Agrippina, Staatsoper Unter den Linden 07.02.2010

If you regret that HBO series “Rome” did not have a third season and if you happen to like baroque music, then Handel’s Agrippina is your opera. If someone deserved to have an opera for herself, a woman who was the great-granddaughter of both Augustus and Mark Anthony, sister to Caligula and mother of Nero should be it. Cardinal Vincenzo Grimiani’s libretto is a masterpiece, an intelligent political comedy with subtly risqué elements, that inspired Handel to write a smart sequence of concise and straight-to-the-point arias and fluent recitatives.

One can say that René Jacobs has been an advocate of this work – his Paris performances with Anna Catarina Antonacci, Malena Ernman and Miah Persson are still fresh in the memory of French opera-goers*. For the Staatsoper Unter den Linden, the Belgian conductor has decided to offer Berlin something at least of the same level of what he has showed in Paris.

Since Agrippina involves some chic, the wise decision of living the visual elements to the French has been made. Vincent Boussard’s production is all about chic – Vincent Lemaire’s minimalist silvery set divided by white-pearl beaded curtains is visually striking and Christian Lacroix’s costumes are everything you would expect from a famous couturier whose creations has often been called “baroque”. Since props are sparsely used, the extravagant and exquisite clothing successfully supply the necessary variety. I only object to dressing Nerone in tights and scarpins  - having a mezzo soprano taking the role is already confusing enough for most opera-goers. I just wished that a less minimalist approach had been adopted, since the director felt that he had to make for the cleanliness by keeping his actors overbusy. All in all, the staging is so beautiful and creative that one is inclined to like it from moment one. Let’s have more of that instead of the imposture usually shown in the Lindenoper as “avant-garde”.

OK – if I had a boss, I would probably risk loosing the job… I did not have a pen and a moleskine with me and have to rely on my memory to talk about the edition adopted. First, one must praise Jacobs for refraining from making too many cuts in the score. I don’t recall having heard Agrippina’s Ho un non so che ne cor (although I like it, I admit it is not a great loss), Nerone’s Col ardore del tuo bel core (pity – Jennifer Rivera has sang it nimbly in the New York City Opera). I am less sure about Claudio’s Basta che sol tu chieda and Ottone’s Tacerò pur che fedele, not performed in the Théâtre de Champs-Elysées. As in the Paris performances, Ottone and Poppea were wisely given back their reconciliation duet No, no, ch’io non apprezzo, inexplicably cut by Handel himself, since it is an exquisite stretch of music. That means that, when Jacobs’s recording of this production reaches the market, this will probably be a first recording on CD  After the coro finale, an extract of the ballo (the bourrées?) was used for a final pantomime with Agrippina, Nerone and Claudio.

I have to confess I was not excited to hear Alexandrina Pendatchanska sing Handel. I owe her apologies, for her Agrippina is an admirable achievement. Not only one of the best in my experience, but certainly the best I have heard from her. Her voice was more homogenous than it uses to be and, when she decided to play with her registers, this has been precisely done to highlight the text. She also has the right tonal quality for the role – this is definitely not a part for sweet-toned girls and her metallic yet dark soprano suggests formidability. I do not need to report on her amazing flexibility – this is a known fact, used to great purpose here. She is also an excellent actress and her spontaneous Italian is remarkable for anyone whose mother language is something very different from that.

Although Agrippina is the prima donna role, the greater share of arias in the score goes for Poppea, which is a seconda donna role only on paper. Instead of looking for a guest star, Jacobs has cast from home values by choosing soprano Anna Prohaska. She is a singer I have often seen in Berlin and whose silvery soprano has always pleased me, but never before this evening could I experience the whole compass of her talents. Her Poppea was, how can I say it?, perfect. Although the voice is light and bright, the top register is always round and creamy, while her low notes are always focused and integrated into her middle register. Her coloratura is peerless, her mezza voce is lovely and, although her Italian could be 5% more natural, she makes good use of the text. She also happens to be a good actress and extremely pleasant to the eyes. She only has a strange habit of standing with one leg turned inwards.

Jennifer Rivera was the first Nerone I have ever seen in the New York City production, when I found her voice a bit more incisive and when she had more space to show her acting talents. In Boussard’s concept, Nerone seems to be a secondary role, reduced to languid sexiness. The whole episode in Poppea’s chambers had little place for that character in this production. Pity, for Rivera is a talented actress who is vocally and physically well cast in these androgynous roles. Her coloratura in Come nube was also very exciting. The amazing Bejun Mehta offered an intense performance as Ottone – his Voi che udite would make a stone shed tears. Marcos Fink’s resonant, noble-toned bass is proper to the role of Claudio and, in spite of the nobility of his voice, he relished the comedy approach and, together with the funny Daniel Schmutzhard (Lesbo), ensured the best laughs of the evening. Neil Davies was a capable Pallante and Dominique Visse’s eerie countertenor, for some reason, works for the role of Narciso.

