As I left the office, I could think of nothing better than to sit in the opulent surroundings of the Wigmore Hall, with beautiful music and equally beautiful strawberry ice-cream at the interval, and let all my cares drift away. So, aware only that I was going to hear Czech mezzo Magdalena Kožená, (my ticket was given to me by my good friend, who had unfortunately double booked) I trotted down to the Wiggy in blissful ignorance of what I would be experiencing. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I would be hearing a series of Madrigals and orchestral pieces from the 16th and 17th centuries. The concert featured music from Kožená's 2010 album Lettere Amorose, produced in collaboration with the ensemble Private Musicke, which takes its name from a collection of consort music by English composer Martin Peerson. Founded in 1998 by Pierre Pitzl, who plays guitar and is also the director, Private Musicke consists of Hugh Sandilands (guitar), Daniel Pilz (colascione), Jesús Fernández Baena (theorbo), Margaret Köll (harp), Brigitte Gasser (lira da gamba), and Richard Myron (violone), David Mayoral (percussion). They have quite a few recordings of early music under their belt, and are experienced concert performers. Anyway, back to the performance. There was to be no interval (shattering my dreams of a nice tub of strawberry ice-cream!), so I really hoped that what was on offer was enough to keep me entertained for a couple of hours: I was not disappointed. The concert started with Pierre Pitzl walking nonchalantly onstage, playing his guitar. Next, as if oblivious she was at a concert, came Kožená: her blond hair pulled back, wearing a striking sleeveless, knee-length red dress, and barefoot! As she sang, more of the ensemble came onstage: the whole effect was more like a jam session than a concert. The first aria, by composer Filippo VItali, was "O bei lumi", had a beautifully lilting melody handled tenderly by Pitzl, and sung powerfully and emotively by Kožená. The second composer represented was Sigismondo d'India, an enigmatic composer from Palermo, Sicily. Little is known about his life, his birth date for instance is unknown. In a document from Turin, MS qm. IV. 41 (containing the music for d'India's music for Zalizura), it is stated that he was born in 1562 and died in 1630. Nigel Fortune thinks this unlikely as "they happen to be the dates of birth and death of Charles Emmanuel I. Duke of Savoy, in whose service d'India spent twelve years of his life."1 It is probably safer to assume that he was born in or after 1580. He entered the Duke's service in 1611, and most of his music dates from his time in Turin. Kožená presented us with three pieces by d'India, the most represented composer in the concert. The first was "Cruda Amarilli", with its heartfelt cries and strange, regal-like accompaniment by the lira da gamba. It reminded me of a particularly emotional accompanied recitative. The second piece was "Torna il serena Zefiro". Here Kožená moved between an almost soubrette/countertenor sound and a more smoky mezzo to emphasise the changes in imagery. Her wonderful urgency on the repeated line at the end of second and fourth verses, "Primavera per me non sara mai", gave more form to the aria than that exhibited by "Cruda Amarilli". The last piece, "Ma ché? Squallido e oscuro", again accompanied by the otherworldly lira da gamba, saves its punch for the penultimate word, "esangui", with its long, slow, rising scale, and its descending step-bass on the violone. One of the founders of the opera genre, Giulio Caccini most deservedly has a place in this excellent program. Discovered by Francesco de' Medici in the 1560's, Caccini was singing at the Medici court from the late 1570's. He was a Tenor who was also an accomplished lute player. He was able to accompany himself as he sang. Also famous as a teacher, Caccini trained the castrato Giovanni Gualberto Magli, who took the roles of La Musica and Prosperina in Monteverdi's Orfeo. The aria performed here was "Odi, Euterpe", a very upbeat piece which contrasted nicely with the more angst-ridden offerings. Kožená and the ensemble were excellent in this piece, which had more than a few of the audience tapping away and "conducting" ferociously in the air (this must be the upper class version of playing the air guitar!). Tarquinio Merula, an Italian composer who spent time at the court of Sigismund III, King of Poland, from about 1624 to 1628, has two contrasting arias showcased here. The first, "Conzonetta spirituale", is a lullaby sung by the Virgin Mary to the baby Jesus. The moving, mellifluous melody rises and falls over two constantly repeated chords. With nowhere to hide, the diction, interpretation and technique of the singer are starkly on show. Kožená uses all her skill to highlight the subtle nuances in the text and rhythm, while taking great pains to modify the volume in direct relation to the text. The second aria, "Folle è ben si crede", is much lighter, and less oppressive. Kožená treats the beautiful triplet movement at the penultimate line of each stanza exquisitely, and it is this 'release point' which makes the whole aria so beautiful. My three favourite composers were Strozzi, Kapsberger and Monteverdi. The aria from Stozzi was instantly recognisable as one from the great female composer. She was born the illegitimate daughter of Giulio Strozzi and his servant, Isabella Garzon. She was adopted and baptised into the Strozzi family. She was not only a prolific composer, but an accomplished singer too, and her father took pains to make sure his daughter's talents were developed. Strozzi's works were often full of yearning and heartache, and "L'eraclito amoroso" is no exception. Kožená really gets into the text in this aria, feeling the emotions and vividly projecting them to the audience. The mezzo's smoky darkness comes to the fore in this piece, making it all the more poignant. Johannes Hieronymun Kapsberger, represented by two arias in the concert, was in the service of Cardinal Francesco Barberini for over 20 years. Before that, he had set up academies in his house, in Rome which were very well known and respected. He could be a bit of a hit-and-miss composer: the first aria, "Aurilla mia", is an example of this. The second aria of the performance, however, "Felici gl'animi" is superbe. With the orchestration by Private Musicke, and the treatment of the melodic line by Kožená, the piece could pass as modern latin-themed music: yet another 'foot-tapper' for us in the audience to 'air-conduct' along to. I noticed a few of the audience suppressing the urge to clap along. The last of the composers performed with Kožená was Claudio Monteverdi. Often seen as a transitional figure between the Renaissance and the Baroque periods, Monteverdi is, in my opinion, one of the great musical giants, along with Bach, Beethoven, Wagner, Stravinsky, and Scriabin. The first aria was the famous "Si Dolce È Il Tormento". Placed high in the range, the tessitura was no problem for her, as she moved between bright, shining soprano, and dark, husky mezzo at the end of each phrase. Interestingly, I have only ever heard this piece performed by a man, so to have a female interpretation was a nice contrast. It worked very well. The final piece, "Quel sguaro sdegnosetto", was masterfully performed, and earned a rousing applause. The other pieces were all performed by Private Musicke without Kožená. The improvisation on Luis de Briçeño's "Caravanda Ciacona" was truly amazing, and is something I will not forget. I was tempted to go to the repeat concert on the Friday just to hear this again. Luckily I now have the album, but the 'jam-session' atmosphere at the Wiggy just can't be recreated without those marvellous musicians. It was so modern, so up-to-date, yet so obviously from another time, that it was difficult to know which period you were in. To be honest, I ended up thinking "to hell with it" and just enjoyed the music. A plea to Private Music: The version on the CD is far too short; please release another version (perhaps a live performance?) which we can enjoy over and over again! The next orchestral piece was again an improvisation, this time Gaspar Sanz's "Canarios". Imagine a warm summer night on the beach in southern Spain, away from all the English tourists, with a few young lovers around, all enjoying the dying light dancing on the breaking waves. If I were to describe it in visual terms, that's what the music evoked in me. It was vibrant, vital, and possibly even vivacious! Giovanni Paolo Foscarini's "Ciaccona" was more like getting up early in the morning, as the sun rises over the horizon, jumping into an expensive open-topped sports car, and driving off towards something new and exciting. I know theses descriptions are a little strange, but the ensemble's treatment of these wonderful pieces really brought out some lovely imagery when I heard them, so I thought I'd share them with you all. The other three pieces, Giovanni Paolo Foscarini's "Passamezzo", Giovanni de Macque's "Capriccio stravagante", and Lucas Ruiz de Ribayaz's "Espanoletas" were all charming in their own way, and extremely well played, but the three prevously mentioned pieces were in a different league. So, what's the score? Well, in case you haven't guessed already, I thought it was an excellent concert. It was nice to hear these arias performed by a singer with a full bodied, powerfully emotive voice, rather than a vibrato-less, insipid purity, which I feel does more damage to the genre, and relegates it further into the forgotten outhouse of musical history. Kožená made these pieces real, and made the feelings described in them real. I do hope I get to hear Private Musicke again live, as this concert was a revelation to me. I am so glad I was lucky enough to get this ticket. I probably wouldn't have given the program a second glance before: now, though, I'll be looking out for music like this in the future. 1. Sigismondo d'India. An Introduction to His Life and Works, Nigel Fortune, Proceedings of the Royal Musical Association, 81st Sess., (1954 - 1955), pp. 29
