Unexpected Tosca

Posted on February 17, 2012 by barczablog

Just when you think you know how a story will turn out –because it’s such a well-known opera—they throw you a curve.  There’s no drama quite like experiencing a work you think you know, where they’ve changed the usual ending.

Before the Canadian Opera Company performance of Tosca tonight the dreaded announcement came: that Adrienne Pieczonka was unwell.  But this wasn’t the usual kind of announcement, of vocal indisposition and the need to replace the star.  No, Pieczonka would sing, but she had injured her knee, and so the announcement begged our indulgence because she would not be able to give us the usual staging.

Hm… okay.  I know I wasn’t the only one wondering what this might mean.

To be honest, I watched her come striding in after singing “Mario, Mario, Mario” (and his reply of “son qui”), and wondered if perhaps the announcement was unnecessary.  She seemed fine.

I forgot all about it except for two rather key moments in the opera.

Key moment number ONE was during the aria “vissi d’arte”, sung sitting in an upright position.  Perhaps this was the usual staging but the point is I found myself wondering about the sore knee, and whether this was being done differently.  As for the aria?  Begun very softly, Pieczonka raised her game at this point, giving us a diminuendo at the end of the aria, delicacy, and an unmistakeable sense of drama.  I know I wasn’t the only one paying special attention to her health, and feeling gratitude for her singing.

Key moment TWO? As I look back upon it, this was the obvious place where you’d expect a Tosca with a sore knee to have a problem, namely the end.  Tosca is supposed to jump off a high parapet to her death at the conclusion of the opera.  Normally this means she goes to the edge and jumps down a wee bit, into something padded.  But with a sore knee, could she even do that?  But I wasn’t thinking about this as the last moment of the opera unfolded.

The way they staged it was so clever I didn’t realize at first just what they were doing.  The pursuing police (Spoletta and members of the chorus) were confronted by a locked door, so that as we come to the key phrase where Tosca would jump, they are delayed.  They finally get that door open at the very end, pursue partway, while Tosca goes to the brink of the parapet from which a healthy Tosca would seem to jump.  Pieczonka moved a bit and then froze: a solution of elegant simplicity.  The applause in the house was marked by an audible sound of recognition as we understood, yes, she couldn’t jump, and had still managed to do something wonderful with those final moments.  While I am sorry for Pieczonka’s injury, the little drama of the ending was quite marvellous to witness and a very different experience from what i had expected.

This is my second look at this production, employing a cast that’s a complete contrast to the one I saw before.  If one were to put labels on the casts, I believe these singers –Pieczonka and tenor Carlo Ventre—who were given opening night and more performances than the other cast, would be understood as the “A” cast (Ventre with ten of fourteen performances, Pieczonka with eight of the fourteen), while the other two –Julie Makerov and Brandon Jovanovich—whom I’d seen earlier were the “B” cast.

Let’s keep this positive shall we?

The “A” cast has the two singers who probably command the higher fees and are better known.  Pieczonka can be an amazing actor, and did manage wonderfully in Act II, when she was opposite Scarpia Mark Delavan (who sang all performances).

Ventre sang with power, but unfortunately I saw little chemistry between him and Pieczonka.  I don’t think that can be explained by the knee injury, given how wonderful Pieczonka played her scenes opposite Delavan.

I prefer the experience I had watching the other cast.  The moment that sums it up for me is that passage in Act II, just after Cavaradossi has cursed Tosca for having betrayed him.

When it was Jovanovich hearing the news that in fact Bonaparte had won the battle of Marengo, he struggles to his feet, shaking with something resembling hysterical energy or shock, in the aftermath of torture.  Yes he managed the high note, singing “vittoria” fairly well, although nowhere near as loud nor strong nor nearly as long as Ventre’s high note.

Jovanovich did not climb to his feet merely to prepare his body for the best position to hit a high note.  Oh no.  I was totally lost in Jovanovich’s passion, an explosion of energy.  Scarpia’s thugs struggled to subdue him, as he was for the moment superhuman in his singing and physical strength.  Roberti finally has to inject him from behind as if he were a wild dog.  Makerov’s expressions of despair as his limp body is dragged off were the perfect match for this horrific display, the first time I have ever felt the action and singing express the music perfectly.

Ventre in contrast stands up to sing a high note, then clings to the back of the couch while the unfortunate thugs pretend to be unable to dislodge him from his prime singing location.  He is finally injected and dragged off.    If this was 1950 I believe that would mean Ventre’s approach would be preferable.  But in 2012 we expect a little more.

In fairness it’s a very difficult moment to bring off, musically difficult & a busy moment onstage as well.  Have a look at one version on video, to see just how hard it is to make it work even when sung well.

Mark Delavan was wonderful in both performances I saw, but I believe there was more subtlety opposite Makerov & Jovanovich.  Ventre & Pieczonka, standing and singing splendidly without much real interaction left him with the usual melodramatic options of a typical Scarpia.

Tosca is an incredible opera, marvellous to watch whether given the subtle ensemble treatment (which I prefer) or the star turns we saw tonight.  The COC production continues until February 25th at the Four Seasons Centre.

Posted in Opera, Reviews | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Dowland in Dublin

Posted on February 16, 2012 by barczablog

A professor I once had claimed that art could be understood as a kind of research.  Something newly created is a proposition to be tested against the taste of every new audience, seeking a fair hearing and possibly a genuine connection; but it’s not science. No, the hypothesis in a novel or poem is not being proven or refuted according to the scientific method.  But there is still a kind of speculation in all art, a seeking for connections and truths.

