Reprinted with permission from Seen and Heard - Music Web’s Live Opera, Concert and Recital Reviews.

Conductor: Patrick Summers. War Memorial Opera Houses, San Francisco, 21.6.2008 (HS)

Cast:

Ariodante—Susan Graham
Ginevra—Ruth Ann Swenson
Polinesso—Sonia Prina
Dalinda—Veronica Cangemi
Lurcanio—Richard Croft
Odoardo—Andrew Bidlack
The King of Scotland—Eric Owens
Polinesso’s Squire—Anders Froehlich

Production:

Conductor—Patrick Summers
Director—John Copley
Choreographer—Kenneth von Heidecke
Set Designer—John Conklin
Costume Designer—Michael Stennett
Lighting Designer—Duane Schuler
Chorus Director—Ian Robertson

A sensational cast delivered one terrific vocal turn after another, which is exactly what all those da capo arias need in a Handel opera that runs more than 3 1/2 hours. In San Francisco’s War Memorial Opera House, Handel’s Ariodante flew past, thanks in part to Patrick Summers’ brisk conducting, but mostly due to the vocal splendors of Susan Graham, in the title role, Ruth Ann Swenson, as Ariodante’s intended, Ginevra, and, in her U.S. opera debut, Sonia Prina, as Ariodante’s scheming rival, Polinesso.

The tale of deceit and, at least in this production, how easily men can think the worst of their women, isn’t strong enough to carry the evening. But John Copley’s directing, or perhaps believable acting by Graham and Prina, had a curious effect. As applause-worth as the singing was, at the end of most arias I actually found myself wanting to see what happens in the next scene rather than stopping to clap.

Graham’s performance was simply staggering. First of all, the tall mezzo-soprano looks like a prince in her lavish costumes, carries herself like a youthful nobleman, and sings with tremendous power and laser-like accuracy. Most impressively, she puts all these forces as much in service of character as the music. In her big Act II lament, after witnessing what she thinks is Ginevra’s infidelity, she sings the final repeat not just on her back but curled in a partial fetal position, losing nothing vocally in the process. If anything, the sound rang out even more clearly.

She seemed to gather steam as the evening wore on, like a soccer player wearing down the defense to get one open shot after another. Her Act III curtain raiser, “Cieca notte,” was a glorious stream of sound, and the climactic aria, “Dopo notte,” another tour-de-force of acting and singing. When her voice and Ruth Ann Swenson’s finally mingled in a duet after their reuniting in Act III, the sound of the moving thirds and sixths was nothing short of ravishing.

Swenson, who excels in Handel roles such as Semele and Cleopatra, shows more heft in her lyric soprano voice these days but loses nothing in the pinpoint coloratura and naturalistic-sounding trills that have always characterized her singing. Having sung sparingly in the past couple of years as she battled breast cancer, the voice has a youthful freshness and purity. Her high points included the two Act II laments, “Mi palpita il cuore” and the curtain aria, “Il mio crudel.” The gorgeous sound in the middle range, always her strong point, poured out like liquid gold.

Swenson’s sincere acting paled, however, next to the nuanced performances of both Graham and Prina, who showed herself able to create character with her voice alone. The contralto Ewa Podles was meant to sing the low-voiced role of Polinesso, but withdrew because of illness. Prina doesn’t have Podles’ rich sound, but she made up for it with some extraordinary coloratura singing. I can’t imagine anyone nailing the incessant rapid-fire triplets of “Spero per voi,” her big Act II aria, with more precision. She just tossed them off en route to a thrilling performance of the aria.

The rest of the cast featured good work by tenor Richard Croft as Lurcanio, Ariodante’s brother, and Veronica Cangemi as Dalinda, Ginevra’s lady in waiting. Both have lovely lyric voices, and if they lacked the the three stars’ power or sheet beauty, they executed their music with impressive skill. The one weak point was Eric Owens as The King of Scotland, whose vocal production sounded strained and coloratura labored uncomfortably.

Summers, playing harpsichord on some of the recitatives, conducted the modern instruments with plenty of verve and flair. The overture set the tone, with rhythmic spring and excellent transparency in the sound. The music never lagged, and time after time there seemed to be just enough variation from one repeat to the next to keep the arias lively.

John Copley, who has staged the majority of Handel operas at San Francisco over the years, mined as much naturalness as the rather stuffy story could deliver. In John Conklin’s sets, designed for Dallas Opera, several large rectangular walls, painted as dark marble and topped by crown molding, moved around to create the various spaces, and a framed area at the back changed with each scene as well. Michael Stennett’s costumes were lavish.

(Clips from the dress rehearsal can be seen and heard on San Francisco Opera’s website, sfopera.com. Click on Ariodante and then the video link.)

