Oberon's Grove

Małgorzata Walewska ~ La Mort de Cléopâtre

Polish mezzo-soprano Małgorzata Walewska sings Hector Berlioz's La Mort de Cléopâtre at a concert given at Katowice in 1996. Andrzej Straszyński conducts the Symphony Orchestra of the Silesian Philharmonic.

Listen here.

Stephen Powell ~ Why Do The Nations

Stephen Powell at the piano; photo by Shannon Finney

Acis Productions have released a new recording from baritone Stephen Powell, Why Do The Nations, which brings us 27 songs in ten languages, with the singer accompanying himself at the piano. When I first read of it, I wasn't quite sure how I would feel about it. It's a lot of ground to cover, for one thing. And then: is Mr. Powell as fine a pianist as he is a singer?

An initial playing of the disc dispelled any misgivings I might have had. The songs weave a multi-hued sonic tapestry of languages and styles. And - as it turns out - Mr. Powell's an excellent pianist. I wept, I laughed...I derived great pleasure from this collection. So many of the songs - and Stephen's singing of them - reached me on a very personal level.

Stephen Powell talks with Brad Cresswell about how Why Do The Nations came to be here.

The disc offers a mix of the very familiar with several songs I've never heard, and a couple of composers I'd never heard of.

Four of Germany's lords of lieder - Schubert, Brahms, Wolf, and Strauss - are represented. Of their songs on this disc, only Schubert's "Die Forelle" was familiar to me; Mr. Powell sings it so well, and his pianistic skills are impressive, too. Hugo Wolf's "Auch Kleine Dinge", about a delight in small things, is sung with an appealing subtlety. A truly beautiful Strauss song that I'd never heard, "Ich Trage Meine Minne", speaks of the sustaining power of love; after a somewhat darker second verse, the song returns to light and joy with the memorable line: "I carry my love in silent bliss".  From Johannes Brahms, Mr. Powell brings us "Meine Liebe ist grün", which celebrates the Springtime of love, wherein the poet is intoxicated by the scent of lilacs...something to which I can easily relate.

From France, we have songs by Maurice Ravel, Gabriel Fauré, and Émile Paladilhe, the last-named being only a name to me. His song, "Petits Enfants", receives its world premiere recording on Mr. Powell's disc. The poem, about the beauty of young children, is by Alphonse Daudet. The song has a delicate piano accompaniment, and Mr. Powell's sweet upper notes sustain the atmosphere. Maurice Ravel's boisterous drinking song, "Chanson à boire" comes from the well-beloved song cycle Don Quichotte à Dulcinée. It's full of laughter, and ends with the piano on its own. Mr. Powell gives a fresh feeling to Fauré's familiar "Mandoline", sung with a light touch, and with the piano part deftly handled.

Three of America's greatest 20th century composers are heard from: Samuel Barber, Charles Ives, and Aaron Copland. Barber's I Hear An Army, composed in 1937, has an aggressively dynamic accompaniment over which the words of James Joyce compare the end of an intimate relationship to the galloping hooves of an attacking troop of cavalrymen.

In 1952, Aaron Copland adapted Zion's Walls, originally a folk song that became popular at camp meetings in Georgia; Copland eventually used the song in his opera THE TENDER LAND. On first hearing Mr. Powell's rendering of Zion's Walls, I simply wrote: "This Is Great!"

Charles Ives wrote Majority in 1921; Mr. Powell chose it as the final song on the disc. It's a sort of toiling dirge, but with a reassuring ending.

The two kings of Italian opera turn up in canzoni mode: Giuseppe Verdi and Giacomo Puccini are allotted two songs each. Verdi''s La Seduzione (a seduced-and-abandoned tale) and the touching Il Poveretto ("The Poor Man") have an operatic feeling to them. The latter tells of a poor veteran who, having served his country, is now reduced to begging. The song was written in 1847, but the problem still exists today. An ironic waltz springs up, only to halt as Mr. Powell movingly voices the line, "My country has forgotten me!" 

The disc's other Verdi song, La Seduzione, starts with a slow waltz and becomes more animated, with the telling line: "Nine moons moaned the betrayed..." The singer's voice becomes tearful as he tells of the disgraced woman's lonely, anonymous death.

It's to Puccini that Stephen Powell turns for his opening song: Morire? ("To die?"). The text is by Giuseppe Adami, the composer's librettist for LA RONDINE, IL TABARRO, and TURANDOT. It's a poem that reflects on the meaning of death; one curious feature of this song is that the piano drops out for most of the final verse. The voice goes on high at the end.