ATMA CD Dowland in Dublin

Dowland in Dublin

This is especially the case with a new CD I’ve been listening to (my companion in the car for about two weeks, played over and over) called Dowland in Dublin, teaming young American tenor Michael Slattery with the Canadian baroque instrumental ensemble La Nef.  I wondered about the premise, whereby the songs of English composer John Dowland should be presented in a more Irish fashion.

Sylvain Bergeron of Le Nef says the following in the liner notes to Dowland in Dublin:

  The idea for this project was sparked when, at the end of a La Nef Christmas party, Seán Dagher charmed all who were listening when he took out his cittern and began to sing “Come Again” as a folk song.
Working closely with Michael Slattery, we began to strip some of Dowland’s Ayres of their complex contrapuntal accompaniments, seeking to give them a simple Celtic flavour.  We hope that the music on this CD, midway between folks songs and art songs, charm you as much as it does us.  Cheers!

I wonder if Dagher’s fun experiment came before or after they learned that Dowland may have been Irish?  I never realized this possibility until reading the notes to this recording.  For example, the dedication to the song “From Silent Night” published in a 1612 collection says “to my loving countryman, Mr John Forster the younger, merchant of Dublin, in Ireland.”

The CD is less an attempt to settle the matter of Dowland’s nationality than a delightful project, exploring another way of doing some wonderful songs.

Slattery’s sweet voice is recorded with delicious clarity, always intimate rather than over-powering, but with a remarkable range of sounds, expressions, and inflections.  At times the subtleties in his delivery remind us of the Shakespearean, but we’re hearing the comic voice of Twelfth Night or The Tempest, not the elevated language of histories or tragedies. These are love songs, sometimes melancholy and plaintive, sometimes exultant and erotic.  Slattery’s boyish voice celebrates love and beauty with every phrase.

In my recent interview with Slattery, he mentioned Sting’s versions of Dowland as an influence, but not at all as I had expected:

 I have to admit, I was surprised to hear Sting’s CD of Dowland songs.  We had already begun working on this concept, so I was disappointed to think that there would be many out there who might think his CD was the reason we decided to do this.  As much as I resisted it, his CD ended up influencing me, because it confirmed for me what I didn’t want to do.  I found some of his settings very successful, and interestingly enough, they were the tracks where you could hear Sting’s influence most strongly.  Less successful for me were the times that he approached the songs in a more traditional way.  Hearing his CD gave me the courage to let go of the tradition completely and bring more of myself to our project.

I think Slattery’s words are a very good indication of what you’ll find on this CD.  On my first listen-through of the CD I was genuinely confused, at the unpretentiousness of the songs, that have the accessibility of popular music.  I need to unpack that phrase, because of course I don’t mean hip-hop or something amplified, and certainly nothing as commercial as Sting’s work.  No, I meant music that has you humming the tune afterwards, and that can be true of anything from McCartney or from Mozart.  I now have at least three songs in my head, and whenever I think of them I smile automatically.

La Nef is not to be under-rated in this project, not merely accompanying Slattery, but in fact setting the tone throughout.  Some of the songs are instrumentals, making for a marvellous serenade that rises and falls in energy and mood.  The more I listen, the more impressed I am at this creation, a wonderful piece of archaeology that seems to unearth another version of Dowland, if not the genuine original.  I don’t know whether this will strike listeners as real or alternative, but I believe it’s a valid contribution, both as a kind of speculative musicology –via performance research—and of course as a really cool CD.

I find myself taking the CD and playing it over and over, never tiring of it.  I suppose that it won’t surprise you that I believe Dowland in Dublin deserves to be heard and heard again.

Posted in Reviews | Tagged , , , | 8 Comments

Multiple voices

Posted on February 14, 2012 by barczablog

It’s a curious coincidence.  The two debuts in popular music that I felt at the most visceral level, even though they were separated by many years and with an ocean between them, have something else in common.  No I didn’t mean substance abuse, but rather the simple and sad fact that they both died in the past year.  Amy Winehouse passed away in July 2011, while Whitney Houston died just this past weekend, on February 11th.

I don’t remember where I was the first time I heard “How Will I Know”, nor can I give you the date, but it was in the 1980s, and “HWIK” was not just the first song I heard from Whitney Houston, but the song that made the most lasting impression on me.

And I recall the first time I heard “Rehab”, Winehouse’s first hit.  When I asked the people in the room with me about the nameless song (they had the radio tuned to a top-40 station) they had no idea because they really didn’t notice it and didn’t especially like it.  It took me several days before I was able to figure out the name of the song & the artist. While “Rehab” never made number one, it spoke as directly to me as if she and I were old friends.  In the first few seconds I thought I’d stumbled upon a song by an R & B artist who’d languished in obscurity (perhaps from the 50s or 60s) and not a new singer at all.

In the space between the songs there’s a whole world of difference that could inspire books.  But I’m musing about voice not life, so let’s forget all about substances & lives abused.  I may sound a bit unorthodox in this analysis as I go on to observe the effects some classical singers achieve using techniques that are somewhat similar if not the same.

I guess I have a thing for divas.

While “HWIK” was not Houston’s first hit in the USA, for some reason it was her first #1 in Canada, which may have more to do with the taste of the radio DJs than anything else; but I remember it as if it were her first. What grabbed me on that occasion was something I have noticed since that time in the singing in several disciplines.

Listen to HWIK.     In passing you may observe dated arrangements, clunky rhythm tracks and the cheesy synth sounds; and yes, the text that still seems very concerned about how much genuine sexuality this young female artist can show.

She has to ask a friend –“because you know about these things”—rather than show too much confidence.  Her persona flips back and forth between a strong assertive complaint (“how will I know”) and a more meek persona (“I’m too shy”).

And vocally, she flips around between at least two different approaches to the use of her registers.  Notice that sometimes Houston seems to take a decade off her age, becoming a virtual innocent in her soft cooing voice, and then a moment later suddenly sounds powerful as she belts.  It almost seems as if there were two voices inside the one woman.