Although soprano Renata Scotto had sung the role of the duchess Elena previously, she arrived in Florence with a vocal presence new to her interpretation. Here she is so completely committed vocally and dramatically to the role, her singing takes on an emotional charge that she sustains throughout the work. Renato Bruson’s Monforte shows again the singer’s ability to sing every marking and note completely.  He is able to shower the role with every emotional expression Verdi demands  from his baritones. Bass Ruggiero Raimondi’s unique approach to Procida covers every piano and forte Verdi thought of giving his patriot. Raimondi’s scenes with Scotto are particularly lovely and searing; their understanding of Verdi’s intentions bring total satisfaction. Tenor Veriano Luchetti as Arrigo is not able to meet every vocal challenge as his three collegues do,  but he keeps up dramatically. He does hold up his end vocally, however, in the long and heartfelt final trio with Scotto and Raimondi. It is one of Verdi’s most unusual and musically interesting sections in an opera filled with distinctive musical flavors. Even the audience’s hearty reactions seem to follow Muti’s expert guidance. This Vespri is live opera at its most rewarding.

Gala GL 100.611 3CD 

GREAT RECORDINGS OF THE CENTURY: Giuseppe VERDI (1813-1901)

La Traviata Opera in three acts (1853)

Libretto by Francesco Maria Piave after ‘La Dame aux amelias’ by Alexandre Dumas fils

Violetta Valery - Renata Scotto (soprano) Flora Bervoix - Sarah Walker (mezzo) Anina - Cynthia Buchan (soprano) Alfredo Germont - Alfredo Kraus (tenor) Giorgio Germont - Renato Bruson (baritone) Gastone - Suso Mariategui (tenor) Barone Douphol - Henry Newman (baritone) Dottore Grenvil - Roderick Kennedy (bass)

Ambrosian Opera Chorus Chorus Master John McCarthy Band of the Royal Marines (Royal Marines School of Music) Principal Director of Music Lieut-Col. J. R. Mason Philharmonia Orchestra cond. Riccardo Muti

CD1 contains the full libretto and translations in pdf form which can be accessed from any computer equipped with CD-ROM drive and Adobe Acrobat Reader 6.0

Recorded 5-15.VII. 1980, Kingsway Hall, London

Alfredo Kraus records by permission of Carillon Records

CD1 75:00 CD2 54:06

1982 EMI records Ltd. copyright 2008 EMI Records Ltd.

EMI CLASSICS 5 096942

In Bruno Tosi’s Italian biography of Renata Scotto, he and colleague Carlo Marinelli list the soprano’s last appearance as Violetta in September 1973, in Tokyo. In the seven- year interim before Scotto recorded this Traviata with conductor Riccardo Muti in 1980, the busy Diva added a number of new roles to her repetoire: Bellini’s Norma, Verdi’s Luisa Miller, Il Trovatore, and Don Carlo, Donizetti’s Anna Bolena, Puccini’s Il Trittico and one of her most vocally-challenging roles, La Gioconda by Ponchelli. In order to appreciate the soprano’s sympathic and at times intense portrayal of Giuseppe Verdi’s emotionally complex heroine, listeners are asked to accept her vocal condition in this studio recording which shows the wear these roles took on her lyric soprano.

Before taking a closer look at what Scotto had to offer her public by taking on this role again, we can look for reasons why EMI chose to re-issue this recording as one of their Great Recordings of the Century.

The most striking element is Riccardo Muti’s conducting. Some listeners may feel that at times he drives the music a little too hard, but there is no doubt the conductor gives the tender moments their due. This is particularly evident in Muti’s way with Violetta’s introspective arias, Ah, fors’ e lui, marked Andantino in Act One and Addio del passato, marked legato e dolce in Act Three. Muti and Scotto made the choice of recording the opera as Verdi wrote it, so we get to hear both verses of each aria. Also, in the preludes at the beginning of Act One and Act Three, Muti uses the strings to show the depth of Violetta’s melancholy. On the other hand, the conductor drives the music in the party scenes emphasizing the risky, haphazard behavior that permeates the life of a courtesan. One can even hear a sliver of anger in Muti’s emotionally-laden interpretation.

Muti brought Alfredo Kraus on board to sing Alfredo Germont. Kraus and Scotto had been friends and colleagues since the 60s and two of their collaborations, around the time of this recording, were Manon in Chicago and Werther in Dallas. As in these productions, Kraus brought the same style and vocal grace to this recording. Unfortunately, the studio microphone accentuates the nasal quality his singing sometimes took on at this stage of his career, but his close artistic association with Scotto more that makes up for it. The intimate quality of their duets engenders a welcomed interpretative maturity not found in other recordings.

Renato Bruson sings with an attractive dark sound as the elder Germont even without the ardent overtones typical of Verdi baritones. Technically, however, he easily fills out each note and gives full expression to every dynamic marking; the baritone offers a complete vocal interpretation that today’s Germonts find challenging. In the Act Two duet, Bruson and Scotto create a touching scene where Violetta’s heart is broken by Germont’s request to sacrifice her love for Alfredo so that his daughter may marry without any social opprobrium. Here Bruson matches Scotto’s sympathic illumination of the the text.