René Jacobs invited the Akademie für alte Musik Berlin to produce warm sounds throughout and to color their tone to follow dramatic situations. Tempi tended to be fast, a bit too fast. Although Gardiner is less theatrical in his recording for Deutsche Grammophon, he lets the music breath and the result is finally more elegant and coherent. Jacobs has this habit of wanting to help the score – by adding parts not written by the composer or changing the original instrumentation or creating unwritten pauses. It might seem to him that he is bringing something to the experience, but my feeling is that this is only interfering with the composer’s own (and usually effective) ideas. In any case, do not mistake my words: this Agrippina is one of the great Handelian events of this year and you should grab the recording as soon as it is released.

* Although a telecast has been made, it remains a mystery why it has never been released.

Lohengrin, Deutsche Oper, 6.02.2010

A series of Wagner operas presented in a relatively short time span is a challenge to any opera house. It is impossible to have new productions for every title and I wonder how much time for rehearsal the orchestra is actually getting. In circumstances like that, the choice of conductors is the key element for success. Those are difficult works and, when things are uncertain, the musicians should know that there is someone in charge able to give clear directions to keep things minimally functional. Now an opera house of the reputation of the Deutsche Oper should want to show its audience something far more ambitious than “functional”. In order to do that in circumstances of insufficient rehearsal time (as seems to be the case), this someone should be more than clear – he has to be a genius. Yesterday’s Meistersinger was a patient with a serious disease, and its doctor, Maestro Donald Runnicles, had to use all his abilities to save its life. The convalescent could hardly say anything – but one has to acknowledge the doctor’s ability in keeping it breathing.

This evening’s Lohengrin was less lucky. Although this is a less formidable score, it requires a stronger pulse to rescue it from the sameness that afflicts performances led by unimaginative conductors. The issue of Michael Schønwandt’s imagination is secondary in the context of subpar music-making. I have rarely heard the Deutsche Oper orchestra in such poor state. From the first bars, one could guess that this would be a long night. Violins could not float the necessary pianissimo, while the whole string section failed to produce legato during the prelude. I have been pressing too often the key of “poor brass playing”, but today the results were particularly faulty. The orchestral sound was rather recessed and could be surprisingly messy, especially in the prelude to act III. If I had to say something positive, the large ensembles in the end of act I and II had well-balanced soloists and chorus. I could even hear Ortrud – and this is something worthy of mention.

Although Ricarda Merbeth’s lyric soprano is large enough for the role of Elisabeth, it lacks slancio for the more dramatic passages. As a result, her voice was often hard-pressed, afflicted by an unpleasant metallic, almost Slavic vibrato. She was also ill at ease when required to produce mezza voce. Although she did not spoil the fun, it was one of the less endearing performances of this role in my experience. Waltraud Meier’s voice has seen better days, but she remains a compelling Ortrud. Her expert tone coloring makes her particularly subtle and seductive in this role too often reduced to bitchiness. Even if volume is not exactly generous, she can focus her voice and flash some penetrating top notes, as in her invocation of the Wodan and Freia in act II. Ben Heppner started his performance with the wrong foot – his farewell to the swan was poorly tuned and he cracked a couple of notes, problems he would display whenever he tried to produce softer dynamics. His tenor would often acquire a pronounced nasality, but all in all this is a role taylor-made for his voice, whose pleasantness and ringing top notes are hard to overlook. Pity that his interpretation was rather blank. Eike Wilm Schulte first seemed well cast as Telramund – his baritone is forceful and firm – but he tired too soon in act II to create the right effect in this role. With his dark, spacious bass, Hans-Peter König was properly cast for King Henry, even if the role is a bit high for him. Finally, Anton Keremidtchiev was a very good Herald.

Götz Friedrich’s 1990 production is beyond salvation. To start with, the sets are appallingly ugly. For one moment, I had the impression that the action was set somewhere in a crumbling bus station in Albania. Then there were dingy costumes – Lohengrin and particularly Telramund were unflatteringly dressed. Then it was clearly that there was no staging direction to speak of – I wonder what exactly the person responsible for “Spielleitung” did other than say “enter from here and exit through there”. All the male singers can hardly be described as natural actors and moved awkwardly on stage. The act I duel was truly embarrassing. Both women were far more gifted in this department, but were left alone to do their thing. Ricarda Merbeth worked hard for intensity and ended on the semaphoric. I felt sorry for Waltraud Meier, who is used to collaborate with famous directors in conceptual stagings. She must be a very serious professional – she never gave up trying to make something of very little. Her attempts to interact with her Telramund on act II seemed to have the effect of frightening the baritone, what served as a good dramatic effect anyway. But it is difficult to do the trick all alone. One very interesting feature if unfaithful to the libretto – and I would be curious to know if this was her idea – was to show a surrendering Ortrud in the last bars of the opera, obliged to recognize the force of Christianity while bowing before the Duke of Brabant.