Now listen to a far different kind of song, again without any visual distractions.  In the roughly twenty years between the two songs, the world had changed substantially.  Where Houston, being the first woman to achieve three number one singles from the same album, was held back at least by industry expectations if not also by cultural resistance to a strong black female asserting herself, the stage onto which Winehouse stepped in 2006 was entirely different.

“Rehab” has very little innocence to it, but even so does have moments of remarkable vulnerability.  Winehouse also shows us at least a couple of different combinations of her registers, mostly sounding empowered and obstinate, but occasionally using a sound that floats sweetly.  Once again, it’s as though there’s more than one voice, more than one Winehouse.

I don’t propose to offer any conclusions.  Instead, I simply want to observe that the vocal artistry in the popular realm has parallels in the classical realm, and to juxtapose performances to suggest ways in which these different sorts of vocalism inform one another.  Think about the ways in which Houston and Winehouse portray the passions through their voices, showing love and fear and strength and weakness.  And then, don’t be surprised when you see similar dramas acted out on the virtual stage of the voice.

Soprano Renee Fleming

Soprano Renee Fleming (Photo Credit: Decca/Andrew Eccles)

It may be hard to remember after those two songs, but at one time women were far from view, not just covered up.  In a world without pornography and media for instant gratification, women’s vocal exhibitionism compensated for what couldn’t be seen, in the sounds of passion.  A tearful heart-break sung onstage brought the voyeuristic audience into a kind of intimate union with the diva: centuries ago.

From what I understand from my reading, the performance I will post immediately below for your listening pleasure breaks the rules for proper bel canto singing: at least as far as those rules have validity.  Of course the aria I am posting pre-dates bel canto by more than a century, so the rules are irrelevant, especially considering the extraordinary eroticism one can experience in the breaking of those rules.  Is this just a modern day transgression, influenced by the brilliance of women such as Houston? or possibly a rediscovery of a way of singing that was employed before?  This is Renée Fleming singing Alcina’s lament “Mi restano le lagrime,“ tearfully accepting defeat.

Purists may dislike the way the voice freely uses dark and light colouring from the registers to add expression with the abandon of a pop singer.  Nowadays I wonder whether we’re literate in a new way, sensitive to vocal stylings and their emotional under-pinnings.  In effect every person has at least two voices inside.  We have the tough dominating voice of anger or triumph, from the adult voice of our lower register, and the gentler sounds of our youthful upper register, useful for soulful musing or surrender.  How we blend those two registers allows us several additional possibilities, and that’s before we add the inflections, expressions and interpretive extras.

Listening to Fleming in context with Houston & Winehouse, I am especially impressed.  Whatever musical idiom one works in, the voice is an astonishingly deep medium for conveying human emotion.  While we now have permission to show just about everything in film or on stage, we haven’t outgrown the pure enjoyment of the voice.

Or should I say “voices”?

Coincidentally, it’s Fleming’s birthday on February 14th.

Posted in Essays | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Closing the Ring

Posted on February 12, 2012 by barczablog

I love it.

When you’re writing about a great massive project it’s easy to be verbose, a lot harder to say something meaningful that’s brief, so let me get the most important part out of the way.  As I said: I love it.

I am writing after having seen the last of the four Ring operas in the new Metropolitan Opera productions by Robert Lepage, broadcast into movie theatres.  Wow, that’s already long-winded and I didn’t even mention the ponderous name of the opera, Die Götterdämmerung or The Twlight of the Gods.  Yet all the seats in this Toronto theatre were occupied, even on the morning after a snowstorm.

My sense that the broadcast audience is now competing with, if not actually supplanting the live audience, was confirmed again today. These broadcasts are like a modern version of the Serlian stage, which employed a kind of perspective whereby only the Prince saw the accurate perspective, while everyone else saw something a little bit distorted.  In the modern version the theatre audience enjoy the princely point of view, even though our individual seats are cheaper than those in the theatre; but our aggregate buying power represents a bigger chunk of revenue for the Met than all those at Lincoln Centre in person.

I am a bit mystified, trying to understand the ongoing negativity emanating out of New York City in response to Lepage’s work.  There are moments in this production that work, some that don’t, just as in the other three operas, just as happens in almost any opera production.  I was always intrigued, often transported to a different world, and never bored.  While it saddens me that there isn’t a large consensus in support of Lepage, I won’t let that stop me.

I  don’t believe I’ve seen any reviewer who’s happy with the way Grane (the horse) was presented, which is especially odd in a year when puppets seem to be everywhere.  I believe the choice to use this kind of symbolic approach is wonderful, given how difficult the material being presented, both in the Prologue (where Siegfried takes Brunnhilde’s horse and rides off into the sunset), and the last scene (where Brunnhilde gets on that horse, sings lovingly to the horse about the horse’s master –and her husband–and then rides that horse onto Siegfried’s funeral pyre).  Realism isn’t an option, not if you plan to ever have a second performance (!!!).

Some scenes worked better than others.  I was not thrilled by the norns, but then again if any scene is going to fail, that’s probably the best one you could choose (at the very beginning of a long work). The very end of the opera –arguably the single most difficult moment in all of opera to stage persuasively– worked fairly well, even if I’d hoped for something more apocalyptic.

I was completely enraptured watching the Rhine Maidens in Act III, scampering up the sloped set, and thereby allowing the scene to play almost as written: amazing considering that the scene takes place on the banks of the river Rhine, a conversation between three swimming nymphs and Siegfried on shore.  What Lepage gave us was playful, poetic, and so totally stunningly beautiful that my jaw was hanging open for minutes at a time, in awe.

