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Feb. 27 Miro Quartet

David Abrams — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 01:06:00 GMT

Miro Quartet continues its winning ways in Syracuse-area return

Celebrated quartet tackles two lengthy and difficult works and notches another victory

By David Abrams
http://cnycafemomus.com

While the SU Orange was trouncing Villanova just a few miles down the road in front of an all-time college basketball record attendance of 34,616 spectators at the Carrier Dome, an equally brilliant team effort was in the making at Lincoln Middle School Auditorium. And while it may not have been a complete slam-dunk, the Miró Quartet dazzled the crowd with a winning performance of Beethoven’s String Quartet No. 13 in B-flat Major that deserved its lengthy and enthusiastic standing ovation — if not high-fives — among the clearly delighted listeners in attendance.

Central New York chamber music enthusiasts are already familiar with the Miró Quartet, and in particular its handling of late-Beethoven and Schubert quartets, from the ensemble’s August 2008 appearance at the Skaneateles Festival — which over a two-day period included a pair of highly energetic performances of Beethoven’s String Quartet No. 16 and Schubert’s Death and the Maiden Quartet. Yet while Saturday evening’s muscular rendition of Beethoven’s String Quartet No. 13 appeared to pick up right where the group left off a year and a half ago, Miró’s cautious interpretation of Schubert’s String Quartet No. 15 in G major, D. 887 seemed far more reserved, oftentimes sacrificing spontaneity and enthusiasm for straightforward detail of execution.

Schubert’s final string quartet, which remained unpublished (and unplayed) until some two decades following his death in 1828, is a challenging work of considerable difficulty whose excessive length (about 45-minutes) and dramatic intensity places formidable demands not only upon the performers, but upon the listener as well. Like the composer’s cathartic C Major Quintet, the G Major Quartet demands nothing shy of a riveting performance to maintain that elusive bond that glues the listener to the listening experience.

Miró’s calculated interpretation of this warhorse, while technically clean and accurate in the execution of the work’s abundant melodic lines, was nevertheless musically sterile — with middle-of-the-road tempos that muted the contrasts between slow and fast movements necessary to garnish listener excitement and anticipation. Thus, the second (andante) movement seamed too hurried to savor Schubert’s melodic grace and elegance, while the slower-than-usual tempos of the third (scherzo) and fourth (allegro assai) movements produced phrases that appeared deliberate and calculating — as if the performers were checking the work, measure by measure, for balance and accuracy of pitch.

There were, to be sure, lots of ensemble touches that did work rather well — such as Miró’s sharply delineated dotted-rhythmic patterns throughout the über-dramatic first (allegro molto moderato) movement and tremolo recitative during the second (andante) movement, each of which convincingly captured the exaggerated melodrama of Schubert’s misery and pathos.

Whatever shortcomings may have been evident in the first-half of the two-work program seemed to evaporate following intermission, however, as Miró re-entered the auditorium for the Beethoven quartet with a renewed sense of purpose and determination — leading me to wonder whether the players unconsciously decided to save their strength for this monumental masterpiece.

The six-movement string quartet, performed on this occasion with Beethoven’s originally intended last movement (the Grosse Fuge, Op. 133), was written less than a year before Schubert’s String Quartet No. 15 — although it’s no exaggeration to say that at times it sounds as if it could have been written a century later. Like much of Beethoven’s output from his late period, the B-flat Major Quartet challenges the listener’s sensibilities with quickly alternating mood swings and tempo changes (recent scholarship by a University of Ottawa psychiatrist suggests that Beethoven was bi-polar), surrounded by a meditative introspection that belies the stylistic modus operandi of the composer’s more accessible (and widely appreciated) middle-period.

As the story goes, Beethoven couldn’t bring himself to attend the work's premiere in Vienna on March 21, 1826, electing instead to wait at a tavern nearby. Had it been the Miró Quartet who premiered the work, Beethoven would have done well to finish his beer and quickly proceed to the concert hall.

The difference between the program’s two halves was soon apparent, as Miró drew warmth and tenderness from Beethoven’s affectionate adagio introduction and then delivered the following allegro with spontaneity and alacrity. Ensemble was tight throughout the movement, in spite of a brief miscue on the part of the cellist, with cleanly articulated inner voicings (second violin and viola) complementing a four-voice texture buoyed by first-violinist Daniel Ching and tidily anchored by cellist Joshua Gindele.

In the second (presto) movement, the ensemble navigated the spunky four-measure phrases built upon the circle-of-fifths with grace and élan, and Ching’s wild triplet argeggiations sang sweetly and securely above the three other voices. Following this movement, and again following the fourth, Miró took a brief moment to re-tune the instruments — a sign that the group takes issues of intonation seriously. Indeed, except for the first movement of the Schubert, Miró’s pitch throughout the evening was right on target.

Other signs of good ensemble interplay were evident in the passing of melodic figures from instrument-to-instrument in the third (andante con moto) movement, and especially during the fourth-movement danza tedesca (German dance) — where unaccompanied melodic motifs bouncing seamlessly from player-to-player would surely have pleased even SU Orange coach, Jim Boeheim.

Led by Ching’s beautiful playing, the sensuous and aria-like Cavatina (fifth) movement, while perhaps just a tad too fast for maximum expression, produced a suitably meditative effect and poignancy. Beethoven is said to have written this tender movement "…amid sorrow and tears."

Although Beethoven had substituted a shorter, separate movement for the finale of the B-flat Major Quartet following its premiere, the lengthy original movement (now known as the Grosse Fuge, Op. 133) is commonly used today, as it was for this performance.