Scotto’s ingrained artistic sense certainly allows her to express every emotion Verdi flooded into this character the composer loved creating. If at this point in her career, the soprano wasn’t able to command the vocal authority to cover every vocal demand, she is still able to portray the musical essence of the role. Patrick O’Connor, in his 2003 piece in Gramophone titled Dramatic Diva, said of this recording, “There are moments in this latter performance as Violetta where the rawness of her voice betrays her years…yet it is a small price to pay for the sincerity of the interpretation, and in every scene she illuminates the text with subtle insights.” If the listener appreciates the dramatic consequences of the Scotto/Muti collaboration, this recording is for you.

Reprinted with permission from Seen and Heard - Music Web’s Live Opera, Concert and Recital Reviews.

Bellini, I Puritani: Seattle Opera, soloists, cond. Edoardo Müller, dir. Linda Brovsky, set designer Robert A. Dahlstrom, costume designer Peter J. Hall, lighting designer Thomas C. Hase, Marion Oliver McCaw Hall, Seattle, 17.5.2008 (BJ)

I Puritani Act I. Photo © 2008 Rozarii Lynch

A spectacular weekend of music theater began for me with this stunning production of my favorite Bellini opera. Speight Jenkins waited until his 25th season as Seattle Opera’s general director before finding a cast that could meet the vocal demands of I Puritani, and the result was clearly worth waiting for, taking its place among the perhaps half-dozen practically flawless evenings I have experienced in the opera house over the past fifty years.

It was not only the singing that thrilled, delighted, and satisfied. On a previous occasion I was mildly critical of Edoardo Müller’s conducting, but this time his leadership was impeccable, and the orchestra played with superb elan and unfailing artistry. Jenkins’s essay in the program observed that “One does not go to Bellini for orchestration or indeed for involved orchestral composition,” which is certainly true of all the composer’s ten earlier operas, but in Puritani a new awakening of instrumental imagination is evident. All the orchestral sections did full justice to the potential of their parts, Mark Robbins’s sumptuous horn obbligato proving especially memorable in the great second-act duet for Giorgio and Riccardo, to which Geoffrey Bergler’s rousing trumpet added visceral excitement. The well-focused work of Beth Kirchhoff’s chorus was equally impressive.

As to Linda Brovsky’s direction, what happened on stage during the overture was already a pleasure to observe. Nothing happened on stage, for Ms Brovsky was content to let the overture play before a black background, unlike those many contemporary directors who have to show us how much cleverer and more creative they are than mere composers and librettists, by arranging all sorts of more or less irrelevant stage business at the point where we should be allowed the luxury of pleasurably waiting for the curtain to rise.

Norah Amsellem (Elvira) Photo © 2008 Rozarii Lynch

And when Robert A. Dahlstrom’s set was duly seen, what an impact it made! An intricate structure, darkly metallic in appearance, on three main levels, it was intersected by a variety of staircases, some wide and some narrow, some straight and some spiral. The effect was a triumph in two principal regards: vividly evoking the atmosphere of Piranesi’s “imaginary prisons,” the set unobtrusively made the point that Cromwell’s Roundheads constituted a repressive and confined society; and while it swarmed with principals and with more than fifty chorus members, it enabled the audience to spot at once every character making an entry on one of the upper levels. Thus in each case we were led to wonder what the new entrant would do, in contrast to the many occasions when, on a single-level stage, we hear the voice of a new character and have to search around to find out where it is coming from. Thomas C. Hase’s subtle lighting reinforced the sense of severity, while yet allowing everything that mattered to be clearly seen, and Peter J. Hall’s costumes, originally designed back in 1976 for the Metropolitan Opera, rang colorful changes on 17th- and 19th-century fashions to match both the English Civil-War period and the music’s romantic style.

Bellini being concerned above all with emotion and its expression through the human voice, all of these elements were ancillary to the main business of the evening–the performances of the four principals and their fellow singers. Thanks to their own talents and no doubt also to Linda Brovsky’s firm directorial hand, I never found myself thinking about any of the performers’ acting. There was none of the usual consciousness that one or other principal was more convincing than his colleagues: everyone simply was the person he was on stage to portray.

