Author: Philip Gardner

Unsuk Chin’s Šu @ NY Philharmonic

Above: Wu Wei, tonight’s soloist at The New York Philharmonic

Author: Oberon

Tuesday October 22nd, 2019 – Unsuk Chin’s Šu, for Sheng and Orchestra, performed by Wu Wei, was the centerpiece of this evening’s New York Philharmonic concert at David Geffen Gall. Susanna Mälkki was on the podium for a program that also featured music by Haydn and Strauss. It turned out to be a memorable evening, continuing a string of inspiring performances that I have enjoyed in these first weeks of the classical music season.

Haydn’s Symphony No. 22, Philosopher, was the opening work. It’s a short – and very neat – symphony, which commences with an Adagio throughout which a steady, pacing pulse is maintained. The English horn is prominent, as are the horns (who excelled in the third movement). The concluding Presto had a lovely, bustling atmosphere. Ms. Mälkki’s finely-measured and elegant conducting drew excellent playing from the ensemble.

Wu Wei then took his place for Marie-Josée Kravis Prize-winner Unsuk Chin’s Šu. The composer stated that, for her, the sheng is associated with the “yearning for a distant sound…” Šu – and Wu Wei’s playing of it – is truly engaging.

What is a sheng? You may well ask (I certainly did). Above is an illustration, and here is an interesting article about this ancient Chinese reeded instrument. And what does the sheng sound like? Not similar to the oboe or bassoon – which was what I was expecting – but instead it reminds me very much of the musette, that enchanting little French bagpipe that was fashionable in French court circles in the 17th and 18th centuries.

Šu begins with whispered, other-worldly sounds from the solo instrument. A vast array of percussion instruments will be heard as the work progresses – shimmering bells, eerie gongs, powerful drumbeats – whilst Mr. Wu’s sheng sighs and shivers. He produces echo effects, bending high notes to vary the pitch, and sometimes sounding like a squeezebox.

The music seems to come to us from distant galaxies; images of frozen landscapes are evoked. The composer shows her mastery of texture and of rhythmic shifts. Violins stationed in the hall’s upper tier sing as if from from the heavens. Deep tuba rumblings give way to big, dense brass waves; the music becomes bouncy and then pounding.

As calm sets in, Mr. Wu plays a sort of cadenza: fast, rhythmic, ascending, A forward impetus then takes over: the music sways, and the player sways with it, shifting his weight as he reels off amazing passages.

The music subsides to a quiver; the orchestra produces a sustained, deep hum as the sheng is heard in ethereal whispers. Chimes sound, and this dreamworld fades into memory.

Both the audience and musicians onstage enthusiastically applauded Wu Wei for his phenomenal performance. As a second wave of cheering swept thru the house, Mr. Wu returned for a brilliant (and sometimes witty) encore that called for incredible virtuosity; both his playing and his physicality – including some stomping dance steps and interjected shouts – captivated the crowd, and he basked in a rock-star ovation at the end.

Above: tonight’s conductor Susanna Mälkki

Following the interval, Ms. Mälkki led a truly impressive performance of Richard Strauss’s Also Sprach Zarathustra. From its deep growl of a start rises the majestic, super-familiar theme that sets this blazing masterpiece on its way. The Philharmonic’s stellar bass section, joined by the organ, gave a rich depth to the music that sent chills thru me. Strauss has woven one appealing thread after another into this royal sonic tapestry; it’s a work in which there’s never a dull moment. Abounding in solo opportunities for individual instruments – clarinet, cello, trumpet, oboe, a trio of bassoons – the work further features a glorious tutti theme for celli and violins, and an enchanting Viennese waltz (led by the silken-tone of Sheryl Staples’ violin).

Glimmers of ARIADNE AUF NAXOS, DER ROSENKAVALIER, and DIE FRAU OHNE SCHATTEN flitted thru the air as this epic performance by The Philharmonic sailed gorgeously forward. The only blot on the evening came when a grand orchestral cutoff was ruined by a child muttering and a cellphone going off, spoiling the dramatic effect of a sudden silence.

~ Oberon

October 22, 2019
Grimaud|Philadelphia Orchestra @ Carnegie Hall

Above: pianist Hélène Grimaud

~ Author: Ben Weaver

Tuesday October 15th, 2019 – When The Philadelphia Orchestra premiered Valerie Coleman’s orchestral version of Umoja, Anthem for Unity last month, it was the first time the orchestra had played music by a living female African -American composer. Yes, there are still such firsts to be had in 2019.

