Zinka Milanov in one of her greatest roles – Leonora in Verdi’s LA FORZA DEL DESTINO – from a 1958 Metropolitan Opera broadcast. Flaviano Labo, Mario Sereni, and Cesare Siepi are Zinka’s co-stars, and Fritz Stiedry is wielding the baton.
Listen here.
Sondra Radvanovsky sings Lady Macbeth’s “La luce langue” from the Verdi opera.
Watch and listen here.
Above, Yvgeny Kissin at Carnegie Hall; performance photo by Steve J Sherman
~ Author: Ben Weaver
Friday May, 24th, 2024 – Evgeny Kissin is giving back-to-back concerts of the same program at Carnegie Hall this month. I attended the first one this evening, and it was a magnificent night of music, one of the best things I have heard in a concert hall this season. Kissin’s program is so popular, in fact, that not only were additional seats added on the stage (more about that later), but he will repeat this program on May 29th.
Surprisingly this was my first time hearing Kissin live, though I have admired his many recordings over the years. He is a very unaffected performer, seemingly almost shy. His very sincere physical presence and unpretentious playing made an enormously positive impression throughout the night.
Kissin began the program with Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 27 in E minor, Op. 90, composed in 1814. It reflects Kissin’s overall demeanor that he began with one of Beethoven’s least performed piano sonatas. Made up of only two movements – unusual for Beethoven – it open with a familiar Beethovenian bombast, but that falls away almost immediately and an achingly lovely melody takes over; it will return throughout the movement. The tonal contrasts throughout the the work can be hard to weave together. Kissin’s cleared those hurdles effortlessly. His playing was very clean and unfussy, each note etched like a diamond. Despite the Sonata’s Romanticism, Kissin seemed to be connecting it to Haydn and Mozart.
Throughout the night one noticed Kissin’s very judicious use of the pedal, never letting the sound get murky and messy. This gave a great clarity to Chopin’s Nocturne in F-sharp minor, Op. 48, No. 2 and Fantasy in F minor, Op. 49 (both composed in 1841.) The long, melancholic melodies of the Nocturne – a particular specialty of Chopin’s – was played gently and without undue sentimentality. At each carefully built climax, Kissin pulled back just in time before falling into schmaltz. He launched into the Fantasy’s opening march right away. It felt like another example of Kissin not milking the crowd for affection.
With Brahms’ Four Ballades, Op. 10 (composed in 1854) Kissin again reigned in much bombast, reminding us that Brahms, though composing at the height of Romanticism, was more of a classicist in temper. Which is not to suggest that his playing was lacking in brimstone. But Kissin’s very carefully chosen moments of when to let things blow up were fascinating to hear. The focus was always on the music and not the individual at the keyboard.
Prokofiev’s Piano Sonata No. 2 in D-minor, Op. 14 (composed in 1912) is an early composition for the young composer (he was still a student at the St. Petersburg Conservatory), and it shows him trying out new ideas that would become trademarks in his future works. The Scherzo in particular sounds like echt Prokofiev: a playful melody played with demonic speed and attitude. Kissin’s hands were flying over the keyboard in a blur. With Prokofiev, Kissin ended the official program with the most outwardly virtuosic piece played as dazzlingly as one can imagine.
Photo by Steve J Sherman
The audience response was predictably wild. Kissin quickly offered 3 encores, all played superbly and all connected to the main program. A Mazurka by Chopin, March from Prokofiev’s opera “The Love for Three Oranges,” and Brahms’ gentle Waltz, Op. 39, No. 15.
During the opening Beethoven piece, the audience had been remarkably quiet. Perhaps making a note of this in my head jinxed the situation because what followed during the rest of the program was people repeatedly dropping things (probably their cell phones) and ringing cell phones. There is also always a risk in placing members of the audience onstage: one young girl in a white dress, sitting near the edge of the stage, was very bored and was swinging her legs the entire 1st half of the program. Thankfully her father probably took her home during intermission because they did not return. And just as Kissin launched into Prokofiev’s sonata, an elderly couple decided to exit the stage, down the steps, and out the door. Audience etiquette remains an untamable beast.
~ Ben Weaver
Performance photos by Steve J Sherman courtesy of Carnegie Hall
The Dutch mezzo-soprano Sophia van Sante and pianist Gérard van Blerk perform three songs by Gustav Mahler at a 1974 recital at The Hague.