Nor, I am happy to report, was there a single weak link in terms of voice quality, technique, or stylistic command in the only one of the two casts that I had the opportunity to see and hear. In the role of Elvira’s uncle Giorgio, John Relyea’s majestic bass-baritone, formidable in sheer size and lustrous in timbre, was paired ideally with the more incisive baritone of Mariusz Kwiecien as Riccardo. As Arturo, Lawrence Brownlee, a most impressive product of Seattle Opera’s Young Artists program, delivered tenor singing of thrilling impact; he was lyrical and heroic in the same breath, fearless in tackling Bellini’s often stratospheric tessitura, and notably accomplished in his Italian diction. But perhaps, aside from enthusiastic praise for Simeon Esper’s Bruno Robertson, Joseph Rawley’s Gualtiero Walton, and Fenlon Lamb’s Enrichetta, the Elvira should be accorded the last word. Alike when she was being sane and when she was being deranged, French soprano Norah Amsellem sang with awe-inspiring virtuosity and touching truth of emotion. Her voice is as lovely as her looks, and she acts well too. As their contributions to this wonderful production brilliantly demonstrated, she and Brownlee are two young singers with already high achievements and golden futures.

Reprinted with permission from Seen and Heard - Music Web’s Live Opera, Concert and Recital Reviews.

Ireland, Vaughan Williams, Schubert, Fauré, et al: Bryn Terfel, bass baritone; Malcolm Martineau, piano. Presented by Cal Performances at Zellerbach Hall, University of California at Berkeley, 17.4.2008 (HS)

Not many vocal recitalists can hold a capacity crowd of 2,000 in rapt silence with a stage presence so casual as Bryn Terfel did Thursday night in Berkeley. He was so easy-going and friendly he might have been getting up from a dinner party to sing a few tunes to while away the evening. If there is a more relaxed performer in the sometimes stultifying world of classical recitals, it’s hard to think of who it might be.

As an opera singer, Terfel is best known for inhabiting his oversized stage roles, such as Verdi’s Falstaff, Mozart’s Figaro or Stravinsky’s Nick Shadow, thoroughly and naturally. His resonant bass baritone voice seems to pour out of him without artifice or strain, so easily that sometimes it’s dumbfounding to hear. Shouldn’t making sounds like that be more difficult than it looks?

Despite this apparent nonchalance, it was the level of detail that made Terfel’s singing so compelling in this recital. In song after song, he brought out telling nuances in the words or the vocal line. His diction in English, Italian, German—it didn’t seem to matter what language he sang—was impeccable. A hesitation here or a change of tone there, enriching the sound on one phrase and floating velvety soft lines on others, made the songs come to life and feel fresh. Pianist Malcolm Martineau seemed to be breathing with Terfel, not surprising as they have collaborated in recitals for years.

Peppering his program with casual asides and the occasional anecdote, all in his lilting Welsh accent, Terfel created a warm atmosphere that set the stage well for an eclectic program. The first half focused on English songs, mostly from the early years of the 20th century when composers such as John Ireland, Peter Warlock and Ralph Vaughan Williams followed in the wake of Edward Elgar to create melodic and distinctively English music. The second half touched on Handel, Mozart, Schubert and Fauré before returning to Britain for a set of traditional Celtic songs, arranged by Chris Hazell.

There’s no denying the heartfelt passion Terfel feels for the English songs. He was especially captivating on two early Vaughan Williams pieces. “The Roadside Fire” ends with a final phrase he sang barely above the level of audibility, yet neither crooned nor falsetto-ed. Even better were the songs that required a sense of humour, such as Warlock’s “Captain Stratton’s Fancy,” a virtual hornpipe in praise of shipboard drinking, and Frederick Keel’s “Mother Carey,” a patter song taken at breakneck tempo, that warns of the title character’s dangerous wiles. To me, these songs lacked the musical riches of other English songs from the same period, and certainly fell short of the material in the second half.

Handel’s baritone aria, “Sì, tra i ceppi” from Berenice, gave Terfel an chance to show off some florid coloratura, but the best part of the aria was the way he sketched the character’s resoluteness in the face of personal tragedy. Mozart’s gentle concert aria, “Io ti lascio, o cara, addio,” had a bittersweet quality as the legato flowed evenly.

The best music on the program came next, with a set of Schubert gems. Terfel’s approach to Schubert has an endearing naturalness, and the capacity of the voice to reach high notes and low notes without apparent strain lets the music flow and allows him play with character. In “Liebesbotschaft,” from Schwanengesang, he was a jilted lover trying to be stalwart. In “Heidenröslein,” he portrayed a pre-adolescent with a puppy-love crush. “Litanei auf das Fest Aller Seelen” found him in a reflective mood, floating out amazingly long and seamless musical lines. In “An Silvia” he clearly felt the lady in question was not quite what she was cracked up to be. In the following set of yearning Fauré songs, the highlight was the stormy “Fleur Jetée.”

To finish the program, Terfel turned to a tour of Celtic Britain, Scotland for “Loch Lomond” (which he sang andante, reminding the audience it was about two of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s soldiers, one of whom was executed), Ireland for “Danny Boy” and “Molly Malone,” and his home Wales for “Ar hyd y nôs” (All through the night). His singing was notable for its simplicity and purity of tone, but the chief delight was that he got the audience to hum the Welsh tune behind with own singing, which created a lovely effect (especially because everyone actually hummed in tune). He got everyone on their feet to sing the lusty chorus in “Molly Malone” as a finale.

