throughout the afternoon was rock-solid.

Patrick Carfizzi did not have an especially good afternoon as the wily Figaro, unable to muster anything more than an uneven vocal delivery. Carfizzi’s voice seemed tired almost from the start, and he had problems keeping in-pitch during even the most straightforward melodic figures of the slowly paced triadic arpeggiations of the first act Se vuol ballare, and again in the brief reprise of this aria in the second act.

Carfizzi fared much better in the soldierly Non più andrai, his best effort of the afternoon which he delivered in convincingly fashion and in good voice. Still, the baritone fizzled out during his character’s rant against womankind in the fourth act Aprite un po’ quegl’ occhi, which was, like his acting throughout much of the performance, ineffective. Carfizzi was most successful when singing with others during the many ensemble numbers in this work.

The production’s smaller roles, assigned to members of Glimmerglass’s Young American Artists Program, were especially noteworthy and deserving of recognition. Haeran Hong was delightful as the gardener’s simple-minded daughter, Barbarina, commanding an immediate stage presence even during the recitatives. Hong’s fourth-act cavatina (L’ho perduta), where she searches in vane for the lost pin, was sung with a gorgeous vocal delivery and just the right touch of maudlin to capture her childlike image.

Courtney McKeown was a formidable Marcellina, the would-be spoiler to Susanna and Figaro’s nuptials. McKeown’s attractive soprano projects well and she played her part with a perfect mix of humor and absurdity, such as in the charming first act duet with Petrova (Via resti servita).

As the imbibing gardener, Antonio, Robert Kerr molded an uproarious figure whose slovenly manner of dress reminded me of Danny Kaye’s alter ego, Clem Kadiddlehopper. Kerr, who some may recognizer as the Sacristan in the current Glimmerglass production of Tosca, sang with a splendid baritone that I hope to hear again in upcoming seasons. In a similar vein, Alex Mansoori as the music teacher who, like the Count, has an eye for Susanna, forged an engaging and suitably comical Don Basilio and sang with an agreeable tenor that suited his character.

Adam Fry, as a much-too-young looking Dr. Bartolo, appeared miscast in this role ― having none of the looks and mannerisms associated with his stock commedia dell’arte character, and lacking the bass-baritone timbral quality necessary to put the "vendetta" in La vendetta!

Directors as a rule love to place old wine in new bottles, and with an opera produced as often as Figaro, it’s rather expected of them as well. Thankfully, Major’s innovations added a dimension of freshness and not just novelty. Perhaps the most unusual departure takes place during the fêted military parody of Figaro’s Non più andrai, after the Count ― having exceeded the limits of his patience with the love-struck Cherubino ― commissions the boy to join the army. Instead of giving the young man a rifle, Figaro gives him a shave (the director's nod, perhaps, to the comic scene between Figaro and Bartolo in The Barber of Seville).

Eastman’s broken-down barnyard wagon that serves as a hiding place during the fourth act was simple yet effective in presenting the peek-a-boo antics of the characters as they spy on one-another. The moonlit, starry-skied backdrop to the wagon ― with its projection of stars in various sizes and levels of brightness ― was also a nice touch. Matthew Pachtman’s light-colored and pin-striped costumes suggest Europe during the first decade or so of the 20-century.

As mentioned earlier, David Angus’ tempos throughout much of the performance were generally rushed, which is a shame: Mozart’s enchanting melodies fare much better when savored, not swallowed whole. The conductor’s preference for brisk tempos extended to several arias and cavatinas that demand listener attention, such as the poignant Porgi, amor, where the Countess laments the waning of her husband’s affections. To her credit, Lynch tried to relax the tempo during the aria’s recapitulation, although by that time the mood had been lost.

The Glimmerglass Orchestra played quite well, including some impressive obbligato wind parts in the concertante-style accompaniment to Susanna’s Deh vieni, non tardar. I was not impressed by the use a fortepiano, in place of the more usual harpsichord, to accompany the recitatives.

Details Box:

What: Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro
When: August 9, 2010
Who: Glimmerglass Opera
Time: 3 hours and 15-minutes, with one intermission
Call: Glimmerglass Box office: (607) 547-2255
Ticket prices: $26 to $126
Website: www.glimmerglass.org  

Remaining performances:

Sunday - Tuesday matinees at 2:00 p.m.
Saturday matinees at 1:30 p.m.
Thursday and Friday evening performances at 7:30 p.m.
Saturday evening performances at 8:00 p.m.

By David Abrams
http://cnycafemomus.com 

Ever since its first performance some 110 years ago, Tosca has commanded the attention of the listener’s eyes as well as ears. Who can forget the vivid images of the interior of the Church of Sant'Andrea della Valle, the iconic candles-and-crucifix ritual following Scarpia’s murder and the eerie pre-dawn calm preceding Cavaradossi’s execution atop Castel Sant’Angelo prison? 

The problem with staging this opera is that audiences tend to hold directors and set designers accountable for the preservation of these images. Just ask Luc Bondy.

Bondy, a veteran theater and opera director who dared tinker with audience expectations in last season’s ill-fated Metropolitan Opera production of Tosca (he attempted to portray the mood of the story rather than its looks), was widely criticized in the media and soundly booed by outraged audiences who preferred a curator of the opera’s cherished images to a purveyor of the drama. While some (myself included) disagreed with Bondy’s critics, the message was clear: Don’t mess with our beloved Tosca.

The caveat was not lost on Director Ned Canty and Set Designer Donald Eastman, who were commissioned by Glimmerglass Opera to craft a production of Tosca using only existing scenery from prior years’ sets (a cost-saving measure that affects all four operas of the 2010 season).

Canty’s production team managed to find a way to satisfy the needs of the drama and the audience, both ― shrewdly re-assembling older sets (particularly the company’s 2005 production of Death in Venice) to forge three mood-driven backdrops that project the proper atmosphere of a police state with its pervasive sense of hopelessness, despair and unrelenting fear, while remaining mostly faithful to work’s sacrosanct icons. Add to the mix some strong singing efforts and good acting by the three principal roles and you’ve got a potent Tosca that can engage the listener’s eyes, ears and imagination.

The story, based on Victorien Sardou’s play, La Tosca, sets the story in Rome at about 1800 ― a time of political strife between the oppressive regime in-power (the monarchists, led by Austria) and the freedom-fighters (the Bonapartists). Canty transposes the time to early 20th-century Rome, making the police-state, with its allusions to 1930s-style Italian/German fascism, more relevant to modern audiences.

As the politically-active painter, Cavaradossi, Adam Diegel cuts a handsome and earnest figure whom the audience can believe is torn between his love for Tosca and his uncompromising loyalty to fugitive friend and anti-government conspirator, Angelotti.

There’s a pleasant and engaging quality to Diegel’s voice that was at once apparent from his opening Recondita armonia ― sung as the painter compares his unfinished portrait of the Madonna to the beauty of his paramour, Tosca. Diegel delivered this aria in a hefty voice that radiated confidence and self-assurance, and he maintained his mighty vocal presence throughout the performance. Although Diegel at times had a tendency to push his delivery too hard, causing his pitch to sag on the high notes, his handsome vocal timbre never lost its luster.

Diegel’s tenor can be as expressive as it is powerful, as demonstrated in his character’s signature aria, E lucevan le stelle. Singing from a sitting position, Diegel delivered this cherished aria in molto espressivo style, with great feeling and attention to nuance of phrasing. Ironically, there was no applause at the end of this show-stopper: Listeners simply remained frozen in their seats, like deer in the headlights, until conductor David Angus cued the orchestra to continue.

Soprano Lise Lindstrom fashioned a suitably mercurial Tosca ― the cagey diva whose feelings for Cavaradossi may at any moment turn from affection to jealous rage. While she may not dominate the stage to the extent of others who have played (or overplayed) the role, Lindstrom acted convincingly whether singing or reacting to others sing, and seemed comfortable negotiating the many facets of her character ― from possessive lover to protective guardian to self-pitying victim and, ultimately, remorseless executioner.

Lindstrom’s powerful soprano packs a punch ― reaching decibel levels that made me wonder whether her voice was carrying all the way down Route 80 into Cooperstown ― and her pitch was tight on target. The third act scene where she recounts to Cavaradossi how she plunged the blade into Scarpia’s heart, culminating on a brilliant high C, was a dramatic tour de force (and smack on-pitch).

At the same time, Lindstrom’s firm vocal presence occasionally borders on shrill during the louder sections ― such as in her duet with Diegel in the first act and especially during her scene with Scarpia in the second, leading me to wonder whether she hears herself onstage the way others do sitting in a venue the size of the Alice Busch Opera Theater (Lindstrom’s successful Met debut as Turandot last October took place at the much larger Metropolitan Opera House). The softer and more delicate sections fared much better and showed her voice in a much more flattering context, such as in the celebrated Vissi d’arte, and again in Act 3 during her tender and lengthy duet with Diegel.

You’ve got to love Lester Lynch’s resounding baritone, with its deep, resonant overtones and hearty vibrato that bounces around the corners of the theater like a ball in a pinball machine. As Scarpia, Lynch exuded confidence ― belting out his self-congratulatory Va, Tosca! and creed-defining Ha più forte sapore with panache. I only wish he would have added some softer (and much-welcome) dynamic contrasts. It’s not that he doesn’t sing with feeling, it’s just that he sings in only one feeling.

Lynch played the part of the archetypical tyrant convincingly, but only as a one-dimensional villain with a single purpose. There’s more to Scarpia, of course ― Puccini tells us so in Ha più forte sapore, in which Scarpia sings that his idea of making love involves conquest and subjugation. For all his histrionics, Lynch gave us little more villain than your run-of-the-mill Snidely Whiplash. Ultimately, it wasn’t the rape of Tosca’s soul or the crushing of her spirit that he craved, just her body. Surely there’s more to Scarpia than this.

Among the smaller roles, populated by members of the Glimmerglass Young American Artists program, Robert Kerr looked and acted the part of the jolly church sacristan, and sang with a full and rich baritone that suggests he’s ready for prime time.

As the ill-fated fugitive, Angelotti, a disheveled Aaron Sorenson crafted a sympathetic and pitiful character as the prisoner on the run from Scarpia’s not-so-secret police. Although Sorenson could learn a thing or two from the production’s principal singers about how better to project his voice, he sang with a handsome bass-baritone and his acting was beyond reproach. Dominick Rodriguez and Zachary Nelson looked suitably unctuous as Scarpia’s storm troopers Spoletta and Sciarrone, respectively.

Canty bends, but does not break, the ritual of Scarpia’s murder ― Tosca places lanterns on either side of the corpse’s head, then pulls a pendant (possibly a small crucifix) from her neck and lays it upon his torso. The smooth staging of the children’s chorus in Act I could not have worked out better had there been a traffic cop onstage, and the deaths of both Scarpia and Cavaradossi were convincingly staged (I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look of disgust on Lynch’s face as he laments being slain by a woman). On the other hand, there’s remarkably little blood on Diegel when he’s laid at Lindstrom’s feet after having been brutally tortured, and I’m at a loss to understand why Canty had Lindstrom leap to her death from the prison roof while facing the audience, and not the ground.

The utilitarian props are effective and fit in nicely with the scenery. The one exception is the set of four small tables and chairs resting in Scarpia’s "apartment" at Farnese Palace ― which looked more like the setting for a chess tournament than a torture chamber. It’s also unclear where in this room Scarpia would have placed the reluctant Tosca had she followed through with her promise to be seduced by him.

Jeff Harris’ mood-evoking lighting effects captured the drab interior of the Church of Sant'Andrea della Valle to great effect, suggesting perhaps that under Scarpia’s regime a church is unable to provide sanctuary to the hunted. The pre-dawn scene atop the prison castle at the opening of Act 3, with its ever-so-gradual sunrise, was especially impressive.

Matthew Pachtman’s costumes were in-harmony with the production’s sets and props, which appears to place the action somewhere between the two world wars. Scarpia is outfitted in a Nazi-vintage leather while his henchmen wear the customary storm-trooper uniforms, boots and luger holsters. Ironically, Tosca dresses rather modestly ― belying her presumed status as a celebrated opera diva. An exception is the stunning gown she wears at Scarpia’s quarters, a delicate white gown that contrasts sharply with brawny black storm trooper uniforms worn by those standing beside her.

Until the final act, the Glimmerglass Opera Orchestra, under the direction of David Angus, sounded uncharacteristically wimpy. The famous opening three-chord leitmotif, intended to evoke the terrifying image of Baron Scarpia, produced nothing more frightening than an image of Richard Simmons, while the sharply-syncopated rhythmic passages that permeate the first act came off rather sloppy and lethargic. The orchestra came alive in the third act ― beginning with firm ensemble and good intonation among the horns during their opening tutti unison section, and especially during the outstanding cello quartet ensemble in the altissimo register. The Glimmerglass Chorus, prepared by Chorus master Bonnie Koestner, fashioned a suitably dramatic Te Deum at the end of Act 1, in counterpoint with Scarpia’s chilling soliloquy.

Tuesday afternoon’s crowd must have thought they had purchased tickets to an opera buffa. Late in Act 2, after Tosca stabs Scarpia and chants "now you can’t hurt anyone else," they laughed. When a patron sneezed during the exquisite horn section solo that opens Act 3 atop Castel Sant'Angelo prison, they laughed again. Later, when Tosca advises Cavaradossi not to hurt himself when he falls to the ground after what she presumes will be a mock execution, the crowd laughed yet again.

I’m curious to learn how much wine and champagne was sold that afternoon during the two intermissions…

Details Box:
What: Puccini’s Tosca
When: August 3, 2010
Who: Glimmerglass Opera
Call: Glimmerglass Box office: (607) 547-2255
Ticket prices: $26 to $126
Website: www.glimmerglass.org 

Remaining performances:

When 'droit de seigneur' succumbs to 'droit de director'

By David Rubin
Contributing writer

Some operas can tolerate or profit from a change in time or place. Beethoven’s political drama Fidelio is one. Tyranny is tyranny. Offenbach’s The Tales of Hoffman is another. If the title character is on drugs and hopelessly in love, what difference does the setting make?

But Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro is not such an opera.

By setting the Glimmerglass Opera production in the early twentieth century, director Leon Major stripped it of the class conflicts and revolutionary sentiments that animate it. What is one to make of the Count’s attempts to exercise his droit de seigneur with Susanna when it is obvious this custom had long since disappeared? When the Count is just another guy on stage, and when Susanna is dressed more attractively than her mistress, something is amiss.

Fortunately, a young, talented and eager cast mostly overcame Major’s efforts to sabotage Mozart’s greatest work. Lovers of this desert island opera will be content with this Glimmerglass production, but not transported.