There’s lots of fire and brimstone within the measures of this abstract (and at times abstruse) movement, which demands brash and uninhibited playing that oftentimes borders on the extreme. Miró delivered the sharply edged, turbulent fugal subjects and counter-subjects with panache, reaching deeply into the music to arrive at the raw, emotional core of a musical genius reaching the final strides of his life. When the final cadence sounded, the usually mild-mannered Syracuse Friends of Chamber Music crowd erupted into boisterous shouts of approval, and a prolonged — and well deserved — standing ovation.

Details box
What: Miró Quartet
Where: Lincoln Middle School, 1613 James Street, Syracuse
When: February 27, 2010, 8 p.m.
Time: 2 hours
Information: call (315) 446-3424
Ticket prices: Regular $20, Senior $15, Student $10
Website: syracusefriendsofchambermusic.org
Next: Cypress String Quartet and cellist Amit Peled, Mar. 20, 8 p.m.

Feb. 6 Met simulcast: Simon Boccanegra

David Abrams — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 14:20:00 GMT

Placido Domingo rules Genoa, and most everything else, in Met’s ‘Simon Boccanegra’

The celebrated tenor, dressed as a Doge and disguised as a baritone, dominates the Met stage both in appearance and vocal presence

By David Abrams
http://cnycafemomus.com

"It’s good to be the king," proclaims a pompous Louis XVI (a.k.a. Mel Brooks) in the 1981 comedy flick, History of the World, Part I. While few would argue the wisdom of Brooks’ iconic catch-phrase, the Met’s February 6 performance of Verdi’s Simon Boccanegra suggests that it may be even better to be Plácido Domingo. On-stage or off, Domingo rules.

At 69 years of age, and with over 130 different operatic roles to his credit spanning an enterprising 42-year career, Domingo continues to dominate the headlines as our greatest living tenor, while broadening his sphere of influence as a conductor (including the Met’s production of Verdi’s Stiffelio), an arts manager (Los Angeles Opera and Washington National Opera) and an organizer of international vocal competitions. Domingo continues to dominate the stage as well: No other character in Saturday’s performance came even close to matching strides with his vocal prowess or acting abilities. When Domingo took his final curtain call, folks in my theater burst out into enthusiastic and spontaneous applause – for the man, not the king.

Although I consider myself a hardcore Verdi aficionado, I must admit that I have trouble warming up to Simon Boccanegra. As a product of the composer’s middle-period, this opera pales in comparison to the melodic grace and clarity of dramatic flow of his other operas dating from the 1850’s, including La Traviata, Il Trovatore and Rigoletto. And then there’s the plot: a long-winded, convoluted and needlessly complicated drama that in part explains why the work flopped (with a vengeance) at its first performance, in 1857. On the other hand, there’s much beautiful music to be found in Verdi’s score, which the listener can appreciate if s/he doesn’t take the plot too seriously.

The story, set in the 14th-century seaport city of Genoa, centers upon Boccanegra (Domingo), a former corsair now-turned-legit who is being urged by the plebeians to challenge the current aristocratic government by running for the elected post of Doge (Chief Magistrate). Boccanegra reluctantly obliges, wins the election, and then spends the next 25 years trying to maintain a peaceful coexistence among the disparate political forces that threaten to unravel the fragile republic. Add to the mix Boccanegra’s ill-fated love affair and illegitimate child, and you’ve got the fodder for a Verdi opera.

Of course, the hullabaloo over the current Met production has little to do with the plot, or for that matter, Verdi. It’s all about Domingo (sound familiar?), and the venerable tenor’s decision to tackle the baritone role of Boccanegra, which is widely acknowledged as among the most taxing in baritone repertory.

Considering the preponderance of low voices in this opera (there’s only one female lead), it’s understandable that Verdi would seek greater demands from his lead singer’s higher register. Domingo’s dramatic helden-tenor already possesses some of the deeper colors of a baritone, while his natural tenor register is capable of taking the edge off the pernicious demands of the role’s upper register.

Still, it was clear throughout Saturday’s performance that Domingo lacks a good deal of the timbral intensity that defines a true baritone. What we heard, ultimately, was the voice of a tenor singing the role of a baritone – which in this opera, at least, is not at all bad. To be sure, there were times when Domingo made his arias and duets sound as if they were designed to be sung by a tenor, such as during his powerful duet with Amelia, Figlia, tal nome palpita.

Whether you agree or take issue with Domingo’s decision to tackle the role of Boccanegra, there can be little doubt that his performance was, by any measure, truly outstanding.

Domingo’s commanding onstage presence drew and maintained the listener’s attention, and his portrayal of the despondent Doge melded singer and actor into a flesh-and-blood character with whom we could empathize. He stayed in character throughout the performance and did not shy away from hitting the ground, hard, when collapsing from the effects of the poison at the end of the final act. His final word, "Maria," carried with it the weight of Orson Wells’ celebrated declaration, "Rosebud."

Domingo’s vocal delivery ran the gamut from thunderous fury when unraveling the details of his daughter’s kidnapping, to the more subdued eloquence of his statesmanship in imploring his councilors to mend their differences (Plebi! Patrizi!), and finally to the muted undertones of his final blessing to his daughter Amelia and her betrothed.

As Amelia (a.k.a. Maria), Canadian soprano Adrienne Pieczonka was strong in voice throughout the performance and sang with an attractive and richly timbred vocal quality that exuded confidence. Her muscular delivery worked wonders during the dramatic Figlia, tal nome palpita, where she allowed her character to burst at the seams with joy when she discovers that Boccanegra is her father. Coupled with Verdi’s magnificent orchestral writing, her duet with Domingo proved to be the singular highpoint of this performance.