For encores, he jumped into the audience for Mozart’s “Deh, vieni alla finestra” from Don Giovanni. Appropriately enough (for the womanizing Don), he delivered portions of the serenade to four different women in the course of its two minutes. He finished with a song made famous by another deep voice, the American contralto Mahalia Jackson, “If I Can Help Somebody.” The Alma Bazel Androzzo song’s chorus says, “If I can help somebody/with a word or song…then my living shall not be in vain.” Not a bad motto for a singer with Terfel’s talent and generosity.

In an interview in the Tucson Weekly a week before the U of A Opera Theater’s first performance of Dominick Argento’s Postcard from Morocco on April 4th, Charles Roe, the program’s artistic director stated that although music director and conductor Thomas Cockrell was convinced that mounting Argento’s surrealistic work would be a good step for the Opera Theater’s next venture into American Opera, Roe’s “first impression wasn’t as positive.” After all, Roe had directed two popular works in the idiom - Mark Adamo’s Little Women and Kerke Mechem’s Tartuffe - productions that were not only enthusiastically received, but artistically on the money. It’s true Argento’s opera is a favorite among many university opera programs, but the opera is filled with numerous musical tangents and vocal lines that keep the singers running up and down the scale throughout the work. Besides that, the orchestra was placed over on stage left, out of the singer’s view of conductor Cockrell. Even with stage monitors helping the performers follow Cockrell as he led them through Argento’s musical mix of Ragtime melodies, waltz tunes popping up here and there, and pieces of Richard Wagner’s Ring thrown in as a tribute to one of Argento’s favorite composers, there was a good chance this production could prove to be risky business.

Whatever the musical and dramatic complexities of Argento’s ninety minute opera were, Roe and his forces met every challenge head on. In fact, one could say, this production was one of the most well-prepared and imaginative outings mounted by the U of A’s Opera Theater.

Opera critics have defined John Donahue’s libretto as absurdist, but its slant is more obscure than improbable. Ironically, the opera’s introduction is quite clear: seven travelers waiting for a train somewhere in Morocco, each with a piece of luggage; the character development, however, does rely on the fanciful. All the travelers’ personalities are established by what they are either carrying in their suitcase or what personal item they may have. For example, the “mirror lady,” has a hand mirror in which she admires herself. The “shoe man” is never without his shoe sample kit, and the lady with a cake box misleads the others by keeping her lover inside. Roe decided to eliminate the character’s trappings by labeling each performer by vocal category thereby concentrating on the internal sensibilities of each character, which not only avoided any distracting stage traffic, but gave Argento’s musical mosaic its full dynamic impact. In contrast to many current opera directors whose theatrical ideas seem to be the only ones permitted to show up on stage, Roe skillfully guided his players into developing their own stage personalities, which allowed them to reach their potential as singing actors and blossom into full blown characterizations.

Kristin Griffeath’s Coloratura-Soprano had just the right touches in expressing her character’s concern for her looks by continually looking into her hand-held mirror while saying things that had no relationship to what was going on in the story. Adam Shelton’s Lyric Tenor portrayed his character’s fear of the unknown with body language that didn’t hide his uneasiness. Baritone Robb Harrison’s shoe salesman had the right mixture of jittery insecurity and pasted on bravado typical of many who work in that business. Mezzo-Soprano Robyn Rocklein’s imaginings as a night club singer-cum-pseudo flamenco dancer demonstrated her character’s wishful thinking for stardom. Bass Nathan Krueger disapproved of his fellow travelers’ detachment from reality only to bring a daffy comic sense to his turn as a puppet maker. Meray Boustani’s Soprano and Dennis Tamblyn’s Tenor were the only two who tried to get a grip on reality, but who could not conceal their heartbreak at not being able to embrace it. All these portrayals were complemented by Adam M. Dill’s 50’s-styled outfits whose muted colors and deftly tailored looks very much personalized Roe’s eccentric band of travelers.

Argento and Donahue also interspersed mimes throughout the story to entertain the travelers, as well as the audience. Roe sought out dancers from the UA School of Dance to expand each character’s personality at various moments in the opera, amusingly choreographed and danced by Lorie Heald and Rick Warmer. Somewhere towards the middle of Postcard, Argento composed a medley of themes culled from Richard Wagner operas with dashes of waltzes and cakewalks thrown in. During this orchestral interlude, dancers Claire Hancock and Nathan Cottam delightfully mimed a couple’s courting and subsequent marriage, in a mixture of robust acrobatics and elegant clowning.

It fell to Cockrell to synthesize all these dramatic and musical elements and ripen them into one artistic ensemble. The music director’s skill at easing his cast into all of Argento’s musical styles which in turn helped the singers deal with the composer’s demanding and sometimes erratic vocal lines, was evident throughout the opera. The cast met almost every vocal challenge and turned in vocal performances that they could be proud of regardless of an occasional vocal smudge or a stretch to reach a high note here or there.

