Oberon's Grove

Dover Quartet|Emanuel Ax @ Zankel Hall

Above: the Dover Quartet, photographed by Carlin Ma

Author: Oberon

Tuesday October 15th, 2019 - My first chance to hear the Dover Quartet live, in a finely-devised program at Zankel Hall that offered quartets by Britten and Brahms, plus the Schumann piano quintet with Emanuel Ax at the Steinway.

Benjamin Britten's String Quartet No. 1 in D-major was superbly rendered by the Dovers; their playing seemed to make an immediate and direct connection with the audience, who all evening were raptly attentive - and warmly appreciative.

The opening passage of the Andante sostenuto finds the violins and viola blending in an ethereal, high-lying motif that evokes seabirds crying above a deserted beach. There is a feeling - not of loneliness, but of being alone - that is wonderfully evocative. The music then turns more vigorous, the players digging in over a steady rhythm. The mood shifts back to the otherworldly again, followed by a rich-textured paragraph with viola and cello playing in unison. A buildup of tension calms to a high pianissimo, and a coda resolves into a misty softness.

In the Allegro con slancio, a soft pulsing underscores witty comments from each instrument; a sudden burst of joy in the music made me smile. A unison passage leads to a strutting dance; then, turning more subtle, the movement has a wry ending.

A feeling of tranquility sets on with the Andante calmo, which is lulling and pensive. Octaves sound, violinist Joel Link takes up an achingly beautiful theme, and Camden Shaw's cello sings poignantly. The music turns hymn-like. Violins and viola take phrases over an insistent cello plucking. The music ascends to the heights, and Milena Pajaro van de Stadt's viola makes a lovely impression, and then Mr. Link's violin rises to a sweet concluding high tone.

In the last movement, Molto vivace, a witty theme is passed about, with plucking and strumming keeping things upbeat. The music's driven and whimsical, with little shivers laced in. Banners of melody wave before us, and virtuosic bits lead on to a unison finish.

The musicians did not leave the stage following the Britten; after acknowledging the audience's appreciative applause - and having to rise a second time, thanks to prolonged applause - they commenced immediately on the Brahms quartet.

Johannes Brahms' Opus 67 - the String Quartet No. 3 in B-flat major - is one of those very pleasant works that does not always resonate for me. Tonight, from note one, the Dovers gave it a kind of freshness that made it seem new...like hearing it for the first time. And that's saying a lot.

The individual players shone in this music. The opening movement, Vivace, pairs the second violinist (Bryan Lee) with violist Milena Pajaro van de Stadt in a friendly doubles match against Joel Link (violino primo) and cellist Camdem Shaw. They trade duetting passages in a way that makes the term vivace ring true. Elsewhere, a recurring trilling motif from Mr. Link was a further enticement.

In the Andante, Mr. Link makes  the gorgeous theme sound better than ever with his expressive playing. Here again, each voice makes its mark. The music ranges from pensive to urgent rising to a lovely "Amen" at the finish.

The scherzo, here referred to (appropriately) as Agitato, opens with a surprisingly sad passage, but soon perks up.  Mr. Link revels in his dynamic range, and Ms. Pajaro van de Stadt's viola is very prominent, her tone having an Autumnal glow but with a trace of grit tantalizingly thrown in here and there. She even has a sort of cadenza, the better for us to savour her playing. This movement ends on a sustained chord with a lovely feel of "settling". 

The Dover's take on the opus 67's theme-and-variations finale made me admire them all the more. Brahms weaves in themes heard earlier, and the music is sometimes quite meditative. Enthusiastic applause and cheers greeted the musicians as they took their bows.

Following the interval, the inimitable Emanuel Ax (above, in a Lisa Marie Mazzuco photo) joined the Dover for Robert Schumann's Piano Quintet in E-flat Major. This very familiar - and very marvelous - music seemed to flow like a limpid stream, the pianist setting the tone with his playing, which was both elegant and spirited.

The Allegro brillante sets out dramatically, the cello and viola exchange plush-toned phrases. At the keyboard, Mr. Ax 's intrinsic gifts of timing and dynamic control are cause for delight. The listener could luxuriate in the Mozartean glow of the music, with passing wisps of dark cloud dispelled in a grand finish.

The second movement, the dark clouds have lingered: it commences as a halting funeral march, and we feel the undertaker sneaking about. A sublime lyrical interlude follows, but then the lamenting march resumes. After being briefly invigorated, with the viola sounding forth and the piano in a rolling motif, the music resumes it funereal procession. Mr. Ax's playing here is sublime.