Listen here.
Above: Maestro Earl Lee, photo by Emilio Herce
Author: Oberon
Wednesday May 22nd, 2024 – Celebrating their 30th anniversary this evening at Zankel Hall, Sejong Soloists presented the US premiere of Unsuk Chin’s “Puzzles and Games” from Alice in Wonderland, and the world premiere of Texu Kim’s With/out book-ending a spectacular performance of Felix Mendelssohn’s Octet. It was one of most enjoyable concerts of the season, joining such Springtime delights as violinist Lun Li’s Young Concert Artists recital at the Morgan Library, the Orchestra of St. Luke’s splendid Brahms REQUIEM at Carnegie Hall, and Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center’s thrilling program, Songs and Snow, on my list of musical events that have kept my spirits up in these chaotic times.
Making her Carnegie debut tonight, soprano Juliana Zara (above, photo by Emilio Herce) was the soloist in the Unsuk Chin work, a daunting 20-minutes of singing which at times carries the singer into the highest range of the soprano voice. Ms. Zara never seemed daunted by the vocal writing: in fact, she seemed to revel in it. Conductor Earl Lee and his musicians gave the singer perfect support, whilst also seeming to savor the composers’ quirky and colorful writing for the ensemble.
One by one, oboe, clarinet, flute, and bassoon join in the introductory phrases to Alice – Acrostic before Ms. Zara’s clear, lyrical voice is heard. This brief song ends with deep chords. Pizzicati are passed about in the introduction to If I Never Reach the Gardens, with gentle (slightly eerie) passages for the strings (and did I hear a harmonica?) before the music turns woozy; the soprano speaks much of the poem. The third and fourth songs, on the Curiouser and Curiouser theme, seem to run together. The music stays groggy, the words largely spoken, until a crashing chord is struck. Dotty rhythms and semi-singing in Who In The World Am I? are underscored by by insectuous strings and burbling winds before the flute has a final say.
The piano introduces The Tale-Tail of the Mouse, with melodramatic sprechstimme from the soprano. Spaced-out harmonies and scurrying flutes lead to the final words: “Condemned to Death”. I thought I detected a musette in the atmospheric lullaby Sleep Tight My Ugly Baby, though my ears may have deceived me. The music is filled with droopy sighs; a sense of quietude settles in, and night chimes are heard. In Cat’s Aria, Ms. Zara ventured impressively into the upper extremes of the soprano range, lingering there is a series of amazing (and intentionally annoying) meows-in-alt.
Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star has a delightful delicacy about it; then the music turned livelier and a catchy xylophone ‘cadenza’ established a playful mood. The music fades away at the end. The final song is Speak Roughly To Your Little Boy, introduced by a drum roll. A pulsing beat accompanies this mean mother’s lecture, with tambourine and bassoon interjecting. Now the vocal line goes completely bonkers – Ms. Zara didn’t simply manage it, she triumphed over it – as cymbal crashes bring this dazzling, quirky piece to a close. The soprano basked in a shouting ovation from the crowd, so truly deserved; she graciously signaled her thanks to the musicians and the Maestro.
Above: Ms. Zara, Maestro Lee, and the ensemble; photo by Emilio Herce
The first time I heard the Mendelssohn Octet played live was at the New York City Ballet, where, in 2004, Peter Martins created a lovely ballet to this score, written by the composer at the ripe young age of 16. It is a veritable treasure chest of melodic and rhythmic felicities, and tonight it elevated my mood – constantly dragged down of late by the darkness that is spreading throughout the world – to one of great joy.
An octet of prestigious string players (above photo by Emilio Herce) was led this evening by the Metropolitan Opera’s concertmaster David Chan, and the NY Philharmonic’s concertmaster, Frank Huang. From the Sejong Soloists’ roster, violinists Daniel Cho and Andrew Wan, violists Brian Chen and Paul Laraia, and cellists Ole Akahoshi and Jesús Castro-Balbi joined to create an ensemble alive with multi-hued timbres which created a very cordial blend.
The Mendelssohn Octet is a four movements, with the opening Allegro moderato con fuoco – in my opinion, one of the greatest movements in all the string quartet repertoire – being the longest by far. It opens with joyous arpeggios and vibrant accompaniments. A more lyrical second theme has an elegant feel. The Andante brings restfulness, but with a rather intense middle section that offers contrast. Mendelssohn is the King of Scherzi, and here we are offered a feast of trills and an ethereal lightness of textures. The concluding Presto is both deliciously agitated and cunningly witty. There were times when the piece seemed almost like a concerto, thanks to David Chan’s virtuosity.