Rounding out the production was Sally Day’s evocative set. Projected on the back wall was a large shot of a typical 19th-century train station with its slender iron structure supporting glass vaults. In front, however, was a ship’s mast with two white sails that were constructed to accompany Argento’s final musical tribute to Wagner using various bits and snatches from his opera The Flying Dutchman. Going from the train station to a sailing ship is just one of the many surrealistic ideas that inhabit Argento’s musical farrago. The sign of an outstanding opera production is giving the audience an operatic moment that it can remember long after it has left the theater. Such a moment came at the end when Dennis Tamblyn’s character rids himself of the anxiety that comes from continually waiting for something meaningful to happen and decides to sail into the unknown with a quiet sense of freedom that Argento wishes for all his travelers.

Reprinted with permission from Seen and Heard - Music Web’s Live Opera, Concert and Recital Reviews

Seattle Opera Young Artists Program, soloists, members of the Auburn Symphony, cond. Brian Garman, dir. Peter Kazaras; Meydenbauer Center, Bellevue, WA, 6.4.2008 (BJ)

Cast for L’Enfant et les sortilèges - Picture © Rozarii Lynch

I should have had more faith. The prospect of Ravel’s masterpiece of enchanted childhood set, not in a room and garden, but in a subway station was the reverse of alluring. How could it possibly achieve the ravishing effect of the transformation from room to garden, which I shall never forget from the first time I ever saw the piece staged, fully half a century ago, by the Oxford University Opera Society?

Well, Peter Kazaras, artistic director of Seattle Opera’s Young Artists Program, has worked magic before–in last season’s Falstaff, most notably – and he worked it again in this wonderful production. Eschewing the more obvious enchantments of Colette’s libretto, to focus instead on the surreal qualities of the story, he made L’Enfant more universal than ever, liberating it, as it were, from the outward trappings of one particular French-bourgeois context. The customary nursery-age infant was replaced by a rebellious teenager, and the putative animals by humans with mildly animal characteristics. It was the kind of directorial intervention that I usually find counter-productive. But Kazaras, it’s no exaggeration to say, is a genius of a director, and when he does it, it works.

A particular plus was provided by the fluid movements designed by Wade Madsen, always to the dramatic point, and often boldly athletic; Marcus Shelton’s Frog managed some especially daring leaps. And on Yoshi Tanokura’s set – like the production itself, allusive rather than literal, and atmospherically lit by Connie Yun – the program’s multi-talented young cast excelled both dramatically and musically. In the line-up I saw (the singers almost all swapped roles from one of the six performances to the next), David Korn starred as the Child, but this time I really do have to refrain from singling out any of the others, because a mere list of names would not do justice to the consistent conviction and brio of all the participants.

Cast for Gianni Schicchi - Picture © Rozarii Lynch

After intermission, Gianni Schicchi was no less delightful. Here designer Tanokura offered, in partnership with Daniel Urlie’s stylish and witty costumes, a more traditional stage picture. There were a few mischievous touches, such as the large-screen television set on which the squabbling Donati clan watched a football match, their raucous reactions reminding us that, with all their ancient culture, Italians can be as silly as the next nation. There was just enough stylized exaggeration in the cast’s gestures to bring out the satirical nature of the plot, without making too big a deal of it, so that when Ani Maldjian, as Lauretta, launched her seductive performance of O mio babbino caro, the lyrical beauty of the moment did not seem in any way incongruous. Another fine vocal contribution came from Marcus Shelton, this time in the un-froglike role of the ardent young lover Rinuccio, Leena Chopra was eye-catching as the shapeliest of vamps, and Joshua Jeremiah projected just the right combination of authority, humor, and slyness as Gianni.

Brian Garman’s conducting throughout the afternoon was highly skillful, and he drew some gleaming sounds from the string section, drawn from the Auburn Symphony, in Ettore Panizza’s orchestral reduction of the Puccini score. The Ravel did lose something of its allure by being heard in Didier Puntos’s chamber arrangement – the evocative orchestral writing of the original version was especially missed in that transformation scene – but flutist Alicia Suárez, cellist Virginia Dziekonski, and duo-pianists David McDade and Eve Legault played it with considerable artistry. And I should not wish my last words to be negative, in saluting an operatic double-bill that in every other respect was indeed both enchanting and, at the right moments, hilarious.

Reprinted with permission from Seen and Heard - Music Web’s Live Opera, Concert and Recital Reviews.

Melody Moore, soprano; Fredericka von Stade, mezzo soprano; Vladimir Chernov, baritone; Peter Grunberg, piano; Marilyn Horne, host and narrator; a salon presented by San Francisco Performances at Herbst Hall, San Francisco, 22.3.2008 (HS)

Though discerning vocal recitalists occasionally slip one or two of her songs into their programs, it’s safe to say that Pauline Viardot and her music were new to most of the audience for “Pauline Viardot and Friends.” After the 2 1/2-hour “salon,” which made as much of the 19th century singer and composer’s relationships with famous figures of her day as it did of her beautifully crafted music, they may well have fallen in love with her.