The wheat and the chaff

Wagner’s Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg is one of the the toughest cookies in the operatic repertoire. Technically, it is a comedy – but if you get ten instances of laughing during its almost five-hour length, this was a hilarious staging. Then the score involves impossibly complex ensembles with intricate counterpoint for soloists and chorus. To make things worse, the main roles require the subtlety of a Lieder singer and the dexterity of a bel canto specialist. In other words, if you want to listen to this opera, you have to be prepared to take the wheat AND the chaff – moreover because they are generally parts of the same thing.

The fact that Stefan Anton Reck was unable to conduct the whole run of performances finally proved to be a minor hazard, since Donald Runnicles, whose Wagnerian credentials are beyond any doubt, has taken over the baton. I haven’t had the luck of seeing Mr. Runnicles as often as I would like, but I have very good memories of a Rosenkavalier and a Walküre at the Metropolitan Opera. The fact that this evening’s performance was clearly below that level rather puzzled me, especially if one bears in mind that the Deutsche Oper orchestra is a more seasoned Wagnerian ensemble than the Met’s orchestra. I could imagine that limited number of rehearsals may be to blame. The famous overture did not highlight any of the house orchestra’s qualities – the color was unusually opaque, the brass section (particularly poor today) produced some unsubtle sounds and there was little sense of exuberance. The remaining act I lacked purpose and the fact that the scenery brought about disfiguring echo for anyone singing on stage right did not help much. Considering the monumental difficulties of act II, the level of mismatch was relatively reduced – and it must be pointed out that the conductor fortunately did not hold tempo back in order to make things easier. The sounds from the pit remained transparent, but kept on a level of volume comfortable for the singers and rather meagre for the audience. Pity that the chorus was not in its best shape either. Things tended to get into focus in act III, its pensive introduction particularly haunting, the whole Sachs/Walther/Eva was episode expressively handled and the quintet was sensitively conducted.

Having to write about Michaela Kaune always proves to be a difficult task for me. She is such a tasteful musician and her vocal nature is so lovely that it makes one doubly upset that the results are ultimately frustrating. The role of Eva should not pose her any difficulties – she is a lyric soprano who has the extra 5% to deal with the only stretch of jugendlich dramatisch singing in the whole part (i.e., O Sachs, mein Freund, du teurer Mann). However, she treats her creamy soprano rather heavily and the result is that either high-lying or more conversational passages sound rather colorless and unfocused.  Although her voice spread a bit during this difficult scene, something might have happened after that, for she launched Selig wie die Sonne in the grand manner. From this moment on, her voice sounded brighter, lighter, more concentrated and younger-sounding. If she consistently sang like that, she would belong to the great German lyric sopranos of our days.

I have previously seen Klaus Florian Vogt solely in the role of Lohengrin, in which his strangely boyish yet penetrating vocal quality underlines the character’s unearthliness. Walther is a rather more romantic leading man role – and his permanent mixed-tone approach to his top register and a lack of flowing legato in high-lying passages make the character less impetuous and ardent than one expects. The beauty and spontaneity of tone and his almost instrumental phrasing certainly make the character noble and touching, but I confess I wished for rich, full, vibrant top notes to crown the climaxes of the Preislied, for example.

I do not subscribe to the idea of showing Beckmesser as a ridiculous character and I regret the fact that the excellent Markus Brück has embraced the directorial choice with such passion to the point of nasalizing his dulcet baritone as he did. Beckmesser is a Meistersinger – and one who prizes his vocal abilities above his poetic imagination. His heavily decorated serenading probably means that he should sing with Bellinian poise. Maybe it is just a matter of taste, but I find that the plot gains more from a Beckmesser that offers some real competition than one portrayed like a manic goblin.

Kristinn Sigmundsson’s indisposition involved the last-minute replacement by Frank van Hove from Mannheim. As much as I like the Icelandic bass, van Hove’s spacious velvety bass was a pleasant surprise. If I have to fault Ulrike Helzel’s Magdalene, it would be because of her appealing and seductive high mezzo that made her often sound younger than Eva, what goes against the libretto. In the tiny role of the Nachtwächter, Krysztof Szumanski seized the occasion to display his firm voluminous bass. No wonder he received so warm applause.

