Saturday, March 20, 2021

I'm a 'llegory man

It's not often I praise a radically updated production of a traditional opera.  It is also not often that I find myself sobbing and laughing at the same time while watching an opera. Saturday evening I experienced the convergence of these two unlikely events in the form of a production of Die Zauberflöte from the Macerata Opera Festival in Italy--hence the title Il Flauto Magico and the Italian names for all the characters.  As with many productions I write about recently, this was courtesy of the amazing site

Tamino and Papageno
Updated productions.  Heavy sigh.  Far too often they fail to achieve the goal that is usually stated, of making relationships and social roles more clear.  Very often they distract with their attention--or more likely inattention--to historical detail.  Much as I appreciate Jackie O style costumes for women, I've seen enough productions of Aida and Norma to understand the role relationships without the aid of a pillbox hat.  I don't need to see Marriage of Figaro on a tennis court, to quote an opera director I once interviewed.

But.  This.  Was.  Brilliant.  I was resistant at first but the production won me over.  The setting appears to be the scene of an historic site that is being sacrificed to modern business needs.  There is a camp of protesters and homeless people, and a chorus of people in all walks of life, from church leaders of many different faiths to business men to anything you can imagine.  The three doors of the Temple of Wisdom have symbols representing finance (a Euro symbol), commerce (an Apple logo), and the church (wait for it........yes, a cross!).  Not surprisingly, the door where Tamino gains entry is the door of commerce.  At points in the production the finance set piece turns around to reveal missiles--big surprise--and the church set piece reveals a huge statue of the Virgin.  Comment on that could take up another entire post, so I'll refrain.  At the very climax, the commerce (Apple logo) set piece turns around to reveal a tree.  During the trial scene, Pamina plucks an apple from the tree to share with Tamino.  Some might say heavy handed, but we live in a heavy-handed age.  (It is also worth noting that Papageno's false attempt at suicide also involves that tree.)

Papageno and Pamina

I could write about the many details that made this production brilliant, but the best way to summarize it is this:  It made me think about Die Zauberflöte, which I know like the back of my hand (have you seen the name of this blog?), in a new way.  That is indeed an accomplishment.

The singing.  Usually I lead off with the singing, but the fact that I haven't done so here is no slight to the singing I heard in this production. I shall list all the credits below and refer to each singer by character name here.  First, Tamino.  One of the most difficult tenor roles ever.  F@#$#^%$ Parsifal.  This is hard work!  Giovanni Sala was very pleasing vocally and quite equal to the unusual acting demands of the avant-garde setting.  I hope I will hear him again.  Pamina was pleasingly sung by Valentina Mastrangelo. I can't say I quite liked all the things the director asked her to do, but she was certainly a good actress.  And in all fairness, this was not a simpering Pamina who leaves one wondering just what is wrong with the girl.  Sarastro was quite commandingly sung and acted by Antonio di Matteo, attired in suit and tie like a televangelist.  (Yes, there was a suited televangelist element among the faith leaders I mention above.)  The Queen of the Night was sung very well by Tetiana Zhuravel, but I would like to have seen more madness.  (Kenneth Branagh, your movie has spoiled me for all other Queens of the Night!)  

The three gates at the Temple of Wisdom

Quibbles?  Very few once I understood what was going on.  (Program notes?  I don't need no stinkin' program notes!)  One or two vocal flaws, but this was regional/festival/young artist opera, not Covent Garden. One or two directorial choices I might want to discuss.  Nothing really worth talking about.  

In summary, I highly recommend seeking this video on if you want beautiful singing and a production that makes you think.