The Romantic Russian writer Ivan Turgenev certainly tumbled for her, and spent much of his life as the “trois” in a sort of ménage-a-trois that included her much older husband. As described in the script, written by Georgia Smith, this was perfectly understandable. Pauline was quite a gal. She was fluent in four languages by the time she was 4, she dazzled Liszt with her piano virtuosity at 10 (he taught her for a while), became a singer at 16 and the toast of Europe by 22.

And she wrote music, mostly songs and, after her retirement as a singer, operettas. The evening generously presented 16 of hers, including one vocal arrangement of a Chopin mazurka (which, the narration tells us, Chopin performed with her), and two by other composers to provide a glimpse of the music she performed.

As staged by Lotfi Mansouri (once general director of San Francisco Opera), Marilyn Horne settled into an easy chair to act as host and narrator, introducing the music and telling Viardot’s story. And what a story, peopled by one famous name after another. It begins with her father, Manuel Garcia, the most famous tenor of his day, now chiefly remembered for a vocal teaching method still employed by some of the world’s leading singers (including Horne), and her sister, the soprano Maria Malibran. The story then embraces a circle of friends that included Chopin, Liszt, Gounod, Meyerbeer, Saint-Saëns, Schumann, Brahms and Fauré (all of whom dedicated works to her).

Already married, she met Turgenev at 22 while singing in Russia. They got close fast. He taught her Russian. Over the years she wrote a brace of songs in Russian, sung here by the dashing Russian baritone Vladimir Chernov. She wrote mostly in French (she grew up in Paris and made her home there most of her life). Mezzo soprano Fredericka von Stade and soprano Melody Moore sang those.

Strikingly, her music seems to adapt itself to the culture of the language. If you tuned into the radio in the middle, you might think the Russian songs were by Tchaikovsky, the French songs by Fauré or Bizet, others by Schubert, but not exactly. Her music may not equal their best, but we hear plenty of songs by those composers that aren’t nearly as good.

The singers lavished much personality and impressive technique on the proceedings, ably supported by pianist Peter Grunberg, who was an equal partner in the music making. Von Stade took the lighter French fare, creating some gorgeously delicate moments with “l’Absence” and capturing the coquettish humor of “Indécision.” Chernov delivered the Russian songs with plenty of slavic angst and, in songs such as “The titmouse,” appealing delicacy. Moore, most recently an Adler Fellow in the San Francisco Opera’s Merola young artists program, held her own with these long-established singers, taking on the heavy lifting with songs that demanded tremendous coloratura and drama, such as the declamation of “Scène d’Hermione from Andromache,” Gluck’s “Divinités du Styx” and Viardot’s distinctly Schubertian dramatic song, “The Oak and the Reed.”

Horne, resplendent in a voluminous red gown and matching red coat, created a warm bond with the audience and the singers. Her personal contact with the music, having performed and recorded several of the songs, and fascination with the historical figure (she has a collection of Viardot memorabilia) made her the perfect storyteller.

She even sang a few lines, first at the behest of Chernov after he sang one of the songs in Russian that Horne had performed in German, later as part of a quartet arrangement of Viardot’s “Havanaise,” performed as an encore. The voice is still rich, warm and pinpoint accurate, at least for a few happy measures.

In a somewhat shorter version, “Pauline Viardot and Friends” debuted in February 2006 at London’s Wigmore Hall, with a reprise at Paris’ Châtelet. The French actress Fanny Ardant was host then, with von Stade and Chernov singing. Anna Caterina Antonacci was the soprano for that. A recording was released on Opera Rara.

Live on stage, Horne, Moore, von Stade and Chernov exuded personality and rapport, injecting ad libs that made the sometimes clunky script come to life. But in the end, it was the music that won over the audience.

Reprinted with permission from Seen and Heard - Music Web’s Live Opera, Concert and Recital Reviews

Hartke, Crumb, Golijov: Members of eighth blackbird; Orquestra Los Pelegrinos; Dawn Upshaw, soprano. Presented by Cal Performances, Zellberbach Hall, Berkeley, California, 1.3.2008 (HS)

American soprano Dawn Upshaw’s fierce intelligence and supple voice bring extra layers of depth and excitement to contemporary music. That was in abundant evidence Saturday night as she energized Ayre, a song cycle by the Argentinian composer Osvaldo Golijov, into exuberant existence. With help from the eclectic Orquestra Los Pelegrinos, the 40-minute performance capped off a program of highly listenable, ear-bending contemporary music that included a new piece by Stephen Hartke and George Crumb’s still-haunting 27-year-old evocation of whale song.