Ms. Coleman’s work was originally written in 1997 for a female chorus, then arranged for a woodwind quintet (Coleman’s own acclaimed chamber ensemble, Imani Winds.) And now the full orchestral arrangement makes something clear: Ms. Coleman, born in Louisville, Kentucky, is a major voice in contemporary classical music and is a magnificent orchestrator.

One thing I always note upon entering the concert hall where a contemporary piece is to be played is how big the percussion section is. Typically. it is large: everything and the kitchen sink. The problem, though, isn’t so much that there is more percussion than Mahler ever used, but that it is used as a crutch by so many contemporary composers; a crutch to transition from point A to point B to point C of the music. Unable to develop their material, too often composers rely on a few bangs and smashes from percussion to reset and change the subject. It’s lazy, it’s transparent and it’s bad music. And it is something Valerie Coleman notably does not do in her extraordinary orchestral version of Umoja, Anthem for Unity, a roughly 14 minute cinematic tone poem of shifting moods, sweeping melodies, surprising orchestral effects (the bowed vibraphone that opens the piece, for example) and undeniable joy.

Ms. Coleman (above) explains in the Playbill that the work grew out of a simple, short melody. “Here the melody is sung sweetly in its simplest form and is reminiscent of Appalachian-style music. From there, the melody dances and weaves throughout the instrument families, interrupted by dissonant viewpoints led by the brass and percussion sections…” Someone described the work almost as a concerto grosso, where the music passes around, evolving and shifting from section to section. This gives many artists on stage to shine, notably the wind and the brass sections. Maestro Yannick Nézet-Séguin shaped the work expertly and the thunderous ovation that greeted Ms. Coleman on stage at the end, one hopes, sends a message to leaders of orchestras and opera houses. Tonight, the Metropolitan Opera’s general manager Peter Gelb sat directly in front of me; did he realize that before us was an extraordinary composer, worthy of more commissions. Why not an opera, Mr. Gelb?

Béla Bartók’s Piano Concerto No. 3 received a spectacular performance from Hélène Grimaud. The playful, spiky, percussive writing of the outer movements presented no challenges to Grimaud, her crystal clear playing etching each note as if out of marble. Yet the percussiveness was never mere banging on the keyboard either; Grimaud is too good of an artist for cheap tricks. But it is in the concerto’s slow movement, Adagio religioso, that Bartók’s soul and Grimaud’s musicality and artistry truly shone. Conductor and orchestra provided first rate support.

After intermission Richard Strauss’ last tone poem, Eine Alpensinfonie, received a thrilling, no holds-barred performance. Strauss began composing the work after years of putting it off after the death of Gustav Mahler in 1911. “Mahler’s death has affected me greatly,” Strauss wrote and set out to complete Eine Alpensinfonie, an unacknowledged tribute to Mahler. Certainly Mahler’s love of nature – which he attempted to capture in his music throughout his entire career – is here in spades as one travels through the Alps.

Strauss divides the symphony into sections representing different parts of the region. Between the growling, dark Night that opens and closes the symphony, the wanderer observes a glorious Sunrise, a magnificent Waterfall, a treacherous Glacier, a horrifying Thunderstorm and chilling winds disappear with Sunset as Night returns. Strauss, of his many gifts, was an exceptional orchestrator. His command of large orchestral forces, of sound-painting has no betters. (Equals, maybe, but no betters.) The Philadelphians threw themselves into the music as if possessed, with Nézet-Séguin once again demonstrating that his grasp of the great Romantics is something of a specialty.

~ Ben Weaver

October 20, 2019
@ My Met Score Desk for ORFEO ED EURIDICE

Above: Hei-Kyung Hong as Euridice and Jamie Barton as Orfeo; a Met Opera photo

~ Author: Oberon

Sunday October 20th, 2019 matinee – Not being a fan of Mark Morris, nor of Jamie Barton, I nevertheless went to The Met this afternoon to experience Gluck’s ORFEO ED EURIDICE live because Hei-Kyung Hong was singing Euridice. I saw this production when it was new, and hated almost everything about it; so today, all I needed was a score desk to hear Ms. Hong.

It was nice to see a substantial audience for this Sunday matinee, which for some reason started 15 minutes late. The opera is given as a single act, lasting about 90 minutes. The story unfolds almost too quickly until the interminable never-ending ending.

The Met is probably too big of a place to best experience this music. Orchestra and chorus fared well under Mark Wigglesworth’s baton, though there were times when the noise of the dancing intruded.

From the Met’s Young Artist program, soprano Hera Hyesung Park was a pretty-voiced, incisive Amor. In the large space, Jamie Barton’s voice was wonderfully present in the music of Orfeo; she uses chest voice constantly when venturing below F whilst the upper notes sound a bit tense. Her singing was impressive in its way, but she never moved me.

Hei-Kyung Hong’s touchingly clear, expressive singing had an insistently plaintive quality that finally induces her husband to look at her, causing her second death. I’ve never heard Euridice’s “you-don’t-love-me-anymore” guilt trip so persuasively laid on. Hei-Kyung’s curtain call was lovely: she came out in her white gown and was greeted by a barrage of bouquets sailing over the footlights.

I have many fond memories of Hei-Kyung, going back to her days singing Woglinde and Servilia, and then becoming a peerless Mimi and Liu. One of my favorite conversations with her, while I was working at Tower, came on the day James Levine had asked her to sing Eva in DIE MEISTERSINGER. She was a bit panicked by the offer, and wanted a recording to listen to before she committed. I handed her Helen Donath’s, and told her not to worry. She had a beautiful success in the role.

Today, realizing that over all the many times I have seen her onstage and met her face-to-face, I’d never asked Hei-Kyung for her autograph. I waited for her for over an hour at the stage door. Finally, she came out with family and friends and gave me a kiss, and her signature.

~ Oberon

October 20, 2019
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

October 15, 2019
MANON @ The Met

Above: Lisette Oropesa as Manon in The Met’s production; a Marty Sohl/Met Opera photo

Saturday matinee September 28th, 2019 – After a rather scrappy dress rehearsal on Friday September 20th, the Metropolitan Opera’s revival of their tedious Laurent Pelly production of Massenet’s MANON opened this past Tuesday. For today’s matinee, a group of friends who are admirers of Lisette Oropesa met up in the Family Circle boxes to see and hear the Cuban-American soprano in her latest new role.

Vocally, there are basically two types of Manons: the lyric-coloraturas and the full-fledged (and even slightly…beyond…) lyrics. The role was created by Marie Heilbronn, whose repertory included the coloratura roles of Marie (FILLE DU REGIMENT), Ophélie (HAMLET), Gounod’s Juliette, and Catherine in Meyerbeer’s ETOILE DU NORD. Massenet’s preferred Manon was Sibyl Sanderson, who created the high-flying title-role in his opera ESCLARMONDE. The light-voiced Brazilian soprano Bidu Sayão became a beloved Manon at The Met starting in 1937, and the tradition of coloratura-oriented Manons continued with Beverly Sills (perhaps her greatest role), Patricia Brooks, and Reri Grist.

Sopranos with larger, richer voices have also taken on the role: Lucrezia Bori, Geraldine Farrar, Claudia Muzio (!), Victoria de los Angeles, Eleanor Steber, Anna Moffo, Virginia Zeani, Raina Kabaivanska, Jeannette Pilou, Catherine Malfitano, Carol Vaness, Renee Fleming, and Anna Netrebko. Some of these sopranos had to make adjustments in Manon’s coloratura set-pieces, and in dealing with (or omitting) the score’s high-Ds. And at times, the opera has seemed to take on a verismo tinge in these interpretations, as listening to their various recordings will show.

Lisette Oropesa’s Manon is in the lyric-coloratura vein, and it’s so enchanting to hear her intriguingly perfumed timbre in this music. This is a voice that draws us into the music, covering the wide range with that distinctive sound, rejoicing in the fiorature of the Cours la Reine arias, pinpointing those top-Ds, and seducing both the tenor and the audience with the serpentine vocal line of “N’est-ce plus ma main”: that passage which Beverly Sills knew was the key to the whole character.

To accomplish her success in the music of Manon, Lisette had to overcome a hideous production and an interpretation of the score by an out-of-touch conductor. As the opera progressed, we moved scenically from a dreary grey courtyard – surrounded by perched toy-town houses and cuckoo-clock windows that periodically opened and closed – to an ugly wheeled-out ‘garret’ for the lovers wherein the ‘petite table‘ seemed like an afterthought.

The ridiculous ramps and metal dog-run fencing of the Cours la Reine deprived the setting of its glamour and left the bevy of ballerinas that Guillot had brought to cheer Manon up little space to execute some rather pointless choreography (the girls deserved better!) With the gaslights, Manon clad in a enormous feathered hat, boa, and ruffled gown, and the top-hatted men courting her in-sync, the scene recalled bad productions of HELLO DOLLY.

Seeking out des Grieux at Saint Sulpice, Manon arrives in what looks like a long white slip. There’s a lot of stage business to this seduction, as compared to the Sills Manon who just stood there, enticing her lover with vocal allure until – at the right moment – she let her cape fall to reveal the diva’s legendary décolletage, to which her tenor immediately succumbed. In the Pelly production, a convenient bed (for the altar boys?) is where Lisette and Michael Fabiano end up in a bodice-ripping finale. It’s the tenor’s bodice that gets ripped.

The gambling den in a drab basement room with more ramps, and with card tables wheeled busily on and off; the tension of the game between des Grieux and Guillot is minimized. The scene’s redeeming feature is the vision of Lisette in a stunning magenta gown.

The opera’s final scene is misty and appropriately foreboding. Manon is beaten by the guards who are escorting her to the ship for deportation. She seems to die from this beating rather than from some infection she picked up in prison.

Manon is one of the least appealing characters in all opera: selfish, willful, faithless, conniving. And those are her good qualities. But somehow, Lisette managed to be one of the very few Manons to make us feel sorry for her as the life ebbs out of her.

Maurizio Benini on the podium seemed to have no feeling for the distinctive atmosphere of the score, redolent of a time and place that the production has simply glossed over; the large orchestra frequently unleashed Puccinian waves of passion. But the musicians did what they could, bringing forth the desired poetry: of particular appeal was the clarinet solo in the prelude, played with captivating tenderness and nuance by Inn-Hyuck Cho. Mr. Cho also stayed in the pit thru much of the intermission, practicing various themes, much to my delight.

The pairing of Lisette Oropesa and Michael Fabiano as the doomed lovers was not felicitous. They are a vocal mismatch, and though they went thru the motions of romance and seduction, it was only in a theatrical sense that they made it work. The tenor, who would seem better suited to the Puccini rather than the Massenet des Grieux, lacked the heady vocal elegance that Alfredo Kraus, Vinson Cole, and Enrico di Giuseppe have brought to this music. Mr. Fabiano managed his Dream aria nicely enough, seemingly employing falsetto, but a flattish start to “Ah, fuyez, douce image” led to what felt like a struggle thru this demanding aria.

Two excellent baritones enhanced the afternoon: Artur Ruciński as Lescaut and Brett Polegato as de Brétigny. Mr. Ruciński, who sang Enrico to Lisette’s Lucia at the Teatro Real in 2018, Madrid, and who is a very impressive Onegin in a DVD of the Tchaikovsky opera from Valencia, has sung Sharpless and Germont at The Met. He transforms Lescaut into a leading role, making his arias – which can in lesser hands devolve into character pieces – real vocal gems thru the beauty and colour of his timbre, whilst also creating a lively (and – eventually – moving) character. His curtain calls drew enthusiastic and well-deserved bravos.

I first heard Canadian baritone Brett Polegato’s voice on a tape from the Cardiff Competition in 1995. He made a very fine impression, which was subsequently amplified by his wonderful 2001 recording (with Christine Goerke, conducted by Robert Spano) of Vaughan Williams’ A Sea Symphony for Telarc. Hailed upon its release as “…a Sea Symphony for the new century…”, this recording won a Grammy.

It wasn’t until 2012 that I got to hear Mr. Polegato live: he sang Walton’s Belshazzar’s Feast with the Atlanta Symphony at Carnegie Hall. I sat in the front row and enjoyed his performance immensely, and I questioned at the time why he was not at The Met. And now here he is in his debut performances at The House, the voice very much at home in the big hall. As de Brétigny today, the baritone made the most of every line, especially in the garret scene quartet, and proved a wonderful support (literally) to Lisette’s Manon at the Cours la Reine. Had Manon only stuck with this well-to-do and dapper gentleman, she might have lived long…and prospered.

Basso Kwangchul Youn brought warm, house-filling sound to the Comte de Grieux’s aria, in which he urges his son to forget about the priesthood and find a nice girl to marry, one worthy of himself and of the family. The Comte, his visit to Saint Sulpice having proved in vain, departs with the wistful farewell to his son – “Adieu … reste à prier!” – which was touchingly spoken by Mr. Youn.

Carlo Bosi, a sensational Nick in FANCIULLA DEL WEST when it was last done at The Met, was equally high-profile this afternoon as Guillot, the man who destroys Manon and, consequently, des Grieux.

In another example of how to make a smallish role resonate, Paul Corona as the Innkeeper was outstanding. He took a bow at the dress rehearsal, and I wish he had done so this afternoon so I could have given him a “bravo!“.

As a tease, the Met has installed Bidu Sayão’s Cours la Reine costume (above) in a glass display case on the Dress Circle level. This cloth-of-gold creation, incredibly detailed, served as a reminder of what MANON is all about. I hope one day that Lisette will have a production of this opera worthy of both herself and of the opera’s long traditions, with charming costumes, with a swing for Manon to sit on in the garden at Amiens for “Voyons, Manon“…and with de Brétigny bringing her an emerald necklace to dazzle her right after the kidnapping of her beloved chevalier.

~ Oberon

September 28, 2019
20th Century Masterworks @ The NY Philharmonic

Above: Katarina Karnéus in ERWARTUNG at The New York Philharmonic; photo by Chris Lee

~ Author: Oberon

Thursday September 26th, 2019 – This long-awaited program by The New York Philharmonic paired Arnold Schoenberg’s monodrama ERWARTUNG with Béla Bartók’s expressionist opera BLUEBEARD’S CASTLE. The Philharmonic’s music director, Jaap van Zweden was on the podium, and a trio of esteemed singers took on the demanding vocal roles. The orchestra was simply splendid, from first note to last.

In 1989, the Metropolitan Opera presented these two works on a double bill, conducted by James Levine. Jessye Norman sang both The Woman in the Schoenberg and Judith in the Bartók; Bluebeard was sung by Samuel Ramey. It was a magnificent evening musically, though the setting and direction for the Bartók left a lot to be desired. But the staging of the Schoenberg was unforgettable: just a grand piano, hundreds of white candles, and Ms. Norman. How I would love to see it again!

The idea of presenting these two works in a semi-staged concert setting at Geffen Hall seemed intriguing on paper but was less successful in practice. The singers performed on a raised platform behind the musicians, who were seated in near darkness. The addition of silent actors – portraying medical staff and a crime-scene photographer in ERWARTUNG, and Bluebeard’s previous wives in the Bartók – neither added to nor distracted from the flow of the two works. From where we were sitting, we could not discern what was under the sheet of that autopsy table, which was revealed when they came to take The Woman away. One small screen sufficed for the projections, which were neither here nor there. The lighting effects, however, were well-integrated into the music, especially a blood-red drenching at one point.

The monodrama and the opera were linked theatrically by having Katarina Karnéus, who had just given a phenomenal performance in the Schoenberg, re-appear as the prologue to BLUEBEARD’S CASTLE. Here, Ms. Karnéus (using a megaphone) proved to be every bit as engaging as a speaker as she has been in her singing of The Woman. And while, in the end, the evening could have just as thrillingly been presented in straight-up concert form, that would have deprived us of Ms. Karnéus’s inspired acting of her role.

The concert opened with a performance of the song Erwartung, from Schoenberg’s Vier Lieder, his opus #2, composed in 1899. This gorgeous piece of music, which I had never heard before, was originally written for voice and piano but was tonight performed in a setting for voice and harp. The Philharmonic’s harpist Nancy Allen played divinely, creating a poetic atmosphere. In a black gown shot with silver and holding a large bouquet, soprano Nina Stemme’s voice seemed beset by a wide tonal beat or fluctuation which rather undermined the strange beauty of the song. Ms. Stemme fared much better in BLUEBEARD, where she was fully warmed-up and with the voice profiting from the cushioning orchestra.

Katarina Karnéus was the Cardiff Singer of the Year in 1995 and from there went on to a grand worldwide career. She came to The Met in 1999, debuting as Varvara in KATA KABANOVA and also appearing as Siebel, Olga in EUGEN ONEGIN, as Rossini’s Rosina, and as Cherubino. I had the pleasure of meeting her while I was working at Tower Records, and of attending a lovely recital she gave in 2001 with pianist Brian Zeger. She last sang at The Met in 2005; in the interim she has developed into a fascinating singing-actress.

Above: Katarina Karnéus as The Woman in ERWARTUNG; photo by Chris Lee

What a performance of ERWARTUNG Ms. Karnéus gave tonight! The voice encompasses an impressive vocal span, with a silvery sheen on the high notes and a dusky, dramatic throb in the lower range. Her wide-ranging singing is pointed and subtle in terms of word colourings, has a lovely vein of lyricism running thru it, and is possessed of striking power in the climactic moments. It’s an expressive, even bewitching, instrument. Beyond this, Ms. Karnéus is a compelling physical presence, and she captured the emotional state of The Woman with her vibrant and detailed physicality; at one point her entire body was overcome with trembling agitation. Mixed in with the madness were passages that were extraordinarily moving, as in the moment she tells her absent lover that he has “…not even the grace to let me die with you.”

In recent years, only a handful of operatic performances have captivated me in the way Katarina Karnéus did tonight in ERWARTUNG. She is truly one of a kind.

Here’s a sampling of the Karnéus voice:

Katarina Karneus – Mahler ~ Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen

Above: Katarina Karnéus in the spoken prologue to BLUEBEARD’S CASTLE at The New York Philharmonic; photo by Chris Lee

After the interval, BLUEBEARD’S CASTLE commenced with a re-appearance of Ms. Karnéus in a speaking role; I must admit that I found myself wishing she was also singing Judith, for while there is no denying the power and commitment of Nina Stemme’s performance in that role, hers is a voice that has never reached me on a deeper level. That said, the soprano was in full-tilt form for the Bartók tonight and was much admired by the audience.

In the role of Bluebeard himself, it gave me great pleasure to see onstage again the excellent baritone Johannes Martin Kränzle who, in 2014, was an ideal Beckmesser in his (to date) only Met appearances. We simply must have this man back at The Met, for he is a singing-actor (and an acting-singer) of the highest calibre.

Above: Johannes Martin Kränzle and Nina Stemme in BLUEBEARD’S CASTLE; photo by Chris Lee

Ms. Stemme and Mr. Kränzle made the Bartók glow in all its dark radiance with their powerful vocalism and intense acting. They played beautifully off one another, seeming to feed off each others energy as well as off the astonishing sounds being produced by the artists of the Philharmonic.

It was a performance to immerse oneself in totally, and by the time the harp and horns marvelously underscored Mr. Kränzle’s spectacular vocalism at the opening of the fourth door, I was thoroughly enthralled. Ms. Stemme’s blockbuster high-C at the opening of the fifth door was followed by simply mind-bogglingly impressivel singing from the baritone. Ever a compelling mover, Mr. Kränzle even executed a little dance, and then led his soprano is a waltz.

Responding to Judith’s questions about the mysterious white lake, Mr. Kränzle was hauntingly moving as he replied: “…tears, Judith…tears!” And then – incredibly – he took his performance to an even higher level with his gorgeous singing of the passage where Bluebeard describes how he met his previous wives and what they mean to him: morning, noon, and evening have been personified for him by these women, and with Judith joining them, his world is complete. “Now it will be night forever!”

Above: from BLUEBEARD’S CASTLE, photo by Chris Lee

Throughout the evening, the playing of The New York Philharmonic was darkly dazzling, glorious, sublime. Maestro van Zweden reigned over the music with a sure sense of its enormous emotional range, from eerie piani to unfettered, magnificent fortes. The musicians played their hearts out, creating sonic textures that sent chills thru me time and again, and the numerous solo passages were given extraordinary clarity by these remarkable artists.

~ Oberon

September 26, 2019
GrahamDeconstructed: Steps in the Street

Above: Anne Souder of the Martha Graham Dance Company in Graham’s Steps in the Street; photo by Elisabeth Atjay

~ Oberon

Tuesday September 24th, 2019 – Kicking off their season of studio presentations, the Martha Graham Dance Company tonight gave us an up-close look at Steps in the Street, the second movement of Graham’s powerful and thrilling larger work, Chronicle. It was premiered in New York City on December 20th, 1936, and stands as the choreographer’s glorious response to the rise of Facism. As such, it resonates today when democracy is under threat from forces within our beloved country.

It was in 2012, at an invitation-only studio rehearsal of Chronicle at Joyce SoHo, that I fell under the spell of Martha Graham. I was only slightly familiar with her work at that time, but on that afternoon, I fell in love with not only the choreography but with the dancers, both as a collective and as individuals. Over the ensuing years, the roster of artists has inevitably changed; but my feelings have not. The current Graham ensemble fascinates me every time I see them.

Steps in the Street, which was considered a “lost” work for several years, was reconstructed in 1989 by Yuriko and Martha Graham, relying on a miraculously-discovered Julian Bryan film as a starting point.

On this absolutely beautiful end-of-Summer evening, my choreographer-friend Claudia Schreier and I went down to the Graham homespace on the 11th floor of 55 Bethune Street for Steps in the Street. We were totally prepared to be blown away, and that’s exactly what happened.

Brief excerpts from the old black-and-white film of Steps in the Street were being shown as we took our seats. Later, the Graham Company’s Artistic Director Janet Eilber used passages of this film as an introduction to the various movement motifs, which were then performed by the current ensemble of Graham women. Thus does this intriguing ballet grow from an opening passage of individual dancers walking backwards in silent, pensive poses slowly transform itself from a state of “Devastation – Homelessness – Exile” into a community of feminine determination.

During the presentation, projections of drawings being spontaneously created by artist Sohyun Bae were shown; working with ambidextrous haste, the artist produced a series of pictures which did not attempt to literally depict the choreography, but rather to reflect the artist’s emotional response to the dancing and the music.

A complete performance of Steps in the Street was then given. Leading the ensemble, Anne Souder, a lithe dancer of marvelous suppleness and intrinsic mystique, was spellbinding. Each of the ten women of the ‘corps de ballet‘ was able to display her unique gifts as an expressive artist whilst maintaining the stylized unity of the collective. The performance was simply fascinating to behold.

Alongside Ms. Souder, the participating dancers were So Young An, Alyssa Cybulski, Laurel Dalley Smith, Natasha M. Diamond-Walker, Charlotte Landreau, Marzia Memoli, Anne O’Donnell, Aoi Sato, Androniki Vasili, and Leslie Andrea Williams. They left me feeling both elated and hopeful.

Photos by Elisabeth Atjay from this evening’s studio presentation of Steps in the Street:

Anne Souder; in the background, a projection of Sohyun Bae’s spontaneous drawing

Walking in silence: Anne Souder in the foreground

The ensemble, with Ms. Souder in the foreground

The final moments of Steps in the Street

~ Oberon

September 24, 2019
Libre elle est née…et libre elle mourra!

Agnes Baltsa (above) and Placido Domingo in the final confrontation from Bizet’s CARMEN.

Agnes Baltsa and Placido Domingo – CARMEN ~ final scene – Chicago Opera Callas Gala 1983

September 22, 2019
Libre elle est née…et libre elle mourra!

Agnes Baltsa (above) and Placido Domingo in the final confrontation from Bizet’s CARMEN.

Agnes Baltsa and Placido Domingo – CARMEN ~ final scene – Chicago Opera Callas Gala 1983

September 21, 2019
Marion Lippert

Marion Lippert is a soprano I will always remember with affection, as she was my first (and a very lovely) Marschallin in a performance at The Met in 1970, conducted by Karl Böhm; she more than held her own in a stellar cast featuring Christa Ludwig, Reri Grist, and Walter Berry.

Marion Lippert was born in Munich in 1936. Among her voice teachers was Annelies Kupper. Ms. Lippert made her operatic debut as Aida The Hague in 1956, later joining the opera companies of Cologne and Stuttgart, and singing in Berlin, Paris, Barcelona, and Venice. Her repertory included Lady Macbeth, Abigaille, Leonore in FIDELIO, Amelia in BALLO IN MASCHERA, Leonora in FORZA DEL DESTINO, Tosca, Norma, Senta, Elisabeth in TANNHAUSER, and Sieglinde.

The soprano made her Met debut in 1968 as Turandot; she also sang Senta, and Elisabetta in DON CARLO (which I saw) at the House in addition to the Marschallin.

Turandot became a signature role for Ms. Lippert; here is her “In questa reggia” from an unnamed venue, in 1969. Her Calaf is Flaviano Labò.

Marion Lippert – In questa reggia ~ TURANDOT – 1969

Marion Lippert’s ‘Vissi d’arte‘ (though missing the opening line) may be found here.

September 19, 2019