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Last year, at the Barbican, I was lucky enough to get a stalls seat near the front at a concert of forgotten castrati arias performed by Cecilia Bartoli to promote her Sacrificium album. It was a fantastic evening, with Bartoli exhibiting some inhumanly fast coloratura, phrases lasting over 30 seconds, and pinpoint pianissimos. A couple of weeks later, I noticed she was to perform another selection of Baroque arias this December, focusing on Handel. Out came the credit card, and a week later I was the proud owner of a ticket. Having waited a year to see this concert, I wondered if anything could match the brilliance of the Sacrificium selection: I pleased to say that not only did she match it, she even managed to improve on it. Billed as "Handel and his Rivals", the "Rivals" in question were the musical directors and composers associated with the "Opera of the Nobility", a company set up by a group of nobles in the court of Frederick, Prince of Wales. Frederick hated his parents, King George II and Queen Caroline of Ansbach, to the extent that he opposed them in almost everything they did. This situation probably arose due to the prolonged separation between parents and child, which lead to George and Caroline to refer to him as a "foundling"! Anyway, he setup an opera company to rival Handel's, as Handel was much loved by the King and Queen. The first musical director of the Opera of the Nobility was Nicola Porpora. Porpora's opening gambit with the Opera of the Nobility was the Opera Adrianna in Naxo: it was a huge success. Poropra had managed to poach several of Handel's former singers, including Senesino, Montagnana and Cuzzoni, to perform, and he also, in later years, was able to lure Farinelli and Caffarelli, his former students, to England as well. Francesco Maria Veracini was another composer invited by the company. He produced many orchestral compositions, and a few not-so-hot operas. Even Johann Adolf Hasse had been approached to take up a post, though according to Julie Anne Sadie's "Companion to Baroque Music", Hasse: "declined, perhaps partly out of deference to Handel, whom he had met in 1729." (I knew there was a reason I liked Hasse so much) Anyway, Porpora eventually left for Venice in 1736, the Opera of the Nobility went into bankruptcy, and it was dissolved in 1737. Bartoli's latest few projects have all been called "historically informed" (take for instance the Sacrificium and Malibran projects, or the current productions of Belini's Norma) and "Handel and his Rivals" is no different. One nice touch was her decision to start the concert with the Overture to, and arias from, the opera Rinaldo. Handel's first opera for the English public, Rinaldo premiered in London on 24 Feburary 1711, featuring two of the leading castrati of the age, the famous Nicolo Grimaldi, and Valentino Urbani. It contains arias such as "Lascia ch'io pianga", "Venti, turbini" and "Cara sposa". Rinaldo was a huge success, and prompted Handel to decide (in 1712) to stay in England permanently (he even applied for naturalisation in 1727). The concert itself almost began with a disaster, as the violin principal, Julia Schroder, almost ended up on the floor after tripping on her platform. Luckily it was only her papers that went flying! After a rousing performance of the Rinaldo Overture by the Basel Chamber Orchestra, Ms Bartoli bounded on stage in a stunning black, figure-hugging dress, complete with sparkly bracelet, earrings and tiara, and gigantic heals. It was a perfect combination for her first number, also from Rinaldo: the sorceress Armida's "Furie terribili". Accompanied by a wind machine, and metal sheet (which a young man dressed in black thwacked about to produce the thunderclaps), Bartoli wowed the audience with this firecracker of an opener. With its Furioso speed marking, "Furie terribili" is the sorceress Armida's call to her furies to come to her, and trail terror in her wake. Bartoli performed perfectly, raging at the audience, scowling at the poor man thwacking the metal sheet, and all the while subtly conducting the orchestra with a look or gesture. It was a formidable opener, which in the hands of a lesser artist could have gone horribly wrong. For Bartoli though it set the scene for what was to be a powerful concert. Next up was was "Dunque i Lacci... Ah! crudel", also from Rinaldo. Here Armida is torn between loving her handsome captive, and wanting her furies to "Arise... and discover new types of pain and punishment". Nice! The accompanied recitative "Dunque i Lacci" sets the scene perfectly, with the orchestra moving between long held notes and fiery bursts of semiquaver rumblings. Key to the introduction of the aria is the phrase "Ah, my feeble heart, can you shelter a traitor still?" It is this quandary around which the aria "Ah! crudel" revolves, with its mournful, pining A section, and its fast, furious B section. It is a perfect aria for Bartoli, as it contrasts her outstanding pianissimo and breath control with her machine-gun coloratura. A copy of the score is available here. The best example of Bartoli's beautiful, well-supported pianissimo, combined with almost preternatural breath control, came in the form of Alcina's aria "Ah! mio cor!" Having already heard this aria recently in a concert with Inga Kalna singing the role of Alcina only a few days before, I was interested to see how the two would compare and contrast. Where Kalna was regal and reserved, Bartoli was passionate and emotive. This is not to criticize either, just to highlight how two very different approaches can be equally enjoyable. Bartoli's performance creates a floating feeling, seemingly everlasting, which draws the senses within the periphery of her aura, and holds the concentration with every tiny nuance of voice or gesture. For me, this ability even outweighs her famed coloratura. (I remember the first time I experienced this skill of hers was when she sang "Sposa, non mi conosci" as a part of the Sacrificium concert) Judging by the applause, "Ah! moi cor" was the highlight of the first half. A copy of the score can be seen here. The other three first-half offerings from Bartoli were showcases for her lightning speed. The first, "Scherza in mar" from Lotario, is a fiery, upbeat aria, with lots of coloratura, octave leaps and drops, and many movements through the registers. It is the statement of refusal by Adelaide, the widowed Queen of Italy, as she stands resolute against any attempt by Berengario and Matilda to marry her to their son. "Scherza in mar" proves that vocal fireworks and good melodic writing can go hand in hand. The aria really suited Bartoli's voice, and plays to her ability to move across the extremes of her range with ease and fluidity. A copy of the score can be seen here. Singing of her love for Teseo, in the opera of the same name, poor Agilea sings the aria "Ah, che sol per Teseo... M'adora l'idol mio", as Teseo's father announces that he himself will marry her. Bartoli uses the aria to show just how super-speed coloratura should be done, while performing melismatic duets with the oboe. (A copy of the score can be seen here.) In the last aria of the first-half, "Mi deride... Destero dall'empia Dite" from Amadigi di Gaula, Bartoli sings the sorceress Melissa's rage aria. With lyrics such as "I will raise every fury from vilest Hell to wage war on you, cruel traitors," and with a duet for oboe and trumpet, "Destero" is a real firecracker of an aria. With flashing eyes and wild interpolated ornamentation, Bartoli commanded the stage, except for a rather humourous moment when the oboe and trumpet got the better of her! (A copy of the score can be seen here.) Both arias have a high tessatura, staying in soprano territory the majority of the time. The token music from Handel's rivals came from Nicola Porpora (Overtures from Il Gedeone, and from Perdono, amata Nice) and Francesco Maria Veracini (Ouverture No. 6 in G minor). On the basis of the Veracini, it is easy to see why the Opera of the Nobility fell into bankrupcy. While the Basel Chamber Orchestra tried their best to make this piece of music interesting, I have to admit that it didn't really do much for me. The two Porpora items were much better, however, and admirably performed. In the first piece, the overture to Il Gedeone, the staccato rhythm sounded almost Purcellian (I'm thinking here of the "Cold Song" from King Arthur), while the second had a renassaince feel to it (perhaps it was just me) and was spiced up by rhythmic foot stamping from the Orchestra. After the interval, the program focused on my favourite, and arguably the greatest, of Handel's operas: Giulio Cesare. Singing with Argentinian countertenor Franco Fagioli, who sang a selection from the role of Cesare, Bartoli performed three arias attributed to Cleopatra. It was a very well balanced partnership, with Bartoli's light, supple voice perfectly capturing the character of the playful and seductive Cleopatra, and Fagioli's well produced countertenor moving seamlessly into the modal voice to manage the more "alto" parts of Cesare's arias. I first heard 29 year old Fagioli in a recording of Mozart's "Venga pur", which used to be on YouTube, and was very impressed. His voice has matured well, and