Puccini's Terra e mare did what a song often does for me: it put me in mind of a beloved literary passage, in this case from JRR Tolkien's Lord of the Rings:

"Legolas Greenleaf long under tree, In joy thou hast lived, Beware of the Sea! If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore, Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more."

In this Puccini song, a man falls asleep, lulled by the sound of the wind in the poplar trees, which he dreamily mistakes for the sound of the sea. It's a restless song, and both the piano and the voice capture the sensations of the lyrics perfectly.

Russian jewels by Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky and Sergei Rachmaninoff bring forth some of Mr. Powell's most engaging singing. Tchaikovsky's "Nights of frenzy, sleepless nights", a lament for a lost love of long ago, is particularly fine. In Rachmaninoff's familiar "Spring Waters", the singer conveys an almost operatic sense of vocal authority. The same composer's "The Soldier's Wife" is one of the collection's saddest songs: the lament of a woman who married the man she loved, only to have him be taken from her by army recruiters. The song, with its deep sorrow,  covers a wide vocal range and ends with a vocalise. 

Benjamin Britten and Michael Head represent the United Kingdom. Two contrasting Britten songs are heard: the wryly humorous The Brisk Young Widow (which benefits greatly from Mr. Powell's very clear diction), and the more pensive Every Night and Every Morn, with words by William Blake. In this song, the accompaniment seems somehow unsettling. There's a rise in drama as the song nears its end...and then a questioning air at the finish. Composer Michael Head is new to me; his song Money, O!, written in 1928, covers a big vocal range, going deep. It sings of some of the advantages of being poor.

Meu Amor Me Disse Adeus ("My love told me goodbye forever") by the Brazilian composer Cláudio Santoro hit me right where it hurts as the tenth anniversary of a bitter parting looms before for me. Like so many songs in this collection, this one is intensely personal, and Mr. Powell's affecting singing of it makes it even more so.

The songs from the Asian lands are of special interest to me, in part because my spouse is Chinese, and in part because I've never heard them before. All three - one each from China, Japan, and Korea - could easily come from the pen of a Western composer, though the tell-tale harmonies say otherwise. I imagine Western singers might be happy to explore more song literature from these lands, but mastering the languages is not easy.

Listening to Mr. Powell sing Rentarō Taki's dreamlike Kōjō no Tsuki ("Moonlight Over the Ruined Castle") - one of the most evocative songs on the disc - made me wish that my late friend, the contralto Makiko Narumi, was still here to sing me some Japanese songs.

The Korean composer Dong Jin Kim gives us a remarkably beautiful song, Gagopa ("I Want to Go Back"), full of longing for the days of childhood. The poet recalls the place of his birth, which he left long ago: "I want to recapture those days that had no tears."

I asked my husband, Gotham's premier Chinese tutor and translator, to listen to Mr. Powell's recording of Zhao Yuanren's "How Can I Not Think of Her", wherein everything in nature reminds the poet of his lost love.  I asked Wei to rate the singer's diction. After a line or two, he said: "Good...very good...very clear!". Then he asked to hear the song again, and he began to sing along.

From Spain, songs by Fernando Obradors, Manuel de Falla, and Xavier Montsalvage have a particular appeal in Mr. Powell's interpretations. Fernando Obradors' ¿Corazón porqué pasáis...? a brief delight of a song about affairs of the heart. The accompaniment is particularly pleasing, while a central passage of wordless vocalizing seems to say: "Don't take this song too seriously."

Manuel de Falla's ironic El paño moruno ("The Moorish Cloth" ) is the shortest song in the collection. To very familiar melody, the story tells of a tiny stain on a piece of fine cloth that diminishes its value. 

As with every song recital disc, there's bound to be a favorite track. From Stephen Powell, we get the most hauntingly beautiful rendering of Xavier Montsalvage's dusky lullaby "Cancion de cuna para dormir a un negrito" from Tres Canciones Negras that I have ever heard.

~ Oberon

Spanish Inspirations @ CMS

Above: baritone Will Liverman

Sunday Noovember 14th, 2021 - Sundays at Chamber Music Society of Lincoln are something I really missed during the COVID shutdown. Today, the Society's customary gathering of stellar musicians presented a wide-ranging program of works with a Spanish flavor.