Following is a cast/credit list directly from the web site:

Tamino:  Giovanni Sala  

Papageno:  Guido Loconsolo

The Three Ladies:  Lucrezia Drei, Eleonora Cilli, Adriana Di Paola

Astrifiammante:  Tetiana Zhuravel

Monostato:  Manuel Pierattelli

Pamina:  Valentina Mastrangelo

The Three Geniuses:  Ilenia Silvestrelli, Caterina Piergiacomi, Emanuele Saltari

Oratore:  Marcell Bakonyi

Sarastro:  Antonio Di Matteo

Papagena:  Paola Leoci

Sacerdote / Armigero:  Marco Miglietta

Armigero:  Seung Pil Choi

Chorus:  Coro Lirico Marchigiano “V. Bellini”

Orchestra:  Orchestra regionale delle Marche

Text Fedele d’Amico (Translation):  Graham Vick, Stefano Simone Pintor (Dialogues)

Conductor:  Daniel Cohen

Director:  Graham Vick

Set Designer:  Stuart Nunn

Costume Designer:  Stuart Nunn

Lighting Designer:  Giuseppe di Iorio

Movement Director:  Ron Howell


Saturday, March 6, 2021

You ripped my heart out and stomped that sucker flat!

 You just sorta stepped on my aorta......

I quote a song popular in my youth.  (When they played music on the theorbo and viola da gamba.)  I say it because a good performance of La Traviata leaves me with exactly that feeling. I did have that feeling at the end of the La Traviata I viewed Friday evening.

Socially distanced La Traviata
Photo:  Teatro Réal
I write about a recorded performance of La Traviata I viewed on, one of my favorite opera web sites.  This came from Madrid's Teatro Réal, recorded in July, 2020.  It was a semi-staged concert performance. This seemed to be awkward at first, but in the end the performances transcended the limited performance format.  

The setting suggested La Traviata sets, with the belle epoque (if that is the correct term) furniture pieces down stage and opera chorus on platforms upstage.  The lighting design made clear the currently necessary social distancing of six feet (two meters), with stark red lines outlining squares in which each chorus member was allowed to exist. No principals touched each other. (In fact, when a footman brings a note to Alfredo in Act I, Scene II, no actual note changed hands.)  This took some getting used to.  I do, however, credit the creative team at Teatro Réal, including Director Leo Castaldi and Lighting Designer Carlos Torrijos, with creating a very effective performance that was both safe for all involved and remarkably moving for the audience.

Michael Fabiano and Marina Rebeka
Photo:  Teatro Réal
I have learned over time that when I am focused on vocal technique, I am not terribly involved emotionally.  All of the cast were fine singers, but I had the feeling that the semi-staged setting felt awkward at the start. In Act I I had thoughts like, "Oh, I've heard him sing better!" or, "She didn't take that optional high note!"  In Act III I was sobbing.  Everyone came alive vocally and dramatically as the opera grew and flowered.  Soprano Marina Rebeka, whom I did not know, grew into an amazing Violetta.  A beautiful woman with a beautiful voice, this singing actress moved me to tears more times than I can count in Acts II and III.  In the Act II party scene, after Alfredo has insulted her to the core and she is on the floor in shame and grief, Ms. Rebeka gave us a meltingly beautiful and heartbreaking appeal that touched the heart visually, vocally, and dramatically.  Michael Fabiano as Alfredo also warmed up vocally and dramatically as the evening progressed. In the party scene I mention, his regret and shame over his actions is heartbreaking, as well.  I had seen him sing Alfredo before (see this link) and I won't say this was the best singing I've heard from him, but he still had me in tears.  This is what matters.  

Baritone Artur Rucinski was a fine Germont vocally.  Of course, because of social distancing, he could not embrace Violetta as a daughter, which left one with an even stronger longing for him to do so.  I've often written that I am not of one mind about Germont as a character. Is he a controlling jackass, manipulating Violetta into leaving Alfredo and then pretending remorse (with predictable "Look how sorry I am!" comments) in the last act?  Does he develop a true affection for Violetta?  I'm not entirely sure I want complete answers to these questions, because it is questions and not answers that make compelling drama.  And God knows I loves me some drama!

The chorus and orchestra of Teatro Réal (I sort of want to continue showing off my ability to do an accent aigu on my Mac keyboard)  were of course wonderful.  Conductor Nicola Luisotti is worthy of great praise. I highly recommend watching this production.

Thursday, November 5, 2020

This might turn into another attempt at Ten Days, Ten Verdi Requiems

You Tube, in its wisdom, keeps pointing me toward ever more Verdi Requiem performances. Being part of Google, it knows that I've been watching several and writing about them. It probably knows what I had for breakfast and what my next crochet project will be.

Not a bad thing. I've seen some fine performances recently, such as the 1980 performance I wrote of. Now I shall write of two more I discovered Google found for me last night.