Major also flunked the test of making sense of the fourth act, with its pairs of disguised lovers trying to humiliate the Count. Admittedly this is a difficult scene to realize. But this production offered no garden and few places to hide. The space was dominated by an ugly, broken-down wagon with large metal wheels. Figaro hid under it. Others crouched by the side. Anyone not intimately familiar with the story would have no idea what Major was trying to do. For newcomers, this is not the way to sell opera.

Costumes for nobility and peasants alike were dull shades of beige and cream, with only Susanna’s blue dress providing some color.

Conductor David Angus led a generally swift performance that bounced along nicely except in the one place that it must bounce: Cherubino’s panic in Act Two at the return of the Count and his leap from the Countess’s window into the garden. Here the pace lagged and none of the breathlessness in the score came across.

Angus and his young cast experienced some coordination problems early on, particularly during the opening banter between Susanna and Figaro in their bedroom-to-be, and in Cherubino’s first aria Non so più cosa son. Throughout the performance the cast was attentive to Angus. Although this was the fourth performance of the run, most of the singers were not yet fully inside their parts.

The two exceptions, fortunately, were the two most important singers: the Figaro of Patrick Carfizzi and the Susanna of Lyubov Petrova. They were the rocks anchoring this production.

Carfizzi’s baritone is large, flexible and appealing. He and Petrova blended well and exhibited some sexual chemistry. He was credible in the many moods Mozart assigns him: the angry Figaro who realizes the Count has his eye on Susanna; the scheming Figaro trying to outfox the Count; the dumfounded Figaro who learns Marcellina is his mother; and the wounded Figaro who believes Susanna is cheating on him. Carfizzi will be a splendid Figaro in The Barber of Seville, too. One could clearly see that Figaro on stage. (The harpsichord player, Jonathan Kelly, seems to agree. At one point he interpolated a riff from the "Largo al factotum.")

Petrova’s voice is a bit heavier than it was when she sang Cleopatra two years ago in the Glimmerglass Giulio Cesare. Indeed, she could have been an equally effective Countess in this production. She is a fine actress and a solid ensemble singer, which is important for Susanna. Her duet with the Countess in Act Three about the gentle breezes caressed the ear.

Caitlin Lynch was the Countess. She is a young singer, and judging from her resume, this is the most significant undertaking of her career. She delivered both her great arias — Porgi, amor in Act Two and Dove sono in Act Three—with great skill. The latter brought a tear to the eye. But she didn’t project the elegant weariness necessary to make the Countess a flesh and blood object of pity. Someday she will.

Casting mezzo Aurhelia Varak as Cherubino was a gamble. She is a tiny woman, barely coming up to the neck of the Countess. Imagining her as credible love interest for any of the females on stage was not possible. She didn’t look like a gawky love-struck teen being sent off to war by the Count. Rather, she was a 12 year-old ready for summer camp. Her costume was a ludicrous striped sports jacket, tie, and a newsboy hat. Despite the visual problems, she delivered both her beloved arias with skill if not the ardor and pathos of a von Stade or a Graham.

The Count should loom over a Figaro production as an unpredictable force of aristocratic lechery. Mark Schnaible’s baritone is a bit under-powered for the role. He delivered his Act Three aria accusing Susanna of trickery with accuracy, but without the snarl to make it work. Leon Major did him no favor requiring that he stay seated in a chair while delivering it. Why not let him stalk the stage? Much of the time this Count simply disappeared in the staging.

The rest of the cast was uniformly strong. Particular mention must be made of Haeran Hong in the role of Barbarina, she of the famous aria in which she is searching for the lost pin. She is a member of the company’s Young American Artists Program, which is doing yeoman service this summer. Hong is still studying at Juilliard, but she was already a finalist in the 2010 Metropolitan Opera National Council Auditions. Some day soon she will be a great Pamina or Susanna. She is also cute as a button, with a clear, silvery voice, a blinding smile, and great stage presence.

It was a pleasure NOT to have the gardener Antonio played as a falling-down-drunk. Credit to Major for that. Robert Kerr, who is also singing the Sacristan in Tosca this summer, made him a believable character and not just a joke. He knew who had jumped from that window. Kerr, too, has a very bright future as a baritone.

One directorial touch from Major was actually pretty funny, if not contrary to the score. When Figaro sends Cherubino off to war at the end of Act One with the aria Non più andrai, it is usually staged in a martial manner, with Cherubino shouldering a musket. That is what the music and lyrics demand. Major decided to re-create the shaving scene from The Barber of Seville. Figaro sits Cherubino down in a chair and lathers him up, just as he always does to Doctor Bartolo in every production of the Barber. No matter that this Cherubino could not possibly have had anything on his face to shave. It was a clever inside operatic joke.

Did it help Mozart? No. But then that was clearly not Leon Major’s goal in this production. The cast saved him.

What: Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro
When: July 24, 2010
Who: Glimmerglass OperaTime: 3 hours and 15-minutes, with one intermission
Call: Glimmerglass Box office: (607) 547-2255
Ticket prices: $26 to $126
Website: www.glimmerglass.org 

Remaining performances:

*July 10 and 17 evening performances are at 7:30 p.m.

By David Abrams
http://cnycafemomus.com

No one need explain the subtleties of tragedy and comedy to Mel Brooks, who famously proclaimed, "Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you fall into an open sewer and die."

Glimmerglass Opera’s farcical production of Handel’s opera seria, Tolomeo, which received its North American premiere Sunday under the direction of Chas Rader-Shieber, suggests that opera directors using humor as a device to make Handel’s dramatic works more relevant to modern audiences may, like the incorrigible Mr. Brooks, be working from a faulty model.

To be sure, Handel possessed a sharp wit and a dry sense of humor that permeates his characters’ personae (particularly those who find themselves in love with others, or themselves), and these characters provide ample fodder for humorous episodes in works such as Agrippina, Xerxes and Partenope. Yet while the implausible plot of Tolomeo may invite a certain degree of lampooning, there is also a strong underlying message honoring the nobility of character displayed by the eponymous Tolomeo and his wife, Seleuce (who throughout their hideous ordeal maintain their fidelity) that begs recognition.

Rader-Shieber’s unrelenting drone of parody, ridicule and satire — which for all practical purposes continued unabated throughout even the most tender and agonizing situations — all but robbed our hero and heroine of the ability to deliver the underlying moral of the story. Moreover, it was an unwelcome distraction to the beauty of Handel’s music (which I believe stands up to the composer’s best efforts in this genre).

If only Rader-Shieber had used the element of humor as a tool to complement the dramatic action in this serious work (which, after all, is unfamiliar to a large majority of opera-goers).  But no — he preferred to drown the story-line in a never-ending barrage of visual gags, kitsch and cheap laughs. In the end, it was Rader-Shieber’s directing efforts that fell into the open sewer and died.

As a purely musical experience the production fared quite well, with strong vocal and acting support from the dueling soprano roles of Joélle Harvey and Julie Boulianne, as Seleuce and Elisa, respectively — roles originally designed for Handel’s super-diva contemporaries, Francesca Cuzzoni and Faustina Bordoni — as well as counter-tenor Anthony Roth Costanzo (Tolomeo), who sang the role originally cast for the celebrated castrato, Senesino.

In Handel’s day the principal focus of opera was the singers, particularly the castrati and soprano roles. Divas such as Cuzzoni and Bordoni provided the box office draw that could ensure a successful run of performances, and Handel (who always knew which side his bread was buttered on) gave the crowd exactly what it wanted in Tolomeo, keeping the musical focus squarely on the individual singers, without the "distractions" of a chorus (unless you count the quintet finale as one) or ensemble numbers (just a few duets, and exquisite ones at that).

The principal musical form during the "reign of the singers" was the da capo aria, an ABA (ternary) musical form that invites (and in fact demands) improvisatory embellishment during the concluding (A) section. Disappointingly, ornamentation during the da capo sections throughout this performance was consistently understated, producing little or no change from the opening melodic section — a departure, to be sure, from Baroque performance practice prevalent during the time of Handel.

As Tolomeo, the would-be King of Egypt exiled to Cypress by his malevolent mother, Cleopatra, Anthony Roth Costanzo forged a thoroughly sympathetic character whom the listener could readily understand and accept.

Disguised early on as a common shepherd (Osmin), Costanzo sang the opera’s opening aria (Cielo ingiusto, potrai fulminrmi), cursing his fate and the presumed loss of his beloved wife, Seleuce, with a rich and handsome counter-tenor that remained full and supple throughout the high and low registers. Although Costanzo tended to lag slightly behind the beat in the quickly paced sections of this aria, his well-seasoned voice quickly regained its agility for the remainder of the performance and culminated in solid precision-work during the running 16th-note passages of the third-act aria, son qual rocca percossa dall'aonde, which precedes the famous poison scene.

I was especially impressed with Costanzo’s wide range of emotions, both as an actor and as a singer, that enabled him to breathe credibility into his melancholic (and often suicidal) character. His aria Torna sol per un momento, an expressive lament at the conclusion of the Act One, was delivered with tender pathos and great attention to nuance. While I found Rader-Shieber’s superfluous staging of Tolomeo’s duet with Seleuce at the end of Act Two (Se il cor ti perde) a needless distraction (three butlers with wide-mouthed brooms interrupt the pair during this lovely duet and sweep the floor), I remain grateful to the director for suspending the comic shenanigans during Costanzo’s compelling Stille amare, già vi sento, sung after he swallows what he presumes is poison.

The professional jealousies and public feuding between Bordoni and Cuzzoni was legendary (the two actually came to blows during one performance), and Handel quickly learned it was prudent to dole out an equal number of arias to both (each has six arias in Tolomeo). Handel’s parity of musical interest was plain to see in the efforts of the production’s two sopranos, Boulianne and Harvey — each of whom commanded equal attention from the audience, and each of whom performed magnificently.

As Tolomeo’s ultra-faithful wife, Seleuce, Joélle Harvey carved a sympathetic character whose virtue was never in-question (although I had to wonder about the skirt designed by Andrea Hood, which shook to-and-fro like a slinky and at times threatened to fly off Harvey’s waist). Her first-act aria, Fonti amiche, aure leggere, reveals a gorgeous soprano lightly seasoned with some darker timbres, and she crafts an expressive delivery that warms the heart. This aria was especially lovely in part because of the presence of two recorders, which Handel uses only sparingly.

Harvey’s silky-smooth delivery in the third-act Senza il suo bene la tortorella, a charming sicilienne about captivity, was upstaged by the unwelcome interpolation of three cages of varying sizes dangling in front of the soprano (a not-so-subtle reminder by the director that Seleuce, too, is in captivity of sorts). Kitsch or not, it was annoying to have to watch Harvey sing through this obstruction.

One staging effect that I thought did work rather well appeared at the end of the opera during the wonderful duet between Harvey and Costanzo (preceding the quintet finale). To celebrate the happy denouement (and the removal of all obstacles to Tolomeo and Seleuce’s conjugal reunion), Rader-Shieber has the two lovebirds undress for bed as they sing in happy intervals of thirds. The mood quickly proves contagious, as Elisa and Alessandro shed their clothes and follow suit. Not to be left out, Araspe removes his clothes as well — although he presumably will be making love to himself.

In terms of memorable characters not likely to be forgotten for some time, Julie Boulianne, the darling of last year’s successful Glimmerglass Opera production of La Cenerentola, came awfully close to stealing the show.

Boulianne, whose outfit curiously resembled the "Red Queen" character (played by Helena Bonham Carter) in the film Alice in Wonderland, was the only character among the five to play her part in a completely comedic vein — reconstructing the pernicious femme fatale of Handel’s Elisa into something that resembles a spoiled, impatient club-hopping party girl. The transformation, whether orchestrated by Rader-Shieber or Boulianne herself, was in harmony with the satirical direction of this production.

Although Handel designed this part specifically for a soprano, Boulianne’s mezzo-soprano is sufficiently flexible and malleable to suit the part. Still, the darker timbre of her voice clearly sets her apart from the "other soprano" role of Seleuce, putting aside any parallels to the legendary Cuzzoni-Bordoni feud.

Boulianne’s consistently well-executed ornamental passages throughout her many arias suggests a level of comfort with early 18th-century music. She performed the rapid ornamentations in the first-act Se talor miri un fior with grace, polish and poise, and navigated the trills and 16th-note passagework of the second-act Quanto è felice quell'augelletto with elegance and élan. I especially enjoyed her delivery of the heavily dotted-rhythms of her third-act aria of vengeance, Voglio amore o pur vendetta, which I feel was the singular most impressive vocal effort in this production. She also provided effortless tossing of the coloratura embellishments in the aria Ti pentirai, crudel that followed.

The remaining two roles, sung by members of Glimmerglass Opera’s Young American Artists Program, were hardly a match for veterans Costanzo, Harvey and Boulianne.

Baritone Steven LaBrie, as Araspe, looked the part of the nefarious King of Cyprus and commanded an appropriately intimidating stage presence, although he remained rather weak in voice throughout a good deal of the performance. LaBrie’s vocal delivery in his first-act aria (Respira almeno un poco) was tight and constrained, and he had difficulty mustering sufficient fury when his amorous intentions were spurned by Seleuce during the second-act quickly paced aria, Piangi pur, ma non sperare. The handsome baritone finally blossomed in the third-act Sarò giusto, e non tiranno, which he delivered in convincing fashion both vocally and dramatically.

Mezzo-soprano Karin Mushegain sang the castrato role of Tolomeo’s redemptive brother, Alessandro, with a smooth and pleasant vocal manner, although she too had difficulty projecting in both her first-act Non lo dirò col labbro and second-act Pur sento, oh Dio! che l'alma. Like LaBrie, Mushegain’s voice came alive in the third-act, at which time she displayed a firm command of flexibility in her delivery of 16th-note ornamental passages throughout her aria, Se l'interno pur vedono i Numi.

Donald Eastman’s minimalist sets, which generally border on the bizarre, provide a suitable backdrop to Rader-Shieber’s comical staging effects. When the curtain rises we see a mostly barren stage with a large, wind-torn umbrella shielding a small table upon which sits a goldfish bowl, and behind which stands a ceiling-to-floor vertical panel that displays a large swordfish. This is, ostensibly, the shipwreck beach scene that washes Tolomeo’s brother, Alessandro, to the Cypress shore.

Andrea Hood’s theater of the absurd costume design, like the incongruous sets and props, is an assortment of non-sequiturs that includes 18th-century powered-wig servants’ garb (the butlers) and Araspe’s pimp-like reddish-brown jacket with fur trim and hat (and a protruding plume) that gives the King of Cypress a look better suited perhaps to Sporting Life in Porgy & Bess. Elisa’s outrageous outfit, anchored by a skirt that looks as if it had been dragged through a tub of rainbow sherbet, may find its way someday into the Lady Gaga exhibit at the Smithsonian.