Curiously, Pieczonka did little to temper the muscle of her vocal delivery during those moments where subtlety was needed most, such as the delicate moment of solitude and reflection in the garden at the Grimaldi Palace, where she recounts her unhappy childhood during the cavatina, Come in quest’ora bruna. Pieczonka’s high register also showed signs of strain during sustained passages. While her facial expressions managed to craft a sympathetic character, Pieczonka’s tendency to squint as she sings became an annoying distraction, which under the scrutiny of TV Director Barbara Willis Sweete’s close-up camera-work often made her appear as if she had just swallowed a teaspoon of tabasco sauce.

Marcello Giordani, as the Genoa nobleman and Amelia’s fiancé, Gabriele Adorno, was in excellent vocal form Saturday, with very few reminders of his tendency to force the top of his range above the intended pitch. His bright lyric tenor, with its clean bel canto lines and smooth legato connecting his low-and-high registers, is well suited for Verdi roles, and he had no trouble soaring above the orchestral accompaniments.

Although Giordani’s acting in the first act was limited to stock facial expressions that more often than not appeared contrived, his signature second-act aria (Sento avvampar nell’anima), where he flies into a rage of jealousy over Amelia’s presumed involvement with Boccanegra, was well-acted. In the following scene, where Gabriele learns that his beloved Amelia is actually Boccanegra’s daughter, Giordani appeared genuinely sincere, repentant and dramatically convincing.

As Jacopo Fiesco (a.k.a. Andrea), James Morris began rather tentatively, with a rich and handsome bass-baritone that nevertheless routinely faded in the low register. As an actor, the 62 year-old Morris appeared less tortured than simply exhausted when delivering the Prologue’s Il lacerato spirito, where he grieves the passing of his beloved daughter Maria before cursing Boccanegra for robbing his child of her virtue. Moreover, there was a pronounced aloofness to his character’s fury in this aria that belied his cursing of the Virgin Mary for not protecting her.

Morris’ character (and voice) came alive in the final act when he began to gloat, in a fit of hateful revenge, as Paolo tells him that Boccanegra had been poisoned – only to discover soon afterwards that Marie is in fact Fiesco’s granddaughter. Morris’ poignant duet of remorse with Domingo that followed, lamenting that the peace between them had come too late, was credible and moving.

Although the printed Met HD Broadcast program listed Nicola Alaimo as the nefarious courtier, Paolo, it was in fact Stephen Gaertner (understudy to the production’s original Paolo, Patrick Carfizzi) who sang the role at the February 6 performance.

It’s interesting to note that Gaertner’s Paolo grew stronger, and more dramatically convincing, as his character grew more treacherous – beginning when Boccanegra, after learning that Amelia (a.k.a. Maria) is his long-lost daughter, abruptly tells Paolo to abandon his plans to marry the girl. Hell hath no fury like a villain in a Verdi opera, and Paolo soon orchestrates Amelia’s abduction and the fatal poisoning of the Doge. Gaertner’s baritone (the role properly calls for a bass-baritone) appeared weak and tentative in the Prologue, where he could barely be heard above the chorus. His voice blossomed however at the beginning of Act II, as if he had been saving himself for the chilling monologue, Me stresso ho maledetto.

In the smaller role of Pietro, Richard Bernstein sang with a pleasant bass-baritone rich in color, and always remained in-character (with the help of some well-crafted facial expressions) as the unctuous accomplice to Paolo. Sadly, Pietro’s motives behind his blind obedience to Paolo, as the latter plots Boccanegra’s demise, was never made clear – either by Verdi or Bernstein. Paolo turned against his long-time ally, Boccanegra, because he was scorned, but what was Pietro’s motive – other than convenience of plot?

Stage Director Peter McClintock tastefully reprised Giancarlo del Monaco’s original 1995 Met production, with visually appealing sets and costumes by Michael Scott that faithfully evoked the Italian Trecento.

Scott’s gloomy interior to Fiesco’s palace during the Prologue, abetted by Lighting Director Wayne Chouinard’s drab lighting, hints at the pervasive doom that permeates much of the story, while the handsome ivy-covered walls that adorn the Grimaldi Palace in Act I portend the only bright spots in the hearts of both Fiesco and Boccanegra: the young and innocent Amelia. Scott’s stunning adaptation of the Council Chamber in Scene 2 of this act, adorned with murals on the walls and ceiling and anchored by a magnificent throne, was breathtaking. His period costumes – a colorful assortment of early-Italian Renaissance attire – were full in color and detail, lending a measure of authenticity to the production.

Met Opera Music Director James Levine led a willing and oftentimes enthusiastic Met Opera orchestra in a detailed rendition of Verdi’s score, whose complicated writing at times seems to mirror the complexity of the plot. Levine appeared to take special delight in milking the more poignant aspects of music, favoring relaxed tempos that allowed the phrases to breathe. During his interview with Renée Fleming prior to the start of the performance, Levine admitted "I never can get enough of it [Boccanegra]," and it showed. There were some fine individual and ensemble efforts from the orchestra, such as the tutti horn section unison passage in Act III, which truly sounded as one instrument, and the extended bass clarinet solo at the end of Act I, whose lines begin drooping with each successive melodic entrance – a harbinger, perhaps, of the curse (maledetto) that will ultimately consume the Doge.

Verdi makes abundant use the chorus as a dramatic tool in Simon Boccanegra, and the Met Chorus delivered its crowd scenes at times to chilling effect, from the angry mob’s cries of death (morte) during the second scene of Act I to the hushed assembly of townspeople who echo Boccanegra’s curse (Sia maledetto!) upon the man who kidnapped his daughter.

