Michaelangelo, Rodin and genius

Posted on October 16, 2014 by barczablog

My first look yesterday at the new Art Gallery of Ontario show, “Michaelangelo: Quest for Genius”, was an ecstatic experience.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt so strongly that a curatorial team understand me & my concerns coming to this show, an artist of such importance as to demand respect before you’ve looked at anything.

I suppose I have always resented that kind of authority, however much it might be justified. How then could I get at Michaelangelo—both the man & his work—when his reputation is so immense? And as a writer I felt qualms coming here, hoping I wouldn’t merely spout banalities in the presence of greatness, my poor weak works falling flat on my face. Yes it might be beautiful, but would I sound like a star-struck fan? What could i possibly say that hasn’t already been said many times and better long ago?

In the brief presentation before they turned us loose among the art we heard these very questions addressed by David Wistow and Lloyd Dewitt of the AGO team, interviewed by director Matthew Teitelbaum. What they described in the presentation suggested a way to go into the show, and a way to approach the throne that is Michaelangelo & his work.
There are two big ideas I want to unpack. One concerns the nature of creativity, the other concerns ways of seeing. Let me approach the perceptual one first.

Michelangelo, Three nudes (Studies for the Apostles in the Transfiguration), c. 1532 black chalk 17.8 x 20.9 cm Casa Buonarroti

Michelangelo, Three nudes (Studies for the Apostles in the Transfiguration), c. 1532 black chalk 17.8 x 20.9 cm Casa Buonarroti

I assume that the assembly of this show began with a series of small works from Michaelangelo, collected for centuries by the Casa Buonarotti, hugely valuable pieces that haven’t been seen here before. These are small drawings whose value & worth (in every sense of the word) is huge, yet in comparatively tiny & unassuming pieces in a gallery. Someone had a really clever idea. In the introduction someone spoke of Michaelangelo’s influence over the centuries, and so they paired Michaelangelo’s powerful little drawings with bigger pieces. I wonder, did they ponder over who might not dishonour the master, in the juxtaposition? Whose work would suffice, as a proper accompaniment, to someone who in a real sense taught us how to see?

Someone thought of Rodin. He too, we’re told, had a creative life that was a struggle. And most importantly, Rodin had an epiphany seeing Michaelangelo that changed his art. If I understand this correctly –and I don’t claim I am certain about it—Rodin was influenced more by Michaelangelo than anyone else.  And so we walk around in this wonderful space, that’s shared between the small and the large, Rodin’s work that could be understood as echoes, or even paraphrases, if a sculptor can paraphrase a drawing and the sensibility in those drawings. It’s as though we have the original “pictures at an exhibition” on the piano, and also encounter Rodin’s pieces, that are a lot like the orchestral transcription, but three-dimensional transcriptions of concepts via Michaelangelo’s influence upon Rodin’s sensibility.  We don’t have the literal connection, the one-to-one correspondence between the original and the referent, but still, the parallels are stunning.  Rodin’s sense of proportion & anatomy resonate with Michaelangelo’s physicality.

Auguste Rodin French, 1840-1917 Le Penseur (The Thinker) conceived 1880; cast early 1920s bronze Height: 69.9 cm Gift of Mrs. O.D. Vaughan, 1977, shown in front of an image of Rodin's Gates of Hell. At first glance i thought this was Michaelangelo, not Rodin.

Auguste Rodin French, 1840-1917 Le Penseur (The Thinker) conceived 1880; cast early 1920s bronze Height: 69.9 cm Gift of Mrs. O.D. Vaughan, 1977, shown in front of an image of Rodin’s Gates of Hell (a piece i didn’t know, and that at first glance i mistook for a Michaelangelo, not Rodin).

I have to go back for another look or two.  But so far I think the big pieces help us to see the proper proportions in the small pieces, that my eye is stimulated by the tension between the different worlds present in the gallery. That’s just a tiny bit of an idea I am struggling to put into words. I’ll go back, and see whether there’s really anything there beyond my sense that I need more time with the art.

As far as the other idea, concerning creativity, it was explained quite clearly by Dewitt, who alluded to a University of Toronto professor, namely Jordan Peterson, as an important input. Their explanation reminded me of Mozart; see if you observe a similar connection. Their perception of a creator whose abilities were godlike, whose output was perfect was ultimately daunting (there we are again, humbled!).  It reminds me of the film Amadeus, when Salieri freaks out at all the perfect scores done in ink, as though the composer were taking dictation from God.

Ah but that beautiful image –Shaffer’s creation as well as the legend that informed it, just like the image of Michaelangelo—is simply wrong. Mozart sketched and worked, even if we only have the perfect copies left to us.

I am always happy when I stumble upon an inter-disciplinary approach to understanding art and how art is made. Psychology (via Professor Peterson) has helped the curatorial team to humanize such forbidding artistry, to deconstruct that myth of the godlike genius, into someone who simply worked incessantly, suffering, discarding, revising… and eventually discovering.

I believe we’ve been messed up badly by criticism & pedagogy, by criteria that inhibit us. Tonight after class I was approached by a student asking about creative outlets, and we talked a bit about teachers who have set us back with their harsh judgments. Teachers of piano or voice are not what they used to be, thank goodness. At one time the raps on the knuckles –whether genuine or merely inflicted verbally—played a part in a kind of self-serving celebration of talent: the recognition of received skill and impossible hierarchies rather than the nurturing of new abilities.  Instead of empowerment we encountered forbidding gate-keepers. If we swallow the old metaphors –of inspiration and god-given talent—we may not think we ourselves are worthy to be admitted to such company, nor anyone else. It’s pretty sick stuff.

There’s a great deal of dead wood to clear away, old ideas about art & the psychology of creativity. A show like this is a wonderful step in the right direction. It’s refreshing that Michaelangelo is one of us, and that we can be welcome in his presence after all.

It’s a beautiful thought.

Michaelangelo: Quest for Genius will run at the AGO October 18, 2014 – January 11, 2015

Posted in Art, Architecture & Design, Reviews | 1 Comment

Alcina preview at RBA

Posted on October 14, 2014 by barczablog

The season of Thanksgiving continues, as I feel extraordinarily blessed for the wonderful day I am having. Not only did I have my three best nights in the theatre since the beginning of October (two performances of Falstaff and one of Madama Butterfly, all from the Canadian Opera Company), the concert I experienced today, again hosted by the COC, was unquestionably the best I’ve seen all year. My head is full of so many thoughts, forgive me if I write about this at length.