Luigi Boccherini's Quintet in E-major for two violins, viola, and two cellos, Op. 11, No. 5, which opened the program delightfully, was composed in 1771. The Italian-born composer was at that time residing in Madrid, where he was in the employ of the Infante of Spain.

Violinists Paul Huang (looking very dapper) and  Danbi Um (in a fetching turquoise frock), joined the master-violist  Paul Neubauer and wo of my favorite cellists - Clive Greensmith and Nicholas Canellakis - for this Rococo work, which commences with an amiable Amoroso rather than the conventional Allegro. A calm, melodious start later gives way to a more animated feeling, with the viola's staccatti giving it a gentle pulse.

The ensuing Allegro e con spirito is lively and full of light, with minor-key intrusions. Harmonies are kept simple, with subtle rhythmic shifts and lyrical melodies. The Minuetto is particularly appealing, with delicate plucking motifs; Paul Huang sets forth a charming dance passage, taken up by Danbi Um. The final Rondeau, with a minor-key interlude, highlighted the finely-integrated sound that this stylish quintet of players achieved.

Having been at his memorable Met debut as Papageno in January, 2020, I was very happy to hear baritone Will Liverman again. This evening, he sang music by Ravel and Shostakovich...and he sang so well!

The handsome baritone, joined by pianist Wu Qian, first gave us Maurice Ravel's 3-song set, Don Quichotte à Dulcinée, composed in 1932–33. The songs, each having a distinctive dance rhythm, portray the legendary Don Quixote first as lover, then as noble warrior, and lastly as a drunkard.

From the opening, almost jazzy phrases of the Chanson romanesque, Mr. Liverman's voice had a wonderful presence in this hall, as though he was meant to sing here. Wu Qian was a perfect musical accomplice, her harmonic progressions gracefully underpinning the melodic curve. The song ends with the evocative apostrophe to the Don's idealized beloved, ‘Ô Dulcinée’.

The beginning of the Chanson épique, was marred by the loud ringing of a phone. Mr. Liverman kept his composure, singing so expressively this song with its haunting reference to St Michel. After displaying hall-filling power in the poignant verses, the singer softened the tone for a touching, solemn "Amen".

By now, Mr. Liverman had the audience in the palm of his hand. In the rousing Chanson à boire, the singer began to stagger a bit and to steady himself by leaning on the piano, further endearing himself to the crowd. With his robust singing, and abetted by Wu Qian's expert playing, Mr. Liverman's drinking song was a hit.  

Wu Qian returned to the Steinway, joining Mssrs. Huang, Neubauer, and Canellakis for Joaquín Turina's Quartet in A-minor for piano, violin, viola, and cello, Op. 67, dating from 1931. After a vibrant, unison start, the piano, viola, and cello support a Spanish theme from Paul Huang's radiant-toned violin. Gorgeous harmonies abound, and a feeling of restlessness springs up. After a brief piano passage, sizzling tremolos are heard, and the violinist takes us to ethereal heights.

The second movement, marked Vivo, finds the pianist playing over plucked strings. The music cruises along, with unison passages, finely blended. Paul Huang's soulful song wanders to the upper range; then a sparkling piano motif accompanies the strings playing in unison. The movement has a delicate finish. 

The Turina ends with an Andante/Allegretto which starts with a sort of violin cadenza; then the pianist takes over. A lush unison theme is heard; the music gets briefly subdued before a pulsing rhythm takes over. Things get dramatic, with a sweeping melody; and then we return to the starting point. The playing of these four marvelous musicians drew a big response from the audience, with everyone standing and cheering when the players came out for a bow.

Mr. Liverman returned for Spanish Songs for voice and piano, Op. 100, by Dmitri Shostakovich, composed in 1956. 

For Farewell, Granada!, Wu Qian's playing was darkish at the start; there is a hymn-like feeling to this song, which has a Moorish flavour; passages of vocalise give a melismatic effect, ideally captured by Mr. Liverman. Little Stars is animated and dance-like, as the poet teaches his beloved his songs under a starry sky. The words give a hint that he also teaches her other things: these she remembers...but not the notes of the songs.

The First Time We Met begins in a somber way, and later the mood swings up and down as the newly-met lovers dance to the sound of their tambourines. The lively Ronda continues the theme of dancing and falling in love.