A well-prepared, abbreviated version of the Glimmerglass Opera Orchestra, conducted by Christian Curnyn and buoyed by the addition of continuo of Baroque cello, theorbo (bass lute) and harpsichord, executed the pervasive brisk and sprightly 16th-note passages with alacrity throughout the performance.

What: Handel’s Tolomeo
When: July 18, 2010 (première performance)
Who: Glimmerglass OperaTime: 2 hours and 45-minutes, with one intermission
Call: Glimmerglass Box office: (607) 547-2255
Ticket prices: $26 to $126
Website: www.glimmerglass.org 
Remaining performances:

[Editor’s note: CNY Café Momus is pleased to provide its readers with two different perspectives on the identical (July 18 opening première) Glimmerglass Opera production of Handel’s Tolomeo: one by David Abrams (preceding this review), and the present one by David Rubin]

By David Rubin
Contributing writer

The American Handel Society might consider bestowing a special award of merit on Glimmerglass Opera for its dedication over the past 15 years to staging his operas.

Since its 1995 production of Tamerlano, Glimmerglass has put on the boards eight different Handel operas. In the 36 years Glimmerglass has existed, an equal number of Mozart’s operas have been produced.  Six have come from Puccini, only three from Verdi.  Glimmerglass has earned a reputation as a Handel house.

The latest entry is Tolomeo, which opened Sunday afternoon, July 18, in a sold-out Alice Busch Opera Theater.  General and Artistic Director Michael MacLeod told the audience that he believes this is the very first staged performance of the work in North America.

It premiered in 1728 at King’s Theatre in London; was revised for a 1730 production; and revised again in 1733.  It then did not see the light of day until 1938 in Gottingen, Germany.  It was not staged in Britain until 1973.

This is quite strange.  The opera deserves a better fate.

Handel wrote it for his superstar rival sopranos Francesca Cuzzoni and Faustina Bordoni. The famous castrato Senesino took the title role.  With only five characters in the opera, hearing these three in the most important roles must have been a thrilling experience.

It has much beautiful music in it, although most of the arias lack vocal pyrotechnics. There are only two duets.  The five characters sing as a chorus once, at the close.  It’s a simple piece.  Anthony Hicks in The New Grove Dictionary of Opera describes most of the arias as being "decent but unexceptionable examples of Handel’s Royal Academy manner."

True, it’s not as thrilling as Giulio Cesare, which Glimmerglass staged so well in 2008.  But the audience on Sunday warmed to the music, which was beautifully played by the Glimmerglass Opera Orchestra and expertly conducted by Christian Curnyn.  Curnyn, a Scotsman, is an expert in this repertoire.  He is director of the Early Opera Company, and he has led Semele and Tamerlano for Scottish Opera.  Tempos were well judged and the opera never sagged.

Curnyn had three outstanding young singers with whom to work in the Senesino-Bordoni-Cuzzoni roles.

Countertenor Anthony Roth Costanzo sang Tolomeo, a feckless, woe-is-me monarch exiled by his mother Cleopatra to Cyprus.  He spends much of the opera searching for his wife, Seleuce, also exiled, and actually right under his nose on stage. (The plot, best ignored, is a typical 18th century farrago of disguises, missed connections, and false identities.)  Costanzo’s soprano is as clear and inviting as spring water, with a penetrating sound on top. The bottom of the voice is not so forceful, but he delivered those lower notes doubled up on the floor, far stage right, so it’s best to suspend judgment.

Tolomeo’s wife Seleuce (the Cuzzoni role) was sung by Joélle Harvey, a real find.  This is a part of almost constant lamentation.  Harvey must deliver long, arching melodies with a steady line and a melting quality. She does.  She is secure throughout the range.  The top is very attractive and not at all shrill. She also looked like a monarch’s wife, even in the skimpy satin slip that is her costume at the end (more about which later).

Bordoni’s role is Elisa, sister to the tyrant king of Cyprus. This is the fun part.  Elisa is the scheming, vengeful, sexually hungry woman who chews up the scenery but, for a change, actually gets a man in the end, although not the man she wanted.  Julie Boulianne was terrific in this part.  Whenever she was not on stage, the temperature cooled to a simmer.  When she was on stage, she dominated the proceedings in a red wig and stylish red ankle boots.

Last season Boulianne seemed lost as Cinderella in Glimmerglass’s chaotic production of Cenerentola. Here she ruled the roost. She matched Harvey in voice quality, although her part is more varied and requires more mood swings. Boulianne proved she is a first-rate comedian with a mezzo voice capable of handling the entire range (Handel wrote it for a soprano).

The other two roles are smaller. Both were sung by members of the company’s Young American Artists Program.

Baritone Steve LaBrie was cast as the raging tyrant of Cyprus, Araspe. Handel wrote the part for a bass. LeBrie’s voice is too light to deliver much of the music with the power and resonance required. The voice is tight, not well projected. His performance was honorable, but it didn’t thrill. This is probably not a part for such a young singer whose voice has not entirely developed. A veteran such as David Pittsinger, a bass-baritone who sang in the Glimmerglass Orlando in 2003, would have done justice to the part.

Karin Mushegain, a mezzo, sang Alessandro (Tolomeo’s brother), with skill and a feel for Baroque style. She has little to do before the single intermission, but she is a full participant in the action in part two, holding her own with the other ladies on stage.

Which brings us back to that satin slip, or really two satin slips, since Julie Boulianne was also wearing one at the end, while Araspe had stripped to his boxer shorts and a tank top, and Tolomeo was in underwear, one sock on and one off.

Staging a Handel opera seria straight is probably no longer in the cards in the 21st century. Directors feel the pressure to provide stage business, sight gags, and all manner of decorations to liven up the da capo aria format and static plots. The question is how seriously to take Handel and how much decoration to provide.

Chas Rader-Shieber directed. He also directed the previously-mentioned Orlando. That prepared me to expect a production with some clever sight gags, lots of energy, and an irreverent spirit. He delivered all of that. But he also delivered stage business that slighted the singing, and the singers. At times I wished he had the faith in Handel and in his young artists to let them work the magic in this piece.

His approach was particularly damaging to Joélle Harvey as Seleuce, who has the saddest and most tender music. Rader-Shieber kept stealing the audience’s attention from her with stage nonsense. She should sue for non-support.

Despite the foolish plot that truly deserves to be sent up, Handel must have meant this as a piece to be taken seriously. Rader-Shieber signals to the audience immediately that this will not be the case. Comedy tonight. After the attractive overture, Tolomeo is staring into a fish bowl while a huge swordfish, hanging from guy wires, swims into the middle of the back wall. The shipwreck that brought Alessandro to Cyprus is illustrated with a toy boat split in two. Elisa sticks it back together with her chewing gum. Araspe is decked out in a ridiculous top hat with a feather, forcing him to duck through doorways. In his red costume with a goatee, he looks like a Mephisto out for a night of trick-or-treating. The breeze suggested in the poetry for one of Seleuce’s arias is produced by five electric fans. And so on.

Most of this works in an anxious sort of way. What hurts, however, was Rader-Shieber’s interpolation of three "servants" dressed in 18th century garb and gray wigs. They seem to have wandered in from Faninal’s palace in Rosenkavalier, except that they are disheveled and stooped. Worse, they are on stage all the time, moving furniture, pushing brooms, blocking doorways, and otherwise distracting the audience from the singers. On first appearance they are intriguing, but once it is clear they are not going away, they are annoying.

At the conclusion, when Tolomeo and Seleuce finally identify each other, and Elisa settles for Alessandro, Rader-Shieber has all of them lustily rip off their outer garments for some love-making. But he lacks the courage of his directorial convictions. Had this been Europe, the slips would have gone, too.

Rader-Shieber’s contributions, such as they are, should not deter lovers of Handel and of terrific Baroque singing from seeing this production. It’s not as good a piece as Cesare, Acis, or Agrippina, but it rivals Orlando and Partenope. Boulianne and Harvey will be heard again on stages elsewhere in a wide range of repertoire, and Costanza will take his place as a leading countertenor. All three are very talented.

This might also be the end of the Handel era at Glimmerglass. The experienced director Francesca Zambello takes over the company next year. Her website lists more than 180 productions she has created between 1984 and 2008, but only two are of Handel operas: a 1990 Xerxes for young artists in Antwerp, and a 2003 Alcina for New York City Opera. Handel has not played an important part in her art.

All the more reason to see this Tolomeo. It deserves a victory lap.

David M. Rubin is Professor and Dean Emeritus at the Newhouse School at Syracuse University. He teaches in the school’s Goldring Arts Journalism program.

Details Box:

What: Handel’s Tolomeo
When: July 18, 2010 (première performance)
Who: Glimmerglass OperaTime: 2 hours and 45-minutes, with one intermission
Call: Glimmerglass Box office: (607) 547-2255
Ticket prices: $26 to $126
Website: www.glimmerglass.org 

Remaining performances:

Copland’s ‘The Tender Land’ lacks inspiration, dramatic tension ― and most everything else 

Glimmerglass Opera’s Young Artists perform well, but the infectious melodic and rhythmic zest of Copland’s ballets come up missing in this opera  

By David Rubin
Contributing writer 

Glimmerglass Opera employed all the elements required for a performance of Aaron Copland’s rarely heard opera The Tender Land, first performed in 1954 at City Center Theater in New York.

Copland wrote it with a young cast in mind, so General and Artistic Director Michael MacLeod turned performance duties over entirely to singers in the company’s Young American Artists Program.

To guide them, he engaged director Tazewell Thompson, an alumnus of Syracuse Stage with past opera experience. Stewart Robertson, the popular former Artistic Director of the company, returned as conductor.

The plot, such as it is, seems perfect for Copland’s dewy-eyed view of America: a coming-of-age story about a high school graduate itching to leave her suffocating existence on her grandfather’s Midwestern farm in the Depression and take on the world.

Set designer Donald Eastman provided a suggestion of this farm with amber waves of grain swaying along the back of the stage. The playing space was framed by two barn-like sidings. Golden lighting suggested the heat and smell of late spring on the farm.

Copland had already proven he could write ballet and film music that has come to symbolize an American folk sound. Surely the composer of Appalachian Spring, Rodeo, Billy the Kid, An Outdoor Overture, and The Red Pony could animate this American farm fable.

So, everything was in place for a successful Glimmerglass revival (I saw the opening night performance, July 10, 2010).

Everything, that is, but an opera worth performing. Had Copland been an experienced opera composer (he wrote only two), he would have handed this back to his partner Erik Johns (a dancer and painter, but no librettist) and told him to try again. The piece lacks dramatic tension, surprise, and poetry. Every plot point is painfully obvious. Johns’s lyrics are embarrassing. He writes as if he thinks this is what farm people might say if they thought they were in an opera.

The plot offers only stale dramatic situations. Two drifters show up at Grandpa’s farm looking for work. Soprano Laurie falls for the tenor drifter. Grandpa is not happy and orders the drifters to leave on a pretext. They do. Laurie is bereft. She packs a suitcase and sets out on her own. That’s it — spread over three interminable acts. The generic operatic forms are here—a love duet, a hoe down, a duet for the drifters, an aria for the angry grandpa. But there is no dramatic tension, no complex characters, and nothing in the plot the audience can’t see coming from as far away as Kansas.

Still, Copland’s best music could have saved the day. I would listen to a used car commercial sung to Appalachian Spring. But even Copland could not rise to this challenge. His infectious melodies and rhythmic zest are nowhere in evidence. Scholar Vivian Perlis describes the score this way in The New Grove Dictionary of American Opera: "The music is diatonic, in the style of his popular ballet music, with only occasional dissonances for dramatic purposes. The score incorporates several folksongs and is written in a simple style for small orchestra." Or, one could say, it is simply uninspired. Not a note sticks in the mind. Copland produced musical wallpaper.

At its premier, Jerome Robbins directed and Thomas Schippers conducted. Not a bad pairing! Still it was not a success and has rarely been performed since.

The young artists did what they could, and all performed honorably. For many of them their significant previous opera experience was on stages at such conservatories as Curtis, Indiana, Cincinnati, and the Manhattan School of Music. The Tender Land, with almost no performance history to consult, was a big challenge.

Given that soprano Lindsay Russell (Laurie) and tenor Andrew Stenson (the drifter Martin) have less time than Mimi and Rodolfo to establish love at split-second sight, they manage to develop some chemistry. Both have attractive voices that carry well. The baritone drifter Top (Mark Diamond) shows great potential. He is tall and handsome with a natural stage presence. His voice is strong, with personality. He will make a sexy Count in Figaro who can really woo Susanna. As Laurie’s mother, Stephanie Foley Davis was appropriately beaten down and resigned to her fate on the farm.

Two roles did suffer from the ages of the singers. Joseph Barron struggled to make Grandpa Moss believable. He is too young, and his make-up was too youthful. He could have been married to his granddaughter Laurie. (The great bass Norman Triegle sang this part at the premier.) Rebecca Jo Loeb struggled to make Laurie’s younger sister Beth credible as a goofy teen. Perhaps it was the direction, perhaps the part itself. She seemed simply demented in what is mostly a speaking part.

So, was it worth the effort to present? Stage-worthy American operas are few. Copland is a brand name. A foundation that champions his music provided financial support. Now and then lively surprises can be disinterred from the grave of musical history. Those who scout young voices, or who want to complete their collection of Copland, or want to re-engage with Stewart Robertson, will find some things to like.

But one must conclude that Copland was not an opera composer. At more than one point in the score I thought we were about to be treated to a melody like "Make Our Garden Grow" from Leonard Bernstein’s Candide, written two years later. No such luck. Bernstein’s stage genius is nowhere in evidence.

Met’s ‘Armida:’ Several stratospheric tenors, one down-to-earth soprano

Peter Gelb serves up an obscure Rossini cocktail to showcase Renée Fleming, but winds up leaving his customers thirsty for something better

By David Rubin
Contributing writer

Three operas kept diverting my attention as I watched the matinee performance of Rossini’s Armida (seen live by satellite relay at a movie theater in Syracuse on May 1, 2010).

The first is Handel’s Rinaldo, which has some of the same characters and is based on the same plot, which describes the seduction of a Crusader by a sorceress. Handel did it better. A lot better. Just listen to Argante’s entrance aria in the Handel (track 7 in the Rene Jacobs recording on Harmonia Mundi). If you can find it, the great bass Sam Ramey also sang this aria on a pirate recording in a performance that makes your hair stand on end. There is nothing Rossini wrote in Armida that sticks in the ear like this aria, and this is just one of the many delicacies in the Handel.