he is now ready to take on the harder Handelian roles. Fagioli's first offering, the countertenor calling-card "Va Tacito e nascosto", was very well performed. Many countertenors perform this aria with a mixture of mid-voice hoots, and a croaky or non-existant lower range. Fagioli's voice was well blended, forceful, masculine, and effective throughout the range. Easily hitting high F and above. His "Al lampo dell'armi" was sensational, with effortless coloratura and sustained phrasing, though on the first melisma he shot off so fast he almost overtook the orchestra! His final run upto high F was explosive, and earned him prolonged applause. The final aria, "Aure, deh, per pieta" was luscious and full, beautifully phrased with wonderful legato singing. On the basis of this performance, Fagioli is heading to join the countertenor royalty. Bartoli's three arias were expertly chosen to show the full emotional range of Handel's Cleopatra. First was the sensuous "V'adoro, pupille", the aria Cleopatra sings to seduce Cesare. Bartoli used her girly charm to the full, producing a characterisation more coquettish than overtly sexual. Her legato and phrasing produced extra tension in the performance, with delicate vocal ornamentation and physical gestures combining to entice the audience. The beautiful and melancholy "Se pieta" was next, and here we saw a much deeper Cleopatra. Full of loss and despair, Bartoli used her supreme breath control and pianissimo to devastating effect. The aria was genuinely moving, leaving a couple of people near me with glistening eyes. (To read my analysis of "Se pieta", click here). Finally, Bartoli gave us the joyous "Da tempeste". If there was ever a calling card for Baroque sopranos (or high mezzos) it is this. The sheer joy with which Bartoli performed saturated the hall, earning her a rousing applause. The pair ended with the duet "Piu amabile", which closed the second half perfectly. A copy of the score can be seen here. As an encore, Fagioli reprised "Va Tacito", with extra improvisation for the excellent horn player Glen Borling, and coloratura running from low F to high A (over two octaves). The blend in Fagioli's voice has been so well produced, that the same tonal quality ran throughout the full range. Bartoli decided to match Fagioli's covering of Senesino's arias by singing Farinelli's "Son Qual Nave". Written by Farinelli's brother, Riccardo Broschi, the aria is a showcase for Farinelli's vocal skills (which judging by the aria must have been prodigious). The first phrase lasted nearly 30 seconds, and had Bartoli performing no less than five messa di voce's! FIVE!! She had to stop before carrying on as we the audience whooped and cheered. By the time she finished several audience members were on their feet. The final encore was a duet, finishing as the concert started with Rinaldo. The pair sang a beautiful rendition "Scherzano sul tuo volto", their voices intertwining like liquid silver. Bartoli and Fagioli were given a standing ovation by myself and many of the audience - it was well earned. In contrasting Handel with his rivals, Ms Bartoli succeeded in showing us that Handel had no rivals; like Ms Bartoli herself. One thing we've learned recently at Show Me Something Interesting is that the Barbican is really good at getting last minute replacements for indisposed Sopranos. First, the wonderful Susan Gritton stepped in for Anna Caterina Antonacci in the recent Handel/Vivaldi/Pergolesi concert, and more recently, Inga Kalna stepped in for an under-the-weather Anja Harteros in the concert performance of Handel's Alcina on Saturday. In both instances, a good solid performance from a technically gifted and an emotionally communicative artist ensured that the show most definitely continued. The performance was dedicated to one great lady who always gave her audiences a thrill (and more often than not, a trill): the late, great Dame Joan Sutherland, herself a famed Alcina. In fact, it was after her performance in the role at La Fenice, Venice in 1960, that she was dubbed "La Stupenda."
Alcina is an opera packed to the brim with great tunes. The libretto is derived from the same source as Handel's Orlando and Ariodante, and Vivaldi's Orlando furioso. The original text was penned by Ludovico Ariosto and had as its backdrop the war between Charlemagne and the Saracen army which was invading Europe. The plot for the opera is taken from the storyline in which the Saracen Ruggiero, betrothed to the Christian warrior woman Bradamante, is captured by the sorceress Alcina. Ruggiero and Bradamante are thought to be the ancestors of Ariosto's patrons, the powerful d'Este family of Ferrara. The libretto was first put to music by Riccardo Broschi, brother of Carlo Maria Broschi, otherwise known as Farinelli. The original cast for Handel's opera had some star names as well as some relative unknowns. The title role was taken by Soprano Anna Maria Strada del Po, who had received personal coaching from Handel. She was not the most attractive of people, and was often called "the Pig". Handel's confidant, Mary Pendarves (nee Granville), said of del Po: "La Strada is the first woman; her voice is without exception fine, her manner perfection, but her person very bad, and she makes frightful mouths." The part of Ruggiero was taken by the famed castrato Carestini, who had worked for composers such as Johann Adolf Hasse, Leonardo Vinci, Gluck and Porpora. He came to London in 1733 to perform with Handel's opera troupe. Known for having a high opinion of his own abilities, he is reported to have questioned the suitability of the aria Verdi prati, thinking it beneath him. Handel heard about this, and: "went, in a great rage, to [Carestini's] house, and in a way which few composers, except Handel, ever ventured to accost a first-singer, crie[d] out: "You toc! don't I know better as your seluf, vaat is pest for you to sing? If you vill not sing all de song vaat I give you, I will not pay you ein stiver."" Suffice it to say, Carestini sang the aria, which was encored throughout the original run of the opera. Anyway, let's get back to the present. The role of Alcina is demanding not just vocally, but psychologically, as the opera charts the mental and emotional degeneration of an all-powerful sorceress, who subdues a whole island, and acquires various lovers, by preternatural means. Vocally, Inga Kalna was more than qualified for the job, which required several different vocal styles. She had previous experience in the role, and had performed it with Minowski before. The first of her arias, the high-lying "Di', cor mio", is the epitome of velvety mellifluousness, while her second aria, "Si, son quella", with its continuo accompaniment and solo cello, is more subtle, almost fragile. In "Ah! mio cor", another high tessitura aria, Kalna is at her best in the heart-rending A-section, where Alcina learns of Ruggiero's deception. The C minor key hints at a darkness beneath the grief as C minor is often associated with dark deeds. The moving bass and staccato chords in the strings feel almost like a relentless beating inflicted by her own broken heart, while Kalna's distraught cry of "O dio" towards the end of the A-section, moving between high G and Ab, could not be more moving. In the B-section, with violins reminiscent of "Un pensiero nemico di pace", Alcina threatens her lover with vengeance if he does not remain with her. After attempting and failing to send the spirits of vengeance against her former lover and his entourage, and realising her powers have left her, she sings the moving "Ombra Pallide". The aria is filled with dissonance and suspensions, and swift changes between major and minor during the coloratura passages. These all denote the confusion and anxiety Alcina feels now the magic she relied upon has left her. Kalna became Alcina in this aria, giving a demoralised and unsettled, yet still regal interpretation of the troubled Queen. A couple of the high notes were slightly forced, but the melancholic beauty of Kalna's voice carried through the difficulties. Her penultimate aria, "Ma quando tornerai", reminds one of King Lear: powerless yet still attempting to retain the trappings of power. The A-section is all bluster, threatening Ruggiero with calamity when she captures him, while the B-section is all forgiveness and willingness to take him back. What Alcina does not realise, in a conscious manner, is that both her threats and her appeal rely on her sorcery: without it she is powerless. This is reflected in the scoring: wide leaps in the A-section denoting hysteria, bluster, an attempt to convince both Ruggiero and herself that she is still and invincible sorceress; and an unstable key in the B-sectionmirroring her own internal instability, and the breaking down of her external world. Her final aria, "Mi restanto le lagrime" is in F# minor, a key which Handel used to denote extreme emotion and tragedy, as in Cleopatra's aria "Se pieta de me non senti". Kalna excelled in this aria, which she imbued with such pathos and despair, the whole audience let out an audible sigh at it close. A wonderfully restrained, regal interpretation from Kalna that, while not explosive, was thoughtful, considered, and refreshing. The fireworks, however, were oh-so-present in the form of Vesselina Kasarova, the Bulgarian mezzo cast as Ruggiero. A veteran in the role, few singers spark such furious debate in Baroque, or even in general, operatic circles. If you take the three main arias for instance, you will see why. In "Verdi Prati" and "Mi lusinga", for instance, the beauty and purity of tone that one would find with Philippe Jaroussky, for example, is not there. The sound is harder, the