tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6589076352938178472024-03-14T03:56:04.945-07:00ClassicalSpiceSpice up your life.DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.comBlogger53125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-66484459866873610342015-01-15T16:10:00.001-08:002015-01-15T21:29:22.629-08:00There are certain musical qualities that the average listener has a better feeling for than the semi-educated classical musician. It didn't always use to be this way and I don't like to make a bourgeoise distinction. But unfortunately, with the deterioration of classical music as the popular form of entertainment and the emergence of new forms of music, the result has been a loss of the physical feeling of music- the groove. Maybe we can call it the over-academisation of music. Today there is a horrible lack of feeling among some well-trained classical musicians at achieving a basic rhythm that you can bounce your head to. (I have conducted no studies. I just speak from experience.)<br />
Hip-hop musicians get it. Feeling a groove that the listener can sing along to comfortably is of utmost importance right from the start. If it doesn't have bounce, it's not good enough to inspire a rap. But of course classical music doesn't always asks for this kind of constant, stable groove. The rubato Arthur Rubinstein played Chopin Mazurkas with is a kind of flexible sense of rhythm that is on a higher plane than the topic at hand now (though related). I want to talk about a more basic feeling. I'm talking about the kind of steady rhythm in Bach's Brandenburg Concertos that makes you want to tap your foot to. The kind of whimsical rhythm that the best performances of Le Nozze di Figaro's Act II finale make you skip to with glee and forget about whatever superficial high you were contemplating earlier. The kind of rhythm to which Mendelssohn's "Scottish" Symphony makes you want to put on a long skirt and jump joyously around the kitchen. Rhythm is a basic quality that humans have. My point is that its emphasis is severely lacking in classical music education.<br />
As classical musicians, we are all taught to stay on top of the beat. If you don't anticipate, you can get behind or be late. This is for precision and more so for ensemble playing. No one likes a sloppy group. The danger, however, is becoming too mechanical, less natural. When we're playing in a groove, and to really feel that groove, we need to sit back a little. Some conductors hesitate calling it "playing behind the beat", but I really don't think they should. Something needs to be said to make you chill out, or else you'll totally miss the affect behind the music. I doubt Mozart wanted a tight-ass playing Figaro.<br />
I remember playing Son of Chamber Symphony by John Adams at Mannes and the fun we had when we were locked into the rhythm, bouncing along like Jay-Z at Madison Square Garden. It felt so cool and natural. But when the tempo changed abruptly during rehearsals, usually someone pushing foward too much, that groove was lost right away. I just do not believe that enough emphasis, in the university setting, is placed on rhythm. It's hard to teach, I know. Pitch, matching your tone, phrasing, are more tangible to explain. But rhythm, I believe, only gets better from experience. When the feeling is right, an audience knows it. They smile. They feel good. Getting this right is so important, that seriously maybe we should all start listening to more hip-hop. Lean back. Go'on brush your shoulders off.DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-39166423826954930072014-05-21T20:41:00.001-07:002014-09-04T16:07:51.743-07:00Clarinetists and the Bavarian Radio Symphony OrchestraAs a musician being trained in a top American conservatory that preaches the end goal as being an orchestra job, I am often frustrated by what this country has to offer when it comes to orchestral playing. I am a clarinetist, studying with one of the most brilliant musicians in the world, Charlie Neidich, who teaches me how to not only play the instrument, but about the expressive potential of the instrument, and about generations of music. He is a soloist, who by title must sound unique. I do not, however, believe orchestral playing should be approached any differently. When I go hear the New York Philharmonic, the Met Opera Orchestra, or visiting European orchestras, I am usually disappointed by the lack of expressive playing by the clarinets. Clarinetists, especially in this country, I find, are obsessed with achieving the darkest, velvetiest tone. Oh, how beautifully pure his tone was! It's like silk! So round! Comments like that are not only bullshit, but they contribute to the image of classical music as being pretty, perfect, stuffy, and never offensive. Some wind players talk about your sound existing within a box. It can move, but never outside the lines. In my opinion, the obsession with conformity leads to everyone trying to sound like Ricardo Morales (no offense) and forgetting about themselves. People streamline their education so hard that they forget about the music.<br />
Brahms loved Richard Mühlfeld's sound, which included vibrato (gasp!), Copland was inspired by Benny Goodman, who was an energized acrobat on the instrument, and Mozart was friends with Anton Stadler, who was busy constantly reinventing the instrument. If each of these clarinetists had tried to sound mainstream, Brahms's Clarinet Sonatas, his Trio, and Quintet, Mozart's Clarinet Concerto, his Quintet, Copland's Clarinet Concerto- pieces that our world today would be worse off without, would never had been written. If these three clarinetists had played conventionally, the composers would never even have taken notice.<br />
I recently heard the amazing Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra in two concerts at Carnegie Hall. Their oboist, Stefan Schilli, completely blew me away. His musicality during the Don Juan solo was overwhelming. American oboists would have probably said that he opened up his sound too much, or that he was slightly flat in this one part. But what's more important, playing robotically or yearning with your heart?! It was audibly and visibly evident that this orchestra loves their jobs. They moved like a chamber ensemble in love with their colleagues. Not to mention, their conductor Maris Jansons must be quite the inspiration. They made the music sound fresh and alive.<br />
But back to boring clarinet playing. The question no one has been able to convincingly answer me is, why has orchestral clarinet playing evolved in such a conventional way, void of the expressive potential that is allowed of say the oboe or violin in the orchestra? (I have heard stories about music directors asking their rebellious clarinet players to cut-out the vibrato). It's not just vibrato, either. It's about restricting the overall musicality.<br />
Is the model of streamlining your sound sustainable in an age when orchestras are struggling to maintain relevancy in their growing communities? When they are struggling to stay exciting? Things are already pretty desperate when we need to throw a marijuana evening at the symphony in order to connect with a younger audience, alla Denver Symphony. Maris Jansons, Stefan Schilli and the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra made me feel like the music was enough and really really cool.<br />
<br />
DGVDGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-31007111912784302162011-05-10T19:45:00.000-07:002011-05-15T20:33:25.877-07:00The Met's Superficial WälkureNo new production at the Met this season has enjoyed as much hype as Robert Lepage's new <i>Der Ring des Nibelungen</i>. A daunting task for any opera company to undertake, (and one guaranteed to garner respect for smaller companies), this new production is to be premiered over two seasons, and is the most expensive ever developed, for any opera, by the Met. Some can say it is part of the Met general manager, Peter Gelb's new vision of appealing to a broader and younger audience. This is a logical aspiration if our culture is to seriously consider the survival of opera as an art form, beyond the gray heads currently pervading the audience. But that was a worry in the 1950s as well, and somehow opera found a home among the baby-boomers. Now it is our turn, and it just warms my heart to see so many educated homosexuals at the Met. So appealing to a broader audience is a nice if not urgent idea, just so long as it doesn't cheapen the art form.<div>Problems with going too contemporary too fast tend to arise when a new director is more focused on showing off his/her concept than he/she is on the former enhancing the aged musical drama we all love. When done properly and with care, we are reminded that these beautiful old works of art can still come alive on stage, today. A new production must serve an opera the way costumes serve a movie. For maximum effect, they do not detract attention, but instead augment the drama. A good costume designer knows not to flaunt his work above the plot. The music is the most important aspect of opera, and if the visual does not augment the aural, going to opera live would be a very stilted experience. After seeing <i>Das Rheingold</i> and <i>Die Wälkure</i>, it is clear that Mr. Lepage does not understand this hierarchy.</div><div>For his new production of <i>Wälkure, </i>he was much more focused on showing off his new 45-ton, rotating, creaky, expensive set, then having it augment the most beautiful moments handed to him by the music. The first act started on the right note when the planks of his "machine" (as the set is called by the cast and crew) slowly rotated into a forest formation, each representing a tree - the woods through which Siegmund is fleeing his attackers. This gradual formation, accompanied by the fleeting music was actually quite beautiful. But then the "machine" continued rotating upwards, forming the roof of Hunding's house. In doing this, it exposed the black rehearsal floor below. If I were sitting in the orchestra, it wouldn't have been so obvious, but from the balcony it was just blatantly ugly, and baffling considering how expensive this production is. Couldn't they blow some fog over it, or something? For the majority of act 1, most of the action took place upstage, hidden underneath this roof contraption. The result was a muffled sound from the singers, which made this emotionally charged music sound distanced and anything but intimate. Why didn't Mr. Lepage choose to use the exposed downstage part of the "machine" until the third scene? When Sieglinde and Siegmund finally moved onto it and out from the mess upstage, I was reminded that they in fact have great voices after all. Jonas Kaufmann sounded like a brave hero as Siegmund, if he at times pushed his voice; while Eva-Maria Westboek rightly existed in emotional turmoil as Sieglinde, even though her voice was often times covered by the enormous orchestra. In regards to blocking, it seemed like during the most of this act, directions were either non-existent or corny and superficial. There was hardly any acting creativity in relation with the music, and when there was, it just looked like a soap opera. I should have just closed my eyes and enjoyed the music.