Above, taking a bow after the Octet; photo by Emilio Herce
Above, the soloists for the Texu Kim premiere: David Chan, Daniel Cho, Andrew Won, and Franck Huang; photo by Emilio Herce
Violins remained in the spotlight for the world premiere of Texu Kim‘s With/out, which was positively brilliant. This is a concerto for four violinists, with string orchestra and a single percussionist. Frank Huang now took the lead, with Mssrs. Chan, Cho, and Wen again creating a stellar quartet.
The opening movement, lonesome and fluorescent, starts with a hesitant pulse; the musicians interject melodic fragments and quirky sighs. There are touches of humor, and a fresh bass beat is taken up. A short downward motif is passed among the four soloists (it will recur in the final movement), and the music becomes briefly grand, with repetitive pulsings. Then there’s a whirlwind…until a whip cracks, restoring order. A brief da capo leads to an other-worldly conclusion.
The second movement, subdued and imploding, is darker and a bit eerie. The four violins play in unison, and then a shivering misterioso mood sets in. The basses strike up, again the whip cracks, and the beating timpani feels like a slow, swaying dance. The sound-textures are varied, holding our keen interest; each soloist shines in turn. After briefly turning epic, there is a passage of harmonizing for the orchestra’s violins. A sustained trill from Frank Huang leads to a sudden stop.
The final movement, festive!!, has an oddly familiar start: an homage to Stravinsky with a brief quote from his Violin Concerto. This gave my companion and I a jolt, as we are both Balanchine fans. The timpani plays a role, setting up a forward impetus. There is an intermezzo, with the descending motif from the first movement popping up again. The music becomes cinematic and, after a lull, rebounds to a finale.
Above: composer Texu Kim joins the musicians for a bow following his with/out, photo by Emilio Herce
The hall erupted in a lively ovation which doubled in intensity when the charming, youthful-looking composer (he’s 34) hoisted himself onto the stage as cries of bravo! rang out. A perfect end to a perfect evening.
~ Oberon
Performance photos by Emilio Herce, courtesy of Beverly Greenfield/Kirshbaum Associates
Fifty years ago today, on April 20th, 1974, I saw my first performance of Wagner’s PARSIFAL I was in my twelfth year of being an opera-lover, and I understood the importance of seeing this opera for the first time. I’d heard it twice already on Met Texaco Saturday broadcasts: the first in 1966 with Régine Crespin, Sándor Kónya, Walter Cassel, and Jerome Hines, conducted by Georges Prêtre, and the second in 1971, with Irene Dalis, Mr. Kónya, Thomas Stewart, and Cesare Siepi, conducted by Leopold Ludwig. The music seemed way beyond me at the first hearing, though – having been raised in a devout Christian household – I found a lot of it very moving; in fact, I was sometimes moved to tears, though I was not sure why. By 1971, the music seemed much more immediate and the characters – and their stories – began to seem more meaningful.
A lot had happened to me between that 1971 broadcast and the afternoon in 1974 that I walked into The Met for my first live performance of this mythic opera. I was, in fact, pretty down at the time. I’d had my first gay sexual experience in October 1973, only to be dumped by the object of my affection soon after. We’d been friends up until our night together, and it wasn’t until a few weeks after that I found out he already had a serious relationship going.
Uncharacteristically, I stayed away from Gotham for a while, but I kept in touch with another boy in our group, TJ. I had turned to him for solace, and we grew very close, though our ‘first night’ was a disaster. But we really liked each other, so we eventually got on the same groove. As I recall, it was the day after the PARSIFAL that we went to The Frick and it was there, in the Atrium, that we revealed our feelings and decided to make a go of it. A few weeks later, I went up to The Cape to spend the Summer with him. At the end of the Summer, we tried to resume our lives apart, but we missed each other so much that I moved down to live with him in his dorm room at Sarah Lawrence College.