Talk about lucky. The media preview for the new Art Gallery of Ontario show Michaelangelo: Quest for Genius was this morning at 10 a.m. From there I walked to the Four Seasons Centre, the Richard Bradshaw Amphitheatre for what was ostensibly listed as part of the “DANCE SERIES” of the COC’s free noonhour concerts.  That might explain why I didn’t see any opera colleagues in attendance. There was perhaps five minutes of dance, and forty minutes of opera, plus five minutes of Marshall Pynkoski explaining his dramaturgical concept of Handel’s opera. And whereas RBA concerts are usually voice + piano standing still, this concert was almost completely staged, making more use of the space than I’ve seen before.

L-R Wallis Giunta, Olivier Laquerre, Meghan LIndsay and Allyson McHardy.

L-R Wallis Giunta, Olivier Laquerre, Meghan LIndsay and Allyson McHardy.

Don’t get me wrong, I love dance (I was the one who showed up right?). But this was a profound pleasure. Theories notwithstanding, Pynkoski mostly let his singers do the talking, to demonstrate his points. He laid out a concept for Alcina that I find very compelling, and reminds me a lot of what we’ve seen from him and Opera Atelier, in the Mozart operas. I hope I have the words right for what the form to which he compared this opera in his introduction, something like a “variety show”. I am sure he’ll explain this again when the show opens. But make no mistake, this is really original.

Watching today’s performance I was reminded of Pynkoski’s recent productions of Don Giovanni, Abduction from the Seraglio and Der Freischütz. He’s differentiating female characters in tone & class, setting up parallel romantic plots where the sub-plot is much lighter in tone. Pynkoski has a real knack for comedy, bringing it sometimes to scenes where one wouldn’t expect to find it.

It’s unfortunate that Carla Huhtanen, who usually plays the comic sparkplug role for Opera Atelier, won’t be in Alcina. But just as she was a very bawdy, hysterically funny Blondie (Abduction from the Seraglio), Zerlina (Don Giovanni ) and Ännchen (Der Freschütz), what I see here is that Pynkoski is bringing out the mischievous side of the character of Morgana, played today by Mireille Asselin. In her arias “O s’apre al riso” and “Tornami a vaheggiar” Asselin shows off a spectacular knack for coloratura, all while being a comedienne.

Asselin had lots of competition for the laughs & applause however, and by that I mean, other stunning performances.  Wallis Giunta, was wonderfully convincing as Bradamante, the woman who pretends to be a man to win back her man (got that?). We laughed at Giunta’s reactions to Morgana’s advances in comic scenes, but later, when the stress of her situation overwhelms her reason she goes mad with coloratura, aka the aria “vorrei vendicarmi”; in the end it’s surprisingly poignant.

Wallis Giunta (as Bradamante) brandishing a knife in the direction of Allyson McHardy (as her lover Ruggeiro).

Wallis Giunta (as Bradamante) brandishing a knife in the direction of Allyson
McHardy (as her lover Ruggeiro). David Fallis (at the left) conducts.

Allyson McHardy as Ruggeiro (Bradamante’s man, but played by a woman) sang a heart-wrenching “Verdi prati”; while she’s a singer who has ventured into many sorts of repertoire I have a weak spot for her Handel, the voice reminding me of Janet Baker. Meghan Lindsay in the title role was comparatively deadpan, but lovely in her aria “”Di’, cor mio.” Olivier Laquerre as Melisso was involved in recitatives without arias.
Pianist Christopher Bagan was very capable, while OA music director David Fallis led a wonderfully tight, spirited performance.

Opera Atelier’s Alcina runs October 23- November 1 at the Elgin Theatre (and please note for anyone wondering –after a friend asked me about this– the Elgin Theatre run is with Tafelmusik Orchestra, fully staged with costumes; this concert was a free concert sampler courtesy of the COC’s noonhour outreach)

Morgana (Mireille Asselin) pursues Bradamante (Wallis Giunta)

Morgana (Mireille Asselin) pursues Bradamante (Wallis Giunta)

Posted in Opera, Reviews | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

A Butterfly with laughter and tears

Posted on October 12, 2014 by barczablog

It’s like no Madama Butterfly I’ve ever seen. The new Canadian Opera Company production is really the same one they’ve been staging for years, yet very different in its new incarnation. There are two parallel casts performing Puccini’s intercultural tear-jerker over the 3 weeks between Oct 10 and 31st.

While I like Brian Macdonald –a director and choreographer I admire so much that I invited him to be a keynote speaker back in 2005 at the University of Toronto’s Festival of Original Theatre—I wonder if it’s his doing.  Wonderful as this production is, one first seen in 1990, with elegant sets from Susan Benson (because it stays out of your way, allowing you a direct connection with the performances & the depths of this wonderful opera), I’ve seen it many times, but never saw anything remotely like what I saw today.

I have a funny story to tell that might give you some idea. My wife observed that she’s never seen so many men crying. But that’s not the joke. At one point, when I was convulsing, trying not to loudly sob into the silence, I heard a voice behind me, an older lady saying rather loudly in a theater that was dead silent but for the crying, at a very tender moment, “elég hosszú”. That’s Hungarian and it’s just my good fortune that I understood.  I went from barely controlling my sobs, to tears of laughter as I completely lost it, convulsing with mad giggles.

Of course what she was saying can loosely be translated as “it’s kind of long”, but I suppose even at her advanced age it must have been her first Butterfly.

Actually it’s one of the shortest I’ve seen, with a break-neck pace from conductor Patrick Lange. I say that as someone who probably knows this score better than any opera, a score i’ve played from one end to the other. My brother sang one of his first solo roles with the COC as the Imperial Commisioner, sung today by Iain MacNeil, making a very solid and tuneful debut. Sometime later that same sibling would sing Sharpless at least once at the O’Keefe Centre, sung today by Gregory Dahl.

I’ve seen a lot of performances of this opera, some live and some on video, and I say without hesitation that today’s was the best I’ve ever seen. As my wife already reported, I wasn’t the only one being moved, in a production that didn’t really do that much for me the last time I saw it.

What’s the difference? There are two people responsible as far as I can tell.

(l-r) Elizabeth DeShong as Suzuki and Kelly Kaduce as Cio-Cio San in the Canadian Opera Company production of Madama Butterfly, 2014. Photo: Michael Cooper

(l-r) Elizabeth DeShong as Suzuki and Kelly Kaduce as Cio-Cio San in the Canadian Opera Company production of Madama Butterfly, 2014. Photo: Michael Cooper

Chief culprit is Kelly Kaduce. I suspected I was in for something special when I responded to the COC’s invitation. As a subscriber I already have tickets to see the “A” cast (who opened the show Friday night); my subscription tickets are at the end of the run, so I chose to see the “B” cast who opened today.