</div><div>The second act was redeemed, primarily because of Stephanie Blythe's ravishingly huge and expressive voice. Playing Wotan's wife, Frika is wheeled onstage atop her throne, over a wave-like, earth-shattering set formation. But more earth-shattering, like 9 magnitude level earth-shattering, was her voice, which was suitable for her godess character. Every phrase Ms. Blythe sang seemed to tell a story of anguish, and she was the only singer of the evening who really pulled the audience closer in. I'm sure I wasn't the only person out there tempted to break into applause when she finished singing about the importance of commitment and age-old values. But no, this ridiculous thing we call convention somehow makes is okay to shout continuous strands of "Bravo!" after an Italian aria, while during a five hour Wagner opera it is sacrilegious. I know that fits with the total emersion expected from audiences during Wagner's <i>Gesamtkunstwerk </i>(total art form), but we should really be allowed some leeway when not at Bayreuth.</div><div>The second scene from act II can be seen as a musical conversation between orchestra, Wotan, and Brünnhilde. The music is incredibly poignant in its intimacy, contrary to many's perception of Wagner being this overbearing and daunting composer. Wotan is talking about the time of the gods coming to an end, a time of which he was the leader. After recounting his past honors, he agonises that it is time for a new era. "Let all I raised now fall in ruins! My work I abandon; one thing alone do I want: the end - the end!" Everything Bryn Terfel (Wotan) uttered this evening fit perfectly with a soul-bearing God. Deborah Voigt (Brünnhilde), on the other hand, seemed to be struggling to match him in vocal intensity. But once warmed up, she too was living in the anguish. (Never mind that her cheesy costume made her look like a Power Ranger). After the presentation of Frika, Mr. Lepage chose to make no major set changes or blocking decisions until the scene when Siegmund is killed. Just to back up a second, Mr. Lepage convinced the Met to fund this record-breaking "machine" set that seems to have so many uses of potentially beautiful designs. So why doesn't he change it up a little more frequently? When Wotan is recounting the history of the world, Mr. Lepage introduced the most ridiculous orb (or eye?), upon which projections appeared that had more in common with the Lord of the Rings than with Wagner's intimacy. Again, I should have just closed my eyes.</div><div>The start of the third act was a clever, if slightly goofy use of the "machine". For the introduction of the Valkures, all eight warrior sisters ride in on their horses. Except each horse here was a separate plank from the "machine". While it got applause from the audience, it seemed to be inhibiting the singers, who were more worried about holding on than projecting their voices. On opening night, one of them actually fell off.</div><div>The music towards the end of the third act has a much more forward propelling motion. Wotan is after all about to banish his favorite daughter. The way the music seems to flow in huge waves here makes it very easy for tears to pour down your face. Mr. Levine did a gorgeous job in projecting this beauty. The static manner in which he directed the first act was very different from the way I am used to hearing it - with more momentum like the Solti recording. None the less, it was captivating.</div><div>For the finale, Wotan encircles Brünnhilde with a ring of fire that only the bravest of heros should pass through. Mr. Lepage here hung a stunt-double of Brünnhilde from a cross-formation. It was a beautiful moment, if a bit too religious for me and probably Wagner as well, and it would have been nicer to see Ms. Voigt onstage instead, at the end of this beautiful conversation between father and daughter.</div><div>In case Mr. Lepage hasn't realized, opera is a little "deeper" than Broadway, or the circus. If my comments seem harsh, it's because after all, this is <i>Der Ring des Nibelungen.</i> The music is just too beautiful to tollerate injustice. If he keeps relying on these superficial special effects next season for <i>Siegfried</i> and <i>Götterdämerung</i>, the new emerging Met audience of educated homosexuals might just have to bitch-slap him. Welcome to the major leagues, Mr. Lepage.</div>DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-73072351339626395682011-04-19T17:23:00.000-07:002011-04-20T21:51:35.678-07:00James Levine and Diana Damrau<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLRnqFIElhW-JWbkv-mk6NpIIitUmehLxa34hxYXW7n9rOitt0I78a0EUWX16hO19iywl88pf_DOuL4aYA0phiJU6yzWcrSBJW1lnp66Yfn9I54FbpCziHUMrwAIlB6xnD8kPKEHMOgIo/s1600/levine1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 331px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLRnqFIElhW-JWbkv-mk6NpIIitUmehLxa34hxYXW7n9rOitt0I78a0EUWX16hO19iywl88pf_DOuL4aYA0phiJU6yzWcrSBJW1lnp66Yfn9I54FbpCziHUMrwAIlB6xnD8kPKEHMOgIo/s400/levine1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597894703788955906" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitvEn5wUMDQXAxV8PPHHC0q18JHqrALIA4QEOJZ8Nb07S-6eelPUcDLoKFGw9HBx0gREk6PM8bcJwjKAZTyIR4CnUsCpeaEDEkOegq6menH79AvkkYdQlM7j-n0rvnW2Bdi_ocvwYv9ZI/s1600/damrau-2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 324px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitvEn5wUMDQXAxV8PPHHC0q18JHqrALIA4QEOJZ8Nb07S-6eelPUcDLoKFGw9HBx0gREk6PM8bcJwjKAZTyIR4CnUsCpeaEDEkOegq6menH79AvkkYdQlM7j-n0rvnW2Bdi_ocvwYv9ZI/s400/damrau-2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597894697096029122" /></a><br />Over the past two weeks, two artists, in their respective engagements at the Met, have stood out for their brilliance. Ms. Damrau stared as the Countess in Rossini's Le Comte Ory, opposite Juan Diego Flórez and Joyce Di Donato. Mr. Levine ran Wozzeck, like nothing less than a king, in the pit.<div>To have a Rossini cast with these three singers is an impressive feat by itself. Mr. Flórez is as best as Rossini tenors come. His high notes are packed with precise energy that resonates unhinged throughout the house. Ms. Donato is a power-house bel-canto mezzo, whos tone is really close to shinny gold. Ms. Damrau, on the other hand, has all these vocal highlights required of a star (for years, her calling card was the Queen of the Night, okay?), but she also combines them with a nuanced and outrageous stage performance. It is almost as if she takes the stage directions only as a starting point, and then just luxuriates them to the point of ridiculous entertainment. In a comic opera like Le Comte Ory, she consistently reminds us why the opera buffa tradition had the same purpose as contemporary Broadway musicals do- it is approachable by just about anyone and it is hilarious when done right. Last season I saw her in La Fille du Régiment, and have never laughed harder at an opera. She consistently shines, bounces around, resonates, and is never ever stagnant.<div>Maestro Levine, despite his recent ailments and cut-back schedule, still brings enough punch to the orchestra and the singers to shut up the critics who say he's old. In everything I've ever seen him conduct, his fresh energy and tender humanity would make anyone listening to the recording think he was 25. There is a reason he attracts to much respect in the opera world- the affect just doesn't get better than when he is in the pit. A while ago I wrote that the deep level of connection he makes with his musicians must be something magical. With Wozzeck, this shit just became divine.</div></div>DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-63564393907036595692011-04-12T21:52:00.000-07:002011-04-12T22:08:49.484-07:00Wozzeck- less than 24 hours"Wozzeck is an authentic renewal of the German tradition of symphonic drama. The five scenes in each act play continuously, linked by interludes, and organized by leitmotifs and recurrent harmonies. And while Berg perfected the hypermodern idea of symbolic characterization ('Captain', 'Doctor', 'Drum-Major', etc.), his musical portraiture is as fine and precise as anything in German opera since Mozart. The humanizing of the potentially subhuman Wozzeck and Marie through the music they sing is one of the great miracles of 20th-century theatre."<br />-New Penguin Opera Guide<br /><br />Oh my freekin' GOD. I can't wait for tomorrow's performance...DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-70011881118903998422011-04-06T05:59:00.000-07:002011-04-06T06:50:33.619-07:00The Awesome Sound of Dorothea RöschmannThis past Sunday I bought a last minute ticket to see the soprano, Dorothea Röschmann in concert with the countertenor, David Daniels. The program was all Handel, and they sang it beautifully, touching the audience with outpours of emotion and clarity. Their level of musicianship seemed to take the audience by surprise - the level of applause and cheers steadily roze with each aria or duet, and no one wanted to let them leave after the third encore. I have been in love with Ms. Röschmann's voice for a while now, as I practically made a pilgrimage to Salzburg this summer to see her in Don Giovanni. She has the emotional fragility of Maria Callas, as she fully embodies her characters. This is somebody who touches that place deep down inside you, (sorry, Ms. Fleming). On Sunday I seemed to be pulled out of consciousness every time she sang, not simply marveling at her astonishing technique and full voice, but believing for a second that she was the goddess she looked like.