Pauline Viardot and Friends

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By Harvey Steiman

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.

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Hartke, Crumb, Golijov

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By Harvey Steiman

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.

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Verdi’s La Forza del Destino

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Giuseppe Verdi, October 9/10, 1813 – January 27, 1901

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.

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