Anyway, my diary entry about my first PARSIFAL is much briefer than my usual performance notes. As a rule, my diary was hand-written; I am not sure why I typed this entry: 
I should perhaps clarify that Ms. Martin soon found the ‘staircase’ to her upper register and went on to be a very fine Sieglinde, Ortrud, Dyer’s Wife, and Tosca. Mr. Thomas, who had been my first Calaf and Tristan, went on singing for another eight seasons, with mixed results. Mr. Macurdy continued to develop and refine his Gurnemanz, and it became one of his greatest roles.
The next opera I saw came five months later; by then, I was happily living on campus at Sarah Lawrence with my bookish boyfriend, and posing as a student. Photo by TJ.
~ Oberon
Above: tenor Benjamin Bernheim as Romeo
~ Author: Oberon
Saturday March 30th, 2024 matinee – Earlier this season, I renewed my acquaintance with Bizet’s CARMEN at The Met, an opera I had not seen for many years. Musically, I enjoyed it thoroughly, and so this afternoon I was hoping for a similar experience with Gounod’s ROMEO & JULIETTE.
My first encounter with the Gounod opera was an unforgettable matinee in October of 1967, when Jeannette Pilou made a last-minute Met debut as Juliette opposite Franco Corelli’s matinee idol Romeo. I fell in love with Ms. Pilou that afternoon, and made many trips to New York from the little town specifically to see her in her many Met roles in the ensuing seasons. I saw Jeannette as Juliette a second time, and since then I have seen only Colette Boky and Hei-Kyung Hong in the role.
Today’s matinee started the same way as my first-ever ROMEO in 1967: the news that Nadine Sierra had canceled and was being replaced by So Young Park, whose Met credentials to date have been a handful of recitals with piano in the NY Parks, and a single Queen of the Night in 2019.
The Met Orchestra played with its accustomed polish, and the chorus has a lot to do in this opera…and they did it very well. For the most part, Yannick Nézet-Séguin resisted his usual temptation to have the orchestra play too loudly…though there were moments…
The orchestral opening was heavy-handed, followed by a chorale, and then the poignant love theme sounds from the strings. The first solo voices to be heard are those of Frederick Ballentine as Tybalt and Daniel Rich as Paris; Mr. Ballentine would have more to do later, in the duel scene…and he made a strong impression there.
Nathan Berg was a fine Capulet; his ‘aria’ at the ball was subtly done, and his scene with Juliet prior to her taking the potion was excellent, as was his expression of remorse over her supposed death. Eve Gigliotti was an impressive Gertrude, making the most of her part in the wedding quartet, and in her scene with the the characterful Grigorio of Jeongcheol Cha. Richard Bernstein’s Duke of Verona made his anger at the dueling factions palpable, and his sentencing of Romeo to exile is a pivotal moment in the story.
Alfred Walker’s Frère Laurent brought the basso’s warmth of timbre and eloquence of feeling to the scene of the wedding, and his consoling singing gives Juliette the courage to take the sleeping potion. Will Liverman delivered Mercutio’s tricky Queen Mab aria with complete assurance – a highlight of the evening for sure. Will’s handsome timbre is always so appealing, and his delivery was light and lively in the aria’s swift phrases, turning more lyrical in the central, more reflective passages. Bravo! Samantha Hankey’s singing of Stephano’s “Que fais tu blanche tourterelle” was a vocal treat. Melodious in the opening tune, the page chides the Capulet men with her insouciant teasing at “Gardez bien la belle”, finishing off with a mini-cadenza up to a perfectly placed top note which she sustained to brilliant effect. This aria was an early-career success for the great Frederica von Stade; may it bring Ms. Hankey similar good fortune!
So Young Park has a girlish, clear voice which captured the innocence of the teen-aged Juliette right from her opening lines. At first, the voice was a bit tremulous, but she bravely shimmered up to a sprightly top note in her cadenza. Soon after, she was breezing thru the delectable waltz, in which she had all the coloratura well in-hand; the lovely pensive passage “Loin de l”Hiver morose…” was beautifully sung, and then the soprano sailed up to neat top-C, and lingered there.
She and Mr. Bernheim were sweetly playful in their first encounter, Mr. Bernheim so persuasive in his gentle flirtation which is dressed up as poetry. Ms. Park’s delight at being so charmed by the handsome stranger vanished into sadness when she learns who he is: an enemy of her family.