I feel I am channelling Prince Yamadori, a character who makes a brief appearance in Act II. I’ve always felt a wistful attachment to him, the man whose proposal to Butterfly offers a possible escape from her predicament, a pathway she chooses to ignore. Imagine my surprise when Kelly Kaduce said it was her favourite part of the opera in her interview. Yet I was expecting that scene (ha I almost called it “our scene”) to be a highlight, in an act that’s otherwise depressingly sad, because –at least in the productions I have seen—Butterfly walks around with a cloud of misery hanging over her head, even as she claims to be hopeful.

When you’ve seen an opera countless times you think you know what it means, you think you know its possibilities. Today I had my mind opened, if not blown by what I saw. For much of Act II, Butterfly –meaning Kelly Kaduce—is finding laughs. She’s especially funny in her scene with Yamadori, as she mocks him before dismissing him.
Let me add one tiny detail, one that is usually forgotten after this bombshell is delivered to us in Act I. Butterfly is 15 years old. But does anyone ever play her in a manner that resembles a woman under the age of 40? Nope. Usually you see a diva sailing around the stage like an imitation of a Japanese battleship: ponderous, serious, vaguely Eastern, and with no possibility of humour. But oh my, the lines are actually funny, especially if played with the vigour of a teenager. It needs to be said: Kaduce is a believable teenager. While she may be older in Act II she’s still supposed to be a teenager, and that’s what Kaduce gives us. It’s as though I’ve never seen this opera before, considering how different some scenes were as a result.

When –in a scene that has long been one of my favourites, a scene i’ve played many times on the piano with the aforementioned sibling—Sharpless attempts to read Pinkerton’s letter to Butterfly, the dynamic changes completely if you have a bouncy hyper teenager interrupting and jumping up throughout. It’s been a very dark scene in other productions I’ve seen. When Sharpless delivers his electrifying question “what if he never comes back” it can be just one more in a series of dark moments, if everyone is dark dark dark from the opening of Act II. But if Suzuki is worried, while Butterfly’s “un bel di” is sung with genuine faith, and youth? And joy? and energy?  Different story. Sharpless has this secret that can’t penetrate the comedy of the scene with Yamadori, that’s his and his alone, until the kick in the gut of his direct question. The opera’s tone shifts decisively at this point, even if it does a minor reset when the boat is sighted. Butterfly doesn’t seem so forlorn nor the end so much of a foregone conclusion.

Need I say: this is by far the best Butterfly I’ve ever seen, because Kaduce is the best Butterfly I’ve ever seen or imagined.  I had no idea the opera could work so well.

Another big reason, subsidiary but still important, is the work of Elizabeth DeShong as Suzuki. The voice is delicious especially in her low notes, her reactions wonderful to watch. The convulsive moment I spoke of –that led to the comedy from the Hungarian dowager—was actually DeShong’s big moment. She spoke of her favourite moment in the interview I posted last night:

Dramatically, there is a small moment between Suzuki and Butterfly that always resonates strongly with me. When Butterfly enters and discovers Sharpless and Kate Pinkerton, Suzuki breaks down. Butterfly comes to Suzuki and says that she shouldn’t cry. She says that Suzuki has been good. In this moment, I always gently shake my head “no”. I think Suzuki always feels she should have done more to protect Butterfly. It highlights the constant struggle between duty and friendship, that Suzuki feels throughout the opera.

I watched this scene and lost it because it reminds me of moments of profound recognition that have a kind of tragic dimension outside the story. I think the reason those moments are so powerful is because the pattern of suffering is momentarily interrupted, as someone notices and comments on it, and we in the audience can relate to that recognition, our own experience curiously mirrored onstage. It’s heartbreaking both because we’re watching Suzuki break down, and because sweet adorable Butterfly –at this moment played like a delicate child—is seeking for once to take care of Suzuki rather than raging or cracking up herself (although there’s plenty of time for that later).

There are other people in the show, but it’s really all about Lange, Kaduce and DeShong.

Andrea Carè is not a bad Pinkerton, even if he has an appoggiatura approach to many of his high notes, a technique that’s flawless if you’re okay with someone hitting a high note via a nearby note just below it.

Gregory Dahl is excellent as Sharpless, a role that’s sometimes very thankless, a passive observer, a giver of advice that’s almost 100% ignored. I’ve seen more strident approaches –for instance, some show concern or anger in the microseconds when Pinkerton speaks of marrying a real American wife just before the arrival of the bride—but we didn’t get that in Dahl’s reading. I think I like this better actually, because if Sharpless sees what a jerk Pinkerton really is –as happens in the Mitterand film—you end up with a story that’s way too sad too early, and therefore makes Butterfly look like a fool. I’d compare it to productions of Otello I have seen where Iago is so strong that as a result the Moor is made to look like a patsy rather than a hero (thinking especially of the unfortunate era of Sherrill Milnes in the role and as a result killing the tragedy). I need to believe Butterfly is either smart to love Pinkerton, or at least, that she’s a child who had reason to believe in Pinkerton, which is something Kaduce achieves, and which isn’t undermined by either Dahl’s understated approach, nor Carè.

I wonder if I can be trusted. I’ve been raving about Falstaff this week (a pair of reviews) so I may be sounding like a groupie or someone who swallowed the Kool-ade. But I admire the Verdi opera, love the work of two or three key performers. This is better, unexpected and in a sense like bringing something back from the dead, an opera from which i never expected such depth. Kaduce accomplished a miracle, not least because I came out of that theatre happy. During the curtain call she was again as vigorous as an 18 year old, even kissing her Pinkerton in a moment that I am certain made everyone smile (especially recalling another production I saw where people did some ironic booing and hissing for someone who can be seen as the villain). Can you blame me for thinking of Yamadori? I love this woman, and discussed with my wife traveling to see her sing no matter where that might be.

But for now? She’s here in Toronto!