register changes more marked, and there is more portamento than one would usually associate with the Baroque period. But, quite frankly, I don't care! The emotion in the voice, the acting, the pathos, the power of the delivery held me, and practically everybody in the hall, transfixed. "Mi lusinga" was especially heartbreaking, as the troubled mind of a man freed from one illusion, but now unable to tell what is true and what is not, was portrayed so accurately that one really felt the confusion and frustration of the re-awakened warrior. And that brings me on to another point: Kasarova managed to portray a man, a warrior, from a man's perspective. Standing, legs apart, leading slightly backwards, gesturing aggressively towards the audience in her black jump-suit, Kasarova was the epitome of masculinity, without falling into caricature. For someone so able to play feminine roles (see her Rosina on YouTube), and with such a feminine speaking voice, it is remarkable how easily she fits into the trouser roles in Handel. The effect was only slightly marred by her kitten-heels, which she nonetheless managed to swagger in! The highpoint of her performance was the astounding "Sta nell' Ircana". Full of register crashes galore, chest voice punches, flashing eyes, and pointing fingers; this castrato tour de force was superbly managed by the Bulgarian. Maybe some purists can complain about the technique, such as the cleanness of the arpeggios or the slight hooting in the middle of the voice, but I just think back to Dame Clara Butt, Elena Suliotis, and Maria Callas, and the dramatic dives into the chest register which thrilled their audiences (in fact, Clara Butt did it more and more often after finding out her audiences expected it of her). Anyway, she got the biggest hand of the night, and rightly so. Even Romina Basso was clapping away like mad after "Sta nell' Ircana", hands above her head, and stamping her feet on the floor - she wasn't the only one! Of the rest of the cast, Romina Basso, singing from the score, and the young treble Shintaro Nakajima, impressed the most. I have waited a long time to hear Basso live, as her recording of "Gaude Felix" from Vivaldi's "Juditha Triumphens" on YouTube showed a beautifully dark and rich mezzo-soprano, almost contralto-like tone, full-bodied and well rounded. She did not disappoint. Hearing her live was even better than hearing recordings for her. The voice is so plumy, so warm, and full of expression, that she could be singing about cleaning the toilet for all it would matter. Her first aria, "E gelosia", had Basso firing out her trademark coloratura, as did the second, "Vorrei vendicarmi", where she hit four low A's in the fast section, and serenaded us with gorgeous legato singing in the larghetto. "Vorrei vendicarmi" also benefited from the augmented bass section of the orchestra, with three double basses and three bassoons, as there are parts of the aria where the continuo rumbles away before a particularly difficult piece of coloratura. Her third aria, "All'alma fedel", was all sumptuous melodies and rich tones, which had me grinning like a Cheshire cat. Playing the role of Oberto, Shintaro Nakajima almost upstaged the rest of the cast! Surety of tone, a confident stage presence, and the ability to act and interact with his colleagues, marked him out as one to watch once his voice matures. His last aria, "Barbara! Io ben lo so", is a coloratura tour de force which has long passages, difficult intervals, and two high A's. Nakajima pulled it off brilliantly, threatening the witch Aclina as he went, going well above the stave at the end, and displaying a formidable chest register on the initial "Barbara" of the A section. He was so good that he had to come back on stage after his last aria due to all the clapping and shouting from us in the audience. All in all, it was an excellent performance, one I would thoroughly recommend to anyone, whether a Baroque aficionado or a first-time listener to Handel - there's something for everyone here. I think most of all the sense of enjoyment from the performers, both the cast and the orchestra, made it such an enjoyable evening. I will not forget Kasarova in her kitten-heels and jump-suit, nor will I forget Basso feverishly applauding her, along with this rest of us. Having seen Sara Mingardo perform at the Wigmore Hall some time ago, I was relishing the chance to see her again. My chance came in the form of a wonderful concert at the barbican, promising not one, but two of my favourite pieces: "Cum dederit dilectus suis somnum" from Vivaldi's "Nisi Dominus", and "Fac ut Portem, Christi mortem" from Pergolesi's Stabat Mater. The billing stated that Mingardo would be joined by the wonderful Anna Caterina Antonacci: unfortunately though, Antonacci was indisposed. So instead Susan Gritton, (who I had seen at the Queen Elizabeth Hall only a few days before in Mozart's "Die Entführung aus dem Serail") gallantly stepped in to save the day. Due to Antonacci's last minute unavailability, the first piece on the program was changed from Porpora's Salve Regina to Handel's Concerto Grosso in G minor, Op 6, No 7: not a problem, in my opinion! The performance was both intuitive and stylish, seamlessly moving from one tempo to another. The highlight must surely be the inspired performance by lead violinist Catherine Martin in the solo section. Next to come was Vivaldi's Nisi Dominus. A beautiful yet melancholic piece, even the faster movements are tinged with sadness. The staccato rhythm of the opening movement, "Nisi Dominus", contrasts with and compliments the impossibly smooth, velvet quality of Mingardo's voice. The combination is repeated again in the penultimate section "Sicut Erat". The highlight of the piece for many was the fourth movement: "Cum Dederit". The slow, lilting 12/8 time signature, and its crotchet/quaver pedal relentlessly drive the piece onwards. On top of this, interspersed by the occasional flourish by the higher strings, Mingardo's warm, rich tone rides like a slow yet unstoppable wave through the orchestra straight to the soul. The long, well controlled phrases hold one in their grip, while her excellent "mezza di voce" through the longest notes and phrases induced an atmosphere of melancholic pensiveness throughout audience. The lively "Sicut Sagittae" which followed provided perfect counterbalance to the sombre "Cum Dederit". The light yet powerful "Gloria Patri" again enchanted those present, with the heavenly interplay between the solo violin and the voice on the phrase "et spiritui sancti". Mingardo showed a very intimate understanding of the text, vocally enunciating each and every nuance. The final movement, the "Amen" was well paced, and an exciting close to a fantastic piece. The video below is of Mingardo performing the "Cum Dederit". Please scroll down further for the last part of the concert. At only 26 years of age, Giovanni Battista Pergolesi died from tuberculosis in Pozzuoli, near Naples in Italy. Like Mozart after him, Pergolesi was a very talented composer who left the world far too young. The Catholic Encyclopaedia states that he was: "of frail constitution" and that "he shortened his career by irregular conduct" - whatever that may mean. He wrote many operatic works, mainly opera buffo (comedy), though many works claimed to be by Pergolesi have subsequently turned out to be by other composers. The work for which he is most remembered however is the "Stabat Mater", written shortly before he died. Composed for male soprano, male alto, and orchestra, it was commissioned by the Confraternità dei Cavalieri di San Luigi di Palazzo. In this performance, both artists were female. As stated above, Anna Caterina Antonacci was originally to have taken the soprano role. A last minute cancellation left us with the more than able talents of Susan Gritton. Given that there could not have been much time for Gritton and Mingardo to build a rapport with respect to the piece, the interplay between the two was surprisingly well managed. Many of the movements were duets, requiring both emotional and technical collaboration. The first movement, "Stabat Mater Dolorosa", was full of suspensions and dissonances from the onset: initially in close harmony, then later with Mingardo in the lower octave. The series of alternating dissonance/resolution fills the listener with expectation and satisfaction. Both singers performed the movement with a high level of vocal "purity", and with complementary volume. It was towards the end of the piece, however, that the real jewel of the "Stabat Mater" was revealed. In the sublime "Fac ut Portem", Mingardo excelled herself. The long legato lines, with stark orchestral support, were performed with other-worldly purity, though always humble and true to the score. Yet it was the ornament at the end of the movement which excited most: Mingardo moved slowly down over a held chord in the orchestra to a low Db! And what resonance there was in the lower chest register. Mingardo sounded fuller in the extreme lower range than some Tenors! There was a palpable air of excitement, which was held until then end of the movement. Gritton and Mingardo performed the final duets beautifully, but as I left the auditorium, the hot topic on everyone's lips was that sensational low Db. A recorded version, complete with the finishing ornament, can be heard below. It's been a busy week for concerts here at Show Me Something Interesting: a concert production of Mozart's opera "Die Entführung aus dem Serail" at the Queen Elizabeth Hall, and a performance of Vivaldi's "Nisi Dominus" and Pergolesi's "Stabat Mater" at the Barbican - I'll be reviewing the Barbican concert later this week.