A rolling piano motif accompanies The Black-Eyed Girl, in which Mr. Liverman's voice was scaled down to a lovely softness at the end, musing on the eyes of the girl he desires but who may not love him in return. The final song, Dream, summoned forth the baritone's impressive power as he sings of steering his small boat thru a violent storm to reach his beloved. Throughout this cycle of songs, singer and pianist kept the audience engrossed.

From the pen of the least-familiar composer on the program, Gaspar Cassado, comes a marvelous piece: his 1926 work, Trio in C-major for piano, violin, and cello. Hearing it for the first time was a real treat for me...and seemingly for the entire audience, who seemed amazed by both the music and the playing of it. Anne-Marie McDermott, who dazzled us last week in the all-Chopin program, dazzled us yet again today. Joining her, Danbi Um and Clive Greensmith brought lovely tone and deftly-shaped phrasing to this captivating music.

The exultant opening of the Allegro risoluto immediately seized my imagination. A dusky, unison passage leads to a song-like theme from first the cello and then the violin. There's a wide variety of tempi and dynamics as the music moves forward. At times, its quite cinematic.

In the Tempo moderato e pesante—Allegro giusto, Ms. McDermott and Mr. Greensmith set things off to an engaging start. The music turns dramatic and grand before simmering down to a shimmer; the violin gleams on high over the pulsing cello, and then they switch roles. The music builds, only to dissipate with a sudden finish. 

Unison strings open the final movement, Recitativo: Moderato ed appassionato, which, with a sudden burst of energy, becomes an Allegro vivo. There's a sprightly violin passage from Danbi Um, and simply glorious playing from Ms. McDermott. The music dances onward, culminating in a mad rush to the finish. The audience could barely curb their enthusiasm until the final note had sounded. Big applause, wonderful atmosphere!

Bringing this vastly pleasing concert to an end, Pablo de Sarasate's Navarra, Op. 33, was performed by Danbi Um and Paul Huang, with Ms. McDermott at the Steinway. Sarasate composed this showpiece in 1889 as a tribute to his homeland of Navarre. The music takes the form of the jota, a type of waltz popular in northern Spain in the 18th century. The work puts us in mind of the dance-filled entr’acte to final scene of Bizet’s CARMEN.

After starting with high, sweet harmonies, the violinists engage in a friendly rivalry, displaying their colossal techniques, and reeling off a profusion of notes at a mile-a-minute speed, sometimes venturing into their highest range. Ms. McDermott's rhythmic vitality propelled this brilliant music to its breath-taking finish; she then rose and came forward to embrace Ms. Um and Mr Huang while the audience literally roared with delight.

~ Oberon

Verdi REQUIEM @ Cardiff ~ 1987

Soloists Dame Margaret Price, Della Jones, Stuart Burrows, and Robert Lloyd (above) are featured in a 1987 performance of the Verdi REQUIEM given at Cardiff, with the Philharmonia Orchestra, the Cardiff Polyphonic Choral, Cantorian Ardwynm, and the Swansea Bach Choir. James Lockhart is the conductor.

Watch and listen here.

ARIADNE AUF NAXOS ~ excerpts

Excerpts from a live broadcast of Richard Strauss' ARIADNE AUF NAXOS from Louisville, Kentucky, in the early 1980s. Sung half in English and half in German, the cast features Patricia Schumann (photo above) as the Composer, Edith Davis as Ariadne, Gordon Greer as Bacchus, Erie Mills ad Zerbinetta, and Donn Everette Graham as Harlekin. Mooritz von Bomhard conducts.

Listen here.

These brief excerpts stir up many memories for me: I always like a soprano in the role of the composer - the names Seefried, Niska, Zylis-Gara, and Varady spring immediately to mind - and Ms. Schumann is very good in the prologue-finale here. At The Met, I saw her as Donna Elvira, and as the Commander is Philip Glass's THE VOYAGE in 1992.

Edith Davis sang a wonderful Tatyana in EUGENE ONEGIN at the opening of the new theater at Glimmerglass in 1987, and I later heard her as Liu at NYCO. I saw Gordon Greer at Hartford's Bushnell, singing Canio to Wilhelmenia Fernandez's Nedda. Erie Mills was the Zerbinetta in the ARIADNEs in Boston that put Deborah Voigt on the map: I was there! I also saw her as Morgana in ALCINA at the New York City Opera, and in Mozart's APOLLO & HYACINTHUS at the Mostly Mozart Festival.