I am afraid that James Johnson’s Sachs is a serious piece of miscast. Although he has very clear German and tackles declamatory passages very well, his bass-baritone has a rusty, curdled quality that robs the character of all spiritual nobility and likability. And that is something Hans Sachs cannot part with. David is a difficult and important role, who has a challenging aria that catalogues every kind of vocal difficulty. It requires A-casting – Herbert von Karajan, for example, had Peter Schreier both in his Dresden studio recording and in his live Salzburg performances in 1974 (where he gave René Kollo a run for his money). Paul Kaufmann is a congenial actor and has the right ideas about the role, but the voice is a bit small for the theatre.

Although Götz Friedrich’s production was premièred in 1993, it is impregnated with the aesthetic of the 1980’s. The sets serve a pointless aesthetic concept turning around a circumscribed square, costumes follow disparate styles and the direction of actors (under Gerlinde Pelkowski’s responsibility) involve the heavy utilization of cliché and awkward slapstick comedy.

Unvollendet ist das große Werk

Although it seems I was fishing for compliments, the truth is that re:opera needed revampment. It still does; that is why I have opted for a soft opening. It has a new name, a new address, it has lost weight and is supposed to be user-friendlier, but it wasn’t born ready. In order to mark its return to life, I have published the revised discography of Mozart’s La Clemenza di Tito.

I am working on the revision of the discography of Handel’s Giulio Cesare. I am still learning how to deal with it – so things will be chaotic for a while. I ask for your understanding therefore.

As good as Gould

In the context of the Wagnerian Wochen, Kirtsten Harms’s production of Wagner’s Tannhäuser has been revived with a different cast and conductor, but the concept of having one singer for both Venus and Elisabeth, central to the production’s “message”, persists. In the original production, Nadja Michael proved to be miscast in both roles. Not the case this evening. Although Petra Maria Schnitzer is rather short on tonal richness, low notes and sexiness for Venus, she proved to be a most efficient Elisabeth. I refrain from the word “illuminating”, for Schnitzer is the kind of reliable singer who is sufficiently satisfying in every single department, but rarely takes you by surprise in anything. Her large lyric soprano has no glitches – her tonal quality is golden, she produces big top notes when this is required from her, she can fine her voice down to pianissimo and sings with good taste throughout – she even produced an intimate touching prayer in act III. Pity that Dietrich Henschel no longer possesses the nobility of tone for Wolfram. His vocal production was either rasp, throaty, fluttery, poorly supported, nasal or a combination of these. Where is Markus Brück when we need him? Pity also that the reliable Reinhard Hagen found some difficulties with the higher end of tessitura in the role of the Landgraf.

Conductor Ulf Schirmer offered transparent orchestral sound, with some exciting fast passagework from strings. I have missed the sheer voluminousness that Philippe Auguin could conjure last time – and some scenes dragged a bit: this was hardly the most sensuous Venusberg in the market. If things happen there in such low pace, I perfectly understand why Tannhäuser longed for green fields, nightingales and other rural articles. As usual, the Deutsche Oper Chorus did a terrific job.

I leave the best for last. I have always believed that Tannhäuser was a role condemned to be poorly sung. Today I was gladly proved wrong – Stephen Gould’s performance this evening should appear in the dictionary next to the entry “Tannhäuser”. His voice is at once big, firm, easy and pleasant. He phrases with musicality, has perfect diction, knows how to tackle declamatory passages with the dexterity of an Astrid Varnay, snarls when one wishes him to do so and even reserves unconstricted mezza voce for some key moments. Have I mentioned that he ended the opera almost as fresh-toned as in the beginning? There was no moment when the audience had to worry about the next dramatic top note. This is a singer in the top of his game in Wagnerian heroic repertoire.

Davanti a lui tremava tutta… Berlino?

Even some die-hard Wagnerian would rarely or ever care to listen to anything before Der Fliegende Holländer – and Rienzi’s grand-opéra style and Italian setting might be rather unsettling for those used to valkyries riding flying horses. That said, in spite of its gigantic length, the opera reserves many hidden treasures in its event eventful plot and full-power score with its large-scale ensembles and vocally challenging main roles. It is only fitting that this work deserved a whole new production in the Deutsche Oper Berlin’s Wagner Wochen.

Adolf Hitler had a fancy for Rienzi – he even had a manuscript score in his bunker. This historical fact might have given director Philipp Stölzl the idea of relating the demagogic and equivocal Tribune Cola di Rienzi to the Führer and, to a certain extent, to the Duce. The connection is not unfounded – Rienzi seduced the people of a dilapidated nation and promised the restoration of its imperial status by the glorification of an idealized past and belligerence. However, it does not seem that Rienzi was a lunatic, but would rather deem himself well-meaning in his intent to raise a Rome ravaged by a self-interested elite and revive the rule of law. Portraying him as a childish deranged mind, with the excuse of quoting Charles Chaplin, is ultimately reducing the discussion to the simplistic explanation of insanity. In other words, making Rienzi a comical figure has the effect of belittling the social and historical phenomenon as mere folly, while History shows that the likes of Hitler or Stalin were not joking. And if the director is not ready to make a valid parallel, why making it in the first place? Better leave poor Rienzi in his XIVth century.