The production of "Die Entführung" at the Queen Elizabeth Hall was rather different to the other performances I have seen. Firstly, the speaking role of Pasha Selim was replaced with by "narrator", in the person of actor Simon Butteriss. His role was performed in English, much in the same way as a performance of "Cosi Fan Tutti" I had heard a couple of years previous St Paul's church in Covent Garden. Having the narration in English made the production much more engaging and easier to understand, and for me worked better than the original "singspiel" format. The lack of understanding between the European and Ottoman worldviews put forward in the original libretto is brought up-to-date by a series of references to modern Euro-Turkic and Euro-Islamic points of tension, while the revelation of the Pasha's enlightened attitude and the subsequent fostering of goodwill from all characters (except Osmin!) is treated intelligently and avoids the danger of saccharin feyness. The role of Konstanze is famously hard, requiring excellent support, full integration of the head and chest voices, the ability to sing both emotive lyric passages and dynamic coloratura, and a vocal range stretching from low B to high D. Susan Gritton has all of this. Her portrayal was thoughtful and honest, with a magnificent performance of "Marten Allen Arten" stunning the audience. Her navigation of the various structures of this show-stopping aria was at all times controlled, yet passionate, and she sang masterfully the most difficult passage, moving by step down from high D to low B, only to jump right back up to high C, followed by a pianissimo high C with crescendo to fortissimo! Not an aria for the faint of heart. The French-Canadian tenor Frédéric Antoun proved to be a fascinating discovery in the role of Belmonte, Konstanze's faithful lover and would-be rescuer. In possession of a beautiful lyric voice, Antoun's characterisation fitted perfectly the ardent yet innocent persona of a Mozartian lead tenor, such as Tamino from Die Zauberflote. Most exciting however was his power and added darkness in the more "dramatic" moments of the role - neither forced nor overplayed. The opening aria "Hier soll ich dich denn sehen" showed us that we were in for a treat, and the tender yet passionate "Konstanze! Dich Wiederzusehen...O Wie Ängstlich" was mesmerising. Definitely a tenor to watch, and one with an interesting career ahead. The English woman who causes so much trouble and consternation for poor Osmin is Blonde, the servant of Konstanze. While written for a much lighter voice, the role is no easy earner. Requiring a range of low Ab to high E (!), any soubrette coloratura coming to the role needs complete command over her instrument and complete confidence in her abilities. Malin Christensson performed admirably in the role, with the difficult first aria "Durch Zärtlichkeit" admirably performed, though the first of the high E's was a little screeched. The duet with Osmin "Ich gehe, doch rate ich dir" following straight after "Durch Zärtlichkeit" drops down to the other extreme of the range with Christensson dropping to a low Ab mimicking Osmins low Eb. Her aria "Welche Wonne, welche Lust" was performed perfectly, and with exactly the right amount of oomph required. The role of Pedrillo has one of my favourite arias for tenor: "Frisch zum Kampfe! Frisch zum Streite!" With two long, fortissimo high G's, a throw-away high B, and three punchy high A's at the end, it's not an aria for the weak and feeble. Tilman Lichdi was more than up for the challenge, powering out those tricky high notes, and adding a dramatic and humorous interpretation to the proceedings. Lichdi also excelled in his duet and trio with Osmin (and Belmonte), and in the ensembles, but the biggest suprise came with his serenade "In Mohrenland gefangen war” which was beautifully lyrical and tenderly performed, but still with classic the Lichdi sense of humour. Alastair Miles was a last minute replacement in the role of Osmin, so it was completely understandable that he sang from the score during the concert. What was amazing though was the amount of contact and interaction with the audience and the other performers - much more than one would expect from a last minute replacement. His characterisation of Osmin was impeccable: comic, brutish, childish and lecherous. Miles is becoming a bit of a favourite here at Show Me Something Interesting: have a look at my review of Niobe, Regina di Tebe for a review of his performance as Poliferno. His ability to soften the head voice in the aria "Wer ein Liebchen hat gefunden" made the dives down to the low G all the more lascivious. His first duet, with Belmonte, Verwünscht seist du samt deinem Liede!" had Miles in true bass territory with a low Eb and a low E which were both audible and unstrained. His aria "Solche hergelaufne Laffen", his rant against Pedrillo, was suitably vicious, and the oriental ending to the aria was fast and punchy. His performance in the duets and trio with the tenors and with Blonde (where he again hit an Eb) had great comic timing and acting, again suprising given he was a last minute replacement. The tour de force for any Osmin though is the final aria "O, wie will ich triumphieren", full of low F's, three low E's and two low D's, one lasting quite a long time, with some high parts, especially toward the end. Miles performed admirably, though the last low D was very quiet. Having performed this myself though for my GCSE exams, I give full credit to Miles for performing this at all at short notice. Infanticide, petrification, magic, sex, giant disco balls, and evil spirits that go "gloop" in the night: The Royal Opera's production of "Niobe, Regina di Tebe" is both a visual and an audio sensation. It was brave of Covent Garden to put on this particular opera, given it was an unknown baroque work by one of the lesser know composers of the period. It was well worth the risk though, as there were very few empty seats at the final performance. In fact, a few of the patrons I spoke to were repeat attendees.