GrahamDeconstructed ~ Acts of Light

Above: Anne O'Donnell in Martha Graham's Acts of Light; photo by Tina Barantian

Thursday November 11th, 2021 - I had two reasons to attend this evening's studio event at the Martha Graham Dance Company's homespace on Bethune Street: first, to see the marvelous Graham dancers, and second, to meet former Graham dancer Peggy Lyman, who, in 1994, gave a performance at Jacob's Pillow that I will never forget.

I arrived at the studio early, and for a while the space was nearly empty, with a few technical people silently getting things ready. It was so pleasant just sitting there quietly, thinking of the many beautiful things that I've experienced in that room. Soon the place was packed with Graham fans, and the Company's Artistic Director Janet Eilber greeted us, and introduced Ms. Lyman, a tall, elegantly dressed goddess-like woman with perfect posture.

Ms. Lyman had created the main female role in the Graham work which was the subject of this evening's presentation: Acts of Light, which premiered in Washington DC on February 26, 1981. The dancework's title derives from a poem by Emily Dickinson. The score is by the 19th-century Danish composer Carl Nielsen, and much of the conversation between Ms.Eilber and Ms. Lyman was about the music, and its effect on the dancers during the ballet's creative period. Prior to this, Martha Graham had mostly used commissioned scores, which often relied on percussion and winds to achieve the desired atmosphere. The Nielsen score employs a rich string section, giving the work a lushness that seemed to inspire the dancers to dance ever more passionately. I was recalling a story I once heard about one of Diaghilev's ballerinas who was given a solo in a new ballet accompanied by a trumpet. She reportedly turned to Big Serge and said, "Please, can I have violin?" 

Above:Xin Ying and Lloyd Knight in 'Conversation of Lovers'; photo by Tina Baranian

Now the dancers silently entered the studio space, wearing practice clothes. The lights went down, and the dancing commenced with “Conversation of Lovers” a duet danced splendidly by Xin Ying and Lloyd Knight. A rich cello theme is one of the highlights of the Nielsen score. The choreography is alternately lyrical and athletic, with demanding, brilliant partnering. Passionate passages loom up, and the pas de deux comes to an ecstatic close. Ying and Lloyd have often danced together, so everything flowed smoothly from beginning to end. Their performance was spell-binding.

Above: Anne O'Donnell and Esteban Santamaria in "Lament"; photo by Tina Baranian

The sound of chimes at the start of the ballet's second section, “Lament”, are a reminder that the composer was in mourning for the death of a close friend while composing it. Lush strings are heard as Anne O'Donnell, clad in an elastic white shroud (reminiscent of the costuming for Graham's immortal "Lamentation"), begins to dance, using the fabric to create strange, almost organic shapes. Her dancing was paradoxically both strong and vulnerable.

Ms. O'Donnell (above, photo by Tina Barantian) is surrounded by five men for this danced ritual; Lloyd Knight was part of this quintet, stepping in for an injured colleague. Joining him were Lloyd Mayor, Jacob Larsen, Alessio Crognale, and Esteban Santamaria, a dancer from Panama who has joined the ensemble for upcoming tour performances; Esteban made his mark both here and in the ballet's concluding movement.

Above: Marzia Memoli and the ensemble in "Ritual of the Sun"; photo by Tina Baranian

“Ritual to the Sun” is the final section, which draws upon Martha Graham's classroom technique. Lloyd Knight's boundless energy was at full-flourish as he circled the stage alone, in silence, pausing for a neat cartwheel before the music commenced and his fellow dancers rushed on, circling the space with lively leaps. Eventually they all sit down and perform choreographed Graham floor exercises; they are such beautiful creatures, striking poses in the beautifully illuminated space to achingly beautiful musical themes.

Then the center work commences as the dancers flash along the diagonal to huge music, executing swift combinations and celebrating the sheer joy of dancing. Joining the dancers who had already appeared in the earlier movements were So Young An, Laurel Dalley Smith, Natasha M. Diamond Walker, Devin Loh, Marzia Memoli, Anne Souder, and Leslie Andrea Williams.   

Above: Peggy Lyman; photo by Tina Baranian

The presentation concluded with a Q & A, which prompted Ms. Lyman to summon up memories of working with Ms Graham on the piece. At the end, Ms. Lyman and Ms. Eilber embraced, and Janet remarked:. "We used to room together on tour..."  Such a lovely thought. 