Fabio Luisi

Fabio Luisi (photo: Barbara Luisi)

Musically? heaven.  Fabio Luisi was the chief architect of that celestial experience, with his brisk tempi.  Going quickly seemed to serve the principals well, helping Deborah Voigt to sing wonderfully, especially in the prologue duet and the swearing of oaths sequence in the Hall of the Gibichungs in Act II.  The Immolation scene to end the opera was like a vindication for Voigt, who has brought her conviction and stage sense to a new level.  I admit I had my doubts, but now am delighted to see genuine growth in this artist, a new mastery.

The most powerful performer on the stage was Hans-Peter König as Hagen. Possessed of a physical stature and huge voice, one would expect him to dominate, yet König underplayed throughout, even as his voice steadily reminded us of his presence. König has one of the great voices in the world today, and is likely to be a star for years to come.

Hans Peter Konig

Bass Hans-Peter König

There’s a great deal more in this production to appreciate.  Jay Hunter Morris was splendid dramatically as Siegfried, and sounding good for much of the opera.  Wendy Bryn Harmer’s Gutrune was a wonderful contrast to Voigt’s Brunnhilde, vulnerable, yielding and full of self-doubt, in contrast to Voigt’s passionate intensity.  Iain Paterson made more of Gunther than some, finding an intriguing combination of whiny entitlement & guilty remorse, all the while sounding quite wonderful.  In addition, there were two wonderful little cameos, namely Waltraud  Meier’s feverish Waltraute (imagine a guy named Romeo playing Romeo: as this is surely a part she was born to play), and Eric Owens’ maniacal Alberich.

I’ll elaborate on an idea about Lepage’s machine I expressed in a recent post about this Ring cycle.  Lots has been written about the machinery for Lepage’s Ring, a huge computer driven machine that changes shape, sometimes used as a stage, sometimes as a backdrop, sometimes a project surface, that’s been christened “The Machine”.  I said that the machine can epitomize this Ring, suggesting the world’s protean and changeable nature.  Erda cautions Wotan near the end of  Das Rheingold, saying “Alles was ist, endet.”  (Everything that is, ends) This is not a Ring informed by odd philosophical ideas or readings imposed upon the text.  Lepage has given us back many of the moments in the Ring that had fallen by the wayside in generations of static understatement.  Grane is back.  The forest bird AND the ravens were there.  We actually saw Siegfried carried during his funeral music, saw him on a funeral pyre, saw fire (sort of) followed by the river overflowing (sort of).  We saw gods falling after a fashion. I guess you can’t please everyone.

But I really liked it.

The complete cycle can be seen this spring for those who can get to NYC.

Posted in Opera, Reviews | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Opera Atelier Lays Claim to a New Period

Posted on February 9, 2012 by barczablog

Opera Atelier announced their 2012-2013 season, a revival of Mozart’s Magic Flute and a new production of Weber’s Der Freischütz.  This time they’re trying something new.

OA are remarkable in the way they build upon their strengths.  Over their quarter of a century of existence, they’ve gradually expanded their repertoire, one opera at a time, but carefully revisiting and improving the operas in that repertoire.

They started with baroque operas.  I think Dido and Aeneas was their first.

It’s not as if they’re done every baroque opera, as OA know their strengths.  This is not a company foregrounding vocal virtuosity, such as you’d find in Handel’s great operas.  They come instead from a wonderful grounding in movement, authentic visuals (their sets & costumes), and period performance in their longtime partnership with Tafelmusik Baroque Orchestra & Chorus.

They went beyond the baroque to Rococo, taking on Mozart operas.  They added the early French baroque operas of Lully & Charpentier—operas especially well-suited to their dance skills—and then the reform operas of Gluck.

It’s long been a matter for debate in the Toronto area just how much of OA’s interpretations can be attributed to historicity and how much to the creative whims of the co-artistic directors Marshall Pynkoski and Jeannette Lajeunesse Zingg, and such collaborators as conductor David Fallis set designer Gerard Gauci, costume designer Martha Mann.

David Fallis

Conductor David Fallis

Does it matter?  I think people waste a lot of time worrying about academic details.  As a long-time fan I believe OA seem more relaxed now, less rigorous than they were in previous decades, and as a result, more fun to watch.

Their latest step is in some ways the biggest yet.  The phrase I put in the title comes from the heading OA put on their own press release, where they say “Opera Atelier lays claim to a new period in their 2012-2013 season.“

I don’t believe OA have done any operas written more recently than the latter portion of the 18th century, in other words, during Mozart’s lifetime.  This season they’re taking a leap.  Of the two operas they’re producing, the earliest –arguably the work that would be safest—is itself one of the two operas from the last months of Mozart’s life, namely The Magic Flute.  For a company whose profile was built through historically informed productions of operas from the baroque period, this is a remarkably choice, and newsworthy.

But it’s the romantic opera Der Freischütz that is the real surprise.  I can scarcely contain my excitement.  Each year as I survey what’s coming up around the world, there’s usually an opera, perhaps two operas that capture my imagination as I eagerly wait for that work to appear.  Over the past few years that has often been a Metropolitan Opera high definition broadcast.  This season for example, I was waiting for Satyagraha, while last year I wanted to see the two Ring operas from Robert Lepage (and I’m very eager to see the last one this Saturday btw).

Next year? That all pales beside a historically informed Der Freischütz.  David Fallis will conduct Tafelmusik orchestra (pardon me of I omit the ephithet “baroque” from the sentence, as I am not sure whether it would even be accurate).