The balcony duet was alive with the fascination of young love; Ms. Park, now settled-in vocally, brought sweet lyricism to her lines – and the voice bloomed lovingly in response to the tenor’s ardent “O nuit divine…”. Then they harmonized to ravishing effect with “De cet adieu si douce e la tristesse“, and then Mr. Bernheim melted all hearts with his hushed, gorgeous “Va, repose en paix…” For me, die-hard romantic that I am, this entire scene was enthralling.
Ms. Park’s voice sailed over the wedding scene quartet, where Ms. Gigliotti and Mssrs. Bernheim and Walker were all vocally aglow. The spine-tingling prelude to the bridal night duet was magically played by the Met Orchestra, and then Ms. Park and Mr. Bernheim gave us some of the most captivating singing imaginable with “Nuit d’hyménée! Ô douce nuit d’amour!”, their voices entwining in quiet rapture. The call of the lark – “the harbinger of the dawn” – draws them out of their reverie: thrillingly, they bid each other farewell. Romeo rushes to his fate, as Juliette sings a quiet blessing. This is the end of their happiness, though they do not know it.
Ms. Park sang the dramatic Potion Aria effectively, though the conductor’s sudden need to pump up the volume elicited a rather brassy climactic top note from the soprano: so predictable with him on the podium. But such things only matter to a handful of listeners. The soprano finished the opera with her touching farewell to her beloved as they ask god to forgive them.
The afternoon was a total triumph for Benjamin Bernheim. It is a great pleasure to hear this voice, which is both elegant and passionate. Following the sublime ‘lullaby” of the entr’acte leading up to the balcony scene, the tenor’s “O nuit!” marked the start of Bernheim’s dreamy recitative which carries us to a gorgeous clarinet solo before he takes up greatest love song in all opera: “Ah! Lève–toi, soleil!” I have heard many
superb interpretations of his aria – from the likes of Franco Corelli, Alfredo Kraus, and Neil Shicoff – but none has moved me quite as deeply as M. Bernheim’s. Sung with deep tenderness, and ending with a thrilling B-flat, the tenor was vociferously hailed by the audience. Listen to a brief clip here.
Following his anguish at being exiled, the Bernheim Romeo capped the duel scene’s final ensemble with a bold top-C. Yet, for all the excitement of hearing a tenor deploy such golden high notes, it was in the quiet despair of the final scene that Bernheim achingly conveyed the pain of a broken heart: the sublime tenderness of his pianissimo farewell to Juliet, which was followed by the heart-rending echo of “No, ce n’est pas le jour…”, recalling the lovers’ moments of their brief happiness.
Benjamin Bernheim’s Romeo brought some of the finest tenor singing I’ve heard at The Met in the last half-century. His voice has an innate poetic quality that cannot be taught; it is a voice that touches my heart. Thru the years, I have sometimes felt my deeply romantic soul to be a curse, but today I realized that it’s a gift.
Now I have rambled on long enough. I went to the stage door after the curtain calls and met Eve, Benjamin, Will, and Richard. They were so kind…I love them all. What intrigues me so much about opera singers is that they can do things we mere mortals can only dream of. I admire their devotion and their courage, putting themselves on the line night after night so that we can bask in the glory of the greatest art form ever.
And here are the curtain calls!
~ Oberon
Above: Ema Nikolovska, photo by Kaupo Kikkas
Author: Oberon
Thursday March 28th, 2024 – Earlier this year, I was looking to add a vocal recital – by a singer I had never previously heard, in an intimate setting, including some songs that would be brand new to me – to my late-winter calendar. Flipping thru the Carnegie Hall brochure, I zeroed in on tonight’s offering at Weill Hall: Macedonian-Canadian mezzo-soprano Ema Nikolovska, with Howard Watkins at the piano. I listened to about ten seconds of her singing on YouTube and requested a ticket. I’m so glad I was there.
I must say at the start that it was a recital wherein the encore proved the highest highlight of the evening. Ms. Nikolovska announced this work, which she had commissioned, prior to singing it, and now I am casting about, trying to find more information about it, since I did not catch the name of the composer.
But to begin at the beginning, the mezzo-soprano and her collaborating pianist offered four songs by Franz Schubert. She chose songs somewhat off the well-trodden Schubert path, some of which were brand new to me.
“Im Frühling” was the most familiar. From its opening phrases, I sensed a large voice that had been tamed and polished. It took a few warm-up measures before things began to flow, but within seconds Ms. Nikolovska was ravishing the ear with her keen sense of nuance, and her expressive diction.