Ayre, which premiered in 2004, somehow melds the folk music of Jews, Christians and Arabs of late 15th-century southern Spain into contemporary orchestrations without losing their sense of authenticity. If anything, Golijov’s touch adds extra depth to their power, using electronics to bend the sound without breaking it.

The son of European Jews who migrated to Argentina, Golijov’s music makes a simple statement about how much these cultures overlap even while the actual cultures still can’t seem to find a way to live together in peace. The music all has an Oriental feel, and it fits smoothly whether the melodic source is old or Golijov’s own invention.

Some of the texts are simple folk songs or lullabies, but the centerpiece is a powerful lamentation, “Be a String, Water, to My Guitar,” which repeats the line, “Conquerors come, conquerors, go.” In that one, Upshaw speaks softly, lets her voice rise into extended melismas on Oriental scales, sometimes singing against her own recorded voice. It’s mesmerizing.

The 11 musicians sit in a horseshoe shape on a dramatically lit stage, with Upshaw prowling the middle area like a rock musician, often demonstrating close attention to instrumental soloists. The freedom of movement seemed to open up a freedom in her voice. She showed no fear of pinching it nasally for effect one moment, reducing it to a growl at another, opening it into gloriously pure, clear soprano sound for climactic moments. At no time did she sound like an opera singer slumming. Her amplified voice was in the music, and she was clearly loving it.

The contemporary music sextet eighth blackbird formed the core of the “orquestra,” supplemented by a bass player who uses electronics to modify the sound, a hyper-accordion that can make swooping sounds and a musician identified as a laptop player (Jeremy Flower, identified in the program as Golijov’s collaborator on this piece). The rich palette of sound added to the theatricality, but the defining element of this piece for me was rhythm.

It starts at the top, when Upshaw uses finger cymbals to punctuate the first song, “Dawn of St. John’s Day.” But it springs to manic life in the introduction and interludes to the sixth song, “Wa Habibi” (”My Love”), which erupts like belly-dance musicians on steroids. The contrast between these interludes and Upshaw’s sweet, heartfelt singing of the sinuous melody couldn’t have been more bracing.

To open the concert, the six members of eighth blackbird played Hartke’s “Meanwhile,” a piece they commissioned and debuted last year. Subtitled “incidental music to imaginary puppet plays,” it evokes Japanese, Vietnamese and Turkish music for the puppet theater without actually quoting anything familiar. It’s percussive music but surprisingly delicate. One unusual percussion instrument bends the sound of tiny chimes. It’s pleasant stuff, but pales in the company of the other music on this program.

Crumb’s “Vox Balaenae” dates from 1971 and coaxes unfamiliar sonorities from flute, cello and prepared piano to imitate whale song. The opening “vocalise” finds flutist Timothy Munro casting out skeins of notes punctuating by long silences that have the effect of stopping time. Nicholas Photinos picks up the thread with sliding harmonics that take a listener under the sea. Having heard whale song while diving in Hawaii, I found the effect amazingly accurate.

The stage remains dark, suffused only in deep blue lighting, and for some reason the musicians wear black eye masks. Theatricality aside, the piece has a magical quality that, in the hands of these musicians, transports a listener to another world of sound. Lesser musicians I’ve heard in other performances can’t quite bring us there.

Renata Tebaldi can be found on a number of recordings of La Forza, all of them live except one studio version on London/Decca. The soprano always had a great success with the role of Leonora both in Italy and at the Met and seemed to enjoy taking on one of Verdi’s most tormented heroines. Most times Tebaldi had no problems with any of the vocal and dramatic hurdles in her portrayal. Possibly the Italian Diva’s best rendition can be found on a performance from the Maggio Musicale Fiorentino, taped on June 14, 1953 under the baton of Dimitri Mitropoulos. His conducting is both poignant and dramatically propulsive; the famous overture is quite a vivid and full-scale interpretation.

All the performances have an inspired feeling about them due mostly to their outstanding vocal and dramatic output that on this day showed why Forza aways needs great singers to be fully appreciated.

Mario Del Monico’s Alvaro shows the vocal prowess coupled with a warm execution which his fans knew he had and can stand up to any scrutiny his detractors put forth. Cesare Siepi’s Padre Guardiano is vocally sturdy in expressing one of Verdi’s most compassionate paternal figures making the convent duet with Tebaldi an opulent experience. Both Fedora Barbieri’s cushiony lilt in her Preziosilla and Renato Capecchi’s insightful vocal acting as the cynical Fra Melitone show the overall strength of this cast. If Aldo Protti’s Don Carlo did not always express the sonority we like to hear in this role, he still made a solid contribution when needed. In 1953, Tebaldi had all the vocal and dramatic resources Leonora required, allowing her beautiful sound to ring out and completely capture all the vocal drama she loved to invest into this role.

This performance can be found on the Archipel label-ARPCD 0126 which, unfortunately, may be out of print.