<div>Ms. Röschmann has had an entirely Mozart run thus far at the Met, starting in 2003 with the Countess in Figaro, the following year as Pamina in Julie Taymour's new Magic Flute of 2004, Ilia from Idomeneo in 2006, and as a last minute step-in as Donna Elvira in Gon Giovanni in 2008. I hope somebody from the Met was at the concert this past Sunday. She reminded New Yorkers that Mozart is not her only calling card, and that her career shows no signs of waning. Anyone who can mesmerize an audience like she did deserves to have the opera world at her feet.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="640" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/jtW2Jx3O9yA" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="640" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/x_h3gDBgWPQ" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-81126512572527456382011-03-29T10:18:00.000-07:002011-04-01T21:00:21.857-07:00Renée Fleming and Capriccio<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqGnhepWd0avHMuQwJcoR29zl0N2Q8tR0QKS1lG-IZOJuFko65nYNhHfrGM1coxTybWgsZ6EgyW9rrX7EWoVJ8YfxBJe7oVNwYIF14dwkqrxke26rK5d0LANAxsUiJZRbRi4D391xoUXo/s1600/Fleming+Capriccio+dress.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 291px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqGnhepWd0avHMuQwJcoR29zl0N2Q8tR0QKS1lG-IZOJuFko65nYNhHfrGM1coxTybWgsZ6EgyW9rrX7EWoVJ8YfxBJe7oVNwYIF14dwkqrxke26rK5d0LANAxsUiJZRbRi4D391xoUXo/s400/Fleming+Capriccio+dress.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590669933217414802" /></a><br />When Renée Fleming had her tour de force Met opening night gala of 2008, there could no longer be a doubt as to her standing as our great American opera diva. She is the first woman and only the second singer in Met history to headline an opening night. For the unprecedented evening she sang selections from <i>La Traviata, Manon, </i>and the final scene from <i>Capriccio</i>. Critics seemed to think that the later was her best, and everybody hoped for more to come. Last night our dream came true when Ms. Fleming sang in the full length opera. From start to finish, she seemed to feel right at home in this luxuriously decadent, serene, and musically sensitive work. It is obvious that she loves singing Strauss; not only does her voice so effortlessly melt into the orchestral texture, but she rolls around in it, blooming every chance she gets. One would be hard pressed to find a better match for the fabulous Countess than this diva.<div>The kind of respect and excitement Ms. Fleming generates with whatever project she takes on demands sincere admiration and respect. She is as mainstream a star as opera singers can become, for which the closeted opera world should be eternally grateful. Naturally, I get excited when she comes to the Met. Unfortunately, she has yet to rock my socks off. Last month, she employed the same vocal style she does in Strauss to <i>Armida</i>, which ended up making Rossini sound a little bit too luscious with not enough bite. For such a technically precise, direct, and light style as bel-canto, her velvety and buttery voice just sounded awkward.<div>Some people complain that Ms. Fleming's voice often remains at a distanced, static emotion; that it lacks a certain intensity of direction on a literal communication level. Take as a contrast Maria Callas, whos emotional sharpness still seems to rip at ones heart today, even through a pair of headphones. Most of the times I've seen Ms. Fleming, I end up pulling at strings, trying to fall in love. But obviously, falling in love cannot be forced. Capriccio and late Strauss in general are such a beautiful fit for her because directional clarity is not as urgent. There is a lot more bathing in ones own sound, which she does oh so well. For me, the sustained pleasure she produces is rather like taking a slow bite from a chocolate moose cake. You don't necessarily feel rejuvenated afterwards, but the instant gratification makes the experience worth it...maybe. My date for the evening seemed completely uninspired. There was a certain drama missing from his usual night at the opera.</div><div><div><i>Capriccio</i> was Strauss's last opera. It premiered in Munich in 1942, at the height of World War II. The plot centers around the age-old debate about which is more important- words or music, (<i>Prima la musica, Poi le Parole)</i>. This idea for an opera had originated between Strauss and his librettist at the time, Stefan Zweig. After the death of Strauss's longtime collaborator, Hugo con Hofmannsthal, in 1929, Strauss managed to find an equally vibrant partnership with Zweig. Their original plan was to present <i>Capriccio</i> first, posing the eternal question, and then to follow it with their "answer"- the mythological subject of <i>Daphne</i>. Because Zweig was Jewish, their close association was eventually forced to take on an intermediary, the aryan theatre historian Joseph Gregor. Where Zweig was a creative artist, Gregor was an academic, and Strauss became consistently frustrated with his new partner. Fortunately, Strauss had already been discussing the opera with a friend, the conductor Clemens Krauss. Krauss took over the half completed project, but evidently a fair share of the final libretto is by Strauss himself.</div><div>The original idea of pairing <i>Capriccio</i> with <i>Daphne</i> was now thought to comprise too long of an evening, so Strauss came up with a better idea. Halfway through <i>Capriccio</i> the audience learns that what they have been listening to all along is in fact the "answer" to this eternal debate between words and music: <i>Capriccio</i> itself, is the balanced work of the composer, Flamand, and the poet, Olivier. Strauss then uses these two paradoxical characters as the main love bait for the Countess. In the final eloquent scene, these are the two sides that she is debating, portrayed literally as which person she should fall in love with, and figuratively with obviously much broader implications. It is a conundrum that Strauss so beautifully presents as his final oeuvre.</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>(The picture above is from the 2008 <i>Capriccio</i>. I like the dress better than her new one.)</div>DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-83779828594775621662011-01-26T09:28:00.001-08:002011-01-26T11:58:35.539-08:00Go see Nixon in China!Don't really like opera? It can be a little difficult to relate to, i know. Is it because you can't understand what's going on and it all just seems laborious? Fair enough... but there is a cure! The Met is putting on a production of John Adams's <i>Nixon in China</i>, directed by the brilliant director, Peter Sellars.<div>It's about modern American history! How more monumental of a contemporary subject can we get than Nixon opening up US/China relations? (Well okay, an opera about the Cuban missile crisis would be awesome, but that probably won't happen for a while). Pretty fabulous if you ask me. And to top it off, the opera's in English :)</div><div>There should be more buzz surrounding the event, given that both countries are now the two largest economies in the world... and that Obama just held a state dinner for Hu Jintao... and that Michelle's dress was gorgeous!</div><div><br /></div><div>Alex Ross explains in his book, <i>The Rest is Noise,</i> why Americans should be so excited about this opera :</div><div><i>"Nixon in China</i>, Adams's first opera, brings about an even more dramatic transformation of European form. Nothing seems more inherently unlikely than the idea of a great American opera - possibly the greatest since <i>Porgy and Bess</i> - based on the events surrounding President Richard Nixon's visit to China in 1972. When the director Peter Sellars first proposed the subject, Adams assumed he was joking. At the premiere, which took place at the Houston Grand Opera on October 22, 1987, many critics thought the same. Yet Sellars knew what he was doing. By yanking opera into an a universally familiar contemporary setting, he was almost forcing his composer to clean out all the cobwebs of the European past. Adams also had the advantage of an extraordinary libretto by the poet Alice Goodman. Many lines come straight from the documentary record - the speeches and poetry of Chairman Mao, the fune-spun oratory of Prime Minister Zhou Enlai, the convoluted utterances and memoirs of Nixon - but they coalesce into an epic poem of recent history, a dream narrative in half-rhyming couplets."</div><div><br /></div><div>So okay, mom. I know you are considering coming up to NYC for a weekend. And don't get me wrong, I do love our dinner/broadway/Silvio Rodriguez outings. But if there's a glimmer of hope in you enjoying an opera, this is it. Come on.... just do it. Don't worry, I won't make you stand.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><iframe title="YouTube video player" class="youtube-player" type="text/html" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/5Tv3hrZmcEk" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-69166733455660121652011-01-18T10:18:00.000-08:002011-01-18T11:28:20.512-08:00A Goldberg Variation for the Day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0PklEIxH53vKjQc6AClFcso0FiKcvVCpGxY2ZeTWPrprw_rEbDVOJlYFOrYBIxx0FLHViLsfyrGB1fj6OAxhbwvV7LVapI8icA0ANnlki0fpKeauyjjsI4DA0VGTFDj4kLDoZFdtdpCQ/s1600/Goldberg+28.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0PklEIxH53vKjQc6AClFcso0FiKcvVCpGxY2ZeTWPrprw_rEbDVOJlYFOrYBIxx0FLHViLsfyrGB1fj6OAxhbwvV7LVapI8icA0ANnlki0fpKeauyjjsI4DA0VGTFDj4kLDoZFdtdpCQ/s400/Goldberg+28.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563607768512213506" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifkmvXouj0tv78Dk5rXcj3PG4ZXI-N3Rpsyqm6Weo_0lR9VyL1Q43I7hERo8rsqUy83I7lmM6Z_rWgQQAX2Kmu_gpN6bloV5-jcEejLlmA7WMShn1ZvAzh59eVbV4a_se6hpWioO04A9Y/s1600/Goldberg+28+b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifkmvXouj0tv78Dk5rXcj3PG4ZXI-N3Rpsyqm6Weo_0lR9VyL1Q43I7hERo8rsqUy83I7lmM6Z_rWgQQAX2Kmu_gpN6bloV5-jcEejLlmA7WMShn1ZvAzh59eVbV4a_se6hpWioO04A9Y/s400/Goldberg+28+b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563607768597442418" /></a><br />I have found the musical representation for this wet, nasty, freezing rain/snow going on outside. It is not dreary or miserable (as I would certainly be if I were stuck outside in this mess), but instead very cozy, like I am now in bed, just looking out through the window. It is Variation 28 from Bach's Goldberg Variations.