The second is Verdi’s Ernani. It was his fifth opera and first big success (Nabucco not withstanding). It premiered in Venice in 1844, 27 years after Armida. Already Verdi was demonstrating his ability to match his music to the text, to project emotion beyond the words, and to create characters who could connect with the audience. Armida is Rossini’s 21st opera, and it follows all his operas that have held the stage, including The Barber of Seville, Cinderella, and The Italian Girl in Algiers. Either Rossini was writing on automatic pilot at this point, or he was simply disinterested in this plot. But he demonstrates in Armida none of the young Verdi’s ability to create flesh and blood characters who sing music that reflects their emotions and the storyline. Time and again in Armida I asked myself, "What is supposed to be happening here? Why does this sound like Cinderella?" Doctor Bartolo establishes more personality in the ten minutes he sings ""A un dottor della mia sorte," sputtering about his feisty ward Rosina, than Armida and all six of her tenors communicate in three hours of music.

The third is Rossini’s own William Tell, his last opera, which he wrote in 1829.  I understand why the Met mounted Armida: to capitalize on Renée Fleming, its reigning box office queen. But if the Met’s GM Peter Gelb wanted to do a truly great, unheard Rossini opera, he should have offered William Tell, which has as much memorable music in it as any Verdi opera until Macbeth and Luisa Miller, or perhaps even Rigoletto. Gelb could have cast tenor Lawrence Brownlee, who sang splendidly as Rinaldo in Armida, as the tenor lead in Tell. He is up to it.

But since I wasn’t watching any of these three operas, I had to focus on Armida. The Met performed it uncut, and with two intermissions, it ran from 1 p.m. to almost 5. The most engaging music and singing comes in the third and last act, when two Crusaders come to pry Rinaldo away from his love nest with Armida. We get an unusual and arresting trio for three tenors followed by a long stretch of wicked coloratura singing by Armida in which she tries to hold onto Rinaldo. When he rejoins his Crusader pals nonetheless, she then decides to take vengeance on him for abandoning her to return to the siege of Jerusalem. (If Rinaldo only knew how fruitless that would be from the perspective of 2010, he would have remained in the love nest.)  

Inexplicably, the opera ends without our knowing whether Armida exacts her revenge. It just ends. Perhaps Rossini had had enough. Certainly the audience had.

The Met sold this antique as a chance to hear Fleming and those six tenors. In the event, there were only five tenors, with Barry Banks doubling up on two of the parts. One of the tenor parts is really so small that it comes and goes before you notice the singer. So this left four tenors. Brownlee exhibited an amazing two-octave range from D to D. The voice is beautiful to hear, without any of the pinched or nasal singing that characterized some Rossini tenors in the 1970s. (Do you remember Rockwell Blake?) As an actor he is much better as the comic Almaviva than the heroic or love-sick Rinaldo. His face is too sweet and open to mimic a villain. But there is no doubt that Brownlee will be singing Rossini and Mozart with great skill for the next 20 years.

Barry Banks showed more personality in the roles of Gernando, the villain whom Rinaldo murders in a duel in Act One, and then as Carlo, who rescues Rinaldo in Act Three. Banks’s voice is not as honeyed as Brownlee’s, but it cuts through the orchestra and is thrilling on top. He also has greater range as an actor.

John Osborn delivered the first big tenor aria in Act One as Goffredo, the head of the Frankish Crusaders. He, too, gave great pleasure, with a big, pleasant sound and handsome presence. He is worth watching. The fourth tenor was Kobie van Rensburg, who has sung Handel before at the Met and was Ubaldo in Armida. He sounded a bit hollow and worn. Banks was by far the stronger of the two Crusaders who rescue Rinaldo. That aforementioned trio for Brownlee, Banks and van Rensburg in Act Three, when Rinaldo decides to return to the fight and abandon Armida, was strongly delivered by all three and well worth hearing. Indeed, how often is one going to hear any trio for tenors?

So this brings us to Fleming, who sings about as much music herself as do all her tenors combined. The voice remains creamy and well produced. She was at her strongest when Rossini let her rage about her loss of Rinaldo. Her love duets with Brownlee were glorious. She sang a bit cautiously. She admitted twice in intermission features (not seen by the audience at the Met) that she has to pace herself carefully to get through this part, and that it takes great stamina. That she can sing it at all at this stage in her career is a marvel. Next season she will return to Strauss, her home base, with Capriccio, another rarity, but this one worth her time and talents.

Ingmar Bergman himself couldn’t bring life to these stick figures, so it was no surprise that director Mary Zimmerman couldn’t either. She pretty much let her principles stand and deliver. She didn’t try to layer any grand concept onto the creaky plot, such as it is. We didn’t get any of the nonsense of her La Sonnambula from last season. She ruined that piece by presenting it as an opera rehearsal within an opera, leaving the audience totally confused. Zimmerman wasn’t helped by her choreographer, the Broadway veteran Graciela Daniele, or costume designer Richard Hudson. Daniele produced an interminable and totally unnecessary ballet in Act Two that concluded with evil spirits, complete with horns and rat tails, prancing around in white tutus. Hudson managed to make the glamorous Fleming look frumpy in a succession of prom dresses that no self-respecting sorceress would wear.

Conductor Riccardo Frizza kept things moving after one of the dullest overtures Rossini ever wrote.

Gelb can be rightly criticized for what he spent of the Met’s budget to mount this museum piece. Nevertheless, Rossini specialists, fans of Fleming, and lovers of stratospheric tenor singing are in his debt. The rest of us await next season’s Ring operas, Boris, Don Carlos, Fanciulla del West and more with great anticipation.

David M. Rubin is Professor and Dean Emeritus at the Newhouse School of Public Communications at Syracuse University. He teaches in the School’s Goldring Arts Journalism program.

Details Box:
What: Rossini’s Armida, Simulcast Live in HD
When: May 1, 2010
Who: Metropolitan Opera
Time: About 4 hours, including 2 intermissions
Where: Metropolitan Opera House, New York

Weilerstein Trio battles pitch, acoustics in SFCM season-closer

Dry acoustics of Lincoln Middle School Auditorium dampens the listening experience at Saturday’s SFCM program of piano trios

By David Abrams
http://cnycafemomus.com

Most chamber music aficionados would agree that the presence of a seven or nine-foot grand piano at a chamber music performance is a welcome sight. Of course, one would hope that this instrument might function more as a vibrant complement to the varied timbres of a chamber ensemble than as a virtual piece of furniture adorning the stage.

Saturday’s season-closing Syracuse Friends of Chamber Music concert, featuring the Weilerstein (Piano) Trio, suggests that the dry acoustical venue of Lincoln School Auditorium is patently unfriendly to three-legged creatures whose natural habitats are concert halls that permit the instrument to sustain and project its deep, rich quality of tone and harmonic spaciousness.

The program, comprising piano trios of Schumann and Dvořák as well as an arrangement commissioned by the Weilerstein Trio of Janâček’s String Quartet No.1 ("The Kreutzer Sonata"), looked good enough on paper ― but when it comes to music, hearing is believing.  And much of what I heard from the piano, its lid fully open, were the muted tones of an instrument placed seemingly far from the action onstage.

If there’s one composer whose chamber music demands a stronger presence from the piano, it’s Robert Schumann. The Piano Trio No. 2 in F Major, Op. 80, one of the composer’s three works for this combination of instruments, calls for many of the subtleties present in his earlier piano character pieces, such as Kreisleriana, Carnaval and Papillons. Indeed, these charming effects must buoy to the surface in the piano parts of the composer’s chamber works in order to capture the essence of his particular brand of Romanticism. They did not, and except for the Trio’s opening movement ― which focuses more upon the strings than the piano ― the Weilerstein Trio's performance of this work ultimately failed to capture the spirit of Schumann.

Cellist Claire Bryant, a last-minute replacement for Alisa Weilerstein (who I am told left Saturday for Germany to make her debut with the Berlin Philharmonic), proved a solid replacement for the youngest member of the Trio that bears her name.

Bryant played with strong command of rhythm and alert ensemble interplay in the Nicht zu rasch (Not too fast) final movement of the Schumann Trio, and a solid sense of pitch in the Scherzo movement and throughout the sixteenth-note octave passages with Donald Weilerstein in the intimate In mässiger Bewegung (With intimate expression). While there were times I wish she had used more muscle in several of the weightier passages, Bryant’s heart-felt gesticulations and body language was a delight to watch, and it was apparent that she had immersed herself totally in each of the three works on the program. Like Bryant, pianist Vivian Weilerstein immersed herself in the music, swooning and swaying to the musical stimuli and executing the syncopations in the final movement with grace and élan.

Much less fun to watch was violinist Donald Weilerstein, whose stationary presence stood in stark contrast to that of the two others players and whose eyes seemed glued to the printed music. Weilerstein, once a magnificent player who held the first-violin chair of the celebrated Cleveland Quartet for two decades (1969-1989), struggled throughout the evening with pitch problems that led him to play sharp (above pitch) in each of the four movements of the Schumann Trio, particularly in the Scherzo movement, as well as during the two works that followed.

The program continued with a transcription commissioned by the Weilerstein Trio arranged by composer Stephen Coxe, who reset Czech composer Leoš Janâček’s First String Quartet, subtitled by the composer The Kreutzer Sonata (after Tolstoy’s novella of the same name), for violin, cello and piano.

Prior to the performance of this transcription, the Weilersteins presented the SFNM crowd with a lengthy (and unannounced) pre-performance talk about the work and the novella from which it was inspired. While a brief explanation of the piece would have sufficed to pique the listener’s interest, the Weilersteins proceeded to deliver a drawn-out and at times rambling blow-by-blow description of the work that included the playing of several musical excerpts. Considering the detailed notes in the printed program, I found the talk superfluous at best and patronizing at worst. Yes, this is a middle-school auditorium; no, you’re not addressing middle-schoolers.

I’m not a great fan of Janâček’s First String Quartet, whose programmatic, piecemeal writing and sudden violent shifts of mood and character advance the composer’s dramatical points with precious little in the way of craft and musical savvy (as might be found in works of, say, Béla Bartók). Still, Janâček’s writing for strings ― especially his special effects and technical idiosyncrasies endemic to stringed instruments ― carves an identity in this work that is wholly original and that generates its own sense of logic. When shifted to the venue of a piano trio, however, these idiomatic string effects are lost, and there is precious little substance with which to replace it.

There was nevertheless much to celebrate in the Weilerstein Trio’s manner of performance of Coxe’s transcription, which the players obviously hold to great esteem and which generated some of the most convincing playing of the evening ― from Vivian Weilerstein’s cleanly delivered arpeggiated sextuplets in the opening Adagio, to Donald Weilerstein’s expressive playing in the extended opening violin lament in the final movement. Especially beautiful was Bryant’s poignant alto-register solo in the final movement.

Ensemble was tight throughout the work, as the players navigated the hyper-schizophrenic opening of the second (Con moto) movement ― with its grotesque outbursts that alternate with spurts of folk-like melodic fragments ― in convincing fashion. Were it not for the violinist’s habitual intonation problems this could have been a first-rate performance.

Saturday’s program ended on a high note with a solid effort on Dvořák’s Piano Trio in E Minor, a perennial audience favorite perhaps more commonly known as the Dumky Trio.

Dvořák’s Trio unfolds as a suite of dances, or dumky (a set of melancholic Ukrainian folk songs) that alternate, in quick succession, with lively Ukrainian and Slavic dances. Each movement cuts right to the chase, sacrificing thematic development for the sheer joy and pathos of the gypsy-like dances. The result is a divertimento of sorts ― a collection of pieces designed strictly for entertainment that makes no pretenses of being a great work of art.

Aside from the fifth movement, which is fast from start-to-finish, each movement of the trio begins with a slow dumka followed by an energetic dance, yielding an unabashedly sappy and oftentimes maudlin feel to the rapidly contrasting musical material. There was some lovely playing on the part of Bryant in the slower sections, particularly in the meditative laments of the first and third dances, as well as some attractive effects in the piano part during the second dance, as Vivian Weilerstein evoked the images of a harp with the "strumming" of arpeggiated chords in the piano's upper-register.

The vivacious fifth movement, with its bouncy ethnic flamboyance and pronounced rhythmic energy, worked its magic in the filled-to-capacity auditorium, where feet could be seen tapping throughout the aisles ― and quite possibly down the corridor that connects the auditorium to the parking lot. 

Details box
What: Weilerstein Trio
Where: Lincoln Middle School, 1613 James Street, Syracuse
When: April 24, 2010
Time: 2 hours and 15 minutes
Information: call (315) 446-3424
Ticket prices: Regular $20, Senior $15, Student $10
Website: http://syracusefriendsofchambermusic.org

NYS Baroque adds voices, touch of drama in season-closer

Celebrated period-instrument ensemble joins forces with Laura Heimes and ensemble newcomer ‘Vocantur’ in program of ‘theatrical music’

By David Abrams
http://cnycafemomus.com 

Theatrical music (opera, cantata, oratorio) has come a long way from its humble origins in late 16th-century Florence, and I think it’s safe to say that few listeners would confuse the declamatory melodic style of early monody with bel canto lyricism of such composers as Rossini, Bellini and Donizetti.  Just the same, it would be nice to be able to step back in time and experience first-hand the early 17th-century fascination with Greek antiquity and its emphasis of drama over the sensuality of the music.

NYS Baroque provided such an opportunity Sunday afternoon in its 2009-10 season-closer in Syracuse, presenting a program of theatrically-inspired instrumental and vocal works from the early-to-mid-Baroque period that invited its audience to re-examine traditional perspectives on how melody and drama intertwine.  Guided by musicologist-performer William Cowdery’s informative (and feisty) pre-concert talk, which compared traditional definitions of lyricism to the dramatically-driven melodic material endemic to 17th-century practice, Sunday’s audience traveled back some 350 years to a time when the words, and not the composer’s fancy, crafted the melodic material. 

Pitching early-Baroque accompanied songs to modern audiences is by no means an easy sell: The often effusive (and at times lugubrious) nature of the dramatically-driven melodies often appear, by today’s standards, maudlin — too much emotion crammed into too little music.  But if Cowdery’s words were not entirely persuasive, you can credit the exquisite vocal prowess of soprano Laura Heimes for closing the deal.  Heimes, the darling of the prior NYS Baroque program of Elizabethan lute songs (“Music for the Virgin Queen”) delighted the audience in her three numbers, and was in large part responsible for the historically informed program’s artistic success. 

