Tag: Ring Cycle

At Home With Wagner VIII

In 1968, Lorin Maazel conducted the RING Cycle at Bayreuth and from that cycle, the WALKURE looked especially tempting to me: not only are the ever-thrilling pairing of Leonie Rysanek and James King cast as the Wälsungs and such stalwart Wagnerians as Berit Lindholm, Theo Adam and Josef Greindl featured, but a rare performance as Fricka by Janis Martin – a singer in whom I’ve recently taken a renewed interest and who in December 2014 passed away – drew me to purchase this set. It’s an exciting performance in many ways, and Ms. Martin’s Fricka is one of the best-sung I have heard.

Leonie Rysanek and James King sang Sieglinde and Siegmund together often, including on the commercial release of the entire Cycle conducted by Karl Böhm; the two singers know these roles inside-out but somehow they always manage to make the music seem fresh and genuinely exciting. Rysanek, always a powerhouse singer at The Met, scales down her voice here to suit the more intimate space of the Bayreuth Festspielhaus. She creates many poetic effects but when the emotional temperature of the drama rises, Rysanek – as ever – turns up the voltage. In Act I she produces her trademark hair-curling top notes and the famous scream (at Wieland Wagner’s bidding) as the sword is pulled from the tree.

James King is in superb voice; he sings with tireless generosity – his Sword Monolog one of the finest I’ve heard, with his astonishing cries of “Walse! Walse!” sustained with epic fervor – and he’s always vivid in the expressing the passions of the final pages of Act I. That pillar of Wagnerian basso singing, Josef Greindl, is as ever a strong and fearsome Hunding. The three singers, with vital support from Masetro Maazel (his tempos tending towards speed rather than breadth) make for a truly stimulating rendering of this act.

As Wotan, Theo Adam’s powerful voice greets his favorite daughter; Berit Lindholm is bright and true in Brunnhilde’s battle cry, and then Janis Martin as Fricka arrives to throw a monkey-wrench into her husband’s plans. Ms. Martin, at this point in her career about to transition from mezzo to soprano (in the 1970s she was to be my first in-house Sieglinde, Kundry and Marie in WOZZECK); thus the highest notes of Fricka’s music hold no terrors for her. Her singing is clean, wide-ranging, and impressive. As she and Mr. Adam debate the matters at hand, Lorin Maazel’s orchestra underscores both sides of the argument. Ms. Martin exits, secure in her triumph.

Theo Adam (above) was my very first Wotan at The Met in RHEINGOLD in 1969, and I saw him some 20 years later, still very impressive in WALKURE. His sound per se is not highly individualized – it’s basically darkish and grainy – but he always manages to use it to optimum effect. His long monolog, with keen support from Maazel and increasingly urgent responses from Lindholm, is appropriately central to the drama of the performance.

Rushing on, pursued by Hunding’s hounds, Rysanek and King make much of their scene together. For Ryssanek, moments of lyric tenderness veer off to outbursts of hysteria; King is heroically comforting. Rysanek emits a demented, curdled scream at the sound of Hunding’s approaching horns, and as she swoons, King sings “Schwester! Geliebte” as tenderly as I have ever heard it done.

In the great Todesverkundigung scene (the Annuncation of Death, where Brunnhilde appears as in a vision and warns Siegmund of his impending death in battle), Maazel brings weightiness without impeding the forward flow. A doom-ladened feeling of tension and barely controlled urgency underscores the exchange between soprano and tenor, with Ms. Lindholm expressing increasing desperation as she feels herself losing control of the situation. Maazel brilliantly emphasizes Brunnhilde’s shift of allegiance: a feeling of high drama as she rushes off.

The poignant cello ‘lullabye’ as Siegmund blesses Sieginde’s slumber is taken up by the orchestra with a rich sense of yearning, til Hunding’s horns intrude to terrifying effect. Awakening in a daze before grasping the situation, Rysanek’s mad scene reaches fever pitch. Adam thunders forth Wotan’s intercession, Rysanek screams as Siegmund is slain. After Wotan has dispatched Hunding with great contempt, Adam and Maazel rise to a thunderous finish as Wotan storms away to catch the traitorous Brunnhilde.

Above: Liane Synek

An excellent Helmwige from Liane Synek (sample her singing here, as Brunnhilde in a passage from a WALKURE performance in Montevideo 1959): she stands out from some rowdy singing by her sister-Valkyries.

Sieglinde’s desperate plea to be slain turns to joy as Brunnhilde informs her that she is with child, giving wing to Leonie Rysanek’s cresting ‘O hehrstes Wunder!’, the crowning moment of one of the soprano’s greatest roles.