<div><br /></div><div>In 3/4 and two voices, it is reminiscent of a dream sequence. The eighth note progression is a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chaconne">chaconne</a>, and over that are these twinkling thirty-second-notes. The twinklings are not particularly melodic, as each flourish is between just two notes, but latched onto the eighth-note chaconne, the whole thing has a forward propelled, scurrying feel. We are occasionally brought out of this dream world by the grounded sixteenth-notes, played by both hands and in inversion from one another (ex. bar 9).</div><div><br /></div><div>Listening to this from inside looking out with a cup of hot tea in my hands is oh, so cozy. You should try it...really.</div><div><br /></div><div>I also can't get this image out of my head of a man in a business suit running through central park on a day like today because he's late for a meeting. He's holding a briefcase over his head, trying to shield himself. He pauses momentarily under an awning to rest and get his bearings (bar 9), but a biker zooms by and splashes him. At the end, he finally arrives at work, soaking wet but out of the madness.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yup, I'm sure that's what Bach had in mind...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Happy listening :)</div><div>(Variation 28 starts at 8:15 in the clip below.)</div><div><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" class="youtube-player" type="text/html" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/drxiZLlLdWk" frameborder="0"></iframe></div>DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-62213821277857814372011-01-07T16:42:00.000-08:002011-01-07T18:44:13.981-08:00The Met's? Really?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6MlQiSeR76pZ8ql7h0Av1G4j7rljXQhPRHJE5bqe71hepuirKohIXo0Py8bz_Pe_HnSq7_L30MHt4jslJ1BqjDIcelfvfjj7h0q-zbsD1E1JT_vjlOAQpnrsRdamFwi1G2yRf00jzpwU/s1600/netrebkolatraviata.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6MlQiSeR76pZ8ql7h0Av1G4j7rljXQhPRHJE5bqe71hepuirKohIXo0Py8bz_Pe_HnSq7_L30MHt4jslJ1BqjDIcelfvfjj7h0q-zbsD1E1JT_vjlOAQpnrsRdamFwi1G2yRf00jzpwU/s400/netrebkolatraviata.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559619184688063954" /></a><br />This week the Met premiered a "new production" of <i>La Traviata</i>, directed by Willy Decker. The exact same production was actually premiered over five years ago at the Salzburg Festival, staring the romantic duo Anna Netrebko and Ronaldo Villazon. It was a smash hit that year, in 2005, and was considered to have given <i>Traviata</i> a strap-on. Netrebko and Villazon sounded amazing and looked sexy.<div>Last week the production was imported, with different singers, as the Met's dramatic replacement for the stale Zeffirelli <i>Traviata</i>, that dominated the house for over a decade. Peter Gelb (the Met artistic director) obviously intended to make a stark contrast between then and now, but the fact remains that this is not new art and certainly does not belong to the Met, (contrary to Anthony Thommasini saying in the New York Times that "this is an involving and theatrically daring production that belongs to the Met"). They paid to import a production that had already proven to be an artistic success elsewhere. For an institution that is considered by many as the leading opera house in the world, imported art is lame. Come on. This production is radical, sensual, and minimal, but get your own.</div><div>I have included a picture of Anna Netrebko in the NEW production of <i>La Traviata</i> at the 2005 Salzburg Festival.</div>DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-38648130255834069592011-01-04T07:30:00.000-08:002011-01-04T11:05:21.763-08:00Translation or Poetry?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn4QKcX8rrcJ4v4Qox3naFMeUyzRTB2ijhlHUb0ZNKcFtD4tLy-t8SRhIB0IEk-LWnzHjXoSPWg2eM_FM87BbPIus2ShaU4eeigG-mH7uN3wY4PNKWe1ZKFS7BMOxBhR1-u16uUEgK9mg/s1600/JD+McClatchy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 269px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn4QKcX8rrcJ4v4Qox3naFMeUyzRTB2ijhlHUb0ZNKcFtD4tLy-t8SRhIB0IEk-LWnzHjXoSPWg2eM_FM87BbPIus2ShaU4eeigG-mH7uN3wY4PNKWe1ZKFS7BMOxBhR1-u16uUEgK9mg/s400/JD+McClatchy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558392188571501970" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwEst5iZMerYRwxF-yPlK7YmaPUTAXDgDhpc0qXgDN-Ba9phfRPYApzN1FdqTlJUSrPvj_mVsTwQw8zysukazJBoOO6z27XhyALGQLyuNMiYP12s-kehBeSuPUanpX7g2A7GxrVlKZKzk/s1600/dove.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 339px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwEst5iZMerYRwxF-yPlK7YmaPUTAXDgDhpc0qXgDN-Ba9phfRPYApzN1FdqTlJUSrPvj_mVsTwQw8zysukazJBoOO6z27XhyALGQLyuNMiYP12s-kehBeSuPUanpX7g2A7GxrVlKZKzk/s400/dove.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558391857190647490" /></a><br />I'm not exactly a poet, but I do appreciate the beauty of words strung together in an artful and rhythmic manner. Operas are often times translated literally. That's just the easiest way for an audience to understand what is going on, on the most basic level. These are the translations most often used for supertitles, CD jackets, and printed librettos handed out to an audience. But relying on these steril translations completely ignores all the time that the librettist, who is really a poet, spent on composing the text. We often only associate composers with opera, relegating the librettists to the sidelines. But the librettist was(is) the most important artistic partner a composer has throughout an opera's development. Consider the partnerships of Mozart/Da Ponte, Strauss/von Hofmannsthal, Verdi/Piave then Boito. Each of these produced some of the greatest operas in the repertoire today. It is obviously the music which brings these text alive, hence musical drama, but we ought not forget the poets. They take great care in structuring a text to have a certain number of syllables per line, depending on the music's meter, while at the same time rhyming and giving the phrases emotional depth. We, as an audience, cheat ourselves out of experiencing this magical marriage of words and music by remaining complacent, satisfied with unartistic translations.<div>J.D. McClatchy's new book <i>Seven Mozart Librettos</i> is a verse translation of Mozart's mature operas. It is the most reassuring hope English translations have of matching the poetry of the original. What McClatchy does not do is maintain the musical meter, making this book unusable for performance. But by twisting the literal meaning occasionally (never deviating too far away), he makes the lines rhyme and come alive with imagery. Opera translation is finally actually a libretto again.</div><div>Lets take as an example the aria <i>Dove Sono</i> from <i>Le Nozze di Figaro</i>. The original Italian by Lorenzo da Ponte is rhymed with a specific number of syllables per line. You can almost feel the rhythm when speaking them...</div><div><br /></div><div>Dove sono i bei momenti</div><div>di dolcezza e di piacer,</div><div>dove andaro i giuramenti</div><div>di quel labbro menzogner?</div><div>Perché mai se in pianti e in pene</div><div>per me tutto si cangiò,</div><div>la memoria di quel bene</div><div>dal mio sen non trapassò?</div><div>Ah, se almen la mia costanza</div><div>nel languire amando ognor,</div><div>mi portasse una speranza</div><div>di congiar l'ingrato cor!</div><div><br /></div><div>The literal English translation, naturally, totally ignores the rhyme and meter. It goes something like this...</div><div><br /></div><div>Where are those happy moments</div><div>Of sweetness and pleasure?</div><div>Where have they gone,</div><div>Those vows of a deceiving tongue?</div><div>Then why, if everything for me</div><div>Is changed to tears and grief,</div><div>Has the memory of that happiness</div><div>Not faded from my breast?</div><div>Ah! if only my constancy</div><div>In yearning lovingly for him always</div><div>Could bring the hope</div><div>Of changing his ungrateful heart!</div><div><br /></div><div>Here is McClatchy's version...</div><div><br /></div><div>Where are they now, the vanished days,</div><div>The moments of pleasure's afterglow?</div><div>Where are the vows, the murmured praise</div><div>Spoken by that liar so long ago?</div><div>Why, if sweetness turns to regret,</div><div>If every hope becomes a grief,</div><div>Why is it still I cannot forget</div><div>The love that vies with disbelief?</div><div>If only my waiting, my long endurance,</div><div>The patience that true love imparts,</div><div>Could bring the slightest reassurance</div><div>Of changing his ungrateful heart!</div><div><br /></div><div>There is rhyme, a meter, and imagery, just like the original Italian. It is poetry! Too bad the meter is not the music's. The thing is, McClatchy HAS proved he can translate to a performable version. The current abridged English version of the The Magic Flute at the Met is his own. And it is a success! Was doing the same for all Mozart's mature operas too daunting?</div>DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-8944996219751326552011-01-02T10:31:00.001-08:002011-01-02T18:18:07.643-08:00Figaro Overture<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge9y-SUTRnUqg7hqL7UsCgmtge1fIOzUiaFKWFrKPlYnSKTpjlt1lv4L45_D-ZtgFqJcZApqkOPGV_Hp0Diqud5yIJ6OOqUwO9X_J4idABV4Yhx7Pg1ricxHqWyUfcoBTOhEHmgH1ambw/s1600/Figaro+Overture.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 289px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge9y-SUTRnUqg7hqL7UsCgmtge1fIOzUiaFKWFrKPlYnSKTpjlt1lv4L45_D-ZtgFqJcZApqkOPGV_Hp0Diqud5yIJ6OOqUwO9X_J4idABV4Yhx7Pg1ricxHqWyUfcoBTOhEHmgH1ambw/s400/Figaro+Overture.