Heimes first appeared in Alessandro Grandi’s O Intemerata, a motet in the concertato style (contrasting bodies of sound) set for voice and instruments (mostly continuo here, which in this performance was played by theorbo, or bass lute, and organ).  Heimes’ bell-like tone and purity of timbre immediately captured the listener’s attention, and her tasteful embellishments of Grandi’s monody were delicate and restrained, yielding an uncomplicated vocal texture that blossomed into what may best be described as a beautiful simplicity.    

Compared with O Intemerata, Grandi’s Justus germinabit allows for much greater expression on the part of the singer, and the larger instrumental presence in this piece produced the antiphonal sound effects typical of the polychoral motets of Venetian composers associated with the St. Mark’s Cathedral (the concluding Alleluia in particular reminds me of the music of Heinrich Schütz).  Heimes’ polished embellishments in this work were refined and stylistically correct, and delivered with the utmost grace and ease.

Sunday’s program also included Vocantur, the Ithaca-based vocal ensemble making its debut set of performances over the weekend in Ithaca and Syracuse under the baton (or in this case, the hands) of Scott Tucker, Director of Choral Music at Cornell University.  Vocantur's musical director, tenor Thom Baker, sang the title role on the final work on the program, Carissimi’s Historia de Jephte.  

Although described in the program booklet as “a select community chamber ensemble,” Vocantur (which for this performance comprised 10 women and 7 men) sounded more like a semi-professional ensemble than a consortium of well-intentioned amateur singers.  They delivered their two numbers (Monteverdi’s Beatus vir and the Carissimi Oratorio) alertly and with great enthusiasm, achieving a good blend of vocal timbre and delivering their words with superb diction.  I was especially impressed with the coupling of vocal parts in thirds between men and women in the Monteverdi, which speaks well of the ensemble’s degree of preparation for their inaugural performance. 

The men, in particular, achieved a sweet and agreeable blend of tone in the Monteverdi, and although they did have a tendency to sag in pitch in the testy high register, intonation was generally solid and their vocal delivery was well-balanced and strong in voice.  The women, equally strong in voice, struggled on several occasions with slight (but noticeable) pitch problems throughout the afternoon.  

Tucker proved a reliable conductor in the Carissimi, providing encouraging and affirming gesticulations (and ample cues) in the Fugite Chorus that I suspect proved reassuring to an ensemble eager to succeed at its first outing.   The final chorus, the celebrated lament Plorate filii Israel — with its irresistible chains of suspensions — was sung with great poignancy and nuance of expression.   

The combination of Baker and Heimes as Jephte and Filia (Jephte’s daughter), respectively, provided a solid foundation for Vocantur and its vocal soloists (in the Historicus numbers and bass solo). 

Baker’s smooth, flexible tenor and pleasant vibrato was pleasing to the ear, and he projected well.  Although he was understandably overshadowed at times by Heimes, Baker sang with a good deal of expression (and some light acting) throughout the oratorio.  Baker’s vocal embellishments were not however especially smooth and convincing, and occasionally seemed forced — such as during the trilli (rapid repetitions on a single note), which never quite reached cruising speed.

Heimes, as Jephte’s innocent virginal daughter whose young life must be sacrificed to satisfy Jepthe’s promise to God in return for his victory over the Ammonites (will somebody please tell me why God takes such delight in these sacrifices?), gave a dramatically persuasive as well as musically resolute performance, and breathed life into her tragic character. 

The instrumental works of the program, which consisted of two trio sonatas (the Sonata in A Minor of Francesco Cavalli and the Sonata Ottava of Giovanni Battista Fontana) as well as the Sinfonia in D Minor by Alessandro Stradella (which was essentially performed as a trio sonata, only not with two like-instruments), were nicely placed on the program to separate the vocal numbers and provide timbral contrast.  Especially pleasant were the theorbo parts, played handsomely by Deborah Fox, as part of the continuo instruments (with organ). 

Except for a brief miscue in the Cavalli Sonata, violinists Julie Andrijeski and Boel Gidholm were wonderful as the treble-instrument pair in the three chamber instrumental works performed.  Kudos to Cowdery, who not only gave the pre-concert talk, but sang in the Monteverdi and also stepped in at the last minute for ailing organist, Leon Schelhase.

Details box
What: NYS Baroque presents Carissimi’s "Jepthe,” other early-middle Baroque works
Where: First Unitarian Universalist Church, 109 Waring Rd., Syracuse
When: April 11, 2010
Who: Laura Heimes, soprano, Thom Baker, tenor, Vocantur (vocal ensemble)
Time: 2 hours, including intermission
Information: call (607) 533-4383
Ticket prices: $5 to $25
Website: info@nysema.com

CMM recital of British folk songs ‘bloody good’

Baritone Jimi James trades his opera costume for a tux and delivers a handsome program of songs by British composers

By David Abrams
http://cnycafemomus.com

Many in attendance at Civic Morning Musicals’ Live! At the Everson recital Sunday afternoon did a double-take when baritone Jimi James walked onto the Everson Museum of Art’s Hosmer Auditorium stage dressed in evening attire. After all, they’re hardly used to seeing the local opera hero out of costume (he was dressed in feathers and propped up on stilts when I saw him last).

James, a late substitution for the venerable but ailing tenor, Marcus Haddock, is a favorite among Syracuse opera-goers, having performed major roles in several Syracuse Opera productions over the past two decades (including Papageno in Mozart’s The Magic Flute). Although James may not have the international following of Haddock, his reputation for consistently solid singing, strong vocal delivery and dependability has earned him a dedicated following that reaches far beyond the boundaries of Central New York.

For this occasion, James traded arias for art song. And while somewhat lacking in the dramatic delivery skills we have come to expect from seasoned veterans of the art song genre, James nevertheless captured a good deal of the shifting moods evoked by the poems. Moreover, his vocal prowess – with its deep, resonant baritone tinted with just the right amount of vibrato, excellent diction, great attention to dynamics and solid projection – was beyond reproach.

The program opened with seven songs by John Ireland, the conservative British composer whose musical language combines English lyricism with touches of Impressionism. There is a pervasive introspective quality that runs through Ireland’s writing which is at once evident in the opening song, The Vagabond, with its stately hymn-like air, and again in the pensive and meditative Spring Sorrow. The most poignant song, at least for me, is Sea Fever – a strophic setting of a poem, taken from British poet John Masefield’s Salt-Water Ballads, whose simple chordal accompaniment figures proved an excellent vehicle for James to display his deep timbral colors. James was strong in voice during the opening of the lively Hope the Hornblower, with its syncopated piano accompaniment (alertly executed by Ida Trebicka), although he appeared to tire on the high-note passages about halfway through the song.

The first-half of the program closed with two very engaging songs of Charles Villiers Stanford, from the Anglo-Irish composer’s Songs of the Sea (on poems by Henry Newbolt). James gave a strong and confident delivery of Drake’s Drum, and unlike some of the preceding songs of John Ireland, James’ high register was on solid footing, as was Trebicka’s relentless dotted-rhythm ostinato accompaniment. Trebicka was also solid on her snappy 16th-note accompaniment figures in Devon, O Devon – which James delivered with a hearty, booming baritone that at times appeared to reach ear-splitting decibel levels.

Following intermission, James and Trebicka teamed up for a compelling rendition of Ralph Vaughan Williams’ Songs of Travel, a cycle of nine songs based upon poems of Robert Louis Stevenson. It was these songs that signaled the composer’s entry into genre of British folk-song settings.

In a manner similar to the meditative style of John Ireland, Let Beauty Awake evokes a strong sense of lyricism with touches of English Impressionism, a technique that returns two songs later in Vaughan Williams’ delicate and dreamy mood-piece, Youth and Love. With its wide tessitura, the poignant Whither Must I Wander proved an especially effective showpiece for James to display his command of tone and dynamic contrasts throughout the low, middle and high registers.

When it comes to art song, at least, a singer is only as good as his/her accompanist – and you may credit half the success of Sunday’s handsome program to Trebicka’s attentive ensemble-work and sensitive touch. Balance between singer and pianist throughout the performance was outstanding – from the soft whispers to the thunderous fortissimos. I was especially impressed with Trebicka’s command of rhythmic nuance, such as in the duplet-triplet couplets of Vaughan Williams’ Youth and Love.

I hope CMM will consider including in its printed programs the words to the songs, and the names of the poets, in future vocal recital programs. This practice not only places the songs into proper literary context and historical perspective, but also affords the listener a measure by which to gauge the composer’s handling of text-music relationships.

What: Civic Morning Musicals Live! At the Everson recital series
When: Jan. 31, 2010
Who: Jimi James, baritone and Ida Trebicka, piano
Time: 1 hour and 15 minutes, including intermission
Where: Hosmer Auditorium, Everson Museum of Art, Syracuse
Tickets: $15, students free. Tickets may be purchased at the door
Next: Steven Heyman, pianist, 2 p.m. April 18
Website: www.civicmorningmusicals.org

[Editor’s note: CNY Café Momus is pleased to have this rare opportunity to provide two reviews of the same (Jan. 9) performance of the Met’s Der Rosenkavalier, one of the HD simulcast by David Abrams (preceding this review) and the present one by David Rubin, who attended the performance at Lincoln Center]

When all the elements of an opera performance come together, it’s an art form that’s hard to beat for thrills and chills.

So it was at the Saturday, January 9 performance of Richard Strauss’s Der Rosenkavalier at the Met, which was broadcast live worldwide on radio and telecast into movie theaters. This must have created the largest audience to have ever seen Rosenkavalier live.

The benchmark for this audience has now been set very high. They knew they had seen something special, reacting in the house with red roses for Renée Fleming as the Marschallin and a shower of confetti for the entire cast and conductor. (It was exciting to see the roses and confetti return from an exile decreed a few years ago.)

With Susan Graham as Octavian and Fleming as the Marschallin, audience members knew from the start that they were in experienced hands. Graham owns this part. While she is getting a bit old to play a love-struck, frisky 17-year old, she still moves like a colt and sings ardently, with assurance. She was as convincing as the servant girl Mariandel as she was in the role of the noble Octavian.

Fleming is a beautiful woman, but now old enough to make us believers when she laments to her hairdresser in Act I that, despite his best efforts, he has made her look old. She is, indeed, beginning to fade, although it’s hard to imagine that there won’t be other lovers in her life once Octavian has moved on to Sophie. She and Graham blend meltingly in Acts I and III, although Graham is a bit stronger of voice and better able to ride the Strauss orchestra.

The third key player in this drama is the Baron Ochs. The part was assumed by Kristinn Sigmundsson, a bass from Iceland who is an experienced Wagnerian. Sigmundsson more than held his own with the more celebrated Graham and Fleming. He is a mountain of a man, at least six-feet five-inches. He towers over his colleagues. Perhaps this is why he portrayed an Ochs with more menace than humor. He will be a great Boris in the Martti Talvela tradition. Sigmundsson had the low notes for his boozy intonation of the famous waltz tune at the end of Act II. Similar to Graham, he had no trouble projecting over the orchestra.

It would not be accurate to say that Christine Schäfer’s Sophie was a weak link, but she was not at the level of her colleagues. She is not quite young enough, vulnerable enough, or radiant enough for the part. The voice is pleasant, but not memorable. Compared to others who have sung this part in the house (Kathleen Battle, Judith Blegen, Reri Grist), Schäfer was a bit pale.

Supporting roles were well cast, including the virile Italian tenor of Eric Cutler, and Wendy White and Rodell Rosell as the oily conspirators Annina and Valzacchi. In the small role of the Police Commissary, who tries to sort out the confusion in Act III at the inn, Jeremy Galyon showed enough to signal that he is a young singer to watch.

The pressure on Dutch conductor Edo de Waart must have been great, given the size of the audience watching him worldwide. He did not disappoint – and it was a pleasure not to hear James Levine leading this opera for a change. Tempos were well judged. When lingering was required for the duos and trios of the ladies, de Waart obliged. When the music had to move along, as in Octavian’s speedy departure from the Marschallin’s bedroom, de Waart pressed ahead. He teased out the overlapping lines in the introduction to Act III and made them all clear. He was considerate of his singers, and he had the Met orchestra playing well.

Those of us who grew up with Rosenkavalier at the Met know only this sublime production from Nathaniel Merrill and Robert O’Hearn that dates from 1969. The production has aged beautifully over 40 years, the Marschallin’s sumptuous bedroom still a creamy yellow, and Faninal’s McMansion townhouse still a glass spectacle (used by the Met for fundraising dinners).

Only the Act III inn didn’t work well, perhaps because the lighting was too bright so as to accommodate the video cameras. All the mystery was bled out of the scene by the lighting. But it was very helpful to the audience for the players to have "rehearsed" the hoax on Ochs for the audience during the Act III orchestral prelude. This made a rather confusing muddle of a plot much clearer.

The cast at the premier of this Merrill-O’Hearn production included Leonie Rysanek, Christa Ludwig, Reri Grist, and Walter Berry, with Karl Böhm conducting. Great as that cast was, this was its equal. In sum, this was a

Saturday afternoon that produced goose bumps from beginning to end. It was a four and a half hour show – not nearly long enough.

: January 9, 2010
Who: Metropolitan Opera
Time: 4 hours and 35 minutes hours, including 2 intermissions
Where: Metropolitan Opera House, New York
Cast: Susan Graham, Renée Fleming, Kristinn Sigmundsson, Christine Schäfer, Eric Cutler, Thomas Allen; Edo de Waart conductor
Next simulcast: Bizet’s Carmen, January 16, 2010 at 1:00 pm

By David Abrams
http://cnycafemomus.com

"What a drag it is getting old," reads the opening line of The Rolling Stones’ 1965 hit, Mother’s Little Helper – a sentiment echoed, with greater subtlety perhaps, by the Marschallin in Der Rosenkavalier. But Saturday’s Metropolitan Opera performance of the Strauss masterpiece – led by a handsome pair of singer-actresses who, at 50 years of age, not only sang beautifully but also captured so convincingly the demeanor and personae of much younger characters – suggests that in show biz, at least, it’s possible to age without growing old (…just ask Mick Jagger and Keith Richards).

Set in mid-18th century Vienna, Der Rosenkavalier (1911) centers upon a love triangle that comprises an aging Austrian princess (the Marschallin, played by Renée Fleming), her resolute 17-year old lover (Count Octavian, played by Susan Graham), and the eventual object of Octavian’s affections, Sophie (Christine Schäfer) – the 15-year old daughter of the wealthy merchant, Faninal (Thomas Allen). Setting aside for the moment any moral and/or legal issues as defined by 21st-century sensibilities, the real force behind librettist Hugo von Hofmannsthal’s drama is the Marschallin’s coming to grips with, and ultimately yielding to, the inevitable passing of youth.