Tenor Kresimir Spicer

Kresimir Spicer, so adept in the title role of OA’s production of  La Clemenza di Tito has a voice I can hear in that heavier repertoire.  As usual, however, I am finding myself questioning the assumptions we’ve been handed after the century of Wagnerian music and opera (if we date the historically informed performance movement roughly from the 1970s).   Just as performance traditions for Handel, Mozart, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, and Brahms were gradually cleansed of that influence (in a move to smaller faster ensembles, and a cleaner sound), perhaps we’ll make comparable discoveries hearing Max (the role Spicer will undertake) or the horrors of the forest glen scene.

Ah yes, I am gleeful imagining what Gauci & Pynkoski will do with that wonderfully fanciful scene of ghosts & demons.  I expect that the production will sound and look unlike anything we’ve seen before.

I can’t wait.

Here’s an example of what that can look & sound like.

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

House of Dreams

Posted on February 8, 2012 by barczablog
Tafelmusik in Banff

From the Banff premiere of House of Dreams. Left to right: Aisslinn Nosky, violin; Christina Zacharias, violin; Geneviève Gilardeau, violin; Christina Mahler, cello; in the background: Charlotte Nediger, harpsichord; seated: Blair Williams, actor. On the screen: paintings by Vermeer.. (Photo: Donald Lee)

None of the arts exists in isolation.  While I can go to an art gallery and see paintings or sculpture by an artist, those works came from a person who ate, drank, and slept.  Chances are they read books, saw plays and operas, socialized with their friends who may also have been artists, musicians or writers.

But our classical concert practice doesn’t usually honour that richness.  We go into darkened & hushed rooms to hear music without reference to the cultural influences that not only inspired those creations, but also may be indispensable in decoding them so many years later.

This week Tafelmusik Baroque Orchestra will give the Toronto premiere of a new creation, co-produced with the Banff Centre, gathering together an intriguing combination of images and sounds unlike anything I’ve seen before.  “House of Dreams” is a concert that combines the music that might have been heard at a particular time & place, with the pictures that could be seen in there as well.

Alison Mackay, previously creator of the Galileo Project (another concert experience that helped illuminate music in a cultural context for Tafelmusik) is again bringing her special vision to the fore.

In her interview (though this part didn’t make the final cut), Alison Mackay makes it clear she doesn’t feel that great music needs “dressing up”:

“It’s not by any means that I think our music needs that [combining it with images and a script]. I love ‘old-fashioned’ concerts and I’m glad that’s mainly what we do, but it does allow us to turn a different lens on our music.”

Perhaps it makes sense that in a time when music is so ubiquitous that one can take one’s music just about anywhere (carrying hundreds of symphonies inside a tiny device), that we’re investigating the circumstances for the ambient listening experiences of people living long ago.

For a more detailed overview, have a look at Mackay’s programme notes.

House of Dreams:  Wed Feb 8 at 7pm
Thurs Feb 9, Fri Feb 10, Sat Feb 11 at 8pm; Sun Feb 12 at 3:30pm
Trinity-St. Paul’s Centre 416.964.6337

Posted in Essays | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Upwards

Posted on February 4, 2012 by barczablog

I’ve been trying to wrap my head around the images from Kaija Saariaho’s opera Amour de Loin in its Toronto production from the Canadian Opera Company as “Love from Afar“.  When I hit the publish button the other night to upload my review, I knew I had much more to say.

pilgrim

Krisztina Szabó as the Pilgrim (centre) and Russell Braun as Jaufré (above) in the Canadian Opera Company production of Love from Afar, 2012. Conductor Johannes Debus, original production by Daniele Finzi Pasca, set designer Jean Rabasse, costume designer Kevin Pollard, and lighting designers Daniele Finzi Pasca and Alexis Bowles. Photo: Michael Cooper

I was wrestling with the music, the spirituality, the images in the COC production by the team of Daniele Finzi Pasca, Julie Hamelin, Jean Rabasse, Kevin Pollard, and Alexis Bowles.   Happily my scattered thoughts suddenly are cohering around one central idea.

My first instinct had been that this was an opera that was so platonic, so abstract, that it was entirely a matter of soft ideas that needed warm bodies to flesh them out.  And so the production is replete with several physical disciplines –dance, aerial movement, acrobats and swirling fabric– to add some sensuality to balance this cold world.  But upon further reflection that’s simply wrong and to say so sells their efforts short.

So of those three (spirituality, music and images), let’s address the images first.  The mise-en-scene employs three different performers for each of the three principals (Jaufré, Clémence and the Pilgrim).  Even though Jaufré and Clémence are separated by hundreds of miles for most of the opera, that doesn’t stop the production from presenting a version of either of the lovers, possibly hovering behind them on a string, possibly wandering upstage in the shadows.  At times we may only see one Jaufré, at other times two or even three.  Sometimes this may seem entirely whimsical, as if we were seeing the imaginary Clémence inside Jaufré’s head; or it becomes much closer to something more literal when we see Jaufré looking down upon himself on his deathbed, as if his spirit were walking away, looking back at its former home.

acrobats

(left to right) Acrobats Antoine Marc, Sandrine Mérette and Ted Sikström in a scene from the Canadian Opera Company production of Love from Afar, 2012. Conductor Johannes Debus, original production by Daniele Finzi Pasca, set designer Jean Rabasse, costume designer Kevin Pollard, and lighting designers Daniele Finzi Pasca and Alexis Bowles. Photo: Chris Hutcheson

Romance is a risky kind of discourse.  Whereas the messages from emergency personnel have no room for ambiguity, the language of a lover is like a leap into the air, that risks a fall.  If the communication fails it falls to its death, whereas the ability to reach someone when speaking figuratively  is a kind of miracle we take for granted.  All communication that isn’t literal makes a kind of leap, challenging us to identify with the message, if it isn’t to fall on its face.  The aerial figures, the floating souls, the romantic propositions are all up in the air, supported by our imaginative capacity, our willingness to see more than just the bodies.