Overcoming my innate shyness, I made a bee-line for Ms Lyman and sat down next to her. I told her I had something for her to sign, and pulled out the program page from a Graham performance at Jacob's Pillow in 1994 wherein Ms. Lyman danced the Ruth St. Denis solo, "The incense" = her performance was a revelation for me, and I have never forgotten it. She remembered that particular Summer clearly, and then wrote a very sweet message to me. I didn't read it til I got home, and it made me cry.

I was thinking how great it would be if "The Incense" could return to the active Graham repertory. It's always nice to have a solo work on a dance program, and I feel that younger generations of dance-goers are probably unfamiliar with the piece, which can have a lasting effect on the viewer, just as it did for me.

But, to return to the matter at hand - Graham's Acts of Light - Ms. Eilber announced that we will have the opportunity to experience a full staging of it when the Martha Graham Dance Company appear at New York City Center, starting on April 6th, 2022. It's on my calendar now...in red letters.

~ Oberon

Carol Vaness & Thomas Hampson ~ Concert

Carol Vaness and Thomas Hampson in concert at the Concertgebouw, Amsterdam, in 1998. The conductor is Lawrence Renes

Watch and listen here.

Chopin: Voice of the Poet @ CMS

 

Tuesday, November 9th, 2021 - Tonight, a quartet of wonderful artists brought us an evening of music by Frédéric Chopin (above) at Alice Tully Hall; this was the first concert by Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center that I have been able to attend this season, and the first time I have been at Alice Tully Hall since the pandemic closed everything down in March 2020.

 

Arriving at the hall, I was very glad to see that the nice folks who work in the Tully Hall box office were back to work, safe and sound. I look forward to greeting them often in the months ahead. The hall was nearly full, and pin-drop silence reigned throughout the evening. There were some complaints of a mysterious humming sound in the theatre, but I did not notice it.

 

 

I can't think of a better way to start my CMS season that with listening to Anne-Marie McDermott (above) playing a solo set of three Chopin works. The pianist looked snazzy in a her beautifully tailored jacket and trousers, and sparkling shoes.

 

My ballet-loving companion, Monica Wellington, and I enjoyed hearing Mazurka in A-minor, Op. 17, No. 4, and the Berceuse in D-flat major, Op. 57, which we know from the Jerome Robbins ballets Dances at a Gathering and The Concert respectively. Right from the quiet opening of the Mazurka, Ms. McDermott had us under her spell. Her playing was luminous, combining great subtlety with vibrant virtuosity in perfect measure. The filigree of rapid notes in the Berceuse charmed me especially, played with such delicacy and grace.

 

The pianist's third offering - the Ballade in G-minor Op. 23 - commences with an air of mystery, and of sadness. With her remarkable touch and the finesse of her phrasing. Ms. McDermott took us thru the work's mood swings: from lively to grandiose, from sprightly to wistful...it was a captivating performance.

 

 

Cellist Nicholas Canellakis (above) was then joined by pianist Michael Brown for the Sonata in G-minor for Cello and Piano, Op. 65. Mr. Cannelakis has been very high on my list of favorite musicians since his magnificent playing of Leon Kirchner's Music for Cello and Orchestra with the American Symphony Orchestra at Carnegie Hall in 2015. Read about it here.

The first movement of the B-minor Cello Sonata is packed with ideas....maybe too many ideas. It takes true musical mastery to weave these ideas into a cohesive whole, and that's what Mssrs. Canellakis and Brown managed to do. Following a piano introduction, the cello takes up a sad and lovely theme. With canny phrasing and dynamic nuances, both musicians made the most of the passing melodic and rhythmic shifts. A turbulent passage and a rise of passion gives way to lyricism and then to drama.

The sonata's Scherzo is altogether more coherent. After a minor-key introductory passage, there comes a lovely flow of melody - gorgeously played - in the introspective central section. After returning to a minor-key dance, with a soulful bit tossed in, the Scherzo meets a sudden end.

The Largo conveys a sense of longing, Mr. Canellakis' deep, rich tones reaching the heart of the matter. A poignant feeling of calm settles over us, and the movement ends with a sustained pianissimo finish.

Chopin’s final Allegro begins with restless piano figurations. A rolling melody springs up, and then the pianist and cellist exchange phrases. Great virtuosity is demanded of both players, and the Canellakis/Brown partnership served up everything to perfection. The sonata concludes with a sudden fast race to the end, leaving the players to bask in the audience's warm applause.