So what is it about this obscure work that made such an impact? And why was it important for the ROH to stage such a production during an economic downturn? To answer the first question, it is important to understand the work and its themes, the music, and the production. Niobe was the seventh opera penned by Baroque composer Agostino Steffani. Well known in his time as both a composer and a diplomat, Steffani's operas have since been forgotten: until now, that is. The Cast and Character list was as follows: Jacek Laszczkowski: Anfione, King of Thebes, husband of Niobe Veronique Gens: Niobe, Queen of Thebes, wife of Anfione Tim Mead: Clearte, Courtier to Anfione and Niobe, is in love with Niobe Delphine Galou: Nerea, Nurse to Niobe, doesn't love anyone, and thinks that most people are cheating so-and-so's Alastair Miles: Poliferno, Evil Sorcerer, Brother of the previous Queen of Thebes, usurped by Anfione (best character in the opera!) Bruno Taddia: Tiresa, High Priest of Latona, tells Niobe off a lot, and gets beeten to a pulp by her, spends a lot of time rolling about on the floor Amanda Forsythe: Manto, Tiresa's daughter, boring annoying character, in love with Tiberno Lothar Odinius: Tiberno, Son of the King of Alba, another boring character, in love with Manto Giant Disco Ball: Coolest thing in the Opera The opera focuses on the King and Queen of Thebes. The King, Anfione, wants to retire from public life in order to meditate on higher matters. To facilitate this, he abdicates in favour of his wife, the beautiful Niobe. She quite enjoys this idea, and to help her, Anfione recalls his courtier, Clearte, from his self-imposed exile in the forests. The reason for Clearte's rather dramatic isolation is that he is madly in love with Niobe. During Anfione's self-imposed seclusion, Clearte and Niobe come to tell him that Creonte, Prince of Thessaly, has raised an army to invade Thebes. Creonte is actually being helped by Poliferno, evil sorcerer and brother of the former Queen of Thebes who, along with her husband, was murdered by Anfione. As the army approaches, Anfione sings a prayer to Jove, and at the sound of his voice, the walls of Thebes magically rise up, in defence of the city. This prompts Niobe to declare her husband a God. Niobe's declaration incurs the wrath of the goddess Latona (Leto), expressed through her Priest, Tiresa. Tiresa's insistence on giving thanks to Latona causes Niobe to beat and kick him. Not content with this, she encourages her children to do the same. Poliferno uses his diabolical magic to conjure evil spirits to drag Anfione away, while casting a glamour over Niobe, making her think that Creonte (the Prince of Thessaly, not Clearte, her courtier: confusing, isn't it) is in fact the god Mars. She has a little x-rated fun with him before fainting. Meanwhile Tiresa, Priest of Latona, informs Anfione of Poliferno's schemes, and of Niobe's inconstancy. Suitably angry, Niobe declares war on the heaven, stating that she alone is descended from the gods. She destroys the altars of Latona and her children, Apollo and Diana. Filled with pride, Niobe calls for her ASBO children to be brought to her to witness her destructive act, and to revel in her deification. The gods, by now rather annoyed, decide to show everyone who's boss by causing fire, earthquakes, lightning, and other such terrors to reign down upon Thebes. In the ensuing chaos, all of Niobe's children are killed. Anfione sees his little ones burnt to a cinder, and stabs himself. Niobe, realising that both her husband and children are all dead, turns to stone in despair. Creonte (Prince of Thessaly) becomes king of Thebes, and banishes Poliferno for his trickery (a tad harsh I thought considering all the help he gave him) and general alarums and trumpets sound. There is also a sub-plot involving two very annoying characters (Manto and Tiberno) having an on-off love affair. It does get a little tedious, mainly because the primary plot has so much going on. Confusing, no? Well, it didn't really matter, as the themes dealt with were juicy enough. It was interesting to see how the production dealt with the psychological and supernatural elements of the opera. Possibly the best thing I've ever seen in opera is the use of a giant disco ball to represent the deification of Anfione. As it stood suspended mid stage, it began to spin, causing thousands of little disco ball lights to whiz around the audience. As Anfione ascended to the heavens, the disco ball went with him, while Jacek Laszczkowski, who played Anfione, unleashed a true Soprano note which received a well earned cheer. I think most of the applause was for the disco ball though... Poliferno's evil powers were represented by a giant black gloop-monster, made up of four people in stretchy material, accompanied by a gloop sound played out around the auditorium. the gloop-monster shuffled back and forth across the stage according to Poliferno's will, and spewed him and Creonte out of its nether regions whenever Poliferno was transporting them via occult means. I did spend a lot of the opera wishing that it would eat Manto and Tiberno, but unfortunately I was unsatisfied on this point. During the scenes where Niobe was deceived by Poliferno into thinking that Creonte was the god Mars, all three characters were dressed in gold, representing the heavens. The set was very dark, so only the protagonists were visible, along with the giant black balloons, filled with helium, which bobbed around the stage while Niobe sang. The use of black balloons showed that it was Poliferno's magic at play (gloop-monster babies came to mind), and when Poliferno and Creonte fled after their plot had been discovered, the balloons burst, leaving Niobe to face a rather rude awakening. Along with this, there was real fire on stage, trumpeters playing from the third floor balcony, and an AWOL Creonte trying to climb out of one of the boxes and into the stalls. Oh, and did I mention the giant disco ball? Anyway, enough about the effects, lets get on to the singing! Male Soprano Jacek Laszczkowski was expressive and committed to the role of Anfione, husband of Niobe. He managed to convey the progress from king to recluse to saviour to godhood to despair convincingly and with pathos. Vocally, however, there were a few problems. In the lower register the voice cracked when trying to emote strongly on consonants which involve the closing of the lips (b, d, m etc.) and when he slipped into the modal voice at the very bottom of the range the join between the falsetto and modal voices had not been properly smoothed over. Also, in the middle register, the voice had a heavily aspirated sound which after a while sounded as if Laszczkowski was tiring. The overall performance was excellent though, and the high soprano notes were forceful, melodic and crystal clear. It was a wonderful experience to hear the role sung by a man, giving us an idea of what the composer originally intended. My favourite aria for Anfione was the beautiful "Sfere amiche, or date al labro". Scored with unusual richness, Anfione's aria is a prayer for peace in the Palace of Harmony, as he attempts to cast off worldly cares, after having abdicated in favour of his wife, Niobe. In fact, during the aria, it was as if a spell had been cast over the audience. It's slow 6/4 time signature made for a lilting, hypnotic pace, and the continuous descending phrases shared successively by the viole and the violins added to the enchantment. Laszczkowski's voice in this aria completed the bewitchment: impossibly long-held pianissimo phrases, coupled with beguiling acting, both vocal and physical, drew the audience into the spell. It is unsurprising that "Sfere amiche" got the first spontaneous applause of the night. When the aria was over, it was akin to an awakening, a return to normal space. It reminded me of hearing Cecilia Bartoli at the Barbican singing "Sposa, non mi conosci", which produced the same effect. Two other notable arias were "Tra bellici carmi" from Act II, and "Spira gia nel propiro sangue" in Act 3."Tra bellici carmi" is a coloratura rage aria, proclaiming vengeance against Creonte (Iestyn Davies) for seducing, with Poliferno's help, his wife Niobe. Laszczkowski successfully navigates the virtuoso passages with ease, some of which seemed to last forever. This aria, more than any other sung by him, highlighted for me the possible sound of the castrati. The second aria, "Spira gia nel propiro sangue", is Anfione's death aria. Set in the obscure key of F minor, which Steffani "associated with extreme emotions and events", it is a poignant piece, sung at the moment that Anfione stabs himself, after discovering that his children have all been killed by the goddess Latona (Leto). Full of pathos, Laszczkowski's interpretation captured the audience, leaving us all with an understanding of the King's despair. Unlike most opera death arias, Anfione actually expires before completing it. If there was one criticism of the interpretation, it would be that the staccato "sobs" Laszczkowski produces sound more like an old lady cooing a child than a distressed and dying man, but it is a minor quibble. The title