Love from Afar hints at different sorts of love.  When we first meet Jaufré he is taunted by the voices of his friends (real or imagined in his head?), reminding him of a more sensual understanding of life and love.  As the opera continues, particularly in its last scenes, we are invited to contemplate love that transcends life and the spiritual overtones of love as a pathway beyond this life.  The opera can be read as an alternative theology if we think of love itself as a divine energy, that spirit itself is the love from afar.  Throughout the opera we encounter that phrase –“love from afar”– presented in different contexts, and are invited to read it in so many different ways.

Finally–having spoken of the upward movement of the bodies and their spirits– I wanted to remark on Saariaho’s music.  It’s a remarkably simple thing to observe in the score: that many of her phrases are constructed from the bottom up.  Sometimes there are ostinati (groups of repeated notes), often going up from a lower note.  At other times, the larger phrases are constructed slowly, beginning with a low note and leading ever higher.  The music has an upward arch, not really as the tight arabesque one might find in Bach or Debussy, but rather in broadly separated sounds.  That’s especially important because Saariaho’s dissonances rarely have the blunt impact they’d have if clustered closely together, as one might find in Berg, and muted even further by her orchestration.

It’s a simple thing really, but Love from Afar wants to take us up.  And I think it succeeds.

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

From Afar

Posted on February 3, 2012 by barczablog

The love one encounters in Saariaho’s opera Love from Afar is not at all like the love most people think of when they use the word in the 21st century.  And while the work was composed recently employing very modern sonorities, it’s poised on the edge of our world as if it were an ambassador from another era.

Composer Kaija Saariaho

Composer Kaija Saariaho

Tonight was the night for its first embassy in Toronto, a special occasion for the Canadian Opera Company.  With one of the longest ovations in recent memory it’s fair to say that the Canadian debut of the work was rapturously received, with the composer present to take her bow.

I think this may be the most equivocal libretto I have ever encountered.  Nobody says anything declarative without qualifying, interrogating, doubting, second-guessing.  Only at the very conclusion are the doubts set to rest. Until that point each of the lovers—namely Jaufré Rudel, minstrel & prince of Blaye, and Clémence, Countess of Tripoli—are in a kind of debate with themselves, doubting and wondering about a hypothetical love.  Going between them is the third figure of the Pilgrim who is the catalyst for the action of the opera.  Whether we think of the most blunt proposition or a subtle love poem, the discourse of love is risky.  The drama underlying Love from Afar concerns the soul’s fear in hazarding such risks.

The disparity between the world presented in Saariaho’s opera and our own world is an unavoidable piece of subtext.  We’re accustomed to seeing physical desire objectified in media, while subtler sentiments rarely get their turn.  Love from Afar does not come from a culture of instant gratification, even as it addresses itself to a modern audience.

While it’s not how love is usually understood by 21st century lovers, i was still thinking, hm, isn’t all love really from afar?  There’s an enormous gulf between people, even when they’re not a thousand miles apart but only 36 inches.  At times the production brings the separated couple into a hypothetical proximity, as each lover contemplates the image of the other at various moments.  We’re encouraged to wonder at the sights before us, questioning the reality of the spectacle, just as lovers deconstruct their own perceptions, seeking something genuine and lasting.

The co-production with English National Opera & Vlaamse Opera is among the most visually flamboyant pieces of theatre I’ve ever encountered, from a team including Daniele Finzi Pasca (Conception and Lighting Designer), Julie Hamelin (Creative Associate), Gabriele Finzi Pasca (Associate Director), Jean Rabasse (Set Designer) and Kevin Pollard (Costume Designer).

The stunning presentation includes shadow puppetry, aerial performance, acrobatics & dance, an awe-inspiring array of colours and some CGI, on top of the usual musical disciplines in opera.  The production team decided to use three performers for each of the dramatic figures (Jaufré, Clémence, and the Pilgrim), including the one singing the operatic role.  Jaufré is sung by Russell Braun, Clémence by soprano Erin Wall, and the Pilgrim, by mezzo-soprano Krisztina Szabó.

My first impression when I saw the pictures in advance of the production was to think that this was a display suggesting a lack of confidence in the work itself, a kind of over-compensation.  I had seen a DVD of the work with a more restrained mise-en-scène, and was thoroughly won over by Saariaho’s score, even if I did suspect it might be too platonic for some people, too theoretical.

But when you think of it, why shouldn’t an opera production make a strong case for the work being presented?  We’re accustomed to using our imaginations in any opera, from Auber to Zemlinsky, and this one is no exception.  The visuals may grab you, but they still engage imagination, never giving us anything remotely literal, and often taking us into a decidedly poetic realm.

I am certain that Love from Afar will not appeal to everyone.  The people sitting immediately in front of me left at intermission (giving me a better view).  It’s a rarefied sort of work in some respects, reminding me of Pelléas et Mélisande for its textures and for the spirituality of its story, with strong echoes of Tristan und Isolde in a much quieter idiom.

All three of the principals were good.  I was most impressed with the vocalism of Szabó in the androgynous role of the pilgrim, an enormous role that she sang with great clarity, and very much in awe of Russell Braun as Jaufré, who once again gets to play a very moving death scene.  In addition to his unshakable conviction in the role, and his delicately nuanced singing, there was also the additional matter of his aerial work, which was spell-binding.

The other big star was Johannes Debus with the COC Orchestra & chorus, wonderfully solid playing this modernist score, sweetly resounding throughout.

Love from Afar continues for another seven performances, concluding February 22nd at the Four Seasons Centre.