Posted in Opera, Reviews | 8 Comments

10 Questions for Elizabeth DeShong

Posted on October 11, 2014 by barczablog

Elizabeth DeShong is singing big roles in the biggest houses. She’s sung Suzuki (the role she’s singing in a Canadian Opera Company production that’s opening tonight at the Four Seasons Centre) at the Metropolitan Opera and San Francisco Opera Company, Cenerentola at Glyndebourne, the Composer (Ariadne auf Naxos) at Washington National Opera, Hansel & Hermia in Lyric Opera of Chicago. In my review of the COC’s 2011 Cenerentola—one of their most impressive productions of the past decade—I said the following:

Elizabeth DeShong as Cinderella was thoroughly musical, not just coloratura & high notes, but a beautiful tone in her lower register as well.

I could have said a great deal more about her acting, and dramatic ability will be a key in the new COC Butterfly. While the other principals -Butterfly / Pinkerton / Sharpless- are double cast, DeShong appears in all 12 performances between now and Oct 31st. Her performance is fundamental to the success of the show.

On the occasion of the opening, I ask Elizabeth DeShong ten questions: five about herself and five more about undertaking the role of Suzuki.

Elizabeth DeShong backstage with Layla Clare and Placido Domingo in the Metropolitan Opera’s “Enchanted Island”, 2011.

1) Are you more like your father or your mother?

I’d say, I’m a pretty even split between the two of them. My mother is a “doer”.
If there is something that needs to be done, she is on it with laser-like
focus. To that end, I am very determined and focused, which helps in such a
competitive field. There, also, isn’t a harder worker. My mother is a hospice
care provider, and a very good one. Perhaps, I’m flattering myself, but I like
to think that some of the innate strength, tenderness, and ability to sense
the needs of others that she brings to those that she cares for, I can bring to
the characters I portray, especially a character like Suzuki.

My father is a United Methodist minister. While my calling was not to the
church, I am certain that observing my father’s ability to reach people and
present ideas in an honest, and approachable way, has given me, if not
skills, the courage to try. Even though ministry is, from the outside, an
extroverted field, my father is an introvert who has pushed himself outside
of his comfort zone in order to do work that, he believes, is greater than
himself. By seeing my father push through personal boundaries and touch
people’s lives through his work, I gained the confidence (without even
knowing it) to pursue my own goals and the ability to view my work as
something for others.

2) What is the best thing or worst thing about being an opera singer?

Travel.

3) Who do you like to listen to or watch?

My most frequently listened to playlists include The Punch Brothers, Etta James, Dusty
Springfield, Judy Garland, Janis Joplin, and Ben Folds.

If I’ve already prepared a role, and want to be inspired, I seek out recordings of
Christa Ludwig

4) What ability or skill do you wish you had, that you don’t have?

I’d love to be a more confident swimmer. My husband is a certified scuba diver,
and it would be incredible to explore the ocean with him. The videos he captures
on our GoPro are so serene and beautiful! As someone who believes that animals
are meant to be viewed in their natural habitats, and not in captivity, I’d love to see
the life that abounds in our oceans first-hand.

5) When you’re just relaxing and not working what is your favorite thing to do?

I’m happiest if I’m being “productive”. What that means for me is, to “relax”, I end
up binge watching “Gilmore Girls” while knitting a scarf, or doing cross-stitch, or
writing out all of my Christmas cards in October, or online shopping for birthday
presents six months in advance, or researching vacations that I will take two years
from now… You get the picture.

Yes that’s Elizabeth DeShong: as a very boyish Hansel in the Glyndebourne production, 2010. Wow i forgot i sometimes used to stand like that as a boy (no matter how many times my mom told me not to).

*******

Five more about preparing to play Suzuki in the Canadian Opera Company’s production of Madama Butterfly, beginning October 10th.

1-Please talk about the challenges in the role of Suzuki.

Before I got to know Suzuki, and she was just a distant note on my calendar, people would ask me about upcoming roles, and I often shyly responded, “Oh, just Suzuki…”, and went on to list more easily appreciated roles like Cinderella and Hänsel. But, treasure is often hidden, and Suzuki is just that.

Suzuki is truly one of the more interesting characters I’ve portrayed. From the outside, it can be easy to dismiss her, if she is evaluated based on title or by number of notes sung. The challenge in portraying her to her full potential, is to be 100% committed to giving and receiving energy and intention at all times. When Suzuki is quiet, there is a reason. When she speaks, there is a reason. The focus of her gaze, at all times, is intentional. She is a servant, confidant, friend, protector, peacekeeper, etc.. When she speaks, her words are sincere and true. We should all be so lucky to have a friend like Suzuki.

Onstage, as a colleague, a good Suzuki can make Butterfly’s life a lot easier, or a lot harder. In this production, I move screens to motivate light cues, I dress and undress Butterfly, I sneak water to singers, I choose stillness over action to facilitate focus on Butterfly’s emotional journey, I help guide our child actors, etc.. So, the demands on a good Suzuki, are many.

Vocally, the role, again, can be deceiving. You need a meaty lower register, but flexibility at the  top of your voice to pull back dynamically in the more tender moments. You can really paint her text with a wide color palette. The trickiest part of the pacing, is that there are long stretches  where Suzuki doesn’t sing, but also can’t leave the stage. We she does re-enter vocally, Puccini isn’t exceptionally kind with the dynamics and register in which he writes her lines.

(l-r) Elizabeth DeShong as Suzuki, Patricia Racette as Cio-Cio San and Dwayne Croft as Sharpless in the Canadian Opera Company production of Madama Butterfly, 2014. Photo: Michael Cooper

(l-r) Elizabeth DeShong as Suzuki, Patricia Racette as Cio-Cio San and Dwayne Croft as Sharpless in the Canadian Opera Company production of Madama Butterfly, 2014. Photo: Michael Cooper

Altogether, Suzuki is the kind of character that is as important as you make her.

2- What’s your favourite moment in the opera?

Dramatically, there is a small moment between Suzuki and Butterfly that always resonates strongly with me. When Butterfly enters and discovers Sharpless and Kate Pinkerton, Suzuki breaks down. Butterfly comes to Suzuki and says that she shouldn’t cry. She says that Suzuki has been good. In this moment, I always gently shake my head “no”. I think Suzuki always feels she should have done more to protect Butterfly. It highlights the constant struggle between duty and friendship, that Suzuki feels throughout the opera.

Musically, the Act 3 trio between Pinkerton, Sharpless, and Suzuki is a thrill to sing. There is tremendous musical and emotional release expressed by each of the characters. You can feel the tension in the theater so strongly in this moment. I look forward to it every night!

3-How do you relate to the character and the way she’s portrayed, as a modern woman in a western culture?