In “Dass sie hier gewesen” it became clear that Mr. Watkins (above) was so much more than an accompanist: his artistry is deep, and he plays from the heart. Ms. Nikolovska here displayed her gift for introducing straight tone into her singing, and the effect was enchanting. Mr. Watkins opened “Herbst” with a rippling restlessness, and then the music took on a sense of urgency. The song has an Erlkönig feel to it. Ms. Nikolovska’s subtle inflections and Mr. Watkins’ marvelous playing drew us deeper and deeper into the music.
The Schubert set ended with the longest of the songs, “Der Unglückliche” which felt like an intimate mini-opera. The piano opens with a darkish sense of doom, and the voice moves from pensive to intense. We pass thru many moods in this dramatic and engrossing song.
Ms. Nikolovska then spoke, rather at length, about the program. When the music resumed, it was Richard Strauss’ very brief “Nichts” that re-established the mood with its big piano intro and its final vocal outburst. A thoughtful atmosphere is established in “Gefunden“, which turns melodic and ends with Ms. Nikolovska on a gorgeously sustained, dreamy final note. We remain in dreamland with the opening of “Das Rosenband“, which soon gives way to rapture. Ms. Nikolovska was simply sublime here, her soft singing so engaging, and so beautifully controlled. The straight tone moments were spine-tingling, with awesome dynamic control, and a high-lying passage near the end which was magical. Mr. Watkins, in the piano postlude, was equally impressive.
Songs of the Seasons, by Margaret Bonds, sets four poems of Lankston Hughes. A touch of jazz inflects Autumn, while a slow sway and dreamily sustained pianissimi evoke a cozy afternoon before the fire as snow falls outside in Winter. Mr. Watkins sets a music hall mood with sparkling motifs for Spring; this song has a big finish, and leaves it to Ms. Nikolovska to spin out a delectable diminuendo. The pianist introduces Summer with animated playing which becomes an infectious rhythm.
An over-long intermission threatened to break the spell, but at last we were drawn back into the alternate universe by Debussy’s atmospheric Ariettes oubliées. The first song, “C’est l’extase langoureuse“, is aptly named, as its sense of languor is so finely evoked by the composer…and so perfectly captured by pianist and singer. The sweet sadness of “Il pleure dans mon coeur” was immediately conjured up by our two musicians: Ms. Nikolovska exploring the wide vocal range with uncanny dynamic control, and Mr. Watkins at his most poetic. The pianist was exceptional in “L’ombre des arbres“, while the singing was tinged with a sensual glow.
In a mighty mood-swing. we are suddenly on a carousel for “Chevaux de Bois“; yet even here, the excitement and energy winds down as the circling horses slow their pace. Ms. Nikolovska followed the pianist’s delicate introduction to “Green” with some of her most delicious singing of the evening, finding heaven in her final phrase. For the concluding “Spleen“, the pianist creates a mysterious mood, and the singer ‘speaks’ on one note before a moody melody emerges, which the Nikolovska voice caresses with uncanny pianisssimi.
Another treat follows with two songs by Nicolas Medtner: “Twilight” and “Sleeplessness“. The first is a hymn to nature, introduced by descending motifs from the keyboard. The song has a lovely lyrical feel, and Ms. Nikolovska’s sustained tones were again an outstanding feature. “Sleeplessness” has a dirge-like start; the singing grows more urgent, then recedes to resignation and ends with a vocalise.
In a total change of atmosphere, Ms. Nikolovska introduced Nicolas Slominsky’s Five Advertising Songs: cabaret-type numbers that extol, in turn, bed linens, bran muffins, face powder, Fletcher’s Castoria, and Pepsodent toothpaste – the last two very familiar to me from my childhood in the Little Town. Ms. Nikolovska proved a sporting, lively comedienne, moving about the stage and playing to the crowd like a carnival huckster. It was all in good fun, but the best was yet to come.
The encore – and I will find out its title and composer as soon as I can – was commissioned by Ms. Novolovska and draws on a Macedonian song. The Sun, The Moon, and The Forest are each evoked in turn. The music has an improvisational air, with melismas and winding melodies for the voice. Meanwhile, Mr. Watkins often reaches into the piano to place glissandi like a harp. The vocal line ranges from the subtlety to powerful passion, and it all ends in a whisper.