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

10 Questions for Michael Slattery

Posted on February 2, 2012 by barczablog

Since graduating from Juilliard, Michael Slattery has enjoyed an exciting international career. He has worked with the New York Philharmonic, the Philadelphia Orchestra, the Los Angeles Philharmonic, Lincoln Center’s Mostly Mozart Festival, the French National Orchestra in Paris, the Akademie für Alte Musik in Berlin, with Bernard Labadie and Les Violons du Roy, and with the Orchestra of St. Luke’s at Carnegie Hall. Career highlights include Peter Sellars’ Tristan Project at Lincoln Center, the title role in Bernstein’s Candide at Royal Festival Hall in London, and Monteverdi’s L’Orfeo at the Châtelet Theater in Paris, the Staatsoper in Berlin, and at Glimmerglass. He was recently included in The Spectator’s list of tenor “Heroes of the Concert Hall.”

His solo discs The Irish Heart, and Secret and Divine Signs, received critical acclaim from Gramophone Magazine and Five Star ratings from BBC Music Magazine and ClassicFM. Other prize-winning recordings include Mozart’s Bastien und Bastienne, Scarlatti’s Cecilian Vespers, Handel’s Atalanta, Acis and Galatea, Saul,Solomon, and Samson, Britten’s Curlew River, and Bernstein’s Candide. His voice has been recorded for films and for television, and several other projects are currently in development.

Last season he performed at Lincoln Center, the Kennedy Center and Carnegie Hall. Outside his musical activities, Michael Slattery devotes much of his spare time to painting and writing. His paintings have been published in the French art magazine ORAOS and exhibited by Glimmerglass Opera in conjunction with the launch of its new website. They can be seen at www.michaelslattery.com.

1) Which of your parents do you resemble (what’s your nationality / ethnic background)?

Michael Slattery

I like to think that I’ve inherited some of my best qualities from both of my parents.  Our ancestry is Irish.  My grandfather came to America in 1920, and we still have relatives in West Clare. The family farm and home, which is several hundred years old, is now owned by my cousin Aine.  We also inherited a beautiful piece of land on the bay of Shannon, which used to be a part of the English land owner’s estate.  It’s a beautiful location and would be a wonderful place for a home, but right now it is home to several horses.

2) What is the BEST thing / worst thing about being a singer?

The best thing about being a singer are the rewards that you enjoy for sharing a gift that that is God-given.  The worst thing?  Getting sick.

3) who do you like to listen to? 

We recently got a new turntable, tube amp, and speakers.  I’ve been enjoying listening to old LPs of great singers, from Ella Fitzgerald and Sarah Vaughan to Rosa Ponselle and Fritz Wunderlich.   The great tenor Robert White recently joined us for dinner and brought with him as a gift some of his RCA red seal records including “Songs my Father Taught Me.”

His father, Joe White, recorded for Thomas Edison and later for NBC in the 20‘s and 30’s as the “Silver Masked Tenor.”  We particularly enjoyed Robert’s rendition of “Just A-Wearyin’ For You” with the National Philharmonic Orchestra.

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

I wish I were better about writing letters.  It’s more and more rare to receive a hand-written letter these days.

5) when you’re just relaxing (and not working) what is your favourite thing to do?

I enjoy discovering new spots in New York City.  I enjoy spending time with my family, and especially enjoy getting together with my cousins.

Five more concerning Michael Slattery’s new CD Dowland in Dublin.

1) how did singing these songs on the Dowland CD challenge you?

This project was challenging in many ways.  The main challenge was to keep an open mind during the collaborative process.  In the end I think we managed this quite successfully.  Our aim was to present these songs in a completely new way, without being influenced too much by the way these songs are traditionally performed.  To achieve this, we first needed to choose the right songs for the project.  We sat and read through every song Dowland ever wrote.  During that process we found ourselves drawn to many songs that are often overlooked, for there were particular songs which seemed to have a more “Celtic” flavor than others.

The next challenge for me was in figuring out how to treat the text.  I knew that I wanted to let go of the trappings of tradition, including the formality of a traditional concert hall presentation, with elegant phrasing, rolled r’s and intense attention to dynamic choices.  I also knew that I wanted to allow the study that I had done in Ireland to influence the way I approached the text.  I was very careful to retain my authentic American voice and accent; however, I absolutely wanted to steal as much from the Irish tradition as possible.  These influences manifest themselves in two ways- ornamentation, and text declamation.  The ornamentation comes directly from the bagpiping classes that I took in Ireland, my favorite ornament being the “dirty note” which has a direct relation to “blue notes” in jazz.  The style of declamation arises directly from my classes in traditional Irish singing, most notably in the casual approach to phrasing, where breathing is allowed absolutely anywhere in the phrase, as well allowing myself to sing on the consonants, resisting the bel canto tradition of singing only on the vowels.  Often in this recording you will hear me singing on “N”s and “M”s, “NG”s “R”s and diphthongs.

2) what do you love about Dowland & this type of composition?  

Well his mastery of composition goes without saying.  What I love about him is his attention to detail, with complicated inner voices in the lute accompaniment reminiscent of Bach.  But that’s not what you’ll be hearing on this disc.  We’ve stripped all that away and treated these songs as though the melodies had been compiled in an anthology of Irish fiddle tunes.  Dowland’s songs by no means require this sort of meddling, but the point was to allow the listener to hear these songs in a new way.  We did, however, retain a few moments of fidelity to Dowland’s settings, for example the first verse of “Come Again, Sweet Love” and the entire performance of “Me, Me and None but Me,” which we included to express our respect for the original settings.

3) was there a favourite among the songs?

My favorite song is track 3: “Behold, A Wonder Here.”  I think it our most successful setting.  When the voice sings the first solo verse over the drone it reminds me of how the project began, by stripping the accompaniment down to its most fundamental form.  Throughout the subsequent verses, you begin to hear the contributions of each of the musicians individually. These improvisations then develop into a properly orchestrated realization.  In a way, this song is a microcosm of the entire project.