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557736190480652626" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieJWEPoJYgLZ2MUanoDuzdX4AesXoxiySvAYsUI-OKhHSzr-ARe-KpvdyS6LXCbp0MDWZNB26e7oJRe99cY2-yTLJY2eKY1CZU8MEF2JdW8QGAeH2KJHUbj3EiRGFsFzISwY7icZoEhzE/s1600/Figaro+Overture+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 289px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieJWEPoJYgLZ2MUanoDuzdX4AesXoxiySvAYsUI-OKhHSzr-ARe-KpvdyS6LXCbp0MDWZNB26e7oJRe99cY2-yTLJY2eKY1CZU8MEF2JdW8QGAeH2KJHUbj3EiRGFsFzISwY7icZoEhzE/s400/Figaro+Overture+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557736097330714770" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><u><br /></u></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Yes, I'm alive! Sorry for not posting in months. I've been taking classes in music theory/history and have started re-studying harmony and counterpoint. Left with little free time, going to the opulent Met Opera has taken to the back burner. Don't get me wrong. My obsession over the artistic merit of productions was and will continue to be a 'hoot', but it just does not get at what is so fabulous about these composers we put up on a pedestal- that is their music. Everything important about our beloved Beethoven, Puccini, Verdi, etc. can be discovered by studying the score. Passive listening annoys me- turning intricate music that was never meant to be just 'pretty' into mere background noise. If we don't make an attempt to actually understand what is going on (my problem with not translating operas into English for an English speaking audience), and if we never open a score of the cherished symphonies, masses, concertos, sonatas, whatever, classical music will indeed suffer the fate that its arcane name suggests. This music was meant to shock, to deviate from what came before. So lets stop thinking about it as superfluous fluff.<div><br /></div><div>I want to point something out from the overture of Mozart's <i>Le Nozze di Figaro</i> that you can only undertand from his manuscript. It used to be common practice during the classical period to include a minuet or another dance form in the development (middle) section of a piece. It acted as a break from the high energy main theme, often giving more power to its recapitulation. In the <i>Figaro</i> overture, Mozart first planned on writing a typical dance in a swinging 6/8 meter during the development. For whatever reason he later changed his mind in favor of the driving, mischievous, dare I say heroic main theme. As we can see from the facsimile reproduction of Mozart's manuscript, he actually crossed out the beginning of the 6/8 section, wrote Da Capo (back to the beginning), and started writing the recapitulation. (The crossed out section in the first image above would have acted as the transition to the 6/8 section, which is seen in the last measure. In the second image we can see DaCapo and the beginning of the main eighth-note theme in the violins). Whatever his motives were, the result is a much more energetic overture than would have been the case had he stuck with the dance break. See?! Now tell me knowing that now won't make your experience cooler when you hear it performed live. Mmmmmmhm.</div>DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-17232110161516167312010-07-21T04:06:00.000-07:002010-07-24T06:13:16.976-07:00A Courtyard Opera<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE92U2R1bs3MuA2XP8PRZYd4I-O89ajkDgsRDTBkX4ZcMf1l-u32mQX3d5aClhIWEsyq6yLVMOaneqoWDHqsefJq0gjUF0kRMRI_smufEuU-Mh4Ef7-U_RYf97t8m9fN_clO1S0FsZfQI/s1600/DSCN2060.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE92U2R1bs3MuA2XP8PRZYd4I-O89ajkDgsRDTBkX4ZcMf1l-u32mQX3d5aClhIWEsyq6yLVMOaneqoWDHqsefJq0gjUF0kRMRI_smufEuU-Mh4Ef7-U_RYf97t8m9fN_clO1S0FsZfQI/s400/DSCN2060.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497458599123650386" /></a>Most people with an education have probably heard a tune by the nineteenth-century Italian opera composer, Gioacchino Rossini. Probably "Largo al Factotum" from <i>Il Barbiere di Siviglia</i>, where Figaro comically repeats at tongue-twister speed "Figaro, Figaro, Figaro, Figaro..." Or maybe the overture from <i>Guillaume Tell</i>, which I think used to play in a jewelry commercial. But few people have heard any of his serious operas written for the Teatro San Carlo in Naples, which set the standard of Italian operatic style for the nineteenth-century. Even fewer have heard his early farces, which Rossini wrote between the ages of 18 and 20 for the Venetian Teatro San Moisè, a smaller and far less demanding opera house than the Teatro La Fenice or Milan's La Scala. These works were shorter, one-act operas, that rarely circulated nineteenth-century Italy after their premiere. They were the perfect unassuming medium for young composers. Nothing seems to have changed today in contemporary society, when young, unknown and energetic artists exhibit their work in Brooklyn warehouses, some of whom later end up showing their work at MOMA.<div>So these were Rossini's first operas. They show plenty of life and energy, yet never get too serious. The subject here is a performance in Geneve last night of perhaps his best known farce, <i>La Scala di Seta</i>, written in 1812 at the age of 20.<div><div>Since 1966, the Opéra de Chambre de Genève has produced rare operas, works that are often times overshadowed by a composer's more mature works, or operas by composers like Cimarosa or Piccinni who most people haven't even heard of. It's a great platform for a low budget company. By not performing repertoire standards, critics are less likely to ridicule you for being unorthodox. Even cooler, you get a chance to perform rare music.<i> </i>However, performing operas with little modern performance history while working within the confines of a low budget are no excuse for a stale production devoid of artistic originality.</div><div>The production last night of <i>La Scala di Seta</i> was held in the outdoor courtyard of a classical stone building, Cour De L'Hôtel De Ville, in the old town of Geneva. It's a perfect summer idea, (even though there was absolutely no breeze). The acoustics were also surprisingly resonant, vivaciously vibrating. The Orchestre de Chambre de Genève played cleanly and sprightly for the most part, especially during the overture. Their attentive conductor, Franco Trinca held the cast and orchestra together unnoticeably, and always seemed to be in comfortable control. Everything started off well with the overture. The interplay between solo oboe and orchestra were a reminder of how exciting lock-step tonality can be. This is the type of music that brings a listener back into their center after a hectic day. It actually subconsciously makes you breath deeper.</div><div>Unfortunately, the overture was the end of my honeymoon. There is nothing more boring in an opera production than a set comprised of four doors/walls aligned along the circumference of the stage, a table and chairs as the principle props, and nineteenth-century-style costumes, with plenty of neck ruffles. Just because the work is a farce does not mean it should become a joke, a parody of itself. In <i>La Scala di Seta</i> there is a character (Dorvil) who repeatedly climbs up to enter through his lover's stained glass window (Giulia). One does not need a lot of money to come up with a creative way of representing that. Cheeky entrances through a lime green door, from an offstage completely visible to the audience, are not sufficient. A creative director would have found a way of making this more interesting, regardless of the amount of money made available to him.</div><div>What bothered me most was the lack of supertitles. When an audience does not understand the meaning of what is being sung, they are missing out on more than half of the composer's intention. Opera is music's representation, and augmentation, of language. That which cannot be expressed simply by words, as music lovers proclaim. Geneva is in French speaking Switzerland. And those who don't speak French (like myself) probably understand English. Two lines of supertitles would probably help for an Italian opera. And come on, who doesn't own a laptop? Does no one involved in this production have access to a projector? Call me naive, but it can't be that hard. There was a row of clean white stone wall directly above the stage that would have been perfect for supertitles, maybe even in two languages. When a production fails to provide the audience with supertitles or at the least a translation of the libretto, they are robing the audience of the full experience.</div></div></div><div>The singing was entertaining and at times riveting. Most impressive was William Lombardi, playing Dorvil. His tenor voice was by no means large enough to overcome the audience, but its intensity more than compensated. It is always more enjoyable hearing a singer push himself to the point of cracking, using all the expressivity he has inside, rather than hearing someone just play it safe, never surpassing pretty. Other singers had moments like this, but most overacted. And again, cheeky acting is no substitute for the natural comedy that would emerge if the audience understood what the hell was going on. Opera is not a circus, you don't need to overcompensate by shoving it down our throats. If all the pieces were in place last night, the woman sitting in front of me would have laughed a lot more instead of fanning herself or fixing her hair. Pity.</div>DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-1628176895325204032010-06-11T16:44:00.000-07:002010-06-22T07:24:39.866-07:00Not Your Usual Night of Oprah, Daaling.Leaving Grand Central Station on the Metro North Line and traveling for an hour and a half to the wealthy and manicured Greenwich, Connecticut felt a little bit like leaving the country. Is that the sign that I've finally become a true New Yorker? (Granted, if I got on the right train to start with, the trip would have been much more relaxing). Anyway, my evening ended up being quite the pleasant getaway capped with a surprisingly unique artistic performance.<br />It's amazing what working at a wine store can get you. A register transaction introduced me to Ted Huffman, the Artistic Director of the Greenwich Music Festival. (My naive self thought he meant Greenwich Village, ha!) Up for an adventure, I accepted an invitation to attend the opening night of their season. For the occasion they were producing <i>The Runaway Slave</i>, by the German avant-garde composer Hans Werner Henze. At once modern and worldly in sound, this hour and 30 minute work chronicles the life story of the Cuban slave, Esteban Montejo, who lived to be 113. Requiring a percussionist, classical guitarist, and flautist, the score is largely atonal and incredibly detailed. The guitar serves mostly to interlace the score with bits of Latin song, amalgamating to perhaps a perfect representation of modern Cuba.<div>The production proved to be artistically daring and subliminally sexy. It all took place on a raised marley floor stage, with a compactly seated audience eagerly awaiting. The upstage was occupied with more percussion instruments than the average educated individual can name- western, eastern, African, Caribbean, etc. The downstage was where the protagonist and his four dancers depicted the story. Intensely narrating was the actor/singer Eugene Perry, who mixed speaking with baritone and falsetto singing, even adding the middle ground of Sprechstimme. This cast of five opened themselves up to the point of vulnerability.