UPDATE: I now have details of the encore. The song, Zajdi, zajdi, jasno sonce, was composed by Aleksandar Sarievski, and arranged for Ms. Nikolovska by Darija Andovska.
I also found that Ms. Nikolovska gave a second encore at her recital, after I had slipped out to catch my train, Incredibly, it was the Composer’s aria from Strauss’s ARIADNE AUF NAXOS…my favorite opera. I can’t believe I missed it!
May I suggest to Ms Nikolovska that she make the arrangement of Zajdi, zajdi, jasno sonce an integral part of her recital programs. Everyone should hear it!
So now, I am in hopes that Ms. Nikolovska will return to our City before too long, and that we might hear her Wesendonck Lieder.
~ Oberon
Above: concert photo by Fadi Kheir
~ Author: Shoshana Klein
Tuesday March 26th, 2024 – Though this concert started with slight technical difficulties, after about 3 minutes, the whole rest of the show went on without a hitch. The pieces were played with minimal breaks and the show could have gone on with no applause, except that everyone was so excited about the pieces that there was a lot of excitement in between.
There were audio introductions from each composer, and sometimes they even overlapped with the beginnings of the pieces. This created a really good flow that made the concert seem a little more connected and seamless than a normal program. This was actually my first official Alarm Will Sound concert despite being a fan of them for years. I’ve seen them in other contexts but not a fully programmed concert – it was a real treat!
The concert started with a piece by Tania León, who curated the concert in her capacity as the Richard and Barbara Debs Composer’s Chair of Carnegie Hall. Her piece was cool, groovy and fun, scored for small ensemble.
The second piece, by Chris P. Thompson, had some basis in drum corps, as explained by his introduction. It was really cool to hear about marching band in the context of “classical music”. I think it often gets ignored as an art form or a rigorous type of music when it’s actually pretty difficult in a way that was contextualized really well by the introduction to this piece, which was also really fun. The piece had a lot of rhythmic complexity and was really upbeat. One effect that was used was these tubes that are swung around by various musicians to create a pitch (and the pitch changes based on how quickly you swing the tube). I’ve been seeing this used in new music spaces more often recently and in this particular instance it did evoke the marching band – the coordination and visual aspects, or maybe more specifically the color guard spinning flags around on the field.
The next piece was by Christian Quiñones (who I worked with a couple of years ago but we’d never met in person!) His piece was really cool and also had lighting effects attached to the electronic sounds, which was an interesting though slightly jarring experience. The sounds were a little glitchy but rhythmic in a way that sounded really cool. The piece was based on the sound of hearing loss – sounds becoming obscured and distorted throughout.
The last piece on the first half, in my opinion, was definitely the show stealer. It was an excerpt of an opera by Damon Davis and he called it in his introduction a “black rap space opera”. I had moments of feeling like some of the music was familiar to the point where I wondered if I’d heard it before – but I think it was just that type of music, kind of magical in its familiarity as well as its novelty. It was well orchestrated, interesting in the way it used members of the ensemble as characters or kind of as set pieces. The songs were beautiful but also definitely post-genre, almost more similar to musical theater than anything. The music and the story were optimistic in a mythological way, almost like Disney or Miyazaki. Everybody seemed to want to hear the whole thing. This was a fragment of a larger work that will hopefully be performed soon!
The second half started with a piece by Elijah Daniel Smith which had a different tone – more subdued and introspective than the first half. It had a lot of really interesting sound worlds accompanying a narration that was interesting and impactful.
Next was a piece by Texu Kim that was rhythmic and upbeat and ended a frenzy of rhythm that was perhaps intentionally impossible to keep completely together, which was a nicely unconventional end to the piece.
Next was a five movement piece by Bora Yoon that was eclectic. There were moments of poetry, moments that felt conversational, and really interesting sound worlds including a prepared piano and an instrument she seemed to have made out of bicycle bells. The last movement particularly struck me – it was really really beautiful around an ocean theme. I wish I had more to say about this piece – it was delightful and brought us through many emotional spaces in a short time.