Following the interval, the Society's co-Artistic Directors Wu Han and David Finckel presented the Chamber Music Society's Award for Extraordinary Service to Chamber Music to pianist Gloria Chien and violinist Soovin Kim. These two musicians are co-directors of Chamber Music Northwest in Portland, Oregon, and of the Lake Champlain Chamber Music Festival in Burlington, Vermont; and Ms. Chien is the founder of String Theory at the Hunter in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Ms. Chein and Mr. Kim worked tirelessly to keep chamber music thriving on all fronts during the pandemic. Ms. Chein, in a striking black gown, made a charming acceptance speech. Both she and Mr. Kim will be playing with CMS Lincoln Center here at Tully Hall later in the season.

 

Michael Brown (above) returned to the stage for a polished performance of the Barcarolle in F-sharp major, Op. 60. The barcarolle is the timeless song of Venetian gondoliers, and Mr. Brown beautifully captured the gentle sway of the gondola whilst lyrically doling out the flow of melodies that Chopin provides. 

 

 

The program ended with a beautiful performance of the Trio in G=minor for Piano, Violin, and Cello, Op. 8, for which the beloved violinist Ani Kavafian (above) joined Ms. McDermott and Mr. Canellakis. Ms. Kavafian wore a very attractive deep-persimmon gown, embellished with many pleats.

 

The trio's first movement, Allegro con fuoco, benefited at once from a perfect integration of the three voices. Ms. Kavafian played with sweet lyricism, and Mr. Canellakis with warm, plush tone. As the movement progressed, I became engrossed in Ms. McDermott's playing as she reeled off sparkling, shimmering roulades up and down the keyboard.

The Scherzo, so light and lively, found the players as pleasing to watch as to hear. In the intimacy of Tully Hall, observing the silent communication between players is one of pleasures of being there. Their faces seem to express not only the joy of making music, but also their admiration of one another's playing. This became even more evident in the Adagio sostenuto that follows. As themes pass from violin to cello, Ms. Kavafian and Mr. Canellakis seemed truly to be conversing, whilst from the keyboard, Ms. McDermott played exquisitely whilst keeping on eye on her colleagues. This adagio was really magical tonight; the audience scarcely seemed to breath as the players unfurled measure after measure of lovely music. They don't call Chopin "the voice of the poet" for nothing.

Led off with a merry melody by Ms. McDermott, the trio's concluding Allegretto rolled onward to a joy-filled ending, the players embracing as they savoured the audience's outpouring of enthusiasm.

~ Oberon

Anja Silja as Emilia Marty

Anja Silja as Emilia Marty in the final scene of Leoš Janáček's Věc Makropulos from a performance at the 1995 Glyndebourne Festival, conducted by Sir Andrew Davis.

Watch and listen here.

@ My Met Score Desk for MEISTERSINGER

Sunday November 7th, 2021 matinee - Normally I would have wanted a seat with a view for the Met's beloved production of DIE MEISTERSINGER, but between economizing a bit and wondering if I might need to leave early if my my lower back acted up during such a long sit, I took a score desk.

I felt a curious excitement whilst en route to the Met today; I love the Met's production of this very long Wagner opera (made even longer nowadays by two extended intermissions) and I have especially fond memories of the performances of it I saw during the Levine years - it was one of the Maestro's greatest successes. 

Arriving early, I found the curtain was open and the set for Act I being prepared while I listened to the tuba player warming up with phrases from today's opera. Soon after, he was making lovely contributions to the opera's Vorspiel.

Antonio Pappano was on the podium this afternoon. This run of MEISTERSINGER marks the maestro's first Met appearances since his debut performances of EUGEN ONEGIN in 1997. Pappano's take on the overture was somewhat brass-heavy, but very well-paced. As the opera progressed, he sometimes allowed the orchestra to cover the singers. The many solo opportunities that Wagner's score affords to the Met's principals were gorgeously played, and overall the orchestra sounded terrific - and they were hugely applauded. For all that, there was a feeling of...magic...that was not quite attained today.

Above: Michael Volle as Hans Sachs and Johannes Martin Kränzle as Beckmesser; photo by Richard Terimine

Before the performance, Michael Volle passed by me en route to the stage door; I saluted him and brandished my score; he gave me a big smile and a hearty wave. That brief encounter seemed like a good luck charm to me. He gave a simply magnificent performance.