All that said, Stölzl’s staging has its qualities. First of all, it looks grandiose enough and that is something grand opéra cannot part with. The two-level set depicting Rienzi’s bunker and a public space dominated by a large screen on which Rienzi’s speeches are exhibited is visually striking. The use of film is aesthetically effective and benefits from the leading tenor’s histrionic talents. Although there is a bit too much clownishness in the approach, Torsten Kerl embraces the direction with gusto. It is a pity though that tiny wrong decisions finally undermine the interesting concept – the staged overture (should we stress again that this rarely is a good idea?) showing a stupid choreography (and again?) for Rienzi (!), wobbly and wrinkled flats, poorly synchronized slow-motion scenes and an Adriano portrayed as an awkward boy (let’s not forget that this was Wilhelmine Schröder-Devrient’s role). Worst of all, we all know that the score is invariably cut for performances – but those should be determined by musical values. Here Wagner’s music is ruthlessly cut in order to help the director force his ideas on the plot. Act 5 is pared in such uneconomical way that one could hardly understand what was going on – Rienzi’s excommunication is almost left to imagination and Irene and Adriano’s relationship is reduced to kindergarten complexity.

The title role is a challenge to casting – it requires a heroic voice that should preside above very large ensembles and that should work in some low-lying declamatory passages and also almost classical poise to deal with the grupetti and legato demands of moments such Almächt’ger Vater. Torsten Kerl may lack the volume of a true Heldentenor, but his focused, forceful tenor finds no difficulties in this writing and the tonal quality is healthy and pleasant. He phrases with imagination and has crystalline diction. He should be an ideal Lohengrin and I would be curious to see his Kaiser in the Florentine production of Die Frau ohne Schatten in May. But I wonder how wise it is to tackle Siegfried (Paris, 2011).

Although the role of Adriano is in the limits of Kate Aldrich’s resources, she did not seem fazed by the role’s difficult demands. She sang with affection, offered a stylish account of her act III aria (shorn of the difficult passage that stands in for a cabaletta soon after) and acquitted herself rather neatly in high-lying dramatic passages. Camilla Nylund found less comfort in the role of Irene, which is too high for her voice in the first place. Her opaque high register would gain the minimally necessary brightness and roundness during the opera. In her last interventions, she would even produce some rich acuti. Among the minor roles, Ante Jerkunica proved to be a convincing Stefano.

Replacing an ailing Vladimir Jurovsky, maestro Sebastian Lang-Lessing offered an urgent account of the score, generating energy rather from bright-toned orchestral sound and clear articulation, for he wisely avoided heaviness and thickness, helping his light-voiced cast in many key passages. The orchestra had, however, its untidy moments, especially with brass instruments, but never showed itself less than animated. However, the excellent house chorus takes pride of place for its truly exciting performance – musical and dramatic values taken with same engagement and precision.

No way Bach

Flirting with historically informed performances is something large orchestras could not resist. With various degrees of success, conductor like John Eliot Gardiner, Roger Norrington or Nikolaus Harnoncourt are regularly invited to guest performances with the Wiener Philharmoniker or the Concertgebouw. For many of them, this should not be seen as a surprise – Harnoncourt, for example, began his career as a cellist in the Vienna Symphony Orchestra, where he had the opportunity to work with people like Herbert von Karajan. In other words, he knew very well his mainstream before going HIP.

I am not sure if Ton Koopman has a similar background. This evening he had his debut with the Berliner Philharmoniker – and my impression was rather of uneasiness. As one could have expected, the program turned essentially around Bach. The reduced orchestra was first heard playing the Overture no. 3 BWV 1068. I would have said that, predictably, trumpets and timpani could not blend into the aural picture, but my only previous experience with the BPO in this repertoire (Bach’s Mass in B minor with Claudio Abbado in Salzburg in 1999) had precisely surprised me by the way how the Italian conductor managed to solve this problem and keep an almost ideal balance throughout the whole performance. To make things more difficult, Koopman’s tempi were invariably too fast and the string section could simply not offer clear articulation. The only moment when it seemed to relax was during the famous Air, when the conflict between the orchestra’s impulse to sing on broad lines and the conductor’s rigidity ultimately rendered an almost ideal compromise between Romantic and baroque values.