</div><div>Zack Winokur's choreography was at once intelligently precise and primitively wild. The four dancers were of completely different body types, yet communicated and moved together beautifully. To me, this was the most captivating aspect of the production. The dancers were unyielding in their somewhat bipolar combination of preciseness, tension, and unrestrained wildness. At times using a detailed and well-executed movement vocabulary, they did not hesitate to change moods with little anticipation. A tense and intricate walk suddenly and spastically transitioned into an airborne leap plummeting the dancer to the floor. At other times, Capoeira-like fights combined violence with sensuality. Far from random, every moment was directly linked with Esteban Montejo's story and/or the music, never leaving a dull moment. Sitting in the audience, I never quite felt relaxed. If this were Wagner, that would be a problem. But for Henze, it was somehow fitting. Bravo to Artistic Director Ted Huffman and his team for bringing craziness to Greenwich.</div>DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-84285010673982983372010-05-18T12:57:00.000-07:002010-05-18T13:48:38.808-07:00World Opera Houses Productivity<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBHZSdtTBI2Ktiw01Pyj7Y2CRjXKRThnVS-nEo7GSeQvr8Jtfj75BCIIxau_Pe-jCtyVzMBKyWWSoCKFwTh2dCpNXsYqHlkipipami_iIqDeZKhWPr1N2GN8iMPGcFxpFyWuy2CYnJtkM/s1600/Italian+Opera+Houses+Productivity.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBHZSdtTBI2Ktiw01Pyj7Y2CRjXKRThnVS-nEo7GSeQvr8Jtfj75BCIIxau_Pe-jCtyVzMBKyWWSoCKFwTh2dCpNXsYqHlkipipami_iIqDeZKhWPr1N2GN8iMPGcFxpFyWuy2CYnJtkM/s400/Italian+Opera+Houses+Productivity.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472702925445364770" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">The Turin newspaper <i>La Stampa </i>published this graph showing the productivity of Italian opera houses vs houses from all over the world, for the 2009-10 season. The first column of numbers indicates how many operas were staged this season, the second is how many were new productions, and the third is how many performances were staged in the full season. Great news for the Met here in New York, but grim news for Italian opera houses. (Click the image to expand).</div><div><br /></div>DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-80089111141260755852010-05-14T15:34:00.000-07:002010-05-16T17:01:33.970-07:00Luisi to the Rescue!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy4Y0fXmIvqIJYMz4QPZg64qwnSeBI5Q4LzTa7msOYs1bKemnsLHBLFtJIcNqHh5UsqPm672cXeIKg3JgQMMdz9gCpi7GZFh5bikjtNmVokD4eMF5VYnyEccnzYndoSE5-EWmLeWYTDkE/s1600/FabioLuisi.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 255px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy4Y0fXmIvqIJYMz4QPZg64qwnSeBI5Q4LzTa7msOYs1bKemnsLHBLFtJIcNqHh5UsqPm672cXeIKg3JgQMMdz9gCpi7GZFh5bikjtNmVokD4eMF5VYnyEccnzYndoSE5-EWmLeWYTDkE/s320/FabioLuisi.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472021780086261954" /></a>Alban Berg's <i>Lulu</i> was the last production to be mounted by the Met this season. What a dramatic way to go out! Before my review, there is a little bit of news to start...<div><i>Lulu</i> was originally scheduled to be conducted by Met Music Director James Levine, one of if not the foremost conductor of Second Viennese School music. Recurring health problems resulting in surgery forced him to cancel, much to the worry of New York City opera fans. On the flip side, shortly after that announcement, Fabio Luisi took over Mr. Levine's remaining performances of the season, <i>Lulu </i>included. Two weeks ago, he was appointed as the Met's Principal Guest Conductor.</div><div>The most remarkable thing about Wednesday night was Mr. Luisi's concentrated and nuanced performance of such a dense work, which proved he is indeed on the same bar as Mr. Levine. Throughout the four hour evening, there was never a moment of lagging energy. Every detail of the score was handled with care and nothing seemed overlooked. There are a few chords at the end of the opera when Jack the Ripper kills Lulu, and the effect was more chilling than any horror movie I've seen. (Granted this was the first time I had heard the entire work, so there was no anticipation). That was just one of many memorable moments. What struck me most was the music's ability to portray such a wide rage of emotions, and to switch gears with almost no notice. From horror to romance, it was all there, even if in condensed form.</div><div><i>Lulu</i> is still a relatively new opera and it's musical ideas are plentiful, almost an amalgam of music history. The work was an exponent of the newly-developed 12-tone technique, which to the naked ear it seems atonal. There are heavy influences of Wagner's grandiosity, and there are even a few samplings of jazz or cabaret music, (probably heard by Berg in Germany's Weimar Republic of the 1920s). The opera only premiered in it's complete version in 1979, years after the composer's death in 1935. Berg died while writing the opera and until 1979 the unfinished version of two acts was performed. However, he left sketches as to how the remaining third act should be orchestrated, but his widow restricted access to them, insisting that <i>Lulu</i> should be left the way it was when Berg died. She finally died in 1976 (no offense). It was then announced that the publisher had granted a secret commission to the Viennese composer Friedrich Cerha to complete the work. The result is a seamless, unified musical experience. The music is as vivid at the end as it is during the first two acts. George Perle summed it up nicely...</div><div>"It is in the nature of things that one cannot anticipate the insights, judgments, and second thoughts of genius, so we can never know to what extent and in what respect Berg's own orchestration might have differed from Cerha's. But nowhere does one have the impression that a hand other than the composer's has had to take over the instrumental realization of the unscored portions of the third act."</div><div>In addition to the rock solid conductor, the cast was no less impressive. Marlis Petersen, Anne Sofie von Utter, Gary Lehman, and James Morris showed the difference between good singers and those who are emotionally committed. They were riding the wave created by the Poseidon of the evening.</div><div>Mr. Luisi's musicality and energy were reminiscent of Mr. Levine's best performances. And though I did not catch it, his <i>Tosca</i> a few weeks ago drew praise from both audiences and critics alike, (a rare occurrence in New York). All of this is more remarkable given that he only made his company debut in 2005. Whatever the future holds for Mr. Levine, and I wish him a speedy recovery, Mr. Luisi's three year contract with the company takes some of the anxiety away about the Met.</div><div>After quite an eventful season, the Met went out struttin'. See you in the fall for some Wagner...</div>DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-68555488813665947062010-05-03T17:45:00.000-07:002010-06-18T14:35:19.776-07:00New Met Ring Cycle Trailer<object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1y5BQPmxho0&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1y5BQPmxho0&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><div>This newly released trailer offers some glimpses of the Met's new Wagner Ring Cycle. It is being directed by Robert Lepage, who previously directed Berlioz's <i><a href="http://classicalspice.blogspot.com/2009/10/metropolitan-opera-la-damnation-de.html">Faust</a></i><a href="http://classicalspice.blogspot.com/2009/10/metropolitan-opera-la-damnation-de.html"> at the Met</a>. The first two segments, Das Rheingold and Die Walkure, are premiering next season, and the last two, Siegfried and Götterdämmerung, will premier during the 2011-12 season. I'm so freekin' excited!</div>DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-91700243955554105462010-04-24T15:57:00.000-07:002010-04-26T18:15:31.179-07:00Two Recitals By Two Very Different Sopranos<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjffzQX4XMTEFi4DTCMrpr-iplYqo5lxEv9ea3RfogEZ-MLmC1kazguYUvoiZs59oN30zS7rK5LESnneHP_-Ru_iDqyyE-ION5w7vYvVtuGHQZgTDcmYsP-63XTz8URdc-iZSU3oirmthA/s1600/Federica+von+Stade.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 268px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjffzQX4XMTEFi4DTCMrpr-iplYqo5lxEv9ea3RfogEZ-MLmC1kazguYUvoiZs59oN30zS7rK5LESnneHP_-Ru_iDqyyE-ION5w7vYvVtuGHQZgTDcmYsP-63XTz8URdc-iZSU3oirmthA/s320/Federica+von+Stade.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464617325115725602" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlOjNpFMTZC7fXxkKY-DMaCE4cd2wE0gNo9-zKxMbhI56oLFkE2-ehXoU8A5Whf9F-jsr2DOoCOkNzPR_t4mcKfZxTPk7-UTiaM-CDQ4NgjXoQ0BXn_SF0uYlNs6S7r02aEYfZxQzLNik/s1600/Aprile+Millo.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 230px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlOjNpFMTZC7fXxkKY-DMaCE4cd2wE0gNo9-zKxMbhI56oLFkE2-ehXoU8A5Whf9F-jsr2DOoCOkNzPR_t4mcKfZxTPk7-UTiaM-CDQ4NgjXoQ0BXn_SF0uYlNs6S7r02aEYfZxQzLNik/s320/Aprile+Millo.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464617322936517490" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "></span></a><div><div>Back in November, the legendary dramatic soprano Aprile Millo gave a recital in the Rose Theatre at Jazz at Lincoln Center. This past Thursday, Federica von Stade, a champion for over 40 years of everything from classical to contemporary music, gave her farewell recital at Carnegie Hall. The former was in top vocal form, looking and sounding utterly fabulous after struggling with her weight the past few years. The later was warm, cute, and made a packed Carnegie Hall audience feel right at home. Both recitals were deemed highly successful by audiences and critics alike, and it is only now that I realize one's dramatic superiority over the other.