The Scherzo, its agile scales and lively arpeggios contrasting with a lyric interlude and a brief downcast passage, finally turns brilliant, with the feel of a gypsy dance. Sparkling playing from Mr. Ax here continued in the Allegro ma non troppo, which opens with an accented theme from the piano. Schumann juxtaposes dance-like gaiety with cunning lulls, and a fugue brings this entrancing work to a close.

The audience responded to this stellar performance with a spontaneous standing ovation, laced with shouts of approval. The musicians were called out twice, and while we were all clearly in hopes of an encore, perhaps there's nothing that could have followed that radiant Schumann.

~ Oberon

Les Bostonades @ The Frick

Above: tenor Zachary Wilder

~ Author: Oberon

Sunday October 13th, 2019 - With a program entitled Amours contrariées (Tragic Loves), the Boston-based period-instrument ensemble Les Bostonades made their New York City debut this evening at The Frick. The museum's golden Music Room provided a perfect acoustic for works of Rameau, Clérambault, and Telemann.

Rameau and Telemann are familiar names; that of Louis-Nicolas Clérambault somewhat less so. Two Clérambault cantatas book-ended today's program, sung by tenor Zachary Wilder. Clérambault wrote twenty-five cantatas in all, often drawing upon mythological tales for his narratives.

Mr. Wilder opened the evening with Pirame et Thisbé which tells of the ill-fated love of Pyramus and Thisbe: the animosity between their two families prevents their happiness and eventually leads to their deaths. If this sounds familiar, it's because Shakespeare adapted the tale from Ovid for his Romeo and Juliet.

Mr. Wilder immediately established himself as a most appealing and fascinating singer. The clarity and beauty of his sound, along with the cordiality of his artistry, drew me in as few singers have in recent years. It's a seductive voice, with enticing colours and dynamic demi-tints; his diction and turnings of phrase are endlessly rewarding to hear.

A quartet of expert musicians surrounded the tenor, filling the air with enchanting sounds to further enhance his performance: Teddie Hwang (traverso), Sarah Darling (violin), Emily Walhout (viola da gamba), and Avi Stein (harpsichord) brought rhythmic grace and tonal glow to their playing. In this space, where music takes on a sublime immediacy, their performance took on a personal aspect that was most intriguing.

A Rameau Allemande, charmingly played by Mr Stein and Ms. Walhout, was the prelude to the composer's L’Impatience, a trio of songs interspersed with recitative, wherein a young man eagerly awaits his beloved. Mr. Wilder delighted us with his colourful singing here. He's envious of the birds warbling in the grove, and relieved when his beloved Corine finally appears; the viola da gamba and harpsichord were lively participants in the final air.

Following the interval, Georg Philipp Telemann's Paris Quartet No. 6 in E-Minor showcased four of Les Bostonades' instrumentalists in what is essentially a suite of dances: Prelude, Gai, Vite, Gracieusement, Distrait, and Modéré. The titles of the movements indicate their tempo and mood. Mr. Stein's gracious keyboard playing and the deep violet sound of Ms. Walhout's viola da gamba set the pacing thru work's contrasting moods.

The Prelude brought violin virtuosity from Ms. Darling and piping warmth from Ms. Hwang's flute. Gai is a courtly dance, with a light interlude, while Vite is animated, with a sneaky feeling. Harmonies are to the fore in Gracieusement, and agile playing sets Distrait in high relief. The concluding Modéré has a somber start, leading to a sad and gentle melody. The blending of the four voices was evocative and engaging.

Mr. Wilder then returned for Clérambault's Orphée, a setting of the familiar tale of the poet/singer Orfeo who journeys to Hell to re-claim his beloved wife from the realm of the dead. In this telling, the tragedy of Euridice's 'second death' is ignored, leaving husband and wife restored to their happiness. Mr. Wilder's singing here was simply marvelous, filled with poignant inflections, exquisite piani, deft coloratura, and sometimes descending to a dusky lower range.

An encore, the announcement of which I could not quite hear, seemed to be a song by Michel Lambert (1610–1696) who produced several books of airs during his long lifetime.

Les Bostonades have released a recording which includes the Clérambault and Rameau vocal works from today's program. It's available here, and well worth exploring. The group was founded in 2005 by harpsichordist Akiko E. Sato.

Though the Gotham classical music season is still very young, we've already had a string of superb performances: Katarina Karnéus in Schoenberg's ERWARTUNG and Augustin Hadelich playing Sibelius with the New York Philharmonic; Lisette Oropesa, Artur Ruciński, and Brett Polegato bringing vocal glamour to the Met's MANON; also at The Met, a radiant Liu in TURANDOT from Eleanora Buratto, and now today's Baroque concert at The Frick. And from the dance world, we have experienced Martha Graham's Steps in the Street up-close-and-personal, and been entranced by Shantala Shivalingappa's sensational evening at the Joyce. Let the magic continue!

~ Oberon

@ My Met Score Desk for TURANDOT

~ Author: Oberon

Saturday October 12th, 2019 matinee -The Met's tried and true Franco Zeffirelli production of TURANDOT continues to generate revenue at the box office. This afternoon's matinee played to the fullest house I have seen there in quite some time. Being an HD event, the performance started late, and the endless first intermission seemed more endless than ever.

I went this afternoon specifically to hear Eleanora Buratto as Liu, and her singing was by far the best thing about the performance - though not exciting enough to make me stay on thru a second intermission after Act II fell rather flat. The Mantuan soprano has a sizeable lyric-soprano voice which will most likely blossom into spinto over time.

Liu's "calling card" note - the suspended high B-flat on "Perché un di...nella reggia, mi hai sorriso.." in Act I, was delivered with an effortless, shimmering quality by Ms. Buratto. Her "Signore, ascolta" was poignantly voiced, displaying her vast dynamic range and lovely turns of phrase. The concluding B-flat was gorgeous, but I wish she had sustained it longer. Her ensemble-cresting high notes in the Act I finale were exciting.

The Met's Music Director, Yannick Nézet-Séguin, was on the podium. In reviews and comments on his conducting of this opera, there were raves how fresh he made the music sound, bringing forth heretofore overlooked orchestral motifs. To be sure, he did do that. But he also made this a very 'noisy' TURANDOT, favoring bigness and strong accents over beauty and mystery.

Along the way, the conductor sometimes drowned out the singers - especially the tenor, Yusif Eyvazov, who had come late to the cast when Roberto Aronica withdrew.  From the start, Mr. Eyvazov - whose singing in FANCIULLA DEL WEST and TOSCA I enjoyed - seemed to lack the tonal heft for Calaf's music, and no help in balancing this problem came from the pit. Nézet-Séguin was especially rude when the tenor, having latched onto a clear top-B-flat when first calling out Turandot's name, was mercilessly covered by the orchestral fortissimo that the conductor hastily summoned up. An inherent throatiness in his tone did not prevent the tenor making a good impression with "Non piangere, Liu"; he held the concluding B-flat of Act I for a long time, but it lacked ring.

In Act II, Eyvazov's responses to the riddles were glossed over and sounded adenoidal. The tenor's finer moments came as he proposed his own 'riddle' to Turandot after he had answered all three of hers. Here he could sing attractively without interference from the pit.

When the Met gave TURANDOT during the 2015-2016 season, neither Christine Goerke nor Nina Stemme impressed me vocally in the title-role. Now, four years later, the same two sopranos are doing the role here again.

This afternoon, Ms. Goerke was the icy princess, and she seemed in a way to be taking a different vocal approach to the music. Rather that trying to power thru and hope that her top notes are at least close to the mark, today she sang much of the music softly. This might have worked in "In questa reggia" - which I have heard sung pensively in the past - if her tone in the upper reaches was not so diffuse. After a while, she was not holding my interest. 

The Riddle Scene was spotty; at "Percuotete quei vili!" the soprano perked up, and did a bit of chesting, too. But, following her defeat, "Figlio del cielo..." found the orchestra too heavy for Goerke's subtle approach, and her ascents to the upper range showed a narrowing of tone. As to the two high-Cs Turandot must sing at the end of her plea, the first was almost like an illusion of a note; the chorus sopranos came to the rescue for the second, and suddenly the gleam of that sound showed us what we'd been missing in Goerke's canny - but ultimately unexciting - way with Turandot's music.

James Morris was a touching Timur, the voice aged but still effective. Javier Arrey sang handsomely as the Mandarin, and Carlo Bosi - previously a wonderful Nick in FANCIULLA and Guillot in MANON here at the Met - was fine as the Emperor Altoum.

Alexey Lavrov, Tony Stevenson, and Eduardo Valdes did what they could with the Ping-Pang-Pong scene whilst the conductor seemed intent on fussily mining the score for neglected bits rather that savouring the humour and nostalgia that can make this scene so enjoyable.

Metropolitan Opera House
October 12th, 2019 matinee

TURANDOT
Giacomo Puccini

Turandot................Christine Goerke
Calàf...................Yusif Eyvazov
Liù.....................Eleonora Buratto
Timur...................James Morris
Ping....................Alexey Lavrov
Pang....................Tony Stevenson
Pong....................Eduardo Valdes
Emperor Altoum..........Carlo Bosi
Mandarin................Javier Arrey
Maid....................Maria D’Amato
Maid....................Meredith Woodend
Prince of Persia........Sasha Semin
Executioner.............Arthur Lazalde
Three Masks: Elliott Reiland, Amir Levy, Andrew Robinson
Temptresses: Natalia Alonso, Jennifer Cadden, Oriada Islami, Sarah Weber-Gallo

Conductor...............Yannick Nézet-Séguin

~ Oberon

Raina Kabaivanska as Francesca da Rimini

Raina Kabaivanska - Paolo datemi pace ~ FRANCESCA DA RIMINI

Anna Reynolds: Berlioz ~ LA CAPTIVE

Anna Reynolds was my first RHEINGOLD Fricka; at The Met's Saturday matinee performance of February 22nd, 1969, conducted by Herbert von Karajan, Ms. Reynolds replaced the scheduled Josephine Veasey in the role of Wotan's wife and made a memorable impression on me. I sent Anna Reynolds a fan letter a couple of days later, and received the above photo from her soon after. Read about that spectacular February weekend here.

In 1975, I had the good fortune to see Ms. Reynolds again on The Met stage as the WALKURE Fricka; she was superb. For years, I owned an LP of the mezzo-soprano singing Schumann songs; her interpretation of Mondnacht remains a favorite, though the LP has long since vanished.

Among the hundreds of items I was able to rescue from my old cassettes - converting them to MP3s - this recording of Anna Reynolds singing Berlioz' La Captive from a 1969 BBC broadcast is particularly dear to me.

Anna Reynolds - Berlioz~LA CAPTIVE - BBC 1969

Shantala Shivalingappa @ The Joyce

Above: Shantala Shivalingappa, photo by Christopher Duggan

~ Author: Oberon

Tuesday October 8th, 2019 - The Bessie Award-winning Kuchipudi dancer Shantala Shivalingappa - born in Madras and raised in Paris - is performing her work, Akasha, at The Joyce this week. Kuchipudi, one of the eleven major Indian classical dances, originated in a village named Kuchipudi in the Indian state of Andhra Pradesh. Kuchipudi is a form of dance-drama, rooted in the ancient Hindu Sanskrit texts.

Shantala Shivalinggppa's complete and poetic command of the classical South Indian dance style was showcased tonight in a series of solos, inspired by the venerable Hindu poems. These dances, gorgeously lit, were accompanied by an ensemble of four musicians of extraordinary skill and sensitivity.

Above photo by Élian Bachini

Flowing movement, gracefully stylized gestures, and agile footwork are key elements of the Kuchipudi style. In Akasha, Ms. Shivalingappa presented her five solos on a stage in which hanging lamps gave the feeling of a temple hall. For much of the program, she wore the golden gown in the photo just above; for the final work, Bhairava, she wore a more funereal costume (photo at top of the article) as the dance spoke of aspects of the god Shiva, Destroyer of Worlds.

Ms. Shivalingappa's disembodied voice was heard in a spoken introduction to each dance. These narratives varied from prayerful (for the first solo, Om Namo Ji Adya - an homage to the Supreme Being and to Sharada, Goddess of Art and Knowledge) to playful (for the second: the Krishnam Kalava, which tells of the child Krishna). The dances echoed and expanded upon the descriptive verses: spacious and ritualistic in the first, and more childlike and ironic in the second. Ms. Shivaklingappa's movement, so nuanced, subtle, and precise, was engrossing to watch, casting a spell of enchantment over the audience.

The third solo - the longest - is Jaya Jaya Durge; it tells of Durga, the benevolent Goddess-Mother and a destroyer of evil. In this fascinating piece, the dancer goes thru many transitions, depicting the range of the goddess's powers. Part of the solo is danced on a small brass disc, so cunningly introduced by Ms. Shivalingappa that it seemed like an illusion at first. There are moments of stillness in this solo, and it includes a sort of coda in which the dancer is seen in silhouette. Jaya Jaya Durge won sustained applause as it concluded.

Kirtanam brings out further facets of Ms. Shivalingappa's artistry: she portrays both the goddess Alamelu Manga and her husband, Verkateshwara in a story of faithless love. The wife scolds her spouse for his dalliances with other women; she alternately admonishes and cajoles him. The dancer's captivating gestures and facial expressions were aligned to the consummate perfection of her footwork.

A long and astonishing percussion duet served as an interlude while Ms. Shivalagappa changed costume for the final work. (More about the evening's magnificent musicians below). In this concluding solo, Bhairava, the dancer seemed to personify the conflicting traits of the god Shiva: his presence role as Lord of the Dance, and his role as both destroyer and protector. She was simply breathtaking.

The magic of the evening grew from the perfect meshing of movement and music. Such a deeply committed and fascinating dancer found ideal artistic partners in her four musicians: Jayaram Kikkeri Suryanarayana, a flautist of incredible coloristic ability and boundless breath control; singer Ramesh Jetty with a voice that seemed like a wellspring of humanity; and two divine drummers - Haribabu Balan Putamma and Ramakrishnan Neelamani - who gave the entire presentation its vital heartbeat. The long percussion duo before the Bhairava - already mentioned above - was a marvel, and the sublime cosmic beauty of voice and flute filled me with something akin to rapture.

To be drawn - for a time - out of the world's current darkness and into Shantala Shinvalingappa's haven of blessèd assurance and grace: what more can one ask of music and dance?

~ Oberon

Beverly Sills ~ Her 1st NYCO LUCIA

Above: Beverly Sills as Lucia di Lammermoor

~ Author: Oberon

{Re-publishing this on the 50th anniversary of Sills' first New York LUCIA}

Beverly Sills had been singing at New York City Opera for over a decade when, on September 27th, 1966, she became an "overnight superstar" with her performance as Cleopatra in Handel's GIULIO CESARE - "...the longest 'overnight' in the history of opera...", as she once put it.

I was there that night, sort of by miraculous chance: I had been on the first ticket line for the New Met a few weeks earlier and, on a whim, had picked up a ticket for the CESARE. I had no idea what to expect of a Handel opera, but I had heard Ms. Sills before, as Rosalinda in FLEDERMAUS when NYC Opera came on tour to Syracuse, New York. Her glittering high notes and amazing décolletage wowed me as Frau von Eisenstein. As Cleopatra, she was all of that and more: a sensational performance that made her, in the ensuing years, the toast of New York and of the international opera scene.

In the seasons that followed, New York City Opera capitalized on Sills' popularity: she sang there three or four times a week, always to sold-out houses. She thrilled audiences as the Queen of the Night, Constanze in ABDUCTION FROM THE SERAGLIO, Donna Anna, Marguerite in FAUST, the three heroines in CONTES D'HOFFMANN, and her signature roles of Massenet's Manon and Douglas Moore's Baby Doe. But we were waiting for something in the bel canto repertoire, a real prima donna showpiece.

In 1968, Beverly sang her first Lucia di Lammermoor in Fort Worth, Texas, and soon after it was announced that she would be starring in a new production of the Donizetti masterpiece at New York City Opera.

I must pause here to mention that, during the course of the Autumn of 1969, we (a bunch of about fifteen young fans) had formed The Snowstorm Crew. During intermissions of Sills performances, we would sit up in the 5th Ring, tearing Playbills into confetti and then showering it on our diva when she took her curtain calls. Read about 'The Crew' here.

For the life if me, I cannot remember now how we all came to be invited to the dress rehearsal of the new LUCIA, which took place on October 7th, 1969. Beverly might have arranged it - she was very fond of us - or maybe it was open to the public. At any rate, we sat in the 1st Ring AA seats, closer to the stage than we'd ever been in our lives. Despite its being officially a 'rehearsal', the house was packed and extremely enthusiastic. We could not wait for the prima, a mere two days later.

 

This production marked the first time - as far as anyone knows - that LUCIA was given absolutely complete in New York City. Of course, we were all thoroughly familiar with the entire work: thanks to the marvelous recording of it with Joan Sutherland and Renato Cioni, we knew there was a duet for Lucia and Raimondo that was never done, and we knew about the magnificent Wolfscrag Scene, and about various 'internal cuts' that snipped out repeats as well as an extended passage in the Wedding Scene finale. We even knew about the little scene where Raimondo upbraids Normanno for having caused all the bloody problems in the first place; NYCO cleverly tucked this short scene in just before the soprano launches "Spargi d'amaro pianto", the final part of her Mad Scene.  

But NYCO went beyond opening cuts: everyone in the cast - not just the soprano - was going to embellish their vocal lines. Luckily, such excellent musicians as Dominic Cossa and Robert Hale were fully capable or ornamenting their music. At the time, we were not fond of tenor Michele Molese; in the event his singing was passionate if rather throaty. (I sometimes listen to him today and think he's better than some tenors I have heard in the interim). As an additional little treat, Beverly purloined the high E-flat written for the tenor near the end of the Act I love duet.

Director Tito Capobianco wove everything together, making for a very coherent production...as he was wont to do. While essentially traditional, there were some excellent touches: Alisa (played by the inimitable Beverly Evans) was a member of a witches' coven, and, at the end of the Wedding Scene, Lucia stealthily steals her brother's dagger which she will use to dispatch her unwanted husband. 

The dress rehearsal was splendid, boding well for the prima. But as we chatted excitedly with other fans in the packed standing room area at the top of the house on October 9th, 1969, someone arrived with the news that Sills was sick. Sure enough, as the house went dark, the bow lights came on and an announcement was made that she had a 103-degree fever but would sing anyway. She told us later that she was well-drugged and had no recollection of how the evening went as she had wandered thru it in a daze. A dazzling daze, because she thrilled us just as we'd hoped she would.

At the end, the ovation lasted almost ten minutes and she took 5 solo bows, while snow and roses rained down on her.

I knew my friends were recording the whole thing, but I wanted my own tape of at least her Act I scena and the Mad Scene. Recording up in standing room was never easy, but at least the ushers never bothered us.

So, here's my souvenir from that night: incredibly - since many of my house tapes were unplayable when I finally set out to transfer then to MP3s in 2017 - this recording, made on a tape that cost all of 79 cents, has held true over the decades. It gives, actually, a really good idea of just how Sills sounded in those magical days.

Sills - excerpts from her first NY LUCIA - 10

~ Oberon

Cleveland Orchestra @ Carnegie Hall

Above: pianist Yefim Bronfman

~ Author: Ben Weaver

Friday October 4th, 2019 - The Cleveland Orchestra paid an early-season visit to Carnegie Hall under the baton of their music director Franz Welser-Möst. The very familiar Mahler 5th faced off with a Carnegie Hall premiere of Trauermarsch by the German clarinetist and composer Jörg Widmann.

 

Widmann is the holder of this Carnegie season’s Richard and Barbara Debs Composer’s Chair, which means his music will be played by various orchestras throughout the season. I have previously only known Widmann as a magnificent clarinetist through several  recordings he has made over the years. This was my first time encountering him as a composer.

 

The intriguing, if overlong, Trauermarsch, which he wrote as a single movement piano concerto for the great Yefim Bronfman in 2014, does not feel out of place next to Mahler’s Fifth Symphony, which opens with its own funeral march.

 

The Widmann composition begins with the piano playing the march solo - the rhythm of the march hovers like a ghost over the rest of the composition, with the march itself returning in key moments. There are sections where Alban Berg seems to rise from the dead. Other times, Mahler haunts it. Yefim Bronfman was a wizard at the keyboard, as usual. The writing for the soloist does not stop for the duration of the piece and Bronfman carried all before him. The sometimes noisy orchestration - with the usual-for-contemporary-music battalion of percussion instruments included - fought the soloist on more than one occasion. But the work itself was interesting enough that I wouldn’t mind hearing it live at least one more time - to determine if my impressions hold.

 

After an intermission, Mahler’s oft-performed Symphony No. 5 launches with a horn solo leading the way for a funeral march, which the orchestra soon picks up. The Cleveland Orchestra’s newly appointed principal hornist, the young and very handsome Nathaniel Silberschlag, was called on to stand in the soloist spot next to the conductor for the Scherzo. And a star-turn it turned out to be. Mr. Silberschlag made the notoriously difficult - and often imperfectly played - solos sound like child’s play, the warm, rich call of his instrument putting all those who can’t get through this music to shame. There were several star turns by the musicians of the Cleveland Orchestra; harpist Trina Struble’s solo in the famous Adagietto fell like raindrops.

 

Pretty much the whole brass section did themselves proud,  and the percussion - typically the most underrated musicians in an orchestra - were fun to hear and watch. The only really disappointing part of the performance was conductor Franz Welser-Möst. While he could certainly check all the requirements off - and The Cleveland Orchestra is a first-rate band - nothing in his conducting of this symphony had anything to say, or even to repeat what has been said by others with enthusiasm. The work felt soft around the edges, never quite registering as a thing that could set it apart from anything else. So, an ultimately disappointing Mahler 5th, despite some terrific contributions by the orchestra’s very fine musicians.

 

 ~ Ben Weaver

Lotte Lehmann Ring Honorees in WALKURE ~ 1988

Above: Waltraud Meier, current holder of the Lotte Lehmann Memorial Ring, as Fricka in the Metropolitan Opera's Otto Schenk RING Cycle production; photo by Winnie Klotz

Searching thru my old cast pages to find the one for the 1988 Met telecast of ARIADNE AUF NAXOS with Jessye Norman, I turned over that page to find that my next opera performance - exactly one week after the ARIADNE - was a WALKURE with a particularly impressive trio of Wagneriennes in the leading female roles:

My opera diary entry for this WALKURE is on the flip side of the ARIADNE write-up. I described the performance as "...one of the greatest I have seen...", lauding James Levine and his Met orchestra before writing in detail about the performances of each of the six leading singers.

Peter Hofmann's Siegmund compensated (to a degree) for some uneven singing with his "...perfect looks and earnest, impassioned acting..."; his cries of "Wälse! Wälse!” in Act I were powerfully sustained, and he impressed in many of the more poetic moments.

Theo Adam, the afternoon's Wotan, was 62 at the time of this performance and had spent his long career singing some of opera's most arduous roles. His singing on this day was sometimes unfocused, but he was deeply moving (perhaps all the more so for his moments of vocal disquietude) and he sang with great intensity, drawing on his long experience in the role to make the most of the great moments. His interaction with the Brünnhilde of Hildegard Behrens was really touching.

Aage Haugland as Hunding almost stole the show with his magnificent singing (the voice "...huge...and oily...") and his mean, almost sadistic portrayal: a monumental interpretation. In the final moments of Act II came an electrifying moment: "Too furious to even look at this scoundrel, Adam as Wotan turned his gaze away from Hunding and made a dismissive gesture, upon which Haugland fell flat on his face!" Hair-raising!

My beloved Hildegard gave a brilliant "Ho-Jo-To-Ho" and sang all evening with her highly individual mixture of silvery strength and feminine vulnerability. Her singing of the Todesverkündigung scene was mesmerizing, and her entire third act was simply thrilling. 

The performance marked my first time seeing Waltraud Meier onstage. With her even range and a lieder-singer's gift for words, Meier's Fricka put me in mind of the excellent Anna Reynolds. Meier won her argument with Adam's Wotan thru sheer determination. And "...her parting shot to Brünnhilde was savourable..."

I suppose we all knew that this afternoon's appearance by Leonie Rysanek in the role of Sieglinde would be the last time she would sing this part which was so closely identified with her. She gave "...a performance beyond belief...astounding!" Her voice was huge and even, "...running the gamut from expressive legato lyricism to thunderous outbursts..." I noted that her singing was less idiosyncratic than usual, and she left out the little 'sobs' that sometimes intruded on her singing, Her two "mad scenes" in Act II were spectacular, and she let out a searing scream when the sword was drawn from the tree, and another when Hunding's spear thrust felled Siegmund.

Leonie's scene with Behrens in Act III sealed her triumph: "...seizing the shards of Nothung from the delighted Behrens, Leonie - kneeling - unleashed a glorious 'O hehrstes Wunder!' of incredible emotional force. 

Above, before the great gold curtain: Theo Adam, Leonie Rysanek, Hildegard Behrens, and James Levine

The curtain calls were among the most moving I have ever witnessed. The ovation went on and on, and such were the epic roars of the crowd that the fire curtain had to be stopped three times (almost unheard of!) so that the singers and Maestro could take more bows. At last, Leonie and Hildegard came out together, and the crowd went wild.

Up in the Family Circle, we had all yelled ourselves hoarse, and were experiencing the elation of burning palms from such intense clapping. Finally the asbestos curtain came down, but for a full five more minutes the applause and screams continued. Fantastic!

As I continued to stare at the cast page from this performance, the connection between the names names of Leonie Rysanek, Hildegard Behrens, and Waltraud Meier suddenly dawned on me: they have each been honored to hold the Lotte Lehmann Ring.

The ring had been given to Lehmann by the Vienna State Opera in 1955 as a token of their esteem. Lehmann later returned it to the Opera, along with a letter to be opened upon her death. The letter specified that the ring was to be given to the female singer designated unanimously by the Staatsoper's artists' union, and was thereafter to be passed on to the artist named by the holder in her will.

Leonie Rysanek was the first woman to be awarded the Lehmann Ring; after her death, her will stipulated that it should pass to Hildegard Behrens. Behrens passed away in 2009. Since Behrens' death was sadly premature, the choice of who should be the next holder of the ring reverted to the artists' union of the Staatsoper. In April 2011, Waltraud Meier became the third singer to receive this honor, and the Lotte Lehmann Ring remains in her keeping.

~ Oberon

ARIADNE AUF NAXOS @ The Met ~ 1988

Above: Jessye Norman as Ariadne at The Met in 1988

This afternoon, I pulled my old off-the-air VHS tape of the Metropolitan Opera's 1988 telecast performance of Strauss's ARIADNE AUF NAXOS from the shelf and took a trip down memory lane. I didn't really need to see this performance again to be reminded of how wonderful it is in every regard, but the recent death of Jessye Norman made me want to watch her again in this role.

On Saturday, March 12th, 1988, my dear friends Kenny and Jan made the drive into Manhattan from Hartford with me for this red-letter operatic event. Just a few days previously, the three of us had gone out to the University of Connecticut at Storrs to hear Leontyne Price in recital; we were all in the mood to hear more great music, and the ARIADNE performance met - indeed, surpassed - all expectations. In my diary I referred to it as one of the great operatic experiences of my quarter-century of opera addiction. Now, some 30 years further on, my opinion of it hasn't changed.