role of Niobe was sung by Veronique Gens, aSoprano with great experience of the Baroque repertoire. With her seduction of Clearte (Tim Mead), her courtier and besotted aficionado, and her impassioned battering of Tiresia, Priest of the goddess Latona (Bruno Taddia), Gens' characterisation was less tragic heroine and more Joan Collins. While it was not an authentic characterisation of the Queen from Ovid's Metamorphoses, the work on which the opera was based, it made for an entertaining production. Her final aria, accompanied by continuo, "Funeste immagini", was very powerful, and like Anfione's last aria, is left unfinished as she turns to stone. The long recitative before her final aria is a little wearisome, but that was more to do with the composition than with Gens' characterisation. The relish with which she expressed each successive emotion made Gens' portrayal very enjoyable. Of the remaining characters, my two favourites were Nerea, nurse to Niobe's children (Delphie Galou), and Poliferno (Alastair Miles). Nerea is a comic character, mostly ranting on about the inconstancy of men, and the inability of women to resist anything male with a strong pair of thighs. She does try and get Clearte to tell Niobe how much he loves her, and takes pleasure in watching him squirm, as did most of the audience. But, for all her efforts, she too ends up being kicked about by Niobe. My favourite character of the evening though was the evil magician Poliferno. The only character to have all his arias accompanied by continuo and orchestra, Poliferno definitely makes you sit up and take notice. His excellent aria, "Evil spirits, shake the skies" was a masterclass in how to perform a Baroque Bass Rage Aria. Impossibly fast, frighteningly accurate, and demonically malevolent, Alastair Miles showcased an aria which should, now it has been rediscovered, become a staple of any baroque bass. He even got his own instrument to announce his recitatives: the otherworldly sounding Regal. At the first sounds of the instrument (played by Michael Behringer, who also played the Harpsichord and Organ in the production) practically everybody in the audience tried to see the instrument. So why was it so important for ROH to stage this particular production? Wouldn't another topless Don Giovanni or busty Carmen have been better value? Well, no, I don't think so. Not that I have anything against topless Don's or Busty Gypsies, but we don't get to see, or hear, music like this very much. Yes, of course, we hear Baroque opera on the stage and in the concert hall, but this early Baroque music is not so well known. I think quite a few people in the audience were hearing it for the first time, and were very impressed. To have the period instruments, and a singer that was able to perform the role as the composer originally intended (Laszczkowski), added a depth which enabled the audience to understand the times in which the opera was written. The excellent staging provided added visual stimulation, providing interest during the slower parts of the opera. If theatres like ROH are unwilling to produce shows like this, then music by people like Steffani will either stay lost and forgotten, or be staged in dry concert performances without the spectacle with which they were originally conceived. Well done ROH for this production, and I hope you continue to push back the boundaries in the future. On Friday 11th June, I went to see Dmitri Hvorostovsky (top left) at a song recital at the Wigmore Hall. He was performing a concert dedicated to the great Russian mezzo-soprano Irina Konstantinova Arkhipova (below left), who died on February 11th 2010, a month after her 85th birthday.
Arkhipova will be remembered not just for her beautiful, youthful voice and magnificently long career, but also as a teacher and talent spotter. Almost all big name Russian performers, such as Hvorostovsky, Borodina, Guleghina and Netrebko, were taught by her. She even, in the late 1980's, headed the International Union of Music. I was expecting much from Hvorostovsky, as I had enjoyed his previous concert with Anna Netrebko at the South Bank, and was interested to see how his voice would work with the acousics of the Wigmore Hall. He did not disappoint! He and his pianist, Ivari Ilja, took us on a mesmerising journey through two of the great Russian composers: Piotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky and Sergi Rachmaninov. Many of the opera 'critics' are always ready to point out that Hvorostovsky's voice is not in the 'Heldenbaritone' league, being a smaller voice than someone like, for instance, Bryn Terfel. At the Wigmore Hall, this was not evident, as the size and the acoustic of the Hall allowed his voice to reverberate with considerable force. My favourites were: 'Again, as before, I am alone', 'No, only the lonely heart', and 'In the silence of the secret night'. The first of these rises to a magnificent G sharp in the third verse, which was secure, well placed and dramatic. The second was a beautiful rendition of this well known song, sometimes known as 'None but the lonely heart'. The third, however, was my favourite. The last note was held so long, and with perfect control, that there was an audible gasp from the audience at its end. All in all, another triumph for Dmitri, and another well chosen arist by the Wigmore Hall. The program was as follows: Tchaikovsky Again, as before, I am alone The nightingale The heroic deed I opened the window Don Juan's Serenade Rachmaninov A dream As fair as the day in blaze of noon Do not sing for me, fair maiden Oh no, I beg you, do not leave! Interval Tchaikovsky Reconciliation A tear trembles No, only the lonely heart The fearful moment Rachmaninov When yesterday we met In the silence of the secret night He has taken all from me An excerpt from Musset - Loneliness Christ is risen Donizetti's comic opera, La Fille du régiment, was spectacularly brought to life by the cast of the Royal Opera House production that I had the good luck to see on the 25th May 2010. I was in the second row from the front, and Juan Diego Florez belted out three of the nine High C's from "Ah! Mes amis" right in front of me. It was a great night. The cast were superb. Natalie Dessay sang the role of the tomboy Marie, the "Fille" spoken of in the title of the opera. She has been quoted as saying that acting is more important to her than singing, yet in this performance she effortlessly merged the two. Her ability to hit impossibly high notes while ironing, being lifted into the air by the chorus, or by being carried along by one of her fathers, raised more than a couple of generous rounds of applause. Dessay also left the audience enraptured in the beautiful "Il faut partir", with a touching portrayal, miles away from the potato-peeling, hyperactive mess-girl we had the joy of meeting at the beginning of the opera. Ann Murray, the only change from the original cast of three years ago, was excellent as the Marquise de Berkenfield. Murray managed to give a portrayal where the transformation from frigid aristocrat to broken yet loving mother had both psychological integrity and pathos, while never loosing her comic appeal. The singing-lesson scene, so often over-stated, was performed perfectly, with the right mix of comedy and exasperation from Murray. Dessay's love interest, Tonio, was masterfully portrayed by Juan Diego Florez. His provincial characterisation sat perfectly within the context of both the opera and the production. Florez was on top form vocally, and the show-stopping aria "Ah! mes amis" was performed with such ease that the nine High C's seemed hardly to trouble him at all. When he appeared onstage at the end of the opera, he was greeted with what can only be described as roars of approval, and the foot-stomping coming from the stalls almost caused a mini earthquake. Florez was excellent in this role and, being as I was so close to the stage, it was interesting to see how relaxed he was while knocking out the high notes. Of the other roles, the one to mention was Dawn French as the La Duchesse de Crakentorp. I think many reviewers have unfairly pointed out that French's portrayal had definite similarities to her television roles. I think this was the point, really. Her comic presence allowed Murray, and some of the other characters, to have more of a comic feel than would have otherwise been the case, and the use of 'Franglais' added to the rather humourously arrogant portrayal. Many of the reviewers who stated that there was barely a murmur from the audience at the antics of La Duchesse, seem to have been at a different production from the one I went to, as the laughter from the audience was loud, spontaneous and genuine. The chorus and the production were also excellent, for me the highlight being the 'servant's ballet' in Act 2. I thoroughly enjoyed the opera, and I would happily go and see it again. Vivaldi's first Opera, Ottone in Villa, was premiered on 17th May 1713, in Vicenza, Italy. An adaptation of a libretto for an earlier opera, Messalina, Ottone in Villa transforms Emperor Claudius into Emperor Otho (Ottone) and Messalina into Cleonilla, a non-historical character.