The scene is then set for the final father-daughter encounter; both Lindholm and Adam have moments of unsteadiness and the sound-quality is sometimes marred by overload. But both singers are truly engaged in what they are singing, with Theo Adam particularly marvelous in the long Act III passage starting at “So tatest du, was so gern zu tun ich begehrt…” (“So you did what I wanted so much to do…”) Once Brunnhilde has fallen into slumber, the bass-baritone and Maestro Maazel give an emotionally vibrant performance of Wotan’s farewell.

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Above: mezzo-soprano Margarita Lilowa

A RHEINGOLD from Vienna 1976 piqued my curiosity – mainly to experience the conducting of Horst Stein whose superb 1975 Bayreuth GOTTERDAMMERNG I wrote about here. I was also wanting to hear Margarita Lilowa’s Erda, having recently really enjoyed her singing as Mary in a recording of FLIEGENDE HOLLANDER, and Peter Hofmann in what is said to be his Vienna debut performance, as Loge.

The recording is clearly not from a broadcast but rather was recorded in-house; the sound varies – some overload in spots, some distancing of the voice, a couple of dropouts – and in quieter passages the breathing of the person making the recording can be heard: an unsettling effect. Also during the Alberich/Mime scene there’s some annoying mike noise. But overall, with steadfast concentration, the performance has many rewards. And chief among them is Maestro Stein’s expert shaping of the score.

The Rhinemaidens are Lotte Rysanek (Leonie’s sister, who sometimes sounds a bit like her famous sibling), Rohangiz Yachmi, and Axelle Gall. Their more attractive moments come in solo lines rather than in a vocal blend. Zoltán Kelemen, the Alberich of the era, is superb here. He paints a full vocal portrait of the dwarf, from his early semi-playful pursuit of the Rhinemaidens thru the rape of the Gold, on to the vanity of his bullying Lord of Nibelheim, his shattering fall into Loge’s trap, and the vividly expressed narrative leading up to the Curse.

Grace Hoffmann and Theo Adam are experienced Wagnerians who inhabit their roles thoroughly. The mezzo’s voice is no longer at its freshest (she was in the twenty-fifth year of her career here) but she is authoritative in characterization. Adam, strong and true of voice, makes a fine impression throughout, especially in his final hailing of Valhalla.

Hannelore Bode’s voice seems too weighty and unwieldy for Freia, but the giants who pursue her are impressive indeed: Karl Ridderbusch and Bengt Rundgren are so completely at home as Fasolt and Fafner, and their dark, ample voices fill the music richly. Hale and hearty one moment, and wonderfully subtle the next, both bassos make all their music vivid. A lyric Froh (Josef Hopferweiser) and an ample-toned Donner (Reid Bunger – his “Heda! Hedo” has a nicely sustained quality) are well-cast.

Above: tenor Peter Hofmann

Peter Hofmann’s Loge has a baritonal quality, and he blusters a bit but soon settles in to give a sturdy if not very imaginative performance of the Lord of Fire. The Nibelheim scene finds Adam, Hofmann, and Kelemen all at their keenest in sense of dramatic nuance, and Heinz Zednik is a capital Mime, well-voiced and inflecting the text with eerie colours.

Ms. Lilowa’s Erda, sounding from a distance at first, comes into focus after her first line or two and has a round-toned, steady voice, making the most of her brief but important scene.

Horst Stein’s overall vision of the score seems nearly ideal to me, and there are a number of particularly satisfying passages: his underscoring of the big lyric themes in Loge’s narrative, the detailing of the orchestral parts at Loge’s mention of Freia’s apples, the descent to Nibelheim. And once in Alberich’s domain, Stein shows keen mastery of nuance, both in colorfully supporting the dialogue and in a truly ominous “dragon” theme for Alberich’s transformation. Throughout the performance, it’s Stein who keeps us keenly focused on this marvelous score.

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Above: Sir Donald McIntyre

Another RHEINGOLD – a recording of a performance I actually attended – is from a Met broadcast of February 15th, 1975. It’s interesting to compare my reactions to the recording with what I had written in my opera diary on the day of the performance, some forty years earlier.

The 1974-75 season was a rich one for me; I was living (though not enrolled) at Sarah Lawrence College with TJ. We’d had our summer on Cape Cod together and, as we prepared to part company and resume our separate lives, we found we’d become so attached to one another that, only a few days after I’d returned to the tiny town and he’d moved into the college dorm, we threw caution to the wind and I went down and got a temp job at IBM in Westchester County and slept with him in his twin bed (he had drawn, luckily, one of the few ‘private’ room on the entire campus). We went down to Manhattan for the opera and the ballet three or four times a week.

The Met were doing the RING Cycle that season, with Sixten Ehrling conducting. The virtues (or not) of his readings of the scores were hotly debated by the fans; he was sometimes booed when entering the pit, and sometimes cheered when he took his bows at the end of each opera. I thought at the time his conducting was “maybe lacking in grandeur, but well-paced and considerate of the singers.” Listening to it now, his RHEINGOLD seems perfectly fine, with many very satisfying passages…despite some fluffs from the horns here and there.