</div><div>Both Ms. Millo and Ms. Stade narrated throughout their recitals, and effectively broke down the concert hall divisions between performer and spectator. Ms. Stade however, ended up coming across as a caricature of herself. Before each piece, she explained how it related to her life with a voice like she was narrating a story. Many times it was a song about Paris- "La Vie en rose" by Ned Rorem, "Voyage à Paris"<i> </i>and<i> "</i>Hôtel" by Francis Poulenc, and selections from "Les Jardins de Paris" by Marc Barthomieuand, just to name a few. Okay so she loves the city, but who doesn't? Other times it was a song about a convent, reminiscent of her childhood in Washington, D.C. ("A Prayer to Saint Catherine" by Virgil Thomson), or about her daughter ("Jenny Rebecca"<i> </i>written for her by Carol Hall), or just some topic she found pleasant. Even the Mahler ("Lob des hohen Verstandes", adapted from the folk story <i>The Youth's Magic Horn)</i> was light, where a donkey judges a contest between a cuckoo and a nightingale. Right before intermission, her longtime collaborators, the baritone Richard Stilwell and bass Samuel Ramey joined her for a charming trio rendition of Bernstein's "Some of the Time" from "On the Town." Her final selection, "Send In The Clowns" is always a gem to hear and fit her glimmering voice perfectly. Unfortunately, whatever the song was, it always had a happy ending and was never heart-wrenching. She talked to the audience in an overly dramatic way as if Carnegie Hall was full of children. The end product seemed like a cross between Cinderella and Julie Andrews. Her singing, on the other hand rang with golden and refined glamor, obviously having waned after a long career but still more than pleasant, and more than anything, mature. A successful recital, but a lot was missed. She got so famous in the 1970s by playing Cherubino in <i>Le Nozze di Figaro,</i> a role full of yearning. That depth was missed here.</div><div>By stark contrast is the dramatic soprano Aprile Millo, considered by many to be the last beacon of light in a long line of Verdi sopranos. Her recital back in November is as vivid in my memory as if it were last week. Held in a much smaller venue than Carnegie Hall, The Rose Theatre's small stage and oval structure (like a small opera house) worked nicely, if less gloriously than Carnegie. She made up for the hall's lack in glamor by wearing a huge gown dress and tiara. The house was full with a highly enthusiastic audience.</div><div>From start to finish, she sang with as much conviction and unwavering intensity as she does on her most treasured recordings. The first half was full of songs by 19th century composers. Of particular note were Ermanno Wolf Ferrari's "Buondì, cara Venezia" (from <i>Il Campiello</i>), "Von ewiger Liebe" by Johannes Brahms, and "Ne poi, krasavitsa, pri mne" by Sergei Rachmaninoff. Her voice is huge, with a very wide yet sensual vibrato. Her artistic maturity is also rare among singers today, as she infuses passion into every word she sings. In "Buondì, cara Venezia" and "Ne poi, krasavista, pri mne", her elongation of certain words and her ability to sing every note in her range at any dynamic marking made the music even more touching. This is a type of voice rarely heard today.</div><div>If the first half was moving, the second half was mesmerizing. After an unexpected early intermission (because of an audience member falling down some stairs), Ms. Millo came back with vigor. Her "Tre Canzone Nepoletane" were accompanied by a musician with equal expressivity, the accordionist Mary-Lou Vetere. And this just served as the warm up for the opera section... Here her complete musical capabilities were unleashed. She sang "Laggiu nel Soledad" from <i>La Fanciulla del West</i>, "Undiste...Ah dove sei crudele" from <i>Il Trovatore</i>, "L'altra notte in fondo al mare" from Boito's<i> Mefistofele</i>, and "Ed ora, io mi domado" from Leoncavallo's <i>Zaza</i>. Her technical control is utterly amazing. In less than a second, she can move from a beautiful <i>pianissimo</i> to the most glass-shattering <i>forte, </i>all while evenly supporting on the same note. The zenith came with "L'altra notte...", which she preceded with a comment asking the audience to bare with her. Here, her artistry and concentration silenced the audience, and the ovations following the piece were apocalyptic. How else could I remember it five months later? Ms. Millo is a singer who has not always been in the spotlight during her 25 year career, but who on that night showed us she is still an artist with drive. Despite my nagging cold, I never got bored.</div><div>Both Ms. Stade and Ms. Milo gave successful recitals. Ms. Stade has been and is likely to remain one of the world's most beloved sopranos. But Ms. Millo, even while in a far less glorious hall, pushed herself, lived in the moment, made people scream and made them cry. In my mind, that's what matters most.</div></div>DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-22025688119280873052010-04-17T05:40:00.000-07:002010-04-17T05:44:26.267-07:00"Aria on the Future"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1aWsDdpaJdxgXq957_bXLWJ7o_9uwkBA_UaVkjCHKH6puM42LFDGQ0iWiTCj7sFzwDR0iHZBrdc0EXFeeRSP2Gv2dWH6uVnqNjSwzansIrVvUMFVD9mrEH9Jmghn2yEt264lgA_8byLY/s1600/Fleming+WSJ.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 262px; height: 262px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1aWsDdpaJdxgXq957_bXLWJ7o_9uwkBA_UaVkjCHKH6puM42LFDGQ0iWiTCj7sFzwDR0iHZBrdc0EXFeeRSP2Gv2dWH6uVnqNjSwzansIrVvUMFVD9mrEH9Jmghn2yEt264lgA_8byLY/s320/Fleming+WSJ.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461086266373472498" /></a><br />Renée Fleming, the populist diva, talks about her past, present, and future. <i><a href="http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052702303695604575182474127585754.html?mod=WSJ_newsreel_lifeStyle">Wall Street Journal</a></i><a href="http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052702303695604575182474127585754.html?mod=WSJ_newsreel_lifeStyle"> article.</a>DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-67929555344502544422010-04-13T14:54:00.000-07:002010-04-13T18:22:35.164-07:00Solid Yet Uninspired Performance of Rare Rossini Opera<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2-2Mj95fsuszotkLn7IJgHPqdwIOmXmexWnfuxEKce5lxXo93gqCxdBRsPdIW0K4y_keguw4UkEUo48AidBGdG5ACvnRUxJ_mjHQC7l6bf8U_KMRhYtsIJ70trDEQbkMMZ4RSA5v33MA/s1600/Armida+Fleming.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 258px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2-2Mj95fsuszotkLn7IJgHPqdwIOmXmexWnfuxEKce5lxXo93gqCxdBRsPdIW0K4y_keguw4UkEUo48AidBGdG5ACvnRUxJ_mjHQC7l6bf8U_KMRhYtsIJ70trDEQbkMMZ4RSA5v33MA/s320/Armida+Fleming.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459797369287869282" /></a>Renée Fleming long ago proved that she has some say as to what operas are produced at the Met. A versatile and technically aware singer with a unique buttery sound and enchanting stage presence, she has commanded roles in German, Italian, French, Czech, Russian, etc. and in 2008 became the only woman to highlight an Opening Night Gala for the Met, where she sang three acts from three different operas. Not always thought of as a master bel-canto singer, Ms. Fleming still managed to convinced the Met to stage <i>Armida. </i> An opera by Gioachino Rossini, it is one of the composer's nine serious operas from his time in Naples (1817-1822), and is rich in experimental music characterization. Armida is a sorceress, who throughout a nearly four hour long opera (including two intermissions) travels from desert to magical worlds and seduces six Crusaders, each a tenor role with incredibly difficult music. The opera is rarely staged, partly because of its traditional serious opera format that is so different from Rossini's comedies, but also because it is hard to find six tenors who can sing the music. For the opera's premiere in 1817 Rossini used only four tenors, one for the role of Rinaldo and three others for the remaining five roles. If there is a single 'bravo' to be heard about this production, it is the Met's ability at finding six tenors, each with a unique voice that stands up to the alluring Ms. Fleming.<div>The quickly rising star, Lawrence Brownlee sang Ronaldo with relaxed beauty, nailing passages throughout the two-and-a-third octaves role. He hit his high Ds with effortless accuracy, (the highest tenor note in the opera). Despite the pluses, his volume and projection were lacking. Singing next to José Manuel Zapata, his voice at times seemed dwarfed. On another note, no matter how much diction training one has, there is still a definite difference between a native English speaker and a native romance language speaker. Sorry to say, but Mr. Brownlee sang like a gringo. The remaining four tenors- Bruce Ford, Kobie van Rensburg, Barry Banks, and Yeghishe Manucharyan stood up to their demanding roles quite nicely.</div><div>Though always in control of her voice and full of warm sensual texture, Ms. Fleming seemed restrained last night. She sang pleasantly, but never overwhelmingly. I know she can sing Armida fearlessly because she did so on her "Bel Canto" album in 2002. Has time taken its toll? Probably not, that was only 8 years ago. So what was it?</div><div>Quite possibly a lack of inspiration from the conductor and director. Mary Zimmerman's production was largely uninteresting to look at and bordered at being a farce. The only thing that didn't seem to be made cheaply were the costumes, beautifully designed by Richard Hudson. Knights wore shiny silver armor draped with red fabric and the commanders wore long and elegant black suits seamed with bright red. The Act II ballet was entertainingly choreographed by Graciela Daniele in her Met debut, and she successfully made the chorus members 'move'. Does Ms. Zimmerman actually like opera? Certain props from the set looked like they were from a child's playpen, and the white rotunda wall encircling the action was the most boring stationary set-piece I've ever seen. The blocking was uneventful. I simply don't understand how such a magical opera, one with limitless Romantic possibilities, can turn into Sesame Street.</div><div>Understandably so, the conductor Riccardo Frizza seemed uninspired. He led a solid performance, though didn't stand out for any strong interpretive choices.</div><div>The audience's body language and applause throughout the evening seemed lackadaisical. I heard a few scoffs at the production, and at the curtain call the 'boos' roared out. This time I must admit, I wanted to join them.