Ottone, hopelessly in love with Cleonilla, fails to notice that she is acting like a hussy, courting not one, but two other men, Caio and Ostilio, even though his faithful servant Decio tries desperately to warn him on more than one occasion. Caio, Cleonilla's primary plaything, is unceremoniously dumped for Ostilio, who is more beautiful that Caio. The reason that Ostilio is more 'beautiful' is that Ostilio is, in reality, a woman! More than that, Ostilio is none other than Tullia, the woman Caio dumped in order to cuckold Ottone. Tullia planed to kill or discredit Cleonilla, and to extract a confession of guilt and forgiveness from Caio, but Caio is unrepentant, and Tullia spends much time vascillating between her need for vengence and her love for Caio. In a wonderful scene, where she hides, listening to Caio's lament, she mocks him from afar, in a duet which is interestingly orchestrated - main orchestra plus two violins and two recorders, all doing different things, while Caio is left to wonder who this strange disembodied voice is that mocks him, and wonders if he is loosing his grip on sanity. In a final scene, where Ottone and Decio walk in to find Cleonilla in an amourous embrace with Ostilio/Tullia, and Caio in a murderous rage at his 'rival', Ostilio reveals her true identity as Tullia, clears Cleonilla of all culpability, and claims that Caio is the real villain. Cleonilla, thinking quickly on her feet, claims to Ottone that she only embraced Ostilio/Tullia because she was aware of her true identity, and was trying to help reunite Tullia and Caio. Ottone, still madly and foolishly in love, believes her, and asks her forgiveness for thinking badly of her. He also orders Caio to marry Tullia, which of satisfies Tullia no end. Caio, seeing he writing on the wall, asks forgiveness of Tullia, which she readily gives. And Cleonilla, in an aside otthe audience, promises to be a better person in future. Confused? Well, this intrigue-laden plot throws up some real musical gems. The performance at the Barbican Centre in London was as sparce visually as the orchestration. But this complemented, rather than detracted from, the music. The cast was: Ottone: Sonia Prina (Contralto) Caio: Juila Lezhneva (Soprano) Cleonilla: Veronica Cangemi (Soprano) Ostilio/Tullia: Roberta Invernizzi (Soprano) Decio: Topi Lehtipuu (Tenor) It was performed in concert style, with two singers, Invernizzi and Lezhneva, to the left of the conductor, and the rest to his right. The orchestra was Il Giardino Armonico, and the conductor Giovanni Antonini, both superb, especially first violinist Stefano Barneschi, as he played the solo virtuoso violin part Vivaldi had written for himself. First up, let's take a look at Sonia Prina's interpretation of Ottone. Originally written for Contralto Diana Vico, the part of Ottone hangs low in tessitura, and is full of wonderful coloratura. Prina takes to the role with ease, and fires of the rapid passages with skill and precision. Her rich voice gives her the clout to perform this 'trouser' role with authenticity, yet without sacrificing ease of movement. Her Ottone is painfully credulous, as the characterisation demands, yet the sense of power and authority never leave her. She raised a few laughs too, especially in her confusion about Ostilio/Tullia. An excellent performance, though I for one wished she had more to do. Next, Veronica Cangemi as Cleonilla. I was slightly disappointed as her voice was much smaller than I had expected. She was in fact louder and more expressive during the Recitative parts than in the arias where, in a couple of places, I had difficulty hearing her. Given I was only eight rows away from the stage, I would expect a little more volume. Her characterisation was solid, if uninspired, and perhaps slightly less self assured and carefree than I would have expected for a woman juggling three suitors. Her technical performance was spot on, however, and her comedic interactions with the other performers in Act 3 were more in character. Juila Lezhneva stole the night for me. I was amazed by the power, skill and depth of character she gave to the role of Caio. It was originally written for a Soprano Castrato, and this was reflected in the difficulty of some of the fast passages, as well as in the longer phrases. Born in 1989, Lezhneva displayed supprising maturity in the role. The Act 1 aria Gelosia (Jealousy) really showed her skill, and she captivated the audience from the onset. Her coloratura was flawless, and her characterisation perfect. I am looking forward to hearing more from this up-and-coming young Russian. Playing two characters of different genders in the same performance is not always easy, but Roberta Invernizzi gave real depth to both personalities, as well as managing to merge the vengeful traits of Tullia with the sweetness of Ostilio as the drama progressed. Her comic movements and facial expressions added to the portrayal, especially when showing her disdain for Caio while Lezhneva performed her arias. The highlight for me from Invernizzi was her gentle, caustic mocking of Caio during the duet 'L'ombre l'aure, e ancora il rio', where Invernizzi removed to the back of the stage while Lezhneva lamented her character's sorrow. Click here for a sneeky video taken by one of the audience members on the night. It is of Invernizzi singing the aria 'Misero spirto mio'. The other surprise of the evening was the Tenor Topi Lehtipuu. Born in Australia, studied in Helsinki, and now resident in Paris, Lehtipuu came to Opera via a progressive rock-band, "inspired by music ranging from Gregorian Chant to heavy metal". His characterisation of Decio was excellent, and he made the most of the comic moments alloted to the role. His high, supple Tenor effortlessly navigated the complex coloratura, and his interplay with Prina was perfectly co-ordinated. He smashed onto the Opera scene playing the part of Tamino in Die Zauberflote, and given his performance here, I can see why he was an instant hit. This is another performer I look forward to hearing more from. All in all, Ottone in Villa was a definate hit. The soloists and the orchestra will be reuniting to take their roles once again in the recording studio. It will be a recording that I will definately purchase. The British Library, home to 200 million items, is currently running an exhibition called Chopin: The Romantic Refugee. The exhibition, complete with letters, recordings and many other historical documents, links music, politics the personal stories of those connected with the composer, and presents his work and personality in the context of the issues of the time.
Several events were planned by the British Library in conjunction with the exhibition. The one I went to last night was called Nocturne: The Romantic Life of Frederic Chopin. Nocturne was compiled by Lucy Parham, who also plays the twelve pieces listed below, from the scores of his music, and the letters, diaries and correspondence of Chopin, George Sand and their contemporaries. In the program, Parham says that: "Although Chopin's piano music remains one of the most recognisable styles of composition...as a man he remains, to a certain extent, an enigma. Many of his letters have been destroyed and of these that remain, very few give a real personal insight into the man himself." It is commendable, then, that Parham manages to find just those items which manage to illucidate the mind of the great Romantic. The letters, diaries and correspondence were read by Alex Jennings, known for roles such as Waking the Dead, Spooks, Miss Marple: They Do It With Mirrors, and Bringing Down the House, among other things, and Juliet Stevenson, best known for her roles in Truly, Madly, Deeply and The Politician's Wife. The story of Chopin's life, from his birth in Poland, his move to Paris, his friendship with Balzac, Delacroix, Berlioz and Liszt, his teaching practice founded by his frisndship with the Rothschilds, his relationship with Georges Sand, focusing on their trip to Majorca, his last five concerts given in England and Scotland, and his death, nursed by his beloved step-daughter Solange, but without Sand, is told by an intermingling of these texts with the very insightful choice of music performed by Parham. My favourite piece of the evening was the Prelude in Db Op. 28 (raindrop), which was hauntingly performed and complemented perfectly the information that it was the rainy weather in Majorca that precipitated Chopin's consumption. What is interesting for me is that, rather than the texts giving insight to the music, rather it was the music which ultimately produced a greater understanging of the texts. Parham herself states in the program that it is: "through the music that we can come to know the man." The Exhibition runs until Sunday 16th May. Full of treasures and information, the curators have really done a great job of putting the man and his music in context with the times in which he lived. Further details of the Exhibition can be seen here. The program was as follows: Nocturne in C minor Op. 48 No. 1 Polonaise in A Op. 40 No. 1 Waltz in C# minor Op. 64 No. 1 Etude in Ab Op. 25 No. 1 Mazurka in D Op. 33 No. 2 Ballade No. 3 in Ab Op. 47 Interval Mazurka in A minor Op. 67 No. 4 Prelude in Db Op. 28 (raindrop) Prelude in G minor Op. 28 Nocturne in Db Op. 27 No. 1 Waltz in Db Op. 64 No. 2 (petit chien) Ballade No. 4 in F minor Op. 52 Part 1, Part 2 |
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