After the intermission, the audience was treated to a performance of the controversial Motette “Lobet den Herrn, alle Heiden”, when the RIAS Kammerchor sang with enough clarity, but I am afraid that the sopranos had too clear an advantage over the remaining voices. One could hardly hear the basses. The ensuing performance of the Magnificat BWV 243 only proved that this piece has bad luck with the Philharmonie.

Its previous performance in this hall in 1984 has been preserved on video and shows Herbert von Karajan, a large orchestra, huge chorus, not one but two copulating-skeletons-style harpsichords and a group of soloists who could as well sing L’Italiana in Algeri. One would expect that this evening’s performance to vindicate the Berliners from the anachronistic approach, but I am afraid that it has only proved that it is very difficult to pull out a relatively stylish performance of baroque music with a Romantic orchestra.

Although the conductor has chosen a more sensible pace, it only had the dubious effect of sounding dull, as the orchestra sound was devoid of clarity, especially in contrapuntal passages. The balance between voices in the chorus became more apparent. It also lacked horizontal clarity – Bach’s beautifully built choral writing often seemed like a pointless series of vowels. The choice of soloists reflects the contemporary practices of abandoning singers with modest volume in big halls to no one’s avail. Soprano Klara Ek and tenor Werner Güra at least have a bright sheen on their voices. Ingerborg Danz is an experienced Bachian and, even if one wanted more sound, she was probably the only singer who offered something like an interpretation – and the tessitura is admittedly uncongenial to the contralto voice. The usually admirable Klaus Mertens also resented the size of the auditorium. He had to force a bit and lost some of his tonal quality. I wonder why this concert was not performed at the Kammermusiksaal, as it ought to.

Curiously, the only item in the evening that proved to be of some interest was the non-Bachian piece – Haydn’s Symphony no. 98. The difference in the quality of the orchestral sound was immediately sensed. Strings had a brighter, cleaner color; phrasing had purpose and energy; the fast tempi generated energy rather than lack of focus. No wonder that the piece got the most animated applause in the whole evening. I wonder to what extent the success of the Haydn piece would be due to the fact that the orchestra members were probably less straight-jacked by having to comply to esoteric performance practices imposed by a visiting composer. Who can tell?

If life gives you lemon,…

.., make lemonade. The infamous quote is one of Joan Collins’s contributions to mankind. Her acting skills were unfortunately not one of them, but the lady has attitude, one must concede her that. One can only guess how far she would have gone if she could do what Helen Mirren does… When it comes to opera, how often one regrets nature’s avarice when listening to some singers who really deserved a great voice. For instance, Danielle de Niese. Although I do not subscribe to the Beyoncé-like routine she displayed in her recital with the Giardino Armonico in the Konzerthaus this evening, her energy, imagination, commitment and hardwork are hard to overlook. Life gave her a lemon – and she made limoncello.

If one had to classify de Niese’s voice, soubrette would be everyone’s first idea. But her diligent efforts to extract everything and a bit more from it has pushed her into other directions. Her middle register is modest, but she generally tries to keep it as light and conversational as possible, limiting her tonal colouring to a sexiness à la Kathleen Battle (to whom she cannot otherwise be compared, I am sorry to say). When things get low (and she is naughty about how low she should go), she manipulates her registers to produce some sound down there. On the other hand, I have found her high notes very healthy, fully produced and never shrill. At first, a light soprano in baroque repertoire who has an ersatz for a low range and who sings some rich top notes seems admirable indeed. But this gimmick has a price – which is her tonal purity. As it is, her alternative is to sing notes without vibrato, which ultimately comes about rather as tremulousness.

Nevertheless – and this is a big nevertheless – she is a singer I would gladly see in baroque repertoire, provided she does not take the prima donna role, i.e., as Morgana (in Alcina), as Dalinda (in Ariodante), as Poppea (in Agrippina) etc.  First of all, she has a remarkable instinct to establish the mood of an aria. Even in a restricted tonal palette, she never sings two arias the same way. One can even distinguish different characters when they appear in a row in a recital like this evening’s. Second, although she is no native Italian, she definitely knows how to use the text in her favor. After some very tame accounts of arie di furie, it is always good to hear someone who sings Morrai, sì as if she were really threatening someone. Also, in Volate, amori, from the way she sings the word due bei cori, one can feel Ginevra’s girly excitement about her upcoming wedding. Third, she really revels in athletic coloratura passages.  Her account of Cleopatra’s Da tempeste, for instance, was undoubtedly exciting. God knows that this can be preferable to bloodless propriety…  I have also noticed that the microphone is not very kind to her voice, exposing the lack of firmness in the middle of her range and adding a metallic quality to her high notes that one does not hear live.