4) how do you relate to Dowland’s songs as a modern man?

Songs are songs.  Whether they were written 400 years ago or yesterday my approach is the same.  For me it all begins with the text.  Once I’ve discovered the reason the words are there and internalized what the poet is expressing, I try to get out of the way and serve the music.

5) is there anyone out there whose approach to Dowland you particularly admire, or who has influenced you?

I have to admit, I was surprised to hear Sting’s CD of Dowland songs.  We had already begun working on this concept, so I was disappointed to think that there would be many out there who might think his CD was the reason we decided to do this.  As much as I resisted it, his CD ended up influencing me, because it confirmed for me what I didn’t want to do.  I found some of his settings very successful, and interestingly enough, they were the tracks where you could hear Sting’s influence most strongly.  Less successful for me were the times that he approached the songs in a more traditional way.  Hearing his CD gave me the courage to let go of the tradition completely and bring more of myself to our project.

Michael Slattery's CD~~~~~~~~~~~

Michel Slattery’s new CD, Dowland in Dublin, is now available.  Clearly this project has been a labour of love.  It will be interesting to see just what listeners think.

Posted in Interviews | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Tosca tonight

Posted on February 1, 2012 by barczablog

Puccini’s Tosca can take one of at least a few possible shapes:

  • It can be a riveting thriller of a story, at times keeping you glued to the action
  • It can be a virtuoso vehicle, an opportunity for any one of the three principals to step forward and seize the moment

Those two would be understood as successful productions, yet there are still other possibilities.  One of the principals may be unconvincing dramatically, or incompetent musically.  And even so, when one (or more) of Tosca-Scarpia- Cavaradossi isn’t dramatically persuasive or vocally commanding, this opera still is a powerful piece of music theatre.  I love it so….I have seen a lot of productions over the years, many of them here in Toronto, and I’ve always enjoyed myself no matter which of the components didn’t quite carry the day.

Imagine my surprise at encountering a production where everything clicked, with no real weaknesses.

director Paul Curran

Director Paul Curran

The Canadian Opera Company production directed by Paul Curran is the most urgently dramatic Tosca I’ve ever seen.  It’s full of fascinating bits of business that pull it together.  For example, during Mario Cavaradossi’s aria “recondita armonia”, we know that the Sacristan has been asked to get the painter his colours.  In this reading, sung by Brandon Jovanovich as the painter and Peter Strummer as the Sacristan, there’s a remarkably vivid exchange going on.  Strummer is not simply giving us the usual buffa lazzi (thinking of the ways I’ve heard Fernando Corena, for example, twist his voice into something grotesque during these lines), but taking the stage with something more substantial.  There are no throw-away lines between the pair, nothing wasted.  Similarly, when Angelotti (Christian Van Horn) emerges from hiding, but is unrecognizable in his prison attire, Jovanovich shoves his unrecognized friend away, making what is often one of the most heart-breaking moments of the opera that much more compelling, as Angelotti looks up at his friend from the floor of the chapel.

Julie Makerov calls to her beloved Mario from offstage, and then appears.  I’ve often rolled my eyes at the various diva antics of Toscas playing up the high-maintenance aspects of the role.  Makerov underplays, while Jovanovich twitches, obviously mindful of the hidden fugitive he wants to help.  I’ve seen this opera so many times, and usually find myself aching for Tosca to just get out and let Cavaradossi help his friend escape; this time I didn’t mind Tosca’s behaviour at all, because it was just enough.  I have been craving this kind of delicate handling of these characters I know so well.  I found myself loving them more than ever, because they were saved from the hidden melodrama, that nasty tendency some singers have to over-act.

I was especially impressed by Mark Delavan as Baron Scarpia.  Of all the characters in this opera, Scarpia is the one who is most abused by mediocre performances, bellowing singers, and melodramatic approaches.  While Scarpia will behave like a monster in due course, I have no love for productions that hit us over the head with his excesses, insulting our intelligence.  Curran & Delavan gave us something quite different.  For most of his Act I appearance Scarpia functions simply as a terrifying policeman bent on catching a fugitive.  Only in the Te Deum do we see him begin to show his true colours, thinking of Tosca, and just before her exit, there was a tantalizing moment when their eyes met.  How wonderful that Curran & Delavan make Scarpia more than just a villain.  And for much of Act II as well, Delavan’s body language is very effective, calmly taking the stage but mostly standing his ground and waiting for Tosca to come towards him, rather than merely pushing himself upon her.  When he finally gets what he wants –Tosca’s declarations of hatred—Delavan changes his approach and begins to stalk her physically, but even then it’s wonderfully underplayed compared to what I’ve seen.

I’m looking forward to seeing whether the cast that opened the production (starring Adrianne Pieczonka and Carlo Ventre) bring a similar degree of dramatic conviction as the cast I saw tonight.  The production, co-produced with the Norwegian Opera and Ballet, with sets and costumes designed by Kevin Knight, has a handsome and authentic period feel to it.  Of all the operas ever written Tosca might have the greatest claim on a kind of historic verisimilitude, considering that the scenes all are set in real historically verifiable locales, complete with the actual bells one might hear on a morning in Rome (at the opening of Act III).  One overlays or ignores the text at one’s peril, and thankfully neither Knight nor Curran departed very far.

Paolo Carignani, conducting the COC orchestra and chorus led the piece at a good clip for most of the evening, never sinking into excessive sentimentality, and often presenting Puccini’s sonorities to us with the violence of a sucker-punch; I am sure he would have approved.

Tosca presented by the Canadian Opera Company at the Four Seasons Centre runs until February 25th.  See it if you can.

Posted in Opera, Reviews | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment