Oberon's Glade

Tag: John Adams

  • John Adams: ANTONY & CLEOPATRA @ The Met

    Antony-and-cleopatra

    ~ Author: Oberon

    Saturday May 24th, 2025 matinee – I hadn’t originally planned to go to a performance of John Adams’ Antony & Cleopatra, but some singers I especially like were in the cast, so I got a score desk – even though I was scoreless – for today’s matinee. My previous experiences with the composer’s operas have both disappointed (though the second was enthralling for the first 40 minutes); you can read about my reaction to The Death of Klinghoffer here and to El Niño here.

    The Met’s first incarnation of the Shakespearean tale of Antony and Cleopatra was the opera by Samuel Barber which opened the New Met in 1966. In the late summer of that year, I had made my first solo trip to New York City in order to buy tickets to some of the performances in the first few weeks of the season, and Antony & Cleopatra was on my list. 

    On the evening of September 16th, 1966, in my little room in the little town, I was tuned in for the live broadcast of the new opera. I was on pins and needles because the Met Orchestra had announced an impending strike; they’d agreed to play the opening night as it was drawing international attention in the music world. Luminaries had flown in from other nations, and Lady Bird Johnson was to be the guest of honor. For two acts, I was feeling more and more certain that the performances I’d bought tickets for would never take place: rumors indicated that the standoff could not be resolved, and that both sides were standing firm. Then, before the start of Act III, Sir Rudolf Bing appeared before the gold curtain to announce that a settlement had been reached and to welcome the musicians back “as friends”. I ran screaming thru the house; my mother thought – not for the first time – that I was deranged. 

    On December 1st, 1966, I saw the last Met performance of the Barber Antony & Cleopatra to date. I’d learned a lot of the music from repeated playings of the reel-to-reel tape I had made of the opening night broadcast, and I was thrilled to experience the voices of Leontyne Price, Justino Diaz, Jess Thomas, Ezio Flagello, and Rosalind Elias in this music ‘live‘; I was able to silently sing along with them much of the time. 

    Though the Met never revived the opera, a production given at the Juilliard School, staged by Gian Carlo Menotti and conducted by James Conlon, kept much of the music intact, whilst introducing a love duet for the title-characters. Then, in 2009, the New York City Opera presented a concert performance of the Barber opera at Carnegie Hall, with Lauren Flanigan and Teddy Tahu Rhodes in the leading roles. Read about it here. 

    In the ensuing years, I’ve kept favorite passages of the opera in my mind: not just the big themes and the weighty arias, but the delicious (and later cut) scene for the eunuch slave Mardian and Cleopatra’s handmaidens, full of one-liners; the haunting, poetic beauty of Antony’s young attendant Eros’s suicide (“Thus do I escape the sorrow of Antony’s death...”), and most especially the opera’s original ending, with Charmian finishing Cleopatra’s last line, “What? Should I stay…?” “…in this vile world?  Now boast ye, Death, for in thy bosom lies a lass unparalleled…your crown’s awry! I’ll mend it, then play til Doomsday...” as intoned by the sumptuous voice of Rosalind Elias. And of course, the glorious sound of Leontyne Price is forever bound to the music of Cleopatra.

    Enough nostalgia, and forgive me for rambling on. 

    So this afternoon, I am sitting alone in the great darkened hall that had reverberated to the Barber score some sixty years ago, hoping to be similarly captivated by the new Adams opera. As it turned out, I was far more fascinated with the orchestral writing than with the vocal. The composer had written a very long program note, but the print was so small I could not read it. Even while the players were tuning and warming up in the pit, the sounds of such instruments as celeste, harmonium, harpsichord, mandolin, glockenspiel, vibraphone, tam-tam, flexatone (which creates glissando effects), and numberless bells, chimes, and drums, teased my ear. Adams put all of these to cunning use, creating textures that sustained my interest throughout the 90-minute first act.

    The composer reportedly stipulates that amplification of the singing be used when his operas are presented. It’s OK by me, but the mixing board (taking up one of the parterre boxes) sometimes allowed the voices to be covered by the orchestra despite the singers being miked. A few times, the lower range of Julia Bullock (Cleopatra) took on a reverb feeling from over-amplification. I also noted that the cast’s diction was not always clear.