Although de Niese’s program involved only Handel opera characters unsuited to her voice, she has chosen items which more or less flatter her. Predictably, lamenti such as Laschia ch’io pianga and Ritorna, o caro were the arias in which her lack of tonal depth and richness were more immediately felt. Fortunately, Giovanni Antonini and the Giardino Armonico were there to provide all the atmosphere one could wish for. These musicians have unending supply of panache and technical abandon, phrasing with protean quality, infusing every little decibel with energy, surprising the audience with their verve and theatricality. Never before have I heard such a sunny performance of Handel’s concerti grossi (op.6, no.1 and no. 6) and Geminiani’s Concerto Op. 5 no. 2 was an absolute tour de force. No wonder the orchestra got the greatest share of the applause (truth be said, the soprano was warmly acclaimed as well). And they do live up to the concert occasion with their extrovert personalities. Their nonchalance about their virtuoso quality is comparable to the naturalness with which Romans cross the Piazza della Rotonda as if the Pantheon was just another building. Between the pieces, they chatted, smiled, made jokes… I only hope that the collection of bizarre ties was a practical joke (that Berliners are unable to notice, I am afraid)…

Der erschreckende Blick

Franz Schreker’s opera Der Ferne Klang, premièred in Frankfurt am Main in 1912, made the composer one of the brightest stars in German operatic world before and during WWI until he was blacklisted as creator of Entartete Musik, what probably concurred to his early death in 1934. Although the shadow of names such as Richard Strauss and Gustav Mahler has been large enough to cover contemporary composers, Schreker has had his advocates – such as Gerd Albrecht who recorded the work in Berlin in 1990 and Michael Gielen who persuaded the Lindenoper to stage it in 2001. This very production has been revived this evening.

Schreker’s main assets as a composer are his harmonic imagination, masterly orchestration and talent for writing declamatory music. It is a pity that melodic imagination and dramatic timing do not make into the list. As it is, many scenes overstay their effect and, although the music is precisely set to his own text, one must say that Schreker the librettist is no Hugo von Hofmannsthal. As a result, the opera, to use Hofmannsthal’s words, enthält Längen, gefährliche Längen… Strauss would have said that he might not be a first-rate composer, but then he would be a first-class second-rate composer. At any rate, one can certainly feel how inspired he seems even when he looses his way (as in FroSch’s act III, for example) in comparison to Schreker.

In any case, Die Ferne Klang is a work one should experience – its atmosphere of uncanny sensuousness is certainly noteworthy  - although it is one opera one can only truly enjoy when the forces available are top class to make it work as it should. In other words, this is not a bad-casting-proof work. The Lindenoper cast has two notable singers in key roles: tenor Burkhard Fritz as… Fritz and Hanno Müller-Brachmann as the Count. Although he has been singing jugendlich dramatisch tenor parts such as Lohengrin and Walther, Fritz’s rock-solid voice shows great depth in the lower reaches and an unusually clean top register. It cuts through the orchestra without any hint of effort and he phrases with true legato, a rarity these days. Even if he was announced indisposed, one could only guess that only from one or two constricted exposed high notes many a healthy tenor would have produce anyway. Müller-Brachmann’s perfectly focused dark baritone is always a pleasure to the ears – and he seized the occasion to offer a detailed and varied account of the glühenden Krone ballad. One must also not forget tenor Stephan Rügamer, who sang the role of the Questionable Individual with liquid tone.

However, a great deal of a performance of Der ferne Klang depends on the singer cast as Grete. Anne Schwanewilms is an extremely gifted actress, is a beautiful woman and has a good way with words, but her “tubular” lyric soprano is not what this music requires. In her first scene, her Gretel sounds rather childish than youthful and her transformation in demimondaine does not bring about anything sensuous, let alone sexy with it. Although she seemed to be in very good voice, she was too often strained by the writing, ending on being covered by the orchestra too often and her vocal production was more than occasionally fluttery. Her habit of pecking at notes does not help her to produce any sense of passion either. I wonder how much her casting has influenced Maestro Pedro Halffter, who obviously love this music and never failed to produce the right color effects in it, to adopt a rather restrained approach. I know that the name of Gabriele Schnaut makes many cringe, but back in 1990 in Albrecht’s recording, she could offer something far more impassioned and thrilling. Her closing scene (with a mellifluous Thomas Moser and the RIAS orchestra in full power) is something that would hardly leave anyone indifferent.