Details Box:

What: Verdi’s Simon Boccanegra, Simulcast Live in HD
When: February 6, 2010
Who: Metropolitan Opera
Time: 3 hours and 40 minutes hours, including two intermissions
Where: Metropolitan Opera House, New York
Cast: Plácido Domingo, Adrianne Pieczonka, Marcello Giordani, James Morris; Stephen Gaertner; Conductor: James Levine
Next simulcast: Ambroise Thomas’ Hamlet, March 27, 2010 at 1:00 pm ET

Jan. 29 Met (Live): Simon Boccanegra

David Abrams — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 03:38:00 GMT

Placido Domingo trumps cast, Verdi in the Met’s ‘Simon Boccanegra’

[Editor’s note: CNY Café Momus is pleased to have the opportunity to provide two reviews of separate performances of the Met’s 'Simon Boccanegra:' the Feb. 6 HD simulcast by David Abrams (preceding this review) and the present one by David Rubin, who attended the Jan. 29 performance at Lincoln Center]

By David Rubin
http://blog.cnycafemomus.com

Verdi's opera Simon Boccanegra is hard to like. Perhaps after repeated hearings it begins to show its charms. But it lacks the great melodies in Aida, Traviata, Ballo, and Rigoletto, the great duets in Trovatore, and the dramatic tension in Don Carlo and Otello.

Perhaps its unusual compositional history is to blame. The piece was a failure when it premiered in 1857. Verdi revised it in 1881 with the help of librettist Arrigo Boito, who worked so well with him on Otello and Falstaff. Boito and Verdi added what is arguably the most effective scene in the opera both musically and dramatically: the council chamber scene in which Boccanegra confronts the kidnapper of his daughter and tries to be a peacemaker. Had Verdi written the entire opera in 1881 with Boito as librettist, it might be a masterpiece. But as it is, Boccanegra is a dark, sluggish, angry work with a ludicrous plot that would come to a halt if either the title character or his long-lost daughter Amelia/Maria offered a crucial fact or took some obvious action at the right time. They don't, leaving the audience to ponder what fools they both are.

Verdi's musical fingerprints are, nevertheless, all over the score. One can hear flashes of the Grand Inquisitor from Don Carlo; the chorus in Otello; the narratives in Trovatore. Those sections bring smiles of recognition and musical pleasure. We are on familiar ground with the master. But most of the opera keeps reminding one that Verdi did it much better in many of his other works.

So, why mount it? In the case of the Met in 2010, it was to showcase the great tenor Placido Domingo as he assumed the title role, singing as a baritone. That by itself guaranteed ticket sales and great anticipation among opera lovers (Domingo sang the tenor role of Gabriele Adorno, one of opera's great hotheads, in this same production, which premiered in 1995).

In any event, Domingo more than pulled it off and justified completely the Met's willingness to accommodate him. At the top of the range, the voice was clearly Domingo's. But nearer the bottom, the voice sounded like some other fine Verdi baritone, one not having appeared before on the Met stage. He handled the notes with ease. While the bottom was not quite as rich as one might like, there was no grinding of gears as he moved from register to register. He acted with conviction, clearly relishing the chance to embrace the father-daughter relationship at the center of the opera. His death scene was both touching and convincing. He thundered in the council chamber scene. He was so haggard and bent by the end that one could see him next tackling the part of Rigoletto.

The rest of the cast was not nearly up to Domingo's standard, but that's a high standard. As his rival Fiesco, veteran James Morris was best when it mattered most, in the final act when he learns that Amelia/Maria, whom he thought was his ward, is actually his own granddaughter and Boccanegra's daughter (it's this sort of plot nonsense that makes it hard to take the piece seriously). Between the prologue and last act, Morris doesn't have much to do. While he sounded tentative and worn in the beginning, by the end he reminded listeners why he is the greatest Wotan of his generation, even in Verdi.

Marcello Giordani assumed the tenor role of Adorno. He is now a hit-and-miss singer. He can be thrilling, and he can sound pinched and raw at the top. He is not a subtle singer. This was not one of his better evenings (heard on January 29), and his costume of armor made him look foolish (and hot). Only three or four years ago Giordani promised to be a thrilling and valuable addition to the Met's tenor roster, but his voice is showing the strain of performance.

Adrianne Pieczonka was Amelia/Maria, the only female character in the opera to speak of (Verdi wrote no substantial part for a mezzo such as Amneris or Ulrica). She has received fine reviews. She has all the notes. The voice carries easily and reaches every corner of the house. She is not much of an actress, however, and she rarely engaged the sympathies of the audience. Perhaps it's the part that's lacking.

The villain of the piece is the plebian conspirator Paolo, who helps engineer Boccanegra's ascent to the leadership of Genoa as Doge, and who, 20 years later, wants Maria as his bride (he doesn't get her from Boccanegra, so he poisons him). On the 29th Stephen Gaertner substituted for Nicola Alaimo, who was announced as ill. Gaertner wasn't quite enough the oily Iago. The voice was not strong enough or black enough or evil enough, and as an actor he wasn't quite the dangerous schemer. But he will be worth hearing again under less demanding conditions.

The conductor for most of the run has been James Levine. For this performance the American J. David Jackson was on the podium. He has been a member of the Met's music staff for the last decade, and he has conducted in Brussels, Genoa, Wolf Trap and Glyndebourne. Given the listening challenges this opera poses for an audience, the conductor should move it along at a good clip and emphasize all the drama and tension in the piece. Jackson rarely did that. Tempos were slow, tension sagged. He also needs some tailoring advice. At the curtain call he revealed a remarkably ill-fitting suit, and his shirt was untucked from the pants. Yes, the Met is a less formal place than it used to be, but really!

Still, there was Domingo, and he was greeted with warm and prolonged ovations, to which he responded generously. He clearly loves this role. His decision to take on the doomed Doge at this point in his remarkable career was the right one.

David M. Rubin, a regular contributor at CNY Café Momus, is the former Dean of the S.I. Newhouse School of Public Communications at Syracuse University. He currently teaches at the Goldring Arts Journalism master’s degree program at Newhouse, and hosts "The Ivory Tower Half Hour" on WCNY-TV (Fridays at 8).

Details Box:

What: Verdi’s Simon Boccanegra, Live at the Met
When: January 29, 2010
Who: Metropolitan Opera
Time: 3 hours and 40 minutes hours, including two intermissions
Where: Metropolitan Opera House, New York
Cast: Plácido Domingo, Adrianne Pieczonka, Marcello Giordani, James Morris; Stephen Gaertner; Conductor: J. David Jackson
Next simulcast: Ambroise Thomas’ Hamlet, March 27, 2010 at 1:00 pm ET

Jan. 31 Civic Morning Musicals: Jimi James in Recital

David Abrams — Mon, 01 Feb 2010 06:11:00 GMT

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.

Details Box:

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

Jan. 16 Met simulcast: Carmen

David Abrams — Tue, 19 Jan 2010 03:39:00 GMT

Surgeon General’s Warning: Elīna Garanĉa, cigarette girl in Met’s ‘Carmen,’ addictive and deadly

Garanĉa’s intoxicating performance as the gypsy temptress makes Don José’s transgressions all the more tolerable

By David Abrams
http://cnycafemomus.com

It is often said that we are the sum total of the decisions we make in our lives. Indeed, when Don José sheds his honor, his soul and even his mother for the beguiling gypsy, audiences generally hold him accountable for his poor choices even while dutifully mindful of the nature and power of his addiction. The Metropolitan Opera’s new production of Carmen, starring Elīna Garanĉa as one of the most vocally stimulating and visually alluring Carmens in recent memory, places Don José’s self-destructive decisions into proper perspective: Under Garanĉa spell, this man had about as much a chance of staving off disaster as the bull in the toreador’s arena. And he’s not alone: By the second act I was prepared to give it all up (mother included) and follow Garanĉa to a remote gypsy hideaway in the mountains.

The plot of Bizet’s Carmen centers around an army corporal, Don José (Roberto Alagna), who is torn between an infatuation with the manipulative femme fatale, Carmen (Garanĉa ) and the redemptive forces in his life, represented by the innocent Micaëla (Barbara Frittoli).

Garanĉa’s Carmen is a three-dimensional, hands-on character who uses not only body and voice but also props, staging and dancing to convey her irresistible persona. When arrested and placed in the hands of Don José, Garanĉa uses a set of handcuffs and a rope tethered to him to stage a powerfully suggestive Seguidilla, inviting her captor to allow her to escape and accompany her to Lillas Pastia’s Tavern. At the tavern, Garanĉa dances wildly on the tables during the rowdy gypsy song of seduction (Les tringles des sistres tintaient), and later, when Don José enters the tavern, Garanĉa teases him (during the Castanets Dance) with a lap-dance.

Curiously, Garanĉa downplays her character’s seductive demeanor (some men will no doubt disagree with this) and aims instead to project herself as a poised, confident manipulator — one who has only one talent in life, but knows when and how to use it to her advantage. When Don José pays her only scant attention early in the first act, Garanĉa simply shifts into a higher gear and scoops her unwitting passenger on-board. Similarly, in the famed Habanera (sung while Garanĉa casually begins washing her shirt and feet) she delivers the initial verse with an aloofness that lay somewhere between boredom and "been-there-done-that." Only at the repeat of the verse does Garanĉa then turn up the heat, and to great effect.

If Garanĉa’s singing had been only mediocre, her acting and stage presence would surely have carried the day. This was however a consummate performance such as one always hopes to find in live opera, but only rarely experiences. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed Latvian mezzo-soprano (fitted here in a long-haired, curly black wig) was in beautiful voice Saturday afternoon, with dark mezzo that was rich and full in the low and mid-registers, and bright and radiant in the high register. Still, it would be difficult to separate Garanĉa’s vocal prowess from her character’s mannerisms and staging in this performance, which for all practical purposes were joined at the hip. Vocal inflections during phrases melted from note-to-note during the Habanera, and a pervasive, underlying sensuality accompanied virtually everything she sang.

As the ill-fated Don José, Roberto Alagna was strong in voice and sang with a dark and rich lyric tenor that breathed warmth and substance. His great second-act aria, the Flower Song (La fleur que tu m’avais jeteé), where he reveals to Carmen that the flower she had given him was all that kept him alive during his prison term following her escape, was incredibly beautiful (although dramatically unconvincing). In spite of the fact that his voice began to tire by the end of the third act, Alagna gave a commanding performance Saturday afternoon.

Alagna’s acting abilities in the first three acts were adequate, but nothing more. I was hoping to see a conflicted Don José agonizing over two very different worlds — an exciting one dictated by compulsion, and a boring one leading to redemption. Instead, I got from Alagna that familiar boyish grin, championed by George W. Bush, that belied the severity of the situation. When Carmen, with Don José’s complicity, escapes arrest at the end of Act I, an angry Captain Zuniga (Keith Miller) confronts Alagna, but sees little more than a look of contrition such as on the face of a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Happily, Alagna hunkered down in the fourth act and produced at least some degree of sturm und drang, but even here the angst-ridden corporal never appeared truly menacing (which perhaps explains Garanĉa’s look of complete astonishment when, at the end of the opera, he does indeed stab her).

Barbara Frittoli, as Micaëla, delivered her signature third-act aria (Je dis que rien ne m’epouvante) in handsome fashion, with a warm and satisfying lyric soprano and sizeable projection. Frittoli’s vocal delivery in the first-act nostalgic duo with Alagna (Ma mère, je la vois) was almost as attractive, in spite of her propensity for sailing well-above the intended pitch during sustained high-notes. As an actress, however, the Italian soprano left much to be desired.

Frittoli’s monochromatic facial expressions (she does move her eyebrows upon occasion) did little to project the demeanor of a frightened, innocent peasant girl wandering far from home to locate an elusive Don José. Waiting outside the cigarette factory in Act I, Frittoli appeared neither alarmed nor vulnerable when a creepy assortment of soldiers begin to undress her with their eyes. Micaëla is the hero’s final hope for redemption, and the audience is rooting for her to succeed: It’s a shame that Frittoli couldn’t muster any meaningful effort upon which the crowd could pin its hopes.

As a last-minute replacement for the ailing Mariusz Kwiecien, Teddy Tahu Rhodes provided a pleasant surprise in his serendipitous appearance as the toreador, Escamillo. Working on just three-hours’ advance notice (he got the call Saturday at 10 a.m.), there was hardly sufficient time for the New Zealand-born baritone to grow nervous. Rhodes simply jumped into his bullfighter’s trousers, which — like the singer’s charismatic delivery throughout Saturday’s performance — proved a comfortable fit.

Rhodes’ tall, slender build and dashing presence produced all the right looks for this role, which is necessary to lend credence to Don José’s rage of jealousy in the tragic final act. His baritone may more accurately be labeled a lyric bass-baritone because of the pronounced depth of his low notes, although the quality of tone does tend to thin out a bit in his higher register. Rhodes’ strong delivery of the testosterone-charged Toreador Song in Act II filled every crevice of the theater, and his cocky self-assurance helped bring his character to life.

Keith Miller looked and acted the part as the sinister captain of the Guardia Civil, Zuniga, with a commanding stage presence that drew (and maintained) the attention of the listener. Miller, whose looks and mannerisms oddly resemble Yul Brynner during the late actor’s prime, projected his role’s bullying demeanor to perfection, with a rich bass-baritone sturdy enough to soar easily above the chorus during the frenetic opening-act fight scene. When, in Act II, the unctuous captain arrogantly asks the seductress Carmen why she would settle for a mere soldier (Don José) when she could have an officer, the walls of the tavern all but oozed oil from its murky rafters.

There were some large efforts among the smaller roles in this production. Mezzo-sopranos Sandra Piques Eddy and Elizabeth Caballero, as Carmen’s gypsy cohorts Mercédès and Frasquita, respectively, provided an impressive pair of vocal efforts (as well as a captivating visual presence) during their charming duet in the third-act Card Scene, as they beseech the cards to reveal their future lovers and destinies. Eddy and Caballero also forged a powerful vocal presence in the stunning quintet (Nous avons en tête une affaire) during the second-act tavern scene, which for me was the singularly most memorable number in this performance.

Richard Eyre’s new production of Carmen fast-forwards Bizet’s setting from 1820s Spain roughly a century ahead, to the travail of the Spanish Civil War. While the historical conflict is muted in this production, there is a tacit understanding that the gypsy smugglers have earned a degree of respectability as left-wing, freedom fighting Republicans battling the oppressive regime of Generalissimo Franco.

This is Eyre’s third effort at opera (behind La Traviata and Nozze di Figaro), and his direction of the many crowd scenes of cigarette girls, children, smugglers and dancers reveals the unmistakable touches of a seasoned veteran. The British stage director’s prior work in London and Broadway theaters came to good use in the production, particularly during the eye-popping staging of the frenzied action at Lillas Pastia’s Tavern during Act II — from Carmen’s table-top dancing during the Triangle Song to the spectacle of Escamillo’s rowdy Toreador Song.

TV Director Brian Large’s well-synchronized camerawork appeared to capture the characters’ facial expressions at all the dramatically correct moments, and his transitions from close-ups to wide-angled scenes (particularly those involving crowds) were well-orchestrated. Understandably, Large’s camera rarely wandered far from Garanĉa’s irresistible gaze and posture.

Set and Costume Designer Rob Howell’s rotating circular floor, occasionally resembling the inside of a large microwave oven, yields several staging resources, from the initial public square in Seville (Act I) to the grimy interior of the Lillas Pastia’s Tavern (Act II), and from the foggy mountainous gypsy hideaway (Act III) to the exterior of the bullfighting ring (Act IV).

Christopher Wheeldon’s choreography of the foot-stomping flamenco dancers in the Act II tavern scene, and the Broadway-like dance routine by Garanĉa and her two gypsy pals at the smugglers’ cave in Act III, added a healthy dash of Spanish spices to an already spicy-hot production. Wheeldon’s pas de deux routines (with dancers Maria Kowroski and Martin Harvey) during the entre’acts preceding the first and third acts, while superfluous to the storyline, were visually appealing.

Peter Mumford’s lighting complemented not only Howell’s sets but also the moods associated with characters — from the dingy, pre-dawn bluish hues of the smuggler’s mountain cave hideaway to the crimson fog that engulfs the stage with the color of Carmen’s blood at the final curtain.

The youthful and energetic French-Canadian conductor Yannick Nézet-Séguin crafted a rendition of Bizet’s colorful, ethnocentric score that bordered on fast (occasionally wild) tempos that generally favored gypsy-style exuberance over nuance of ensemble detail and polish. Then again, no tempo this season has proven too fast for this Metropolitan Opera Orchestra to handle, as could be seen in the cleanly executed exhibitionism of the celebrated overture. The orchestral entre’acts gave the listener much to savor from the Met Orchestra, as well — from the sharply edged dotted-rhythmic precision in the unison bassoon section solo that opened Act II, to the dreamy meditative flute and harp duo in Act III, and finally to the sparkling élan of the Spanish rhythms in Act IV.

Anthony Piccolo prepared a well-disciplined Children’s Chorus that delivered its ensemble-work with spunk and enthusiasm, and it didn’t take close-up camera-work to see the looks of joy on these kids’ faces. I especially enjoyed the march that accompanies the changing of the guard at the entrance to the tobacco factory in Act I, where the children sang, tutti ensemble, with finesse — and intelligible French diction.

Details Box:
What: Bizet’s Carmen, Simulcast Live in HD
When: January 16, 2010
Who: Metropolitan Opera
Time: 3 hours and 30 minutes hours, including intermission
Where: Metropolitan Opera House, New York
Cast: Barbara Frittoli, Elīna Garanĉa, Roberto Alagna, Teddy Tahu Rhodes, Keith Miller; Yannick Nézet-Séguin, conductor
Next simulcast: Verdi's Simon Boccanegra, February 6, 2010 at 1:00 pm ET

Jan. 9 Met (Live): Der Rosenkavalier

David Abrams — Thu, 14 Jan 2010 21:38:00 GMT

Met’s production of Der Rosenkavalier spreads goose bumps from Lincoln Center to far corners of globe

[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]

By David Rubin
http://blog.cnycafemomus.com

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.

David M. Rubin, a regular contributor at CNY Café Momus, is the former Dean of the S.I. Newhouse School of Public Communications at Syracuse University. He is currently Interim Director of the Goldring Arts Journalism master’s degree program at Newhouse. He is also host of "The Ivory Tower Half Hour" on WCNY-TV (Fridays at 8).

Details Box:

What: Richard Strauss’s Der Rosenkavalier, Live at Lincoln Center
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

Jan. 9 Met simulcast: Der Rosenkavalier

David Abrams — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 21:21:00 GMT

Fleming and Graham blur boundaries of youth, beauty and aging in Met’s ‘Der Rosenkavalier’

Crafty camera-work focuses on relationships, and not just faces, in Saturday’s memorable live HD Simulcast

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.

TV and Transmission Director Barbara Willis Sweete, who choreographs the camera-work for these HD simulcasts, strived for shots that juxtaposed pairs of interrelated characters, capturing the telling facial expressions of the main characters and affording the listener a window into the soul of both the singer and the object of the singer’s affections. The good camera-work clicked to great effect during the "aristocratic ritual" of the presentation of the rose, when the handsomely dressed Octavian glances for the first time into the eyes of the beautiful Sophie. It was as if someone had pressed the button on a stop-watch, as Octavian stands frozen in a gaze of fear, then confusion, then finally love (it should be noted here that, like the fabled Droit de seigneur of Mozart's Figaro, no such ritual ever existed: Hofmannsthal simply made this up).

Before turning to opera in the early years of the 20th-century, Strauss wrote symphonic tone-poems almost exclusively. And while Strauss made ample use of his considerable orchestrational skills in his earlier operas, none can compare with the sheer ebullience – and unabashed aural exhibitionism – of Der Rosenkavalier. Here, the orchestral score is not only as important (or as dazzling) as Strauss’s writing for voices, but it forges an unshakable bond with the glitzy costumes and sets intended to recapture the vibrant splendor and elegance of 18th-century Vienna.

The Met Opera Orchestra, under the expert direction of Edo de Waart, took Strauss’s score to a pinnacle that perhaps even the composer himself might not have imagined possible, with razor-sharp precision in the intricate wind passages and bravura horn passages that soared to the fore at all the right places. De Waart’s tempos were oftentimes brisk and daring, such as the breakneck speed of the second-act orchestral introduction, yet the players appeared to relish the challenge. Even the tarantella-like frenzy that opens Act III posed no problems, as the ensemble responded with rapid triplet passages delivered cleanly and evenly.

Details Box:

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

Dec. 19 Met simulcast: Les Contes d'Hoffmann

David Abrams — Wed, 23 Dec 2009 19:42:00 GMT

The Met’s Contes d’Hoffmann: an engaging journey from id to ego to ear

First-rate acting and singing buoys Bartlett Sher’s new production of Offenbach’s subliminal tales

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

Dec. 5 Concertante

David Abrams — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 01:24:00 GMT

First-rate chamber ensemble gets SFCM back on track

After two disappointing programs, Syracuse Friends of Chamber Music finally scores with outstanding effort by chamber sextet, Concertante

By David Abrams
http://cnycafemomus.com

In chamber music, as in sports, a team is only as good as its weakest link. As best as I could tell from Saturday evening’s Syracuse Friends of Chamber Music concert, there are no weak links to be found in Concertante.

This youthful sextet of string players has all the ingredients of a first-rate chamber ensemble – a strong and confident first violinist with a dependable high-register, firm anchoring in the lower voices (cellos), secure support in the inner-voices (second violin, violas), seamless technical command of the music and synergistic ensemble interplay among the players. Add the ingredients together and you have a powerful mix potent enough to draw the listener into the musical experience.

There is only one element missing from Concertante – the one that comes only with age: maturity. Even so, were it not for the presence of the Brahms Sextet in G Major on Saturday's program, it would have been difficult to notice any void in this ensemble’s manner of performance.

The three-work performance opened with an arrangement of Sir Edward Elgar’s Serenade in E Minor, which the composer wrote shortly after his marriage in 1892. Originally set for a small string orchestra, the present arrangement (by Ara Gregorian) loses some of the lush sound of the full-blown string section, yet retains much of the warmth and charm endemic to Elgar’s works preceding his first masterpiece, the Enigma Variations.