It seems to me, that we are all wrapped and seasoned with what is deemed appropriate
and/or admirable in our individual cultures. That said, we are all human, and subject to the  effects of love, friendship, loss, duty, betrayal, etc.. Cultures and their ideals clash in this piece, but the underlying feelings are recognizable and relatable, regardless of nationality.

On a more basic level, there is nothing out of the ordinary about a teenage girl who gets pregnant, is abandoned by the father, is left with a responsibility that she is unprepared for, but continues to idealize her circumstances. The life of any teenager is filled with extreme highs and extreme lows. How many of us still recall our first loves with rose-colored glasses?

4- How do you feel about showing actual tears and emotion onstage (and how do you control or reveal your emotions in this role)?

Suzuki is a character that is constantly balancing the ideals of duty and friendship. There are times when it is appropriate for her to remain silent and within the bounds of her station.  However, there are personal moments that are so out of the realm of her normal experience, that she can’t help but be overcome with emotion. It is clearly written in the words and music.  To me, there is no harm in crying actual tears and showing real emotion. Because of the way  Suzuki is paced musically, there is more than enough time to recover and sing comfortably.

More often than not, I shed real tears onstage, and I can’t think of a reason not to allow myself that release, since it is so clearly within what the character is feeling.

5- Is there a teacher or influence you’d care to name that you especially admire?

There are so many people that I could name, who have helped me on my musical
journey. However, special credit has to be given to the educators who teach us to
love music and inspire us to achieve in our early years. With that in mind, I have to
give special credit to one of my earliest music educators, Vi Carr. Vi Carr was my
first piano teacher. She created a space in her home where a young girl could come
and learn, feel safe, but, also gently encouraged when she could have pushed
herself a little bit harder in her practicing. After many years together, nurturing
my piano skills, she had the generosity of spirit to say that she had taken me as far
as she could in my education, and pointed me in the direction of a college
professor who would audition me and allow me to join his studio. Had I not had
her type of warm guidance as a child, I would never have had the skills or
confidence necessary to go as far as I have in my current field. I admire all
educators, not only in music, that inspire a love of learning.

*******

Elizabeth DeShong appears in all 12 performances of the COC’s production of Madama Butterfly, beginning tonight October 10th, through the 31st at the Four Seasons Centre. For further information click the picture:

(l – r) Adina Nitescu as Cio-Cio-San and David Pomeroy as Pinkerton in the Canadian Opera Company’s production of Madama Butterfly, 2009. Photo: Michael Cooper.

 

Posted in Interviews, Opera | 3 Comments

Falstaff’s Communion

Posted on October 10, 2014 by barczablog

I saw the second performance of the Canadian Opera Company’s production of Falstaff tonight, enjoying it even more than the first time. Where my first view was from up in ring 3—ideal to get the big picture but too far away for subtleties, especially in crowd scenes—tonight’s was from the very front, where I could see details.

Director Robert Carsen’s reading of this wonderful comedy of desire & appetite goes back and forth between the ribald & the gustatory, between blatant challenges to a husband’s fidelity & to a stomach’s capacity. A few of the performances are painted in the colourful strokes of cartoons, larger than life gestures that read even at the very back of the theatre.

You will have heard of Gerald Finley’s return to Toronto, a great star of European opera stages, a favourite in the USA, but taking his first steps on the Four Seasons Centre stage. His is a most Italianate reading, exquisite timing in the “no’s” he hurls at his sidekicks in his big monologue in the first scene (when he asks a series of rhetorical questions about the nature of honour).  Finley shows astonishing depth in this, his first undertaking of the role. It’s not the same as it was opening night, as there were a couple of places where he’s still playing with the sound, sometimes sweet, sometimes edgy and even willing to offer up a strident and unmusical sound, in the interest of a laugh. When we come to the opening scene of the last act we get a properly Shakespearean soliloquy, a mad thieving world he bemoans, at his lowest point in the opera. The last triumphant moments (captured so beautifully on the program cover and on the signage promoting the production) are the occasion for the headline, wherein I see the most perfect expression of the urges that seem to be the subject of Carsen’s exploration of this Shakespearean opera. When all is finally forgiven and everyone sits down to a wedding feast it’s a kind of sharing that reminds me of holy communion, one shared finally by everyone on stage.

The final scene from the Canadian Opera Company production of Falstaff, 2014. (Photo: Michael Cooper)

The final scene from the Canadian Opera Company production of Falstaff, 2014. (Photo: Michael Cooper)

The other two larger than life portrayals?

I mentioned Marie-Nicole Lemieux’s Mistress Quickly, who does her best to match Finley’s energy & commitment, a very physical portrayal with a wonderful lower voice to match, as good as it gets in this part.

The other is perhaps unexpected, namely Simone Osborne, whose energy reminds me of Veronica (Archie’s girlfriend) or some other teenage icon such as Annette Funicello or Gidget. The body language was fun, often silly and always at an energy level making her the star of most of the scenes she was in.

Other performances only really came into focus when I was able to sit up close. The chorus did yeoman service of course, especially in some wonderful ensembles pieces, working with Russell Braun in the lengthy set-pieces in Act II when Falstaff is hiding from a pursuing horde, that Carsen also turned into a kind of crazy cartoon of synchronized slow-motion movements. Braun’s expressions are wonderful, especially in the scene as Fontana, Ford in a wonderfully whimsical disguise that reminded me of a cross between Elvis & Willy Nelson, although I may have missed the intended reference.  Whenever he’s onstage, the comedy has a more serious dimension.

Falstaff’s side-kicks –Bardolfo and Pistola—have a great amount of subtle business that I saw from up close, some of the zaniest moments in the opera, thanks to Colin Ainsworth (in a very different context from what I saw him doing on Tuesday) and Robert Gleadow. There’s a great deal of beautiful singing, with Michael Colvin starting us off (declaiming the opera’s title in the first minute of the work), Lyne Fortin and Lauren Segal as the merry wives at the centre of the story, and the sweet voice of Frédéric Antoun.

And so the COC’s new season is underway. Falstaff will be presented again on Sunday Oct 12th, running until Nov 1st, but first two different stars undertake Madama Butterfly Friday & Saturday.

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Colin Ainsworth, Stephen Ralls and the songs of Derek Holman

Posted on October 7, 2014 by barczablog

Tenor Colin Ainsworth (photo by Kevin Clark)

Today’s free noon-hour concert at the Richard Bradshaw Amphitheatre was a rarefied affair, offering us a glimpse of some intimate relationships.  Yes a concert is a public event in front of hundreds of people, but that’s only after several stages.  Its conception begins in the solitude of a composer’s study.  Even before that the text emerges from a poet’s fertile pen.  But that’s just a superficial way to see it.