</div>DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-9395579277945989292010-04-11T17:48:00.000-07:002010-04-12T23:02:12.627-07:00Countertenors Rule the Night<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRGy3CR7nLrhI1UIegcoM1jNamhXZ0oljSs5NZiPI9wOqqO66tTuB1SMLW1Qiw8HVwvz9QR9CT-E0BFcZnQuiBQx8RdU5RtG9V10r9ssPW3VG38N9INdc1NzwqIzrTPKrBeo2cdlHF9Qo/s1600/Handel+Castrati.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 219px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRGy3CR7nLrhI1UIegcoM1jNamhXZ0oljSs5NZiPI9wOqqO66tTuB1SMLW1Qiw8HVwvz9QR9CT-E0BFcZnQuiBQx8RdU5RtG9V10r9ssPW3VG38N9INdc1NzwqIzrTPKrBeo2cdlHF9Qo/s320/Handel+Castrati.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459498323847411410" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">This was only my second time at City Opera and my first time seeing a live Handel opera. Though Partenope (dating from 1730) is a Baroque opera comprised of the sometimes monotonous recitative/aria form, Friday night's performance was luxuriously sung and entertainingly directed. Two of the roles were written for castrati (emasculated men who maintained their high voice after puberty), though since castrating men is no long in vogue, trained countertenors now sing these parts. The voices of the castrati were said to be sublime, combining the elegance of women with the forcefulness of men. In 1957 Harold Schonberg wrote that "the castrati, and apparently all other singers of the day, had a technique that would be impossible to duplicate... no harder music exists for singers." Who can possibly know if that is actually true? Unfortunately, the only castrato to make a solo sound recording was Alessandro Moreschi, the last Papal castrato, who died in 1922. Granted the recording quality is not great, but his choir trained voice is evidently nothing remotely representative of the pop star icons that enchanted opera houses for centuries. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wv-S3uoeTXg">Still worth a listen.</a></p><p class="MsoNormal">Given that we'll never know what the most famous castrati sounded like, on Friday night the countertenors Anthony Roth Constanzo and Iestyn Davies sang to the best of my imagination just like them. Mr. Davies (playing Arsace), is a fast-rising British countertenor and Mr. Constanzo (playing Armindo), is his American counterpart. Mr. Davies's voice is warm and powerful, with unending and tasteful musicality. His projection reminded me of the commanding mezzo-soprano Stephanie Blythe. Mr. Constanzo's voice is much lighter, and floated the melody beautifully. Every now and then he unleashed the power, but most of the time restrained his dynamics and size to better serve the music. His small physique was exploited wonderfully by the director, who played on the irony that his part was a brave prince. Instead of using a sword during the battle scene in Act II, he took off his glove and threw it at the enemy, promptly scurrying away.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">With such a stilted plot, Handel operas have become the perfect match for experimental and liberal productions. Even though Partenope is an opera seria, an imaginative director can easily make comedy out of the libretto while staying truthful to the music. Francisco Negrin's production was light, satirical and entertaining throughout. Christian Curnyn led an inspired orchestra and communicated seamlessly with the singers. Perhaps a Handel opera is not dramatic or real enough for the more famous opera houses of the world, and I will admit that I dozed off into a hypnotic slumber a few times, but no one can deny the raw energy or lyrical beauty found in Partenope and other Handel operas.<o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-80174282938534148652010-04-09T13:05:00.000-07:002010-04-09T14:16:38.599-07:00Madama Butterfly at City Opera<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKwdwcQdngqkiFLFMSeMaMsIJb-9GAL5QzJn7fmzgxWEnx-KuqzK409mjsSYxC_Y4x68PXsBCRCKpB8ltJ9o8k-KqtpG4VPyfV8LjtBRk1Fp3kxI7K_OEvvBvjSbZE3ZlZohr_GCZfUps/s1600/Shu-Ying_Li.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 210px; height: 314px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKwdwcQdngqkiFLFMSeMaMsIJb-9GAL5QzJn7fmzgxWEnx-KuqzK409mjsSYxC_Y4x68PXsBCRCKpB8ltJ9o8k-KqtpG4VPyfV8LjtBRk1Fp3kxI7K_OEvvBvjSbZE3ZlZohr_GCZfUps/s320/Shu-Ying_Li.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458249548505083570" /></a><br />Last night I made my City Opera debut, attending a highly moving production of Puccini's <i>Madama Butterfly</i>. Without the larger budget of their neighbors, the Met Opera, Mark Lamos's production was understandably spare, yet no less colorful or emotionally effective. The David H. Koch Theatre is much smaller than its neighbor opera house, and has historically been troubled by uneven acoustics. The farther a singer moved upstage, the more his/her voice got lost in the rafters and the less audible they became. (Before recent renovations, supplementary microphones were often used). There were however, some added benefits in comparison to the Met. The seats were wider with much more leg room, student tickets are $12 instead of $25 and seem to be plentiful (therefore cheaper than going to the movies), and the orchestra pit projects much, much more sound.<div>The later was a huge benefit for <i>Butterfly</i>'s full orchestration, receptively and passionately magnified by City Opera Music Director, George Manahan. Having never come close to being blown out of my seat by the Met Orchestra, the <i>fortes</i> took me by surprise as they filled the theatre with a kind of sound I only thought was possible during orchestral concerts. This grand beauty was too much for some singers- most notably Steven Harrison, who played Pinkerton. Covered up nearly every time he was accompanied by the orchestra, I was at first not sure if the orchestra was simply playing too loudly. After enough time of hearing everyone else with no problem, I was convinced Mr. Harrison's voice was just too small and airy for the grand role.</div><div>As Madama Butterfly, Shu-Ying Li sang from start to finish with a big, warm, round, and luscious voice. Being such a well-known opera, I could not avoid thinking back to recordings I prefer, but nonetheless Ms. Li without a doubt raised the bar of the cast. Nina Yoshida Nelsen sang an emotionally sharp and penetrating Suzuki.</div><div>The dramatic climax of <i>Butterfly</i> comes at the end, when the title character slits her own throat in front of her son and her long lost love, the just arrived Pinkerton. The music here is intensely moving, having no less of a sincere, overbearing or apocalyptic effect on an attentive audience than the best moments of Wagner. I left the theatre in a hurry and completely ravished.</div>DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-61266048641075152162010-04-07T16:17:00.000-07:002010-04-07T20:06:03.460-07:00Arts Beat Interview with 'Armida' Choreographer<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiDHXEHfEhDg4nHacg_OpeYV1VmV806jgfmvWAQTa9cAYKJohUYH__IkH8xOF2M12kOwC-ELt7k41kaKi9yVa0uPCguzsBEEUTARdPn-UYCRhG5HfVMf_XBMS0qAy5PRrrV5GMEYTOf90/s1600/armida+artsbeat.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiDHXEHfEhDg4nHacg_OpeYV1VmV806jgfmvWAQTa9cAYKJohUYH__IkH8xOF2M12kOwC-ELt7k41kaKi9yVa0uPCguzsBEEUTARdPn-UYCRhG5HfVMf_XBMS0qAy5PRrrV5GMEYTOf90/s320/armida+artsbeat.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457543036388746594" /></a><br />Graciela Daniele, the choreographer of the upcoming production of <i>Armida</i>, talks to Arts Beat about choreographing for the Met. <a href="http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/04/07/on-dance-from-broadway-to-the-met/">See article</a>. A veteran Broadway choreographer, she seems to be having no trouble adjusting to Rossini's light and playful music. The director of this production is Mary Zimmerman, whose previous Met projects include <i>Lucia di Lammermoor </i>and <i>La Sonnambula.</i> Both were subject to mixed/negative reviews. On Monday night premieres Ms. Zimmerman's third attempt at a Met success.DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-12615680490163570182010-04-05T06:13:00.000-07:002010-04-05T06:23:07.722-07:00Verdi Chops Are Tested by 'Traviata'<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQWR0tKh2K8GCZU_IaXf5jFaT2lGuarbHhohp_lh4afeGHMDh3ltQi8G8IUmEFyWNa0_HBxzoU5D6jaTBZQqMixu7jvT0XwaA5BhcZHg0aHDgxHJCmTTffs5JWhLHVUmorXKr5rCzBhrQ/s1600/toscanini+traviata.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQWR0tKh2K8GCZU_IaXf5jFaT2lGuarbHhohp_lh4afeGHMDh3ltQi8G8IUmEFyWNa0_HBxzoU5D6jaTBZQqMixu7jvT0XwaA5BhcZHg0aHDgxHJCmTTffs5JWhLHVUmorXKr5rCzBhrQ/s320/toscanini+traviata.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456643332760905426" /></a><br />The New York Times chief music critic, Anthony Tommasini, talks about the past and present of Verdi conducting styles in his article, <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/05/arts/music/05traviata.html?ref=music">Verdi Chops Are Tested by 'Traviata'.</a> Recently a hot topic of discussion following Leonard Slatkin's disastrous performance of <i>La Traviata</i> at the Met (see review bellow), Mr. Tommasini compares legendary recordings by Toscanini, Giulini and Kleiber.DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-658907635293817847.post-90829277069591822482010-04-05T05:42:00.000-07:002010-04-05T05:55:54.346-07:00End of the aria by the Financial Times<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLhR46AhOzul7JZMaW6wF9TAp4vbPqt1D1bvyYIXpAsRqjFpfa7FCQWz1oMPIOEK28OWE7cdsrRBfVuJYkgi5FCihSxJHJnsnk2SaGfMRPMrbwZeSKsCT2Q14-GhY_Fybxf_1pzptFDak/s1600/FInancial+Times+opera+article.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLhR46AhOzul7JZMaW6wF9TAp4vbPqt1D1bvyYIXpAsRqjFpfa7FCQWz1oMPIOEK28OWE7cdsrRBfVuJYkgi5FCihSxJHJnsnk2SaGfMRPMrbwZeSKsCT2Q14-GhY_Fybxf_1pzptFDak/s320/FInancial+Times+opera+article.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456635768296021938" /></a><br />This very informative yet slightly depressing article, <a href="http://www.ft.com/cms/s/0/a6e6b998-360e-11df-aa43-00144feabdc0.html">"End of the aria"</a>, talks about the economic state of opera companies around the world and their desperate measures to survive. In the US, dwindling private donations are the worry, while European companies are at least temporarily comforted by state funding.DGVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08270815281207202844noreply@blogger.com0