At 40 years of age, Nathaniel Merrill’s 1969 Metropolitan Opera production of this Strauss masterpiece is, like Fleming and Graham, still going strong. It is well to remember, however, that Der Rosenkavalier is ultimately a character-driven opera that relies less on theatrical elements than good old-fashioned synergistic interplay of its principal characters – and therein lay the strength of the current Met production.

Until the climactic third-act trio, the main characters are delineated principally in pairs: the Marschallin and Octavian (Act I); Octavian and Sophie (Act II); the Marschallin and – figuratively speaking – Father Time (Monologue, Act I). The strength of the current production is unquestionably the interplay between Fleming and Graham, which during the entire first act and last half of the third act was frequently breathtaking and, by operatic standards, about as real as it gets.

Fleming and Graham have known each other since winning the Metropolitan Opera National Council Auditions and have worked together countless times since. It shows. Their frolicking in bed in the Marschallin’s boudoir, as the curtain rises at sunrise, appeared natural, instinctive and genuine.

Graham’s demeanor in the trouser-role of young Octavian, including her gait, posture and boyish expressions, was remarkable for its believability and spontaneity. I can’t say I look forward to watching a middle-aged woman playing the role of a teenage boy, but I come prepared in such cases to suspend credibility as a necessary price for enjoying the overall performance. The six-foot tall Graham, using her imposing stature and some very convincing masculine mannerisms and gesticulations – such as her good-humored punches (as Mariandel) at the Baron during the supper scene – made it unnecessary for the audience to suspend belief. Some five or ten minutes into the performance I was willing to buy the premise: She is he, and a young "he" at that. Period.

Like her acting, Graham’s mezzo-soprano was beyond reproach. Her voice was strong throughout the performance, and sufficiently malleable to capture the many personalities she portrayed – from faithful lover in the first act (Wie du warst!), to coyish maid and finally to aristocratic nobleman, as he prepares to begin his life anew with Sophie.

Fleming’s Marschallin crafted a three-dimensional character whose wide range of emotions and personal torment reached extraordinary depths of expression. Fleming completely immersed herself into the part during the first-act monologue (Heut oder morgen), where she tells Octavian that sooner or later (today or tomorrow) he will leave her for a younger woman, and later sheds the cloak of invincibility to reveal a very human and vulnerable woman.  After she tells Octavian "now be good and go," tears begin to streak down her face (visible only, perhaps, to those watching the opera via simulcast?). Fleming’s exquisite and flexible lyric soprano displayed a kaleidoscopic range of color and shades of expression – including the softest pianissimos whose phrase endings seemed to melt away into the ether.

Kristinn Sigmundsson proved a perfect fit for the arrogant high-and-mighty aristocratic lecher, Baron Ochs (pronounced "Ox," a fitting play on words by Hofmannsthal). The Icelandic bass’s tall, burly character – the drama’s principal source of comic relief – captured the listener's attention as soon as he entered the stage, and once there it was difficult to look elsewhere. I loved Sigmundsson’s commanding lyric basso profondo, which was in great form Saturday, from its deep pedal tones that descended to low E at the end of Act II to his solid high register. Sigmundsson played up the lecherous behavior to its limits during the amusing dinner scene in Act III, but never lost sight of his character’s place in this opera: that of an incurable, but loveable, oaf. Of all the characters, Sigmundsson’s German diction was the clearest, crispest, and most comprehensible.

As the innocent young heiress, Sophie, Christine Schäfer proved a credible teenager caught in a power struggle over which she has no control. The German soprano has an attractive lyric soprano, and her solid high register and good blend of vocal timbre was put to good use in the third-act final trio and subsequent duet with Graham. Still, Schäfer’s facial expressions were rather one-dimensional throughout the performance, particularly during the signature presentation of the rose scene in Act II, and she maintained an aloofness that suggested that the young soprano was willing to throw her body, but not her heart, into this performance.

Robert O'Hearn's spacious and opulent period sets, particularly Faninal’s breathtaking palatial estate in Act II (curiously labeled a "town house" in the projected English translation), looked attractive (at times stunning) and left ample room for Stage Director Robin Guarino to engage her characters in some light slapstick.

O’Hearn also designed the costumes, which are faithful (if not entirely stunning) replicas of mid-18th century aristocratic elegance, such as may be seen on the set of a period-production of Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro – only with a twist. Using a technique that recalls the pervasive reappearances of the color red in Stanley Kubrick’s 1999 neo-noir film, Eyes Wide Shut, the color lavender permeates this production as ubiquitously as Strauss’s leitmotifs (character-themes). We first see in this production the ornate lavender trimming on the front of Octavian’s formal aristocratic attire when he presents the silver rose to Sophie in Act II. The lavender motif then reappears on the spectacular dress donned by the Marschallin during the final trio of Act III, and again on Faninal’s robe at the end of the opera. Lavender also becomes a central focus of the production’s lighting scheme, particularly during the final act.

Guarino’s visual effects were generally well-timed and alertly executed, such as during the quickly paced and visually appealing pantomime at the opening of Act III, as the characters prepare to frame the hapless Baron Ochs. Still, the visual cacophony of running children and scurrying servants eventually began to grate on my nerves. Much more effective was Guarino’s first-act choreography of the characters in the Marschallin’s antechamber – a curious consortium of musicians, servants and guests who vie against each other to gain the princess’s attention and curry her favor. Among the hopefuls is the nameless Italian tenor (Eric Cutler), who delivered his enchanting bel canto aria with poise, self-assurance and an irresistible lyric tenor that was so appealing I became angry when Baron Ochs abruptly cut him off mid-phrase.

One small role that deserved recognition is the part of police commissioner, played by baritone Jeremy Galyon, whose commanding baritone and assertive stage presence suggests a promising career.

What: Richard Strauss’s Der Rosenkavalier, Simulcast Live in HD
When: January 9, 2010
Who: Metropolitan Opera
Time: 4 hours and 35 minutes hours, including 2 intermissions
Where: Metropolitan Opera House, New York
Cast: Susan Graham, Renée Fleming, Kristinn Sigmundsson, Christine Schäfer, Eric Cutler, Thomas Allen; Edo de Waart conductor
Next simulcast: Bizet’s Carmen, January 16, 2010 at 1:00 pm

By David Abrams
http://cnycafemomus.com

Much of Offenbach’s Les Contes d’Hoffmann ("Tales of Hoffmann") remains shrouded in a fog of uncertainty. The same can be said, perhaps, of E.T.A. Hoffmann’s bizarre tales upon which the opera is based. In this new Metropolitan Opera production, Director Bartlett Sher takes a cue from Stanley Kubrick and keeps the ambiguities intact, leaving it to the observer to connect the dots. When Sher’s psychoanalytical journey into Hoffmann’s unconscious came to a conclusion, I felt certain about one thing only: Imaginative staging, superior singing and convincing acting add up to good theater – and even better opera.

Les Contes d’Hoffmann was left unfinished at the composer’s death in 1881, and while Offenbach assigned the task of completing the musical score to his colleague Ernest Guiraud, he left no further instructions concerning any aspect of the work that would prove useful to posterity. With no definitive version of the score (we can’t even be sure of the composer’s preference for the order of the acts), any attempt to reconcile Offenbach’s presumed wishes in a modern production is bound to offend someone, somewhere.

Scholars and purists aside, it’s difficult to find bones to pick with James Levine’s current revisions to the (now-discredited) Oeser edition of Offenbach’s score. And while the amalgam of several musical sources in this four-hour production might benefit from a haircut, or at least a trimming, Levine’s newfangled adaptation allows the dramatic action to unfold at an agreeable pace while rekindling arguments about Offenbach’s rightful place among 19th-century French opera composers.

Save for the Prologue and Epilogue, the plot of Les Contes d’Hoffmann unfolds as a chain of three flashbacks by the principal character, Hoffmann – a distracted (if not altogether reluctant) poet whose bizarre tales of love and woe center on the celebrated opera singer, Stella, with whom he is obsessed. It’s not clear whether Hoffmann’s eager audience of waiters and students at Luther’s Tavern, where the tales are being recounted, realizes that the female characters in each of Hoffmann’s three stories/fantasies are different manifestations of the diva, Stella.

Sher, a Tony Award winner whose initiation into the milieu of opera began with a highly acclaimed Met production three years ago of Rossini’s Il Barbiere di Siviglia, went out on a limb with this production – which blurs the border between art and entertainment as it intertwines elements of both cabaret and opera. Sher’s production team focuses upon the subliminal aspects of the three tales through a visual potpourri of seemingly non sequitur backdrops that includes Kafka-esque images of 1920s Germany and a Fellini-inspired image of 18th-century Venice seething in decadence.

Joseph Calleja, as the über-romantic protagonist smitten by the immutable forces of love, Hoffmann, forges a convincing persona as the troubled artist yanked from his typewriter (in Sher’s production) by Cupid’s arrow, then set upon a tortuous journey that leads to anguish and humiliation at every turn. The Maltese tenor, who under the scrutiny of the Met’s HD Simulcast camerawork looks like a young Orson Welles, comes off appropriately stubborn, determined and pigheaded.

Calleja’s acting was consistently strong throughout the performance, and his handsome and meaty lyric tenor was immediately attractive to the ear, thanks to his sensitivity of delivery and attention to nuances of phrasing. While Calleja’s quick vibrato during the Prologue’s Drinking Song (Il ètait une fois à la cour d’Eisenach) occasionally muddied his diction in the higher register early on, his vocal quality shifted into a more relaxed gear as the performance unfolded. By the dramatic Second Act duet with Anna Netrebko, Calleja’s tessitura was almost completely homogeneous.

As the persona behind the opera’s four villainous roles, bass-baritone Alan Held looked and acted the part of Hoffmann’s nemesis, with commanding stage presence and an imposing bass-baritone. Held’s satanic gaze as he flaunts the diamond ring in the third-act scene with Giulietta (Scintille, diamante) – which viewers of the HD broadcast experienced to an extent perhaps unmatched by the crowd at Lincoln Center – lent a chilling touch of credibility to his character’s veil of arrogance and omnipotence.

To say that Kathleen Kim a living doll is just stating the obvious. Having lucked into the role of Olympia after Anna Netrebko reneged on an earlier agreement to sing all four roles of Hoffmann’s paramours (as Offenbach had preferred), Kim fashioned the role of crazed inventor Spalanzani’s mechanical amusement from visual to aural perfection. The petite coloratura soprano won the crowd over with her dexterous miming of the doll’s herky-jerky motions, then dazzled the listener’s sensibilities with her note-perfect delivery of the Doll Song (Les oiseaux dans la charmille), as she navigated the treacherous vocal arpeggiations (which several times reached a high E-flat) with agility, ease of delivery – and smack on-pitch. In a nice touch during the hearty applause that followed, Kim remained completely in-character, using cogs and wheels to fashion a series of gracious bows.

In both voice and manner of stage presence, Anna Netrebko’s melancholic portrayal of the frail Antonia in Act II was among the highpoints of the performance. Netrebko’s voice continues to darken in timbre, and her rich soprano is flexible enough to navigate through a wide variety of expressive dynamic shifts and phrasings, such as during her scene-opening Elle a fui, tourterelle. Ironically, the weighty mellowness of Netrebko’s voice created an unwelcome contrast in her duet with the Calleja, whose vocal character is not at all well-suited to hers.

As Hoffmann’s protective Muse, the ubiquitous Kate Lindsey made an attractive sidekick to Calleja as the poet’s friend, Nicklausse. Lindsey, whose handsome mezzo-soprano appeared curiously muted in the Prologue and throughout the First Act, gathered steam and finally blossomed by her Act II C’est l’amour vainqueur, when she urges Hoffmann to acknowledge that artistic love trumps romantic love.

Lindsey’s character, which may be considered the glue that binds all three acts (five, including Prologue and Epilogue) together, is arguably the most difficult of this production to grasp: She is a protector (Muse), a friend and companion (Nicklausse), an instigator, and perhaps even a romantic rival to Stella for Hoffmann’s affections. Either way, Lindsey achieved a solid stage presence, and I invariably found myself anticipating her next entrance.

Ekaterina Gubanova fashioned a credible Giulietta, Venice’s leading courtesan and narcissistic temptress who steals Hoffmann’s shadow (soul). Gubanova’s dramatic mezzo-soprano in her fiery duet with Calleja (Si ta presénce m’est ravie) in Act III was thick and mellow, but in spite of its pleasant quality her vocal delivery was often too dense for the listener to decipher her words. In spite of an exquisite late 18th-century period gown designed by Catherine Zuber, Gubanova had a rather difficult task competing for the audience’s attention against Sher’s scantily clad supernumeraries, their legs protruding high into the air in-step with the audacious choreography of Dou Dou Huang.

As the opera’s comic relief during an otherwise somber scene with the dying Antonia, Alan Oke, as the servant Frantz, provided a healthy and welcome dose of levity as he informs the audience that only by singing and dancing is he able to tolerate the humiliating tasks given him by Antonia’s father, Crespel. Oke played three other minor roles, as well: Stella’s servant, Andrès; Spalanzani’s servant, Cochenille; and Pitichinaccio, one of Giulietta many admirers.

Catherine Zuber’s period suits enhanced the early 20th-century vision of Sher’s Germany, and her odd mix of fantasy and 18th-century Venetian period-gowns in Giulietta’s scene provided a faithful complement to the cabaret-like imagery of the action onstage.

Dou Dou Huang’s pseudo-erotic choreography of the "showgirls" (their thongs and pasties toned-down considerably for Saturday’s "family-friendly" broadcast version) enhanced the Venetian party-like atmosphere of Act III, and his delightful choreography of the mechanical dolls in the First Act proved a treat to the eyes as well as the ears. Lighting Designer James Ingalls’ morphing shades of violet and mauve in Act II reached deeply into Netrebko’s character as Antonia, heightening the tragic heroine’s gloomy shades at the gates of death.

Michael Yeargan’s versatile sets smartly mirrored Hoffmann’s fantasy-ridden storytelling, from the lean (if not emaciated) surroundings of Antonia’s gloomy home to the festive atmosphere of the tavern scenes.

James Levine, who returned to the podium earlier this month following back surgery, led an alert Metropolitan Opera Orchestra that appeared eager to please him. Tempos generally sparkled with effervescent lightness of French opéra comique, yet proved sufficiently malleable to capture the poignancy, color and substance of Antonia’s scene in Act II. I was especially impressed with the violin obbligato and concertante wind passages in Nicklausse’s aria in that same act.

The men’s chorus of waiters and eager students soared in-time to the quick pace of the Prologue’s celebrated drinking song (Drig! drig! drig!), and were strong in voice as Spalanzani’s house guests at the conclusion of Act I.