The Volle voice sounded on top form this afternoon; his two monologues (Flieder- and Wahn) were surely highlights of the performance. But Mr. Volle never throws a line away: everything counted in his singing of the beloved cobbler of Nuremberg. His defense of Walther's trial song in Act I was especially moving, and in Act II, his thunderous cries of "Jerum! Jerum!" were a real jolt; at the opposite end of the singer's expansive dynamic range was a heavenly piano at "Johannisnacht..." in Act III. 

Mr. Volle had ample voice left at the end of this very long role for Sachs' controversial passage in defense of 'holy German art...":  savour it before cancel culture demands it be banished. A great roar went up when Mr. Volle stepped out for a solo bow in this: one of the very few productions still in the Met repertory where the time-honoured tradition of taking bows before the great gold curtain is still upheld.

Johannes Martin Kränzle seemed like a perfect Beckmesser to me when he sang the role here in 2014. And he seemed perfect again today. His singing was full of subtleties of tone and expression, and he deftly managed the 'koloratur" of his Act II serenade. And when power was needed, it was easily summoned: he nailed his "Fanget an!" in Act I. The Kränzle Beckmesser is a masterpiece that I was glad to experience  again. In the interim between these two MEISTERSINGERs, Mr. Kränzle showed us another aspect of his artistry with a powerful and thrilling performance as Bartók's Bluebeard with the New York Philharmonic. Read about it here.

All afternoon, Mssrs. Volle and Kränzle kept us under a spell with their marvelous singing. In some productions, Sachs and Beckmesser are reconciled at the end of the opera. I wish that had happened today, it would have been the frosting on this delicious Wagnerian cake. 

Klaus Florian Vogt's Walther was not to all tastes, but I enjoyed his rather adolescent tone quality in this music. He sang tirelessly and with great commitment in this arduous music. In Act III, the tenor sings the themes of the Prize Song endlessly: first in the building of the song with Sachs, then as a treat for Eva, and finally to the assembled Nurembergers on St. John's Day. Mr. Vogt was still sounding well at the end, when he rejects the masters' invitation to join their guild. This was my third time hearing this tenor in a demanding Wagner role at the Met: his Lohengrin and Parsifal were both unique experiences.

To me, Lise Davidsen seemed miscast as Eva. In my view, this role is best served by a Pamina-type voice: Irmgard Seefried, Arlene Saunders, Pilar Lorengar, Karita Mattila (in her younger days), and Hei-Kyung Hong all spring immediately to mind. Ms. Davidsen's voice is larger that the music requires, and though she scaled it down successfully, much of the role of Eva is conversational and lies low. Finally, in Act III, the soprano gets to soar. With "O Sachs! Mein Freund! Du teurer Mann!" and in the ensuing quintet, Eva gets her chance to shine vocally. Ms. Davidsen's powerful top-B seemed a bit harsh (a later high-A as far more lovely) and her ending phrases of the quintet had the kind of glow we want to hear in this music. I'm not sure why she wanted to take on Eva anyway, but I think her upcoming Met Ariadne and Chrysothemis will show her to far greater advantage. At any rate, today's audience gave her Eva a vociferous ovation.

 

Some of the afternoon's finest singing came from basso Georg Zeppenfeld (above) as Pogner. His is a proudly beautiful voice, of effortless power and very expressive. Would that he would come to the Met more often (his only previous Met appearances had been as Sarastro in 2009). He was so impressive today, his singing warm and affecting. Mr. Zeppenfeld studied with Hans Sotin, which says a lot. 

The roles of Madgdalene and David were in the very capable hands (and voices) of Claudia Mahnke and Paul Appleby. Ms. Mahnke, physically dwarfed by Ms. Davidsen's Eva, made a very fine 'Lene, whilst Mr. Appleby not only handled David's long discourse on the art of singing most attractively, but really made something of David's scene at the start of Act III.

Martin Gantner was sang well as Kothner (his second Met engagement in this role), and Alexander Tsymbalyuk was magnificent in the brief role of the Night Watchman. Miles Mykkanen as Vogelgesang made his every line count vividly, and the company of of meisters further included such favorites of mine as Scott Scully and Richard Bernstein. Mark Delavan, who sang pretty regularly at The Met between 2001 an 2016, was back as Nachtigall.  

A long and deeply pleasing afternoon at the Met, marred only by the absurdly long intermissions. How I missed my score desk haven during the long months of the pandemic; it felt so good to be there again, and to escape, at least for a time, the woes and worries of daily life.

~ Oberon