    A restless orchestral prelude opens the opera, wherein Antony (Gerald Finley, the superb baritone) ignites Cleopatra’s fury when he tells her he must return to Rome due to the death of this wife, Fulvia. Between un-interesting vocal writing and patches where the singers were covered by orchestral volume, this scene was basically expendable. 

    A noisy interlude takes us to Rome, where Antony is greeted coolly by his ‘boss’, Caesar (the clear, lyrical tenor Paul Appleby). To patch things up between the two men, it is suggested that Antony marry Caesar’s sister, Octavia. Agrippa, the match-maker (sung by Jarrett Ott, whose clear diction was a joy) gives way to Enobarbus (that superb basso Alfred Walker) whose description of Cleopatra sailing on the Cydnus is more a sung narrative than a melodious “aria”. 

    Back in Alexandria, Cleopatra’s voicing of “O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!” is no match for Samuel Barber’s setting of the text, which Leontyne Price savoured so smoulderingly. Told by Eros (Brenton Ryan) of Antony’s marriage to Octavia sets off a wild reaction from Cleopatra, though it is expressed more by the orchestra than by Ms. Bullock’s parlando and her furious song, which goes on too long…though finely rendered by the soprano.

    After an orchestral interlude, a big, beaty, turbulent theme is launched as Octavia (the plush-toned mezzo Elizabeth DeShong) cannot decide between loyalty to her brother Caesar and the appeal of Antony. Tired of her vacillating, Antony divorces her on the spot and rushes back Cleopatra. Ms DeShong brings vocal glamour to her singing, though at times the orchestra covered her. Caesar’s fury at Antony’s treatment of his sister is another case of the fascinating orchestration trumping the vocal line. When Octavia/deShong reveals (with some gorgeous measures of vocalism) that she is pregnant, her brother declares war on Antony. 

    A wondrously wrought orchestral interlude leads to a musical depiction of a disastrous sea battle, in which Antony miscalculates and Cleopatra erroneously calls off her own fleet of ships; there is a brief vocal highlight wherein Mr. Finley’s lament blends with a soaring phrase from Ms. Bullock; but it’s over almost as soon as it begins. Lights flash thru the hall as the orchestra pounds away at themes of battle in an endless ending to the opera’s first act. 

    In the 90-minute span of this opening act, memorable vocal moments have been few and far-between, whilst the orchestra has shone brilliantly. The voices were there, ready to make much of the music, but the composer’s lack of “lyric musing” (program note) deprives them of opportunities.     

    ~ Oberon

  • John Adams: THE WOUND-DRESSER

    Snapshot callahan

    The University of North Carolina Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Tonu Kalam, Music Director, leads a performance of John Adams’ The Wound-Dresser with bass-baritone soloist Marc Callahan. The concert took place in October 2018.

    Watch and listen here.

  • Matthias Goerne ~ Adams: The Wound-Dresser

    Goerne

    Above: baritone Matthias Goerne

    ~ Author: Oberon

    Thursday March 21st, 2019 – This long-awaited concert featured The New York Philharmonic‘s Artist-in-Residence Matthias Goerne singing one of my favorite 20th-century vocal works: John Adams’ The Wound-Dresser. Music by Charles Ives and Johannes Brahms was also on the bill, with the orchestra’s Music Director, Jaap van Zweden, on the podium.

    Charles Ives’ mysterious Central Park in the Dark made for a strangely fascinating program-opener. If you’ve ever walked across The Park at night, this atmospheric and slightly creepy music – which at first drifts by like a cool nocturnal mist – perfectly summons up the surreal feeling of being alone in the huge City.

    The sound of Pascual Martínez-Forteza’s clarinet introduces a human element; the trumpet and a pair of pianos come into play, and there is a boisterous, off-kilter rendering of “My Ragtime Gal” and a noisy battering of percussion that makes you want to call 311. Then, slowly, the music fades into a dream. 

    Mr. Goerne then appeared for John Adams’ The Wound-Dresser. This work was composed for and premiered by the late, great American baritone Sanford Sylvan in 1989. The texts are from Walt Whitman’s poem of the same title. The poet took on the task of visiting the sick and dying soldiers in hospitals during the time of the Civil War.

    Composer John Adams said of this poem: “…(it) is the most intimate, most graphic, and most profoundly affecting evocation of the act of nursing the sick and dying that I know of. It is also astonishingly free of any kind of hyperbole or amplified emotion, yet the detail of the imagery is of a precision that could only be attained by one who had been there.”