Details Box:
What: Offenbach’s Les Contes d’Hoffmann, Simulcast Live in HD
When: December 19, 2009
Who: Metropolitan Opera
Time: 4 hours, including 2 intermissions
Where: Metropolitan Opera House, New York
Cast: Joseph Calleja, Anna Netrebko, Ekaterina Gubanova, Kathleen Kim, Alan Held, Alan Oke, Kate Lindsey; James Levine conductor
Next simulcast: Richard Strauss’ Der Rosenkavalier, January 9, 2010 at 1:00 pm

SSO musicians LeDoux and Kim ‘set the bar high’ in CMM season opener

Three-work chamber music program ties in handsomely with Everson Museum’s ‘Turner to Cézanne’ exhibit

By David Abrams
http://cnycafemomus.com

Civic Morning Musicals kicked off its Live! At the Everson series in impressive fashion Tuesday evening, sponsoring a recital by two prominent members of the Syracuse Symphony Orchestra that provided an appreciative audience yet another reminder of the depth of talent within its own backyard.

David LeDoux is principal cellist of the Syracuse Symphony Orchestra and an active chamber music performer in Central New York. I heard LeDoux’s performance with violinist Jeremy Mastrangelo of the Brahms Double Concerto with the SSO last season, and wrote in my Syracuse Post-Standard review that "LeDoux is a rock-solid performer, demonstrating a secure command of his instrument and handling the tricky high register and double-stop passages with grace and élan."

Pianist Daniel Kim is one of the gifted few who make the rest of us embarrassed to publish our resumes. An accomplished orchestral violinist and pianist, the current SSO keyboardist somehow found sufficient time outside the practice room to complete three degrees at Harvard – including a PhD in experimental high-energy physics.

Of course, you don’t need a doctorate in physics to recognize that in music, at least, the whole is often greater than the sum of its parts: That’s what we call good chamber music playing. And Tuesday’s synergistic collaboration between LeDoux and Kim suggest that this is one axiom that will stand the test of time.

The program opened with the Poulenc Cello Sonata, a neo-classical potpourri of contrasting movements whose shifting moods resemble more of a suite or divertimento than a serious sonata.

The tuneful first-movement Allegro spins out melodic lines spiced with a Lydian (raised fourth scale-degree) modal flavor, which is then followed by a Marcia that parodies the motor-rhythmic drive of Prokofiev. LeDoux’s playing here demonstrated a firm command of pitch that extended into the high-register passages, although his sound could not compete with the Everson Museum’s nine-foot Steinway Grand whose lid was raised in fully-upright position.

Kim adjusted his touch (albeit not, regrettably, the piano lid) in the rich, chordal passages of the second movement Cavatine – which lifts a good portion of its thematic materials from the composer’s own Sextet for Piano and Winds, written some 16 years earlier. LeDoux delivered Poulenc’s rich and expressive phrases with passion and sensitivity, and was complemented by Kim’s evenly spaced voicings in the rich chordal section accompaniment.

The third movement Ballabile is Poulenc at his best – easy-listening parlor music, designed purely to entertain. I especially enjoyed Kim’s bouncy, effervescent touch – which was suitably playful and carefree. The fourth-movement finale begins loudly with a wild tarantella-like dance, and then sadly loses steam – as if the composer had plum run out of ideas (a problem not at all uncommon with Poulenc).

Debussy’s Violin Sonata in G Minor (transcribed here for cello) opens with a lush, harmonically rich Allegro vivo that draws the listener into the musical experience, but the composer cannot maintain that same level of imagination in the two succeeding movements. Whatever one may think of the work’s relative merits, however, it’s difficult to recommend an arrangement that offers no improvement over the original version for violin. Moreover, the frequent unidiomatic passages in the cello’s altissimo register during the first two movements sound out of character within the scope of Debussy’s compositional style. Still, the rapid passagework in the cello during the Finale led to some rather exciting moments, as LeDoux navigated the tricky demands of the movement with confidence and ease of delivery.

The highlight of the evening’s fare was Stravinsky’s Suite Italienne, an arrangement by the composer (with the help of cellist Gregor Piatigorsky) of his neo-classical ballet, Pulcinella. This was, to be sure, the most melodic work on the program – although it should be pointed out that the melodies in this work owe more to Pergolesi than Stravinsky. And unlike the prior two works on the program, which are essentially pieces for cello with piano accompaniment, this five-movement suite is designed as a true duo, with an equality of parts.

The second movement Serenata, like the Cavatine movement of the Poulenc Sonata, afforded LeDoux ample opportunity to demonstrate his command of phrasing, as he delivered the expressive melodic lines with warmth and a clear sense of direction. The wild, foot-tapping Tarantella gave Kim a chance to showcase his formidable fingerwork, and he managed to squeeze every ornament and embellishment into his demanding part during this exciting, take-no-prisoners tempo.

The Suite’s Finale brought an end not only to an exciting piece of music, but also to a well-prepared and skillfully executed recital performance by two outstanding musicians who have set the bar high for all future CMM events.

What: Civic Morning Musicals Live! At the Everson recital series
When: November 10, 2009
Who: David LeDoux, cello, and Daniel Kim, piano
Time: 1 hour and 20 minutes, including intermission
Where: Hosmer Auditorium, Everson Museum of Art, Syracuse
Tickets: $15, students free. Tickets may be purchased at the door
Website: www.civicmorningmusicals.org
Next concert: Marcus Haddock, tenor, and Kathleen Weaverling Haddock, piano:
Sunday, Jan. 31, 2010 at 2 P.M., Everson Museum of Art, Syracuse

Spectacular sets, elaborate staging outshine singing in Met’s ‘Turandot’

HD Simulcast allows unparalleled view of Zeffirelli’s extravagant production, but can singers compete?

By David Abrams
http://cnycafemomus.com

In the end, it was neither love nor the flames of passion that defrosted the Ice Princess, Turandot – it was Franco Zeffirelli’s hot, opulent sets and glorious pageantry.

Not that any one’s complaining, mind you. The Met’s over-the-top production, which is rumored to have cost $1.5 million when this extravaganza first opened in 1987, must be seen to be believed. And if seeing is believing, those watching the live HD simulcast Nov. 7 had a pronounced advantage over their counterparts at Lincoln Center, journeying along with the cameras through every nook and cranny of Zeffirelli’s massive, imposing scenic design.

Of course, Puccini’s vision of ancient Peking is more than just palaces, pavilions and imposing staircases. Stage Director David Kneuss must have had a magic wand to coordinate in such orderly fashion the heavy traffic of the more than 200 chorus members and supernumeraries (imperial guards, priests, mandarins and townspeople) during the opening scene, from their bloody cry for execution (Muoia! Noi vogliamo il carnefice) to the macabre anticipation of the Prince of Persia’s slaughter as they watch the executioner sharpen his sword (Arrota! Che la lama guizzi). Give credit also to Chiang Ching, whose "choreography" of the crowd scenes (mostly stylized movement, actually) and synchronized waving of flags and bandanas provided a stunning complement to the considerable pomp and pageantry of Zeffirelli’s sets.

When the smoke cleared, and the initial high from the overwhelming staging and scenery began to wane, listeners began to realize that this is, after all, opera – with acting and singing. Removed from the sizeable distractions of the production, the singing was quite good. But even here, the two principal roles were overshadowed by the lesser role of the slave girl, Liù, sung magnificently by Russian-born soprano, Marina Poplavskaya.

It’s always a joy to watch singers who can also act, and the close-up camera work panning Poplavskaya’s face during her poignant first-act refrain, Signore, ascolta, only reinforced the obvious: Poplavskaya is not only a gifted lyric soprano, but also a convincing actress.

Singing in tender, softly shaped phrases, Poplavskaya makes a compelling case for Calàf to stop the madness and abandon his plan to risk his neck for the Princess, and her manner of delivery is faithfully mirrored in her eyes, mouth, and brows (the camera doesn’t lie!). When Poplavskaya tells Turandot in Act III that the Princess, too, will experience the meaning of love (Tu che di gel sei cinta), I was convinced and quite moved.

As Calàf, Marcello Giordani produced some of the most pleasant – but also some of the most frustrating – singing of the afternoon. Giordani’s vocal timbre is somewhat of an amalgam combining the lightness of a lyric tenor with the more powerful shades of a dramatic (helden) tenor. But while he demonstrated power to spare in the high notes (he opted for the high C during the celebrated "riddles scene" with Guleghina), Giordani oftentimes loses control of pitch, which tends to sail sharp when he belts out the top tones (as much as a half-step sharp, such as at the end of Act I). Giordani’s signature third-act aria, Nessun dorma, while strong in voice, was also sharp in the high notes, and his phrasings were choppy – as if saving himself for the penultimate note, a high B (which he abandoned much sooner than did the orchestra).

As an actor, Giordani’s stage presence is stiff and forced, and when he’s not singing he appears detached from the dramatic action. When Liù importunes him to abandon his quest for the hand of Turandot (Signiore, ascolta), Giordani can do little more than stand before her like a statue.

Returning to the stage after canceling several earlier performances due to illness, Maria Guleghina exuded a commanding (if not intimidating) presence as the misanthropic Ice Princess, Turandot. In a clever touch of staging smarts, Turandot’s fearsome image is projected through an open window of the Palace several times during the first-act, producing a frightful effect reminiscent of the ominous stare of Big Brother in Orwell’s "1984."

From the low register to her high Gs, Guleghina’s dramatic soprano is exquisite – a rich and thick vocal timbre that mirrors the larger-than-life character she portrays. Still, the lingering effects of her recent sinus infection were evident several times during the performance, such as in her delivery of the three riddles in Act II where she struggled to maintain pitch during the sustained high notes, and especially during the relentless high-register passages in Act III, which were consistently flat.

Guleghina’s acting throughout the performance was quite good, and while I would have preferred that she exaggerate her character’s venomous hatred of men when challenging her would-be lover (In questa reggai), hers was a credible, if not memorable, Turandot. When the stoic anti-heroine finally thaws in Act III, Guleghina’s transformation from a would-be goddess to vulnerable mortal was believable, and – for a silly fairytale – quite moving.

Veteran bass-baritone Samuel Ramey, who this past April celebrated his 25th-anniversary with the Met, forged a sympathetic character as the proud but downtrodden Timur, exiled King of Tartary and father of Calàf. Ramey’s vibrato however continues to widen, which distorted his vocal delivery to the point where, by the third-act, I began to wonder whether Bert Lahr was actually doing the singing.

With the advantage of some irresistible sets and clever staging, the not-so-minor roles of Ping, Pang and Pong (Joshua Hopkins, Tony Stevenson and Eduardo Valdes, respectively) sparkled during the opening scene of Act II, as the colorfully outfitted trio speculated on whether they would be preparing a wedding or a funeral (Poichè il funesto gong).

The colorful costumes, designed by Anna Anni and Dada Saligeri, provided a vibrant complement to the dizzying opulence of Zeffirelli’s sets. Especially lovely were the yellow and gold ceremonial robes of the servants and mandarins that mirrored the color of the Imperial Palace during Act II, Scene Two. And let’s not forget Turandot’s headdress – a pearl-studded, chandelier-shaped contraption that would make a Las Vegas showgirl envious. Lighting Director Gil Wechsler convincingly captured both the look and mood of the ancient Peking’s setting sun and rising moon.

The Met Orchestra, under the direction of the young Latvian conductor, Andris Nelsons, was in top form throughout this complex and demanding score, Puccini’s last. The third-act of Turandot contains the composer’s most brilliant writing for brass, and here the Met’s brass section shined – both onstage and off.

Except for a few ensemble problems that occasionally placed them out-of-sync with the orchestra, the Met Chorus sang well throughout the performance, particularly as they chanted the Imperial Hymn, Ai tuoi piedi ci prostriamo, at the end of Act II. I would nonetheless be much obliged if the chorus master were to prune those few women choristers whose thick, uncontrollable vibratos detract from an otherwise pleasant listening experience.

Details Box:
What: Puccini’s Turandot, Simulcast Live in HD
When: November 7, 2009
Who: Metropolitan Opera
Time: 3 hours 21 minutes, including 2 intermissions
Where: Metropolitan Opera House, New York
Cast: Maria Guleghina, Marina Poplavskaya, Marcello Giordani, Samuel Ramey
Next simulcast: Offenbach’s Les Contes d’Hoffmann, December 19, 2009 at 1:00 pm

Considering the span of years separating the members of the New York Chamber Soloists, which stretches from twenty-something to eighty years-old, I was anxious to see how the exuberance of youth might complement the wisdom and experience of the group’s senior members at Saturday’s Syracuse Friends of Chamber Music program.

Turns out, I’ll have to wait until the ensemble learns the pieces it programmed for this performance.

Founded by oboist Melvin Kaplan in 1952, New York Chamber Soloists is an intergenerational group of 12 instrumentalists that maintains an eclectic repertory, including some two-dozen works written especially for them by a variety of distinguished contemporary composers. But neither reputation nor longevity is any substitute for concert preparation, as Saturday’s disappointing and artistically unfulfilling performance suggests.

The program opened with a spiritless and stylistically inappropriate delivery of Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik Serenade, which like all the composer’s serenades and divertimenti were intended purely for easy-listening, light-hearted entertainment.

The principal problem with this performance lay in the thickly articulated phrasings and effusive gestures of first-violinist Harumi Rhodes, whose manner of interpretation would have been better-suited to Mozart’s more serious chamber quartets and quintets than the composer’s more frivolous serenades, which call for lightness of character and ease of execution.

There were several ensemble problems as well, such as the in the unison 16th-note passages during the Romanza which came off wobbly, as players rushed ahead of Rhodes’ steady beat. Moreover, the tempo chosen for the Menuetto was too fast, yielding more of a scherzo feel to this allegretto movement than a straightforward minuet. Things finally came together in the effervescent final movement, buoyed by Rhodes’ well-executed trills and turns, as the ensemble produced a bubbly and spirited Rondo that – at last – captured the party-like ambiance for which this piece was intended. In addition to Rhodes, the ensemble of five instruments included violinist Curtis Macomber, violist Ynez Lynch, cellist Adam Grabois and bassist Tomoya Aomori.

Prokofiev’s Quintet in G Minor (Op. 39) for oboe (Melvin Kaplan); clarinet (Allen Blustine); violin (Macomber); viola and bass is a work dating from 1924 that the composer designed to accompany a ballet about circus life. The unusual instrumentation of the work is due to the instrumentalists available to Prokofiev for the touring group (Trapez) that accompanied the ballet.