When it comes to the staging, one should really close one’s eyes and enjoy the music. First of all, it all looked ugly beyond salvation – and kitsch. Second, if you haven’t previously read the plot, you would not understand the story at all – I know directors love to say that everybody already knows the story, but that is just an excuse for poor results. The places described in the libretto are replaced by multipurpose dingy-colored sets that add nothing to the experience – the same happens to the characters’ actions, who are also replaced by some pointless choreographies (this time, I must acknowledge, expertly handled by the cast, especially Schwanewilms) that involve lots of trembling and shaking. Worse: many singers take various roles without changing costumes. As they hang around on stage in scenes in which none of their characters were supposed to appear, the results are even more confusing. The playing with the story is particularly harmful to the closing redemption scene, which looks here just messy and dull. Schreker has all effects played by the orchestra – nobody can accuse him of lacking that ability – and creates mood wonderfully. He really needs no help in that department – and stage directors should take note of that.

Light, but hard to digest

Die Frau ohne Schatten is arguably Richard Strauss’s most formidable score, composed to Hugo von Hofmannstahl’s most complex libretto, the symbolism of which is almost awkward in its multiple levels. Magic opera, psychological drama, myth, social analysis… there is plenty to choose in it. To make things more difficult, the music is some sort of Straussian showcase – from the multicolored chamber music atmosphere of Ariadne auf Naxos to the all-together-now hysteria of Elektra. That operatic Goliath does not seem to have intimidated Zürich’s small but brave opera house, though.

Although director David Pountney believes that the work is about the discovery of one’s own humanity, he seems to focus his staging on the social disintegration caused by the exploitation of working class in the early day of capitalism, more of less Hofmannsthal’s lifetime. Thus, the story is set on the decline of the Habsburg monarchy. While the Emperor and the Empress are here shown as k. u. k. aristocrats, Barak and his wife are proletarians in a sewing workshop. The Nurse is a key  figure in this context, since she is portrayed as something like a less fortunate relative who depends on her patrons’ favors (therefore, her interest in the Empress comes through more like self-interest than in other stagings). The magic elements of the plot are not abandoned, however. The surrealistic aesthetics of Max Ernst serve as inspiration to dream-like costumes and sets. Many ideas come through quite effectively, such s the play-in-the-play seduction of the Dyer’s Wife, where the Amme literally stages the poor woman’s romanesque fantasies (it is truly amazing how the music fits this concept), but many a detail ultimately seem unintentionally comical, such as the ballet-dancer falcon (why people feel that they have to bring the “voice of the falcon” to the stage?) or the walking dolls cloaked in white who are supposed to be the Ungeborene… If the many imaginative touches do not make an unforgettable experience, poor direction of actors is to blame. The cast did not seem comfortable with what they had to do and most scenes gave the impression of a routine followed with little conviction and almost no coherence: the tenor’s approach was stand-and-deliver, the baritone offered naturalistic acting and both sopranos seemed entirely lost. Only the mezzo seemed to invest the stylized acting required from her.

Franz Welser-Möst similarly eschewed any larger-than-life quality in his reading. The Opernhaus Zürich has a small auditorium and its orchestra is used to produce leaner sounds. Moreover, the conductor professes that Straussian style should involve lighter textures over which the text can still be easily followed by the audience. Let’s call it the “Cosi-fan-tutte golden rule”. I have to confess that I took some time to adjust to the undernourished orchestral sound, especially in what regards the string section. There was transparence in plenty, but the fact that the sound never ever blossomed even in the orchestral interludes finally robbed the music of a great deal of its impact. The end of act I sounded particularly deprived of substance. That could be overseen, if volume had been replaced by accent (as Marc Minkowski has showed us in his performance of R. Wagner’s Die Feen at the Théâtre du Châtelet), but, alas, the lack of forward movement and a sameness in what regard phrasing all in favor of orchestral polish finally suggested overcautiousness. The Mozartian poise had its advantages – a particularly clean ensemble in the difficult act II closing scene – but I am not really sure if this is how FroSch should sound.

The role of the Kaiserin is a bit high for Emily Magee, who had to chop her phrases too often to prepare for the next dramatic high note. However, her creamy soprano is a Straussian instrument by nature and, even when tested, she never produced a sour note during the whole opera. Jenice Baird was a puzzling Färberin. I have never heard her in such good voice – she really sang the part in her rich vibrant dramatic soprano, but seemed to be sleepwalking in the interpretative and dramatic departments. Her rather slow delivery of the text drained the Färberin music of all its bite. Although Birgit Remmert was quite overparted as the Amme, the size of the hall helped her to produce the right effect in this role. She has spacious low notes, clear declamation and, even if her top register is a bit strained, that did not prevent to produce some firm acuti. I know: Roberto Saccà’s voice is ugly, but I must say that I have never listened to anyone sing this part with such flowing lyricism, nuance.., and ringing top register before. He almost convinced me that the role should be cast with jugendlich dramatisch voices. Michael Volle was extremely well cast as Barak – his spacious baritone is extremely pleasant on the ear and he sang sensitively throughout.