Concertante’s tight ensemble-work in the opening (Allegro piacevola) movement, marked by crisp entrances and graceful phrase endings, proved a harbinger of the good things to come in this brief but agreeable work. First-violinist Xiao-Dong Wang’s warm tone and sensitive lyricism in the sweetly melancholic Larghetto that followed helped corral the six players into a cohesive and focused musical ensemble. I was particularly impressed with the group’s command at the softer dynamic levels that enabled them to convey Elgar’s subdued and oftentimes idyllic moods within this movement.

The String Sextet in D Major by Erich Korngold is a lengthy and taxing four-movement extravaganza that demands considerable energy from the performers – and a great attention-span from the listener. Korngold was known principally through his Hollywood film music, for which he won several Academy Awards. Still, he longed to return to his classical roots after emigrating to the US, yet could never shake loose from his Hollywood commercial identity.

Written when the composer was only 17 years-old, the String Sextet in D Major is a curious amalgam of late-German Romanticism, Strauss-ian chromaticism, Ravel-ian neoclassicism and Impressionism – all couched within an original, individual compositional style.

The deep alto and tenor timbres of Rachel Shapiro’s viola were strikingly beautiful in the Romantic opening movement, and helped contribute to the thick and lush blend of tone achieved by the larger ensemble. The seemingly endless second (Adagio) movement, based upon a motif of a split third scale-degree that blurs the boundaries of major vs. minor tonalities, likewise tests the patience and resolve of the listener – although the level of playing was so good it hardly seemed to matter. Concertante’s sense of pitch in this movement, and indeed throughout the evening, was beyond reproach. I especially enjoyed the haunting effect of the slow glissandi passages at the end of the movement.

The third (Intermezzo) movement, which may perhaps best be described as a waltz with a twist, reveals the composer’s fascination with Richard Strauss, while the energetic writing of the Finale brought the piece to a rewarding (if not long-overdue) conclusion.

As the true successor to Beethoven in the realm of chamber music, the archetypical Classic-Romanticist Johannes Brahms requires from his players a greater depth of emotion, passion and control than any other composer known to me. Concertante’s youthful exuberance captured much of the energy and muscle in the Sextet in G Major's opening movement – which carries the bulk of the weight in this piece – but the players ultimately lacked the depth of interpretation and emotional maturity to bring this movement to life.

I was disappointed, too, that the ensemble chose to ignore the repeat of the first-movement exposition, which Brahms clearly dictates with a repeat-sign. Perhaps these young players will learn that there are no shortcuts when it comes to Brahms, and that the proper balancing of form in Brahms’ opening movements is critical to the ultimate effect of the power unleashed within the body of the work. With age comes wisdom and taste, of course, and I look forward to the time when this capable ensemble reaches a different level of "spirit" – the one that comes with 18-year old scotch, not 10-year old scotch.

The three remaining movements, perhaps because they’re not as emotionally weighty as the opening movement, fared much better. The ensemble interplay between melodic phrases and pizzicato accompaniment in the wistful second movement scherzo sparkled, and the six players tore in to the spirited Hungarian dance-like Trio with panache. There were many exquisite moments in this movement, such as the softy conveyed octave-doubling between first violin and first viola.

The poignant sensitivity of the third (Adagio) movement, a set of variations, was a microcosm of the solid ensemble-work and persuasive individual efforts that for the most part defined Concertante’s manner of performance throughout the program. From the strongly dotted-rhythmic figures to the energetic middle section, this movement proved to be the singularly most memorable moment of the evening. It also afforded the listener a good opportunity to observe Xiao-Dong Wang’s formidable talents.

It’s rare to experience a performer who is able to produce, simultaneously, a technically flawless effort and a convincing level of spontaneity. Xiao-Dong does this, and with apparent ease of delivery and execution. His only shortcoming is that, unlike first violinists of many professional string chamber ensembles, he pretty much buries his head within his own music while playing and gives little in the way of body language that could help guide the other players during the performance.

Like the preceding two movements, the fourth (Poco allegro) movement was well-executed and musically rewarding, with lots of energy and passion. I especially enjoyed the razor-sharp execution of the fugal passage between the viola and two violins.

For this performance, Concertante – which morphs in size and personnel depending on repertory and players’ availabilities – comprised Xiao-Dong Wang and Lisa Shihoten, first and second violinists, respectively; violists Danielle Farina and Rachel Shapiro (who rotate first-and-second parts) and cellists Alexis Pia Gerlach and James Wilson (who also rotate parts).

It should be noted that the handsomely designed printed program booklet incorrectly lists the opus number of the Elgar Serenade (should read Op. 20, not 22), and the program notes also give the wrong date of composition.

Details box
What: Concertante (sextet)
Where: Lincoln Middle School, 1613 James Street, Syracuse
When: December 5, 2009
Time: 1 hour and 50 minutes
Information: call (315) 446-3424
Ticket prices: Regular $20, Senior $15, Student $10
Website: syracusefriendsofchambermusic.org
Next: A Treasury of Trios, Jan. 26, 2010 at 8 P.M.

Nov. 10 Civic Morning Musicals: Recital

David Abrams — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 04:45:00 GMT

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.

Details Box:

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

Nov. 7 Met simulcast: Turandot

David Abrams — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 18:17:00 GMT

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

Nov. 7 New York Chamber Soloists

David Abrams — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 20:27:00 GMT

Nov. 7 SFCM: New York Chamber Soloists ‘not ready for prime-time’ in Syracuse return

Under-rehearsed intergenerational ensemble plays Brahms – and loses

By David Abrams
http://cnycafemomus.com

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