For example, with the three Derek Holman song cycles heard today at the RBA, the relationships are much more complex. All three were written for tenor Colin Ainsworth.  Stephen Ralls likely has a place in the delivery room, as Ainsworth’s mentor and as one of the key collaborative pianists in this country supporting and nurturing the composition of songs.  We heard three cycles.

The Death of Orpheus (2005) with which the program began is what Ralls called a “scena” (I hope I spell that right, as “scene” might also be pronounced that way in some languages) in three parts.  I think it’s a significant distinction from a simple song cycle, because there’s a larger drama unfolding, namely the story of Orpheus’s trip to the underworld, his meeting with Eurydice.  The work arose as part of a festival celebrating Ovid’s Metamorphoses, employing poetry coming to the story somewhat obliquely:

  • “Invocation to Pluto and Proserpine” (an Ovid text in a 1567 translation by Arthur Golding) as Orpheus seeks to gain his wife’s release/return
  • Shakespeare’s Sonnet XVIII, as a kind of hymn of praise to Eurydice upon their reunion
  • “The Elysian Fields” (a wonderful Ovidian text again translated by Golding)

That this was –for me—the least successful (or perhaps more accurately, the least magnificent) of the three cycles should not necessarily be held against the participants.  It may be that our ears need to warm up, to learn how to hear what Holman (as well as Ainsworth & Ralls) are doing.  Even so, Ainsworth brought the work to a poignant climax in recounting the reunion of the separated lovers, now as a pair of ghosts, the words “embracing arms” enacted so fervently tears came.

The second cycle, A Lasting Spring (2004), was occasioned by the passing of Nicholas Goldschmidt, the founder of the Guelph Spring Festival.   As the earliest of the three, I suspect it was also the occasion whereby Holman, Ralls & Ainsworth found one another, to begin their collaborations.  Holman’s music this time is perhaps more conventional, more immediately recognizable in the correlation between the rhetorical direction of the text and the music, such that both the “Lament“ and the sad “Orpheus with his lute” are elegiac meditations.  The third song (which I believe was added a bit later to make the cycle), setting Herrick’s “To Music”, is a sort of paean to the healing energies of music even as the text surrenders to mortality.  In these songs as in the first cycle Ralls played impeccably, rock solid in support of Ainsworth’s occasional moments of exploration, that always seemed to know exactly where the music was going.

The last item on the program was the one I’d been waiting for.  Back in March Ainsworth sang selections from Holman’s A Play of Passion as part of the Canadian Art Song Project concert at the RBA.  This was a chance to hear the entire work.

In context with the other two I couldn’t help speculating on the evolving relationships, particularly Holman’s understanding of Ainsworth’s voice & of vocal writing in general.  If we were to –reductively—attempt to describe the three song cycles purely in terms of their dynamic range, I experienced the first two (in other words, while I may be mis-reading, my response to the pieces as if to suggest a dynamic range on the page)  as if the music is between mezzo-piano and mezzo-forte.  Not only does A Play of Passion (the third cycle)  go at least from pianissimo to fortissimo (if not actually ppp to fff), Ainsworth is also pushed much further in his use of his instrument.  Two of the songs take him to the very top of a tenor’s range, full voiced as well as more delicately.  How did this happen?  Did Ainsworth say “challenge me, Derek”..? Or did Holman say “Colin, I’m going to challenge you this time”..?  Or perhaps Ralls also had a hand in it.  However it unfolded –and I hope someone documents the dynamics between the collaborators—this third cycle is completely unlike the other two, pushing Ainsworth to the limit. His sounds suggest he’s becoming a very different sort of singer.  He has become so much more than the Opera Atelier stalwart, whether in Mozart or Lully.  As I anticipate seeing him sing Bardolpho again this Thursday in the COC Falstaff, one watches and listens to the living breathing evolution of a voice, both a creative growth and an athletic one as well.  While Holman isn’t Wagner, I find myself thinking about what Ainsworth might undertake in future, as his voice acquires greater heft & power with each passing year.

In all three cycles, Ainsworth is as assured as Ralls, which is to say, authoritative.

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Kayla Wong – Allure

Posted on October 5, 2014 by barczablog

I’ve been listening to Kayla Wong’s CD Allure incessantly in my car for the past couple of weeks.

Pianist Kayla Wong

Wong emailed me to tell me about herself and the recording. I listened to a couple of samples, deciding that yes this sounded really good. The CD not only confirmed that first impression, but has been a companion in my struggles with Toronto traffic. Who minds being stuck in rush hour when the piano can spirit you away?

Yes the title “Allure” is certainly appropriate, considering the smile on the cover, but Wong is more than a pretty face. The CD is recorded on her label Luminous Vine Records. And like Stewart Goodyear’s Beethoven set, Wong writes her own liner notes that are a personal response to the composers & their music.

But let’s talk about the music on the CD. There are four very different composers:

  • Ernesto Lecuona
  • Maurice Ravel
  • Sergei Rachmaninoff
  • Samuel Barber

We’re firmly situated in the 20th century, in a place requiring great technique and a romantic intelligence to match these composers. Because of the way the tracks are organized, it’s a CD I leave playing at its conclusion. Lecuono leads off with a decidedly Iberian flavour, followed by two contrasting touchstones of piano virtuosity. Barber to finish? It’s perhaps counter-intuitive, but the angularity of this sonata leads nicely right back to the soulful Cuban.

The Lecuono triptych make an impressive beginning, understated passions that catch fire in “Ante El Escorial”, “Aragonesa” and “Granada”.

The Ravel pair are an impressionistic pair, namely “Jeux d’eau” and “Miroirs: Une barque sur l’ocean”. These two are relatively understated, shimmering playing of great precision.

The six Rachmaninoff Moments Musicaux Op 16 are the largest part of the album, a wonderful series of compositions. Yesterday’s morning-after reflections that included the strange images of Lang Lang with his shiny jacket & hair are a contrast to performances like these, sincerely felt & thoroughly thought out. Where the big star virtuoso seems to come from the outside, with no connection to the music (and I wonder if he realizes how ridiculous he looks & sounds), Wong’s readings are as genuine as method acting, seeming to originate right in the music, rather than merely skimming the surface.