I don't recall where we had lunch that day, but arriving at the Met, there was a palpable buzz in the air. The performance was sold out, and it was being telecast live to Europe and the Soviet Union: the first Met performance to achieve that distinction.

These were the halcyon days of the Levine Era at The Met, and ARIADNE was one of Levine's masterpieces. He had his de luxe orchestra at his fingertips, and the performance took on a special glow.

The production, dating from 1962 (which was the first time The Met gave this opera) looked flat and a bit faded, but the cast - down to the smallest character roles - made for a theatrically vibrant afternoon.

Watching it this afternoon, the presence of such singers as Charles Anthony (an Officer), Russell Christopher (the Wigmaker), and James Courtney (a Lackey) brought back the memories of the hundreds of performances these three Met stalwarts gave during their careers...and Mr. Courtney is still adding to his tally. I genuinely loved seeing and hearing them again today. The inimitable Nico Castel appears as the Major-Domo, a speaking role, and he's a fussy, irritable delight, secretly relishing the idea of the fireworks that will conclude the performance at the house of "the richest man in Vienna".

Zerbinetta's troupe of players are also superb: Artur Korn (a well-liked Baron Ochs in Europe) and tenors Anthony Laciura and Alan Glassman have a blast cutting up, their singing agile and their timing perfect. As the handsome Harlekin, Stephen Dickson was well-nigh perfect. This, as it turned out, was his last performance at The Met. He was building a successful career both in the USA (at Chicago and San Francisco), and in Europe when he became ill; he died in 1991 at the age of forty from AIDS-related complications.

Joseph Frank played the flighty Dance Master, making the most of every vocal opportunity with his pointed diction and agile tone. Franz-Ferdinand Nentwig, whose repertory encompassed Wotan, Sachs, and the Dutchman, sang strongly and thoughtfully handled - with paternal patience - his anxious, high-strung young student.

An excellent trio of nymphs made beautiful music together. The rich contralto of Gweneth Bean as Dryade gave a pleasing depth to their trios, whilst Barbara Bonney (in her Met debut role as Najade) looked fetching and sang sweetly. Dawn Upshaw was superb as the enigmatic Echo.

James King gives a remarkable performance as Bacchus (above). The tenor was 63 years old at the time, and had been singing such arduous roles as the Emperor in FRAU OHNE SCHATTEN, Lohengrin, and Siegmund for many years. His voice was surprisingly fresh and steady, and he knew the role of Bacchus so thoroughly that he managed the most demanding passages with assurance. He was also wonderfully attentive to Ms. Norman, and seemed genuinely to be enjoying being onstage with her.

Above: Kathleen Battle (Zerbinetta) and Tatiana Troyanos (the Composer)

Ms. Troyanos scored a huge triumph as the Composer, one of her signature roles. She was vocally thrilling, deeply involved in the action, and utterly convincing in her momentary capitulation to Zerbinetta. Ms. Troyanos's hymn to music, which concludes the Prologue, was not only magnificently sung but tellingly expressed. Her curtain calls drew enraptured applause.

Kathleen Battle's voice has a full lyric quality of a type we don't often hear in Zerbinetta's high-flying music. Both as singer and actress, she was perfect: her brilliantly sung and utterly charming "Grossmächtige Prinzessin" stopped the show. But even earlier, in her prologue duet with Ms. Troyanos, Ms. Battle had conquered all hearts. 

Jessye Norman's overwhelmingly rich and powerful sound filled the music of Ariadne gloriously. In addition to her magnificent tone and her abundant reserves of breath as she unfurled the long musical lines, the soprano brought an ecstatic quality to her singing that made her performance unforgettable. As "Es gibt ein Reich" moved towards its marvelous conclusion, the camera brought us the Norman face in all its full-screen glory: with sweat gleaming on her brow, the great soprano's rapturous expressions conveyed all the glory of the music. Her final duet with Mr. King was an operatic outpouring of  epic proportions, and her lovely counter-song to the nymphs' "Tone, tone" trio was yet another treasurable moment.

A pre-filmed intermission feature brings us Maestro Levine (above) in coaching sessions with Ms. Battle and Ms. Norman. Here we see the depth of the conductor's understanding of voices, and his grasp of what singers need from the orchestra pit to make these great roles sound their finest. There is so much affection and warmth here, and again Ms. Battle's loveliness comes thru in her smile and grace, making us wonder why she developed a reputation for being difficult later in her career. 

Ms. Norman's run-thru of the ungodly, sustained opening phrase of "Ein Schönes war..." with Levine at the piano is one of the highlights of the whole video-recording. The music simply flows forth as if from the depths of her soul, while the Maestro smiles in unfettered admiration of her luminous tone and boundless breath. She then pauses, looks down at her score, and exclaims, "What notes!"

~ Oberon