1989. Unnamed ensemble; Cond: Lamberto Gardelli; Kincses Veronika, soprano; Hamari Júlia, mezzo; Daróczi Tamás, tenor; Polgár László, bass.  Very fine chorus and orchestra.  Some tempi were a bit spritely, which occasionally led to what seemed to be confusion between chorus, soloists, and orchestra, but when it worked it was good to have those moments highly spirited.  Still, I prefer being able to take time to savor some moments that often are glossed over when tempi are quick. Having said that, however, I will confirm that I would choose to hear this performance again.

The soprano had a good sound but sometimes was a bit flat on top notes. This mostly went away over time, and in fact her part in Lacrymosa was quite graceful, but often she looked as if she was in pain as she reached for those top notes.  I'm sorry to report that the slow Requiem aeternam section of Libera me did not live up to expectations. The last pleading line from the soprano in Libera me was spoken, with great urgency--an interesting choice from the conductor.

The mezzo showed a fine blend between pure head voce and voix mixe in Liber scriptus and Lux aeterna. A beautiful, sensitive performance overall, but must she weave about so when she sings? The tenor (as you can tell, I'm afraid to venture these eastern European names again!)  sang with a very free, beautiful sound and a solid presence. The test piece for any tenor, Ingemisco, was quite fine.  But why was he married to his score? Isn't this music in his blood since his student days?  The bass might have been the best soloist of all, if I were forced to choose. A very good, solid Mors stupebit, superb freedom, beauty of sound and musically sensitive performance. Very well done!

Tamara Wilson

Another fine performance chosen for me by the great Google (hail be to thee, O Google!) was a 2016 BBC Proms performance by the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment and the Proms Youth(!) Choir under Marin Alsop. I like the conductor and the orchestra every much, for they gave a very fine performance, but I question the use of a youth choir, even one of such great numbers. One needs more depth and life experience in the sound. (One also needs more consistent pronunciation of church Latin.) I did occasionally espy a face that must surely have been an over-18 ringer, but overall the sound was a bit young for me.

Soloists were Tamara Wilson, soprano; Alisa Kolosolva, mezzo; Dimitri Pittas, tenor; Morris Robinson, bass.  All were very fine singers!  And I have seldom seen a quartet so fully committed, so involved in the ancient Latin text of this concert work. I once saw a review where the writer said there came a time when he had to put his pencil down and just listen--this was my experience, except that I had to stay at the YouTube tab on my browser and wait to write something in my Taminophile tab!

Morris Robinson is how I imagine a vengeful God to sound. Mors stupebit was truly terrifying!  Confutatis was a wonder.  More than the beauty of his sound, one was impressed by his unity of sound throughout his voice. Even in the highest parts, one felt this was part of one complete voice. And of course his interpretation was amazing.

Tamara Wilson. Another force of nature. A huge voice, equally unified throughout, capable of great volume and great subtlety. Huic ergo in the Lacrymosa was heavenly. And the Libera me!  Oh. My. Gawd! The same power and subtlety that had so impressed throughout displayed to the nth degree!

I consider Dimitri Pittas a friend, having met and interviewed him for a profile in Classical Singer magazine. I think it was published earlier this year. (I never got any copies of that issue. Classical Singer, step up to the plate!) I've even crocheted baby clothes for his newborn (as of Dec., 2019). A nicer fellow you will never meet, and I've always thought highly of his singing. I consider his voice a little light for this work (earlier the same year I had written that Nemorino fits him like a glove vocally), but he has that sunny, italianate sound that makes me swoon can sing anything. And indeed, his performance here is quite good.

Alisa Kolosolva is a very fine singer, but as is often the lot of the mezzo, other fine singers diverted attention she was due. She is no less a singer and musician than the other soloists, and in every passage we heard beauty and evenness of tone. (Are you beginning to see what gets me?  Beauty of sound, evenness and uniformity of tone, and interpretation. Is that so much to ask?) Her Liber scriptus and her Lux aeterna were both beautiful and showed that smooth transition between head voice and voix mixte that we wish to hear.

I have watched this video three times in the past 24 hours. I shall keep it in my play list.