And to close, we’re in an entirely different place with the Barber. The opening movement’s herky-jerky rhythms are like a parody of ragtime syncopations, in combination with other angular shapes. The second movement Allegro vivace is a bit of oddball impressionism, more dissonant than what Ravel might offer yet every bit as shimmery in its gossamer surfaces, a bit like a Chopin etude with a hallucinatory waltz in the middle. The Adagio meanders slowly along vistas of emotional depth, a bit bemused with itself but never losing its way. And the closing Fuga is wonderful frenetic energy, jazzy and playful to bring it home.

If you’re listening allow the Fuga to proceed back to the first Lecuona track, a transition that feels remarkably logical, particularly because both pieces (the closing Fuga & “Ante El Escorial”) are in the same key.  For further information go to Kayla Wong’s website.

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Girl with Flaxen Hair goes to the opera

Posted on October 4, 2014 by barczablog

What’s the reality underlying the music?

People write music & perform music, and the notes & phrases are parts of our day, parts of our lives.

Last night I wanted to leave early to go to the opera. It was raining, and I wanted to park underground to avoid getting soaked. So there I was all dressed and ready long in advance, and someone else, aka my wife, was, um, unable to decide what to wear.

So I sat down at the piano.

Now of course, when you’re going through your wardrobe trying to calmly find something fetching, decide what to wear, the last thing you want to hear on the piano is Schreker: one of the scores sitting there waiting to be explored, in the wake of reading Michael Haas’s Forbidden Music. I am chuckling because in a real sense this stuff really is forbidden music around here. NOT because it’s from Jewish composers, but because too much dissonance & passion can upset people at certain times of day.

I have safer scores though. I am wondering suddenly, is that why I chose Debussy as my area of scholarship: because I could safely play his music at home with minimal freakout? Debussy is tranquil & a lover of pleasure & beauty above all, famous for tunes like “clair de lune” or “reverie” or “Prelude á l’apres-midi d’un faune” (and thank goodness for the piano reduction),which are for the most-part quiet meditations.
Books I & II of the Preludes sit by the piano for times like this. I pull out “The girl with the flaxen hair”. Nevermind that Debussy’s women seem to have been dark-haired, at least from the photos. Does the title of the piece suggest a fascination with blondes?

Speaking of women, I couldn’t help noticing something in the music, that I’d never spotted before. As Erika tried –and discarded—one outfit after another at the other end of the house (and I could hear her mutter unhappily about how X or Y worked with a particular set of footwear), I was playing through passages on the piano that turn this way then that, going this way then that way, trying this pathway or that pathway.

Or trying on this dress or that dress?

Has indecision ever been so beautiful?

Listen to the piece.

There are lots of versions online. I chose this one –with Lang Lang—partly because a friend brought up the question of sincerity, one lurking underneath considerations of virtuosity. I was dressed for the opera, but without the shiny outfit, and nowhere near so much product in my hair. But even in this performance –especially this one—you can see how clearly Debussy is assembling something of wonderful simplicity into a rhetorical construct, a series of phrases and moments, that are a meditation for us.  There’s lots of wonderful melody, but notice the way the rhetorical construction suggests changes of mind, turning of the head or perhaps changes of direction, as if the piano is painting a picture, telling a story. No I don’t think Debussy was describing his wife getting ready to go to the opera, but I do think he was exploring the eternal feminine, as he saw it. He was an admirer of women.

If we believe what Mary Garden wrote in her memoirs, Debussy was obsessed with her, even if the feelings were not fully requited. If it was a self-serving observation on her part, at the very least we’re treated to a portrait of a man who loved women.

I think the piece is an attempt to create the serenity felt in the presence of genuine beauty, not to be confused with something erotic. And in the end –while we’re on the subject—I think Erika’s final choice was a winner. And we made it to the opera early, avoiding the messy weather outside, that might have mussed everyone’s hair (of whatever colour).

Posted in Music and musicology, Personal ruminations & essays | 2 Comments

Gerald Finley is Falstaff

Posted on October 4, 2014 by barczablog

Every time Gerald Finley takes on the role of Falstaff it means’ a two hour makeup ordeal .  Finley is like a classier version of Mike Myers’ “Fat Bastard”, and yet so much more.

Gerald Finley as Sir John Falstaff in the Canadian Opera Company production of Falstaff, 2014. Photo: Michael Cooper

Gerald Finley as Sir John Falstaff in the Canadian Opera Company production of Falstaff, 2014. Photo: Michael Cooper

Falstaff? Yes he is Shakespeare’s fat man, a bad influence on Prince Hal in Henry IVth, part I, pushed aside when Hal ascends to the throne in Henry IVth part 2, and his death is reported in Henry V.  But he was too good of a character for Shakespeare to ignore, so he had to be brought back in another later play, namely The Merry Wives of Windsor.

Falstaff is also Giuseppe Verdi’s last opera, with a libretto by Arrigo Boito that combines parts from several plays –mostly Merry Wives of Windsor—in a surprising score.  While Verdi may be best known for operas inducing tears –thinking of La traviata  or Rigoletto—Verdi’s last opera is completely different.  It has the necessary pace of a comedy, which is to say, very fast and energetic.

Tonight was the opening of the new Canadian Opera co-production directed by Robert Carsen.  In the lobby conversation beforehand it may have been a pure accident that we were talking about fat people and weight loss.  Why, we mused, must women be thin, and some even undergo weight-loss surgery, when men can still splendidly ignore the pressure to lose weight?  In this respect Falstaff touches a deep nerve, even if the story is relatively trite among the Shakespearean or Verdian canon, a fun romp rather than something profound.  But in a world wrestling with the body-image question, one can’t help noticing that the jokes about fat and eating get huge laughs.   Who doesn’t wrestle with anxiety about attractiveness & our ability to control ourselves?

For those of us who have been eagerly waiting for Finley to appear in an opera here in Toronto –a big star in the opera world, with several amazing international successes & a series of wonderful recordings to his credit—this isn’t what we might have expected.  And yet it’s one of the most impressive performances I’ve ever seen.  Finley is Falstaff, and he’s larger than life physically, vocally, and in every sense that matters.

Like a true Don Juan, Finley’s Falstaff believes his own hype, behaving like God’s gift to women.   Falstaff is a walking embodiment of the pleasure principle, loving his food, his drink and especially the opposite sex.  At times his flirtation is subtle, but when it counts he is the most blatantly physical Falstaff I’ve ever seen, throwing his body into action.  In one magical section in Act II we watch a transformation of sorts, as the presence of Mistress Quickly (and her report of the attractions of Meg & Alice to the supposedly irresistible Sir John) seems to arouse him, getting him to move faster & more vividly.  I suppose the massage to his romantic ego might be the motivation, but it’s immediately manifested in his posture & pace, as he seems rejuvenated.  He begins to caper around the stage a bit like an operatic Jackie Gleason, his moves as smooth as a chubby vaudevillian.