    Mr. Goerne’s interpretation of this poignant work had an almost operatic feeling. One could say that his English diction had a ‘British accent’; for the most part, his enunciation was admirable, whilst overhead titles filled in any blanks. The sound of a dropped item in the audience at the very outset of the piece was the worst kind of intrusion, but Maestro van Zweden would not be deterred.

    The music at first evokes the tread of the nurse, walking the wards. Mr. Goerne’s voice at the start was deep and dark; the baritone’s great gift of a vast dynamic range meant that he could bring a haunting, unexpected pianissimo into the turning of a phrase, At some moments, feelings of anger rose in the voice: a righteous anger over the death and despair of war.

    The poignant descent of the basses before “I onward go“, the sheer lyric beauty of Goerne’s “One turns to me…”, and the unbearable tenderness of “…to die for you, if that would save you!“: these were but a few of the memorable moments in this moving performance. The singer’s powers of expression as he describes horrific afflictions, his passionate distress – leading to the haunting “Come, sweet death...” – and the miraculous sustained piano at “…in mercy…” draw us deeper and deeper into the poet’s thoughts.

    The lamenting violins, the deep-purple basses, the celesta-like intimations of angel wings, the plaintive high trumpet as the wounds are described – from these the music builds to a flood of anguish, to be overtaken by the high violins and their vision of heavenly rest. Surrounded by suffering, the nurseman sings: “I am faithful. I do not give out.” 

    The music grows huge, the voice now with an almost demented quality. Mindy Kaufman’s flute sounds forth, and the woodwinds take on the aspect of a choir. Mr. Goerne’s singing, so perfectly modulated, is heartbreaking. The gleaming trumpet sounds, the music rises on high.

    In the watches of the night, the poet/nurse sits by the dying men: “Some are so young. Some suffer so much.” And at the end, his story becomes personal: “Many a soldier’s loving arms about this neck have cross’d and rested. Many a soldier’s kiss dwells on these bearded lips.”

    A long silence followed this most moving performance. The composer joined Mr. Goerne and Maestro van Zweden onstage, with Mr. Adams summoning the orchestra’s principal trumpet, Christopher Martin, to rise for a bow. As so often after a memorable musical experience, part of me wanted to leave and hold onto the memory of it.

    But, following the interval, we heard a lustrous performance of Brahms’ Symphony No.1. It took Brahms nearly fifteen years to compose this, his his first symphony. He continually made revisions throughout this time-span, discarding pages, editing, and starting over from scratch. At the time of the premiere, Brahms worried whether anyone would like the finished work. But Hans von Bülow – a composer, conductor and pianist, just like Brahms – referred to the symphony as ‘Beethoven’s Tenth’. High praise indeed: and Brahms, now feeling confident after a positive public reception, wrote a second symphony the following year.

    Another “dropped item” made an unwanted dent in the score as the symphony began; I notice that people are now allowed to bring water bottles into the hall, and possibly these are contributing to what seems to be an increasing annoyance of extraneous sounds spoiling the music we’ve all come to hear.

    The first movement of the Brahms 1st was especially wonderful to experience tonight. Flautist Robert Langevin and clarinetist Anthony McGill were in for the concert’s second half, making beautiful music. The blended sound of the orchestra was so finely integrated, the horns sounded opulent, and the sense of longing in the music as the movement progressed was palpable.

    The Andante sostenuto, with Sherry Sylar’s lovely oboe solo, the satiny sound of the rising violin theme,  Mr. McGill’s pliant phrasing of the clarinet line, and Richard Deane’s velvety horn all highlighted the Autumnal beauty of the music. The ensuing Poco allegretto feels merely pleasant at first, but soon turns livelier. Again, Mr. McGill – and the Philharmonic’s grand bass players – gave much for us to enjoy.

    Sneaky plucking made a delightful impression in the concluding movement, wherein the horn, flute, and a brass choir each have their say before the familiar tune commences, carrying us on to the work’s vibrant finish.

    Under Maestro van Zweden’s leadership, The Philharmonic tonight played the Brahms as magnificently as I have ever heard them play anything – and that is saying a great deal. The sound was rich, profound, and heartfelt. The symphony unfolded naturally, unhurried but always alive, leading to a celebratory ovation at the end.

    ~ Oberon