Each movement of the Quintet appears to parody some element of a circus, such as the second movement’s bass solo which, to me, suggests a pair of elephants dancing. Removed from its original context complementing the visual aspects of the ballet, however, there’s precious little musical substance in this neo-classical parody to sustain listener interest throughout its six-movements – which I consider a second-rate amalgam of Poulenc and Stravinsky. Even a good performance of this work, such as that enjoyed by the Skaneateles Festival audience this past August, does little more than place lipstick on the proverbial pig. And Saturday’s rendition can hardly be called a good performance.

In spite of best efforts of violinist Macomber (who was consistently first-rate throughout the evening), the five players found neither sufficient balance of volume nor blend of timbre to allow them to gel as a unified ensemble. Missing, too, in this performance was Prokofiev’s characteristic motor-rhythmic drive and finely honed ensemble interplay.

The oboe playing, in particular, was shaky – from the weak projection and labored playing in the first (variations) movement to the breathing problems in the painfully slow and lengthy Adagio pesante (a chops-killing movement where the oboe must sustain lengthy pitches in the instrument’s low register seemingly forever). Such a movement would be taxing even to a young player with considerable endurance and lung capacity, not to mention the now 80-year-old oboist. The one saving grace to this performance was Macomber’s snappy execution and firm rhythmic command in the pervasive 16th-note figures during the motor-rhythmic passages in this work.

Considering the two works of lighter fare that preceded it, I was especially hungry for the one work of deep substance on the program: the somber Quintet in B Minor for Clarinet and Strings of Johannes Brahms that New York Chamber Soloists served up after intermission. Turns out, this dish needed more time to cook before serving it to the crowd.

The Brahms Quintet, like Schubert’s C Major Cello Quintet, is a major component of (and one of the crowning achievements to) the chamber music repertory, one capable of taking the listener on a lengthy and fulfilling journey whose cathartic climax leaves the audience as cleansed, fulfilled (and exhausted) as the players onstage. Saturday’s performance of this warhorse was a major disappointment that left me unfulfilled and disillusioned – not to mention hungrier than ever.

The weight of this work, like most multi-movement chamber and symphonic works, is in its first movement. From the opening three measures it was apparent that this performance wasn’t ready for prime-time, as the violist couldn’t handle the precisely syncopated accompaniment figures to the violins’ on-the-beat phrases, throwing off the cellist in the process. When this same motif returned at the very end of the movement, the violist’s syncopated figures unraveled completely – destroying the sense of conclusion and fulfillment to this weighty movement.

Although Brahms clearly indicates a repeat of the first-movement exposition, the players ignored the return to the opening measure and proceeded on to the development section, as if content to shave some time off the performance at the expense of balancing out the classical sonata form favored by the composer. My guess is that the disgruntled spirit of Brahms then leveled a curse upon the ensemble: How else might you explain their bungling of the imitative three-note motif soon after the start of the development section? Those who don’t believe in paranormal experiences may prefer to conclude that the ensemble was insufficiently rehearsed for a piece that requires an extraordinary level ensemble preparation, precision of execution and balance of sonority.

The rest of the opening movement fell into place but the playing remained overly cautious, as if the players were content to avoid catastrophe rather than shape a meaningful interpretation to the work. The poignant slow movement, whose accompaniment figures pit syncopated patterns against triplets, was shaky and uneven, while poorly placed breaths in the clarinet part interrupted several of the prolonged melodic lines. Brahms’ sprightly third movement was marred by poor execution on the part of the violist and timid playing on the part of the cellist, while the fourth (variations) movement produced straightforward and uninspired playing in the lower strings.

In spite of some breathing problems in the slow movement, clarinetist Blustine was well-prepared for this performance, playing with smooth and even finger-work and producing a pleasant tone that, although lacking in dynamic contrasts, nevertheless provided a lovely timbral contrast to that of the strings. Violinists Macomber and Rhodes were beyond reproach throughout the four movements, but could do little to draw the two lower string instruments into one cohesive and synergistic musical ensemble.


Details box
What: New York Chamber Soloists
Where: Lincoln Middle School, 1613 James Street, Syracuse
When: November 7, 2009
Time: 1 hour and 50 minutes
Information: call (315) 446-3424
Ticket prices: Regular $25, Senior $15, Student $10
Website: syracusefriendsofchambermusic.org 
Next: Concertante, Dec. 5, 2009

Oct. 24 Met simulcast: Ancient Egypt conquers Ethiopia, modern cameras defeat singers in ‘Aïda’

Principals sing beautifully but acting crumbles under the scrutiny of close-up camera angles

By David Abrams
http://cnycafemomus.com

The Ethiopians weren’t the only ones to go down during the October 24 Metropolitan Opera HD Live Simulcast of Aïda Saturday – a few actors joined the carnage as well.

As high-tech cameras panned in on the (mostly unsuspecting) faces of principal singers, an audience completely invisible to them scrutinized every facial expression, lip movement and sweaty forehead. Spanning some 1,000 theaters across 42 countries, this phantom audience heard the same exquisite singing as their counterparts at Lincoln Center, but saw much more of the action, perhaps even an exaggerated view of the action, from Dolora Zajick’s deadpan expression (and mouth that opened only barely as she sang), to Johan Botha’s turgid stage presence and bizarre gaze that resembled a deer in the headlights.

What works for the Metropolitan Opera House crowd doesn’t necessarily work for the HD cameras. The brave new world forged by Peter Gelb with these HD simulcasts has changed the rules, and there’s no turning back: Singers must learn to act to the cameras as well as to the listeners sitting in front of them.

Violeta Urmana gets it. Her three-dimensional Aïda, buoyed by supple body movement and details of expression from face-to-toes, fashioned a heroine who appeared in-character when viewed from any angle and screen-size. Urmana’s muscular soprano, which strained early-on in the high register when pushed during her first-act signature aria, Ritorna vincitor, grew increasingly more flexible as the performance unfolded, reaching its zenith in the poignant O patria mia of Act III. Her command of pitch and dynamics in the tenderly phrased duet of resignation (Presago il core) during the final entombment scene with Botha, particularly in the high register, was sublime.

The only other acting that could withstand such scrutiny came from Carlo Guelfi as Amonasro, Aïda’s father (and disguised King of Ethiopia), whose commanding stage presence and daunting baritone generated sufficient poise and charisma to produce an image of royalty that belied the pauper’s clothes. Guelfi’s fanatical expression in Act III, when beseeching Aidä to choose revenge over love, is something I wish the Met audience could have seen up-close.

Until the final act, Dolora Zajick – as the Egyptian King’s jealous daughter, Amneris – brought little life or dimension into a role she had performed some 250 times earlier (the drama I experienced was limited to trying to reconcile her beauty of tone with a mouth that barely opens wide enough to shape her vowels). The celebrated mezzo-soprano came alive however in Act IV, and rather convincingly, when she grasped the reality of the death sentence imposed on her would-be-lover, Radamès (Ohimè, morir mi sento). I suspect that Zajick’s expressionless face was not so much an issue with the live Met audience as it was to those privy to the camera-work, but it sure dampened my spirits. Still, her voice remains in fine form and, at some 60 years of age, shows little signs of surrender to the march of time.

As an actor, Johan Botha’s Radamès was no more convincing than Zajick. Botha’s movement across the stage was stodgy and inflexible (I much preferred to watch the props), and his facial expressions appeared detached from the dramatic action unfolding before him. The singing was not disappointing, and although Botha’s voice tended to push and sacrifice some degree of flexibility early on in the first-act Celeste Aïda, his dramatic tenor held firm throughout the performance, at times soaring high above the orchestra. Especially impressive was the end of Botha’s final duet, in octaves, with Urmana (O terra, addio).

Of course, there’s more to grand opera than acting and singing. Extravaganzas such as Aidä are largely about spectacle, and there was much to love in this grandiose revival of the original 1988 production by Sonja Frisell – with monster sets designed by Gianni Quaranta depicting eye-busting visions such as the colossal palace of the Egyptian King at Memphis that may have topped anything done by Cecil B. DeMille.

Dada Saligeri’s handsome period costumes for the priests, soldiers, prisoners, slaves (and yes, horses) captured the essence of ancient Egypt, although occasionally evoking some unfortunate comparisons to contemporary culture (I could have sworn I saw the High Priest Ramfis – or someone dressed exactly like him – in several episodes of Star Trek, and the penguin-shaped hat sported by the Egyptian King during Act II looked like a gold-plated bowling pin).

Due to the many dance episodes endemic to grand opera, Aïda is as much an aural spectacle as it is visual. The Met Orchestra, under the direction of Daniele Gatti (substituting for the ailing James Levine), was in magnificent form throughout the performance, from the somber pianissimo opening entrance of Aïda’s theme in the violins to the brassy fanfares announcing victory over the Ethiopians during Act II. A number of strikingly beautiful and well-executed solo and concertante wind passages in Act III complemented the heroine’s mournful O patria mia.

Alexei Ratmansky’s choreography of the dance numbers during Act II was visually appealing, save for the anachronistic pas de deux at the opening of the act that seemed to be rooted more in Disneyland than Ancient Egypt. The overhead camera work on the larger dance scenes recalled the glory days of Busby Berkeley.

A well-prepared Met Chorus, under the watchful eye of Donald Palumbo, was right-on with its dotted-rhythms in the Act I Su! Del Nilo al sacro lido! during the Egyptian King’s call to battle, and all but took the house down in its glorious Gloria all’ Egitto in Act II. Especially impressive were the chorus’ whisper-soft a capella passages, although it must be said that the offstage parts tended to sag well below the pitch dictated by the orchestra – a problem that also plagued the offstage priestess chant (Possente Phtha!) at the end of Act I.

Sadly, there were no elephants in this production. Considering the expense of the lavish sets and human resources, the Met’s dollar will stretch only so far – and elephants don’t work for peanuts…

Details Box:
What: Verdi’s Aïda, Simulcast Live in HD
When: October 24, 2009
Who: Metropolitan Opera
Time: 4 hours, including 2 intermissions
Where: Metropolitan Opera House, New York
Cast: Violeta Urmana, Dolora Zajick, Johan Botha, Carlo Guelfi
Next simulcast: Puccini’s Turandot. 1 P.M. Saturday, Nov. 7

Elizabethan-era program of English music proves ‘fit for a queen’

Soprano Laura Heimes and viol consort deliver delightful mix of airs and dances from the court of Elizabeth I

By David Abrams
http://cnycafemomus.com

‘Tosca’ up-close and personal: HD Simulcast yields greater vision, insight into controversial production

Simulcast live in HD, new production of ‘Tosca’ looks better than myopic media reviews suggest

October 3 Emerson Quartet: Shostakovich awakens ‘Emerson Quartet’ during SFCM performance

Celebrated ensemble appears largely uninspired until final work on program

By David Abrams
http://cnycafemomus.com

It’s unlikely that anyone would have mistaken the angst-ridden Dmitri Shostakovich, even on one of the composer’s better days, for Prince Charming. Still, it took a kiss from the 20th-century Soviet icon to awaken ‘Sleeping Beauty’ – The Emerson Quartet – at Saturday evening’s 60th-Anniversary season opening concert of the Syracuse Friends of Chamber Music.

What a pity that Mendelssohn and Beethoven, who preceded Shostakovich on Saturday’s program, weren’t better kissers.

The Emerson Quartet, whose concert Saturday marked its seventh appearance in Syracuse, needs little introduction. Now in its 32nd year, the venerable ensemble is among the most recognized names in chamber music, with eight Grammy Awards and three Gramophone Awards to its credit and no fewer than 30 recordings (Deutsche Grammophon label) over the past dozen years alone. It is well to remember, however, that the quartet’s current (2009-2010) schedule takes the four around the globe in a grueling, 90-concert tour. And let’s face it – they ain’t getting any younger.

The problem with the first-half of Saturday’s concert was hardly a lack of familiarity with the works programmed (Emerson recorded the complete quartet cycles of each composer here), but rather a lack of inspiration and spontaneity of execution. Certainly, the notes were all there – but rarely did they blossom into meaningful phrases. Dynamic shifts were politely observed but did not string together to produce an intensity of expression capable of untethering the notes from the printed page. Mendelssohn’s melodic direction and Beethoven’s motivic development were often understated and, ultimately, predictable.

Mendelssohn’s String Quartet No. 1 in E-Flat major, Op. 12, which opened the program, is a charming work that channels the composer’s fascination with the harmonic innovations of Beethoven into clearly defined parameters of Viennese classicism. As such, it may be argued that much of the Emerson Quartet’s reserved delivery in this work may be stylistically justified as clinging to Mendelssohn’s classical roots.

Eugene Drucker, who played first violin on the opening two works on the program, did not appear to be in his usual good form. Drucker’s delivery appeared somewhat aloof in the sweet, aria-like entrance to the third (Andante espressivo) movement, as if he deemed the indication "espressivo" superfluous. Moreover, in this movement and the celebrated Canzonetta movement that preceded it, Drucker experienced some slight but conspicuous pitch problems that suggested he may have been tired that evening. Ensemble delivery among the four players in this work was inconsistent: good on the 16th-note passages in the Trio of the Canzonetta and in the four-note motif of the final movement, but imprecise and unsteady in the familiar eighth-note passages of the Canzonetta.

Beethoven’s String Quartet No. 10 in E-Flat Major, Op. 74 ("The Harp") fared somewhat better than the Mendelssohn Quartet, particularly with respect to ensemble delivery during the imitative sections and 16th-note passage-work of the exposition of the first-movement Allegro and in the tight motivic interplay preceding the recapitulation. The inner movements of the Beethoven Quartet were, however, disappointing. The playing of the dreamy second (Adagio) movement lacked warmth and intensity, as if the four were contemplating Beethoven’s philosophical discourse without the benefit of pausing for reflection. The furious Presto (Scherzo) movement that followed was rushed, a victim of sloppy rhythmic execution of the pervasive dotted-rhythms.

If there’s an advantage to the Emerson Quartet’s custom of standing (except, of course, for the cellist) while playing, it was not apparent from the results of Saturday’s performance. Ensemble interplay among the four players did not seem to benefit from this arrangement, nor did eye-contact and body language, which may have fared better had the musicians remained on a level periphery.

What: Emerson String Quartet
Where: Lincoln Middle School, 1613 James Street, Syracuse
When: October 3, 2009
Time: 1 hour and 50 minutes
Information: call (315) 446-3424
Ticket prices: Regular $25, Senior $15, Student $10
Website: syracusefriendsofchambermusic.org 
Next: New York Chamber Soloists, Nov. 7 at 8 P.M.

September 13 NYS Baroque: Period-instrument ensemble engages both mind and ear

Ithaca based NYS Baroque Ensemble shines in season-opening Syracuse concert

By David Abrams
http://cnycafemomus.com