Marie-Nicole Lemieux as Mistress Quickly and Gerald Finley as Sir John Falstaff in the Canadian Opera Company production ofFalstaff, 2014. Photo: Michael Cooper

Marie-Nicole Lemieux as Mistress Quickly and Gerald Finley as Sir John Falstaff in the Canadian Opera Company production of Falstaff, 2014. Photo: Michael Cooper

The chemistry between Finley and Marie-Nicole Lemieux as Mistress Quickly is one of the highlights throughout, as she is one of the few in the cast whose performance can match Finley; although in fairness it’s hard when you can’t take your eyes off the star.  But in the scenes between Lemieux & Finley there’s such a sense of warmth & fun at work, I am sure they were enjoying themselves as much as the enraptured audience watching.

Russell Braun seems to be on a slightly different career path with the COC than before.  At one time he was a romantic lead, for example as Prince Andrei in War & Peace, or Pelléas or Oreste.  With maturity, he’s sometimes in less rewarding parts, even some that might be called thankless, such as the Count di Luna (a very difficult role to sing), or as  the Duke of Nottingham in Roberto Devereux.   As the jealous husband Ford, Braun is again taking on a role that can be daunting, and making much more of it than usual, especially on the dramatic side.  This is the most memorable Ford I’ve ever seen, as I found myself again fascinated by Braun’s choices.

I should acknowledge Robert Carsen’s production, that moves the action from the first Elizabeth to the second, aka the 1950s.  In so doing I sense that Carsen seeks to make more of the opera & its story, a valiant effort.  The tensions we experience—both the one between the original and the modernized version, and of course, between the 1950s and our own time—energize many moments that otherwise are nothing more than fluff in Verdi’s opera.   The scene set in a classic 1950s kitchen is unexpectedly electrifying due to the design features.  We watch Simone Osborne as Nannetta in this scene, upset that her father wants her to marry someone she doesn’t love, begin to stuff herself at the kitchen table, a moment of remarkable innocence considering where we’ve come in the decades since, and a brief glimpse of the dark side of Falstaff’s epic indulgences.

(l-r) Marie-Nicole Lemieux as Mistress Quickly, Lyne Fortin as Alice Ford, Lauren Segal as Meg Page and Simone Osborne as Nannetta in the Canadian Opera Company production of Falstaff, 2014. Photo: Michael Cooper

(l-r) Marie-Nicole Lemieux as Mistress Quickly, Lyne Fortin as Alice Ford, Lauren Segal as Meg Page and Simone Osborne as Nannetta in the Canadian Opera Company production of Falstaff, 2014. Photo: Michael Cooper

Food is everywhere in this production, and because of the decade it’s guilt-free as far as I can tell.  Those were the days.

There’s much more to the production than what I’ve captured here, but the main thing is to recognize that it’s elegant fun, and a delightful departure from the usual.  Gerald Finley puts his fat suit back on to give us more and more Falstaff until November 1st at the Four Seasons Centre.

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Paride ed Elena: birthday celebrations for Gluck & Essential Opera

Posted on September 28, 2014 by barczablog

Ambition is a good thing, especially from an opera company.  There will always be Bohemes and Carmens galore, but I especially love having the opportunity to see something new, as I did tonight in my encounter with Gluck’s Paride ed Elena, via Essential Opera.  While EO are celebrating their fifth year, Gluck is having his 300th birthday commemorated all over the world.  For example Opera Atelier will present the familiar Orpheus and Euridice (although off the beaten track via Berlioz’s orchestration): but tonight’s show is much rarer.  According to operabase.com –a website recording the activities of the major companies of the world—Paride ed Elena wasn’t presented even once in either of the years they count performances.

And so to EO I say a huge thank you.

I couldn’t help wondering why this work isn’t done more often, why it hasn’t caught on.  Is it because the roles are all female, and even Paris is played by a woman?  Or because there’s not really much to the story (given that there aren’t subplots to flesh out the opera, just the main storyline)?

I can’t help wondering, too, whether one of the big stumbling blocks for most companies –that it includes several dance numbers, identified in the score as “ballo” or “balleto”—is a reason why Opera Atelier might give it a closer look.  Tonight’s EO production did not include any of the dances, and almost all choruses were cut with the single exception of the coro d’atleti (chorus of athletes I suppose?) sung by a trio of singers.  It’s an opera that surely leans upon its divertissements, moments when the tension is lessened in the interest of spectacle.   While grand opera is not out of fashion, that’s when we’re speaking of spectaculars such as Les Troyens or Aida.  An unknown opera full of spectacle might be an entirely other matter for those deciding what to program.

I wish someone would stage it fully, as it’s a charming work full of subtleties and a great deal of character.  It plays like a comedy, especially in the person of Amore, the all-powerful and all-confident God of love.    In tonight’s semi-staged performance by EO, Maureen Batt was especially convincing as the playful god.  I was surprised her performance didn’t elicit more laughter from a polite audience at Trinity St Paul’s Centre, but then again it’s ironic rather than blatant comedy.

Krisztina Szabó’s reading of Paride was startling, considering that she was a late replacement for an indisposed artist (not the first time this week that I encountered singers cancelling due to illness).  Szabó is known for undertaking new music, with such companies as Tapestry or Queen of Puddings, and seems to be the go-to person for the Canadian Opera Company when they have newer music, such as her work in Saariaho’s Love from Afar in 2012 or her appearance in Lepage’s Erwartung coming next May.  I didn’t expect that she’d offer the most idiomatic singing –some adventurous da capo elaborations, fabulous clarity—all while judiciously holding her big voice back for most of the night, wonderfully well balanced with the rest of the singers onstage with her.  A friend told me that in fact Szabó had sung it before–almost a decade ago– but that doesn’t make her performance any less remarkable, a genuine display of virtuosity. She had a few glorious ensemble moments as well, singing with Batt and Erin Bardua as Elena, stunning music that shouldn’t be such a rarity.  Julie Ludwig & Emily Klassen were also splendid, accompanied by Wesley Shen on piano.

Essential Opera repeat Paride ed Elena at the Registry Theatre in Kitchener on October 1st at 7:30 pm.

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