Above: tenor Dominic Armstrong (seated), conductor Leon Botstein, and soprano Felicia Moore onstage at Carnegie Hall; photo by Matt Dine
~ Author: Ben Weaver
Friday March 22nd, 2024 – Arnold Schoenberg’s gargantuan Gurre-Lieder, composed in 1900-03 (revised 1910-11), is unlike anything else in his catalog. With this lush and highly melodic work – for soloists, chorus and orchestra – he reached the ceiling of Romanticism and the only way out was to shatter it to smithereens. For Schoenberg, a mix of musical philosophy and observing the ravages of WWI signaled that music could not continue on the path laid out by his predecessors (Bach, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms, Wagner, etc. etc.) Schoenberg may have overreacted quite a bit, but, at a least with Gurre-Lieder, he left us with a grand finale of sorts to the excesses of 19th century music.
Gurre-Lieder’s libretto is adapted from Jens Peter Jacobsen’s dramatic poem Gurresange, written in 1868. It tells the story of King Waldemar and his love for the beautiful Tove, who is murdered by Waldemar’s jealous wife. Enraged, Waldemar curses God and is condemned to roam every night on wild hunts with his ghostly vassals. Waldemar is redeemed with arrival of Spring, and he and Tove are reunited as they become one with nature. Performances of this work are extremely rare, no doubt because Schoenberg calls for more than 150 musicians, an extravagance few organizations can afford, and none can afford frequently.
Part I opens with what Gabriel Adorno called “fairy land” music, a shimmering tapestry of harps, celesta, flutes, piccolo and some strings. Waldemar and Tove exchange declarations of love in extended monologues, set to ravishing Wagnerian and Straussian sounds.
Tenor Dominic Armstrong (above) took on the – let’s face it – impossible role of Waldemar. Schoenberg wrote the part for at least three different voices; not many singers have been able to possess them all. This is a Tristan/Parsifal/Tannhäuser part, with Tamino thrown in for good measure. I honestly don’t know who can really sing all this in a live performance. Dominic Armstrong is a lyrical tenor with a strong top, but sadly the voice disappears in the lower registers. And conductor Leon Botstein was not very kind, allowing the orchestra to cover Mr. Armstrong all evening. Armstrong’s strongest moments were in the lighter passages; his best singing came late in Part 3, in his final aria “Mit Toves Stimme flüstert der Wald”, when Schoenberg’s orchestration relaxed, allowing Waldemar to finally emerge.
Soprano Felicia Moore (above) possesses a large, blooming voice, that managed to break through the orchestral cacophony, in spite of an insensitive conductor. Her Tove was exotic and warm.
Mezzo-soprano Krysty Swann (above, in a Matt Dine photo), as the Wood-Dove who describes the terrifying details of Tove’s murder, was exciting in her long monologue. The voice is large and steely, the vibrato a bit loose at the top, but Ms. Swann possessed an excellent sense of drama, managing to build to thrilling and hair-raising final moments of the Wood-Dove’s narrative.
Bass-baritone Alan Held (above, photo by Matt Dine) has been a favorite of mine for many years. Though it seemed like James Levine always kept Mr. Held back at the Metropolitan Opera, where he should have been singing Wotan among many other roles, I still vividly recall a searing Wozzeck Mr. Held sang at the Met in 2011. It was wonderful to hear him once again, his large voice easily filling Carnegie Hall as the Peasant who is terrified by Waldemar and his men’s nightly processions.
Tenor Brenton Ryan (photo above by Matt Dine) was a very memorable Klaus the Jester, starting his long monologue from the house floor, then jumping on to the stage. Mr. Ryan possesses a strong, characterful tenor that made me think he might have been a better choice to sing Waldemar.
And German bass-baritone Carsten Wittmoser was a magnificent Narrator, his crystal clear diction perfect for the sprechstimme part, which is usually given to older singers nearing retirement or even non-singer actors (Karl Maria Brandauer and Barbara Sukowa, for example.) So it was nice to hear a singer still in his prime take on this role.
The American Symphony Orchestra was founded by Leopold Stokowski – who conducted the US Premiere of Gurre-Lieder in 1932, so it has a direct connection to this work, and they played quite beautifully, and certainly loudly. Here I must fault Leon Botstein for not being more considerate of his singers. Even the Bard Festival Chorale found itself drowned out by the orchestra, occasionally becoming just a mass of garbled sounds coming from somewhere at the back of the stage.
Still, any live performance – flaws aside – of this supremely difficult work is was a special treat to be able to experience. How long before another performance is organized in New York City?
~ Ben Weaver
Performance photos by Matt Dine, courtesy of Carnegie Hall
Oberon's Glade 