Above: Sixten Ehrling

(Note: in 1998, when I started working at Tower Records, I met Maestro Ehrling and his charming wife, a former ballerina. The first day I met him, he was in a cantankerous mood because all the clerks were busy and he was in a rush. I stepped up, greeted him with a little bow, and immediately began to talk to him about his RING Cycle. He became a regular customer and regaled me with all sorts of wonderful stories about the singers he had worked with. He also liked to correct my pronunciation; when I referred to Wotan’s daughter as “Broon-HILL-da” he yelled: “BROON-hil-d…” I ended up really enjoying our little friendship, and missed him when he became too ill to come to the store…though he’d often send his wife to us, with strict instructions as to what to buy for him. He passed away in 2005.)

Christine Weidinger, Marcia Baldwin, and – especially – Batyah Godfrey are good Rhinemaidens; they raise the performance level starting with the first appearance of the ‘gold’ motif. Marius Rintzler seems at first to be a bass-oriented Alberich (though later his topmost notes are wonderfully secure) and he becomes actually scary as his plan to steal the treasure takes over his mind. Abetted by Ehrling, the scene of the rape of the gold is dramatically vivid.

Ehrling scores again in his super-reading of the descent to Nibeheim. Rintzler as Alberich, in his own domain, lords it fabulously over his brother and his slaves. Later, betrayed, Rintzler’s performance rings true in its desperation and his powerful declaiming of the curse.

The opera’s second scene shows Ehrling at his best, with a nice sense of propulsion and excellent support of his singers. This matinee marked the Met debut of Donald McIntyre as Wotan; he would become known and beloved worldwide a few years later when the Chereau RING was filmed for international telecast at the Bayreuth Festival. On this afternoon in 1975, he makes a superb impression: he begins a bit sleepily (Fricka has just awakened him) but once he claps eyes on the finished Valhalla, his godliness rises to full stature. His singing throughout is generously sustained; by turns imperious and subtle, he makes an ever-commanding dramatic impression. McIntyre’s final scene, hailing the new home of the gods and dismissing the Rhinemaidens who plead from below for the return of the ring, is really exciting.

Mignon Dunn, always a great favorite of mine, is an immediately distinctive Fricka. The role is rather brief, but Mignon makes the most of every opportunity, and her gift for vocal seduction manifests itself near the end, as she lures Wotan’s thoughts away from the mysterious Erda and turns them instead towards Valhalla (where she hopes to keep him on a tighter tether…but, it doesn’t work.)

Glade Peterson, as Loge, seems rather declamatory at first. His ample voice serves him well in the monolog, despite some moments of errant pitch. He lacks a bit of the subtlety that can make Loge’s music so entrancing. As the hapless Mime, Ragnar Ulfung is both note-conscious and characterful; he makes a string impression though once or twice he too wanders off-pitch.

The giants are simply great: John Macurdy’s Fafner is darkly effective – he has less to sing than his brother Fasolt, but he will eventually get the upper hand…violently. Bengt Rundgren as the more tender-hearted of the two is truly authoritative, with page after page of finely inflected basso singing.

Mary Ellen Pracht, a Met stalwart, does well as Freia, and William Dooley is a splendid Donner…his dramatic, full-voiced cries of “Heda, Hedo!” are in fact a high point if the opera, and are punctuated by a fantastical thunder-blast. Tenor Kolbjørn Høiseth is rather a fuller-toned Froh than we sometimes hear; there’s something rather ‘slow’ about his delivery. (A few days later, he sang a single Loge at The Met, and then a single Siegmund.)

In the house, the amplifying of Erda’s Warning ruined the moment musically, but this does not affect the broadcast which is picked up directly from the stage mikes. And so Lili Chookasian makes an absolutely stunning effect with her rich, deep tones. Where are such voices as hers today? After “Alles was ist, endet!” and “Meide den Ring!”, one feels chills running up and down the spine. Magnificent!

May 17, 2015
Season Finale: Score Desk for BALLO IN MASCHERA

Above: Dmitry Hvorostovsky and Sondra Radvanovsky

Tuesday April 28th, 2015 – For my final Met performance of the current season, Verdi’s BALLO IN MASCHERA with probably the strongest overall cast of any opera produced at the Met this season. I felt no need to see the Met’s mixed-bag, neither-here-nor-there production again, so I was back at my score desk. Of the twenty-plus performances I attended at the Met this season, most were experienced from score desks; there is less and less of a need to actually see what it happening onstage, so why spend the money on a ‘room with a view’? And besides, I hardly ever stay to the end of anything thanks to the slow agony of the Gelb-length intermissions. Tonight, though, my two amusing friends Adi and Craig helped make the long breaks somewhat more tolerable.

Tonight’s audience was one of the largest I’ve seen at the opera all season. The Met’s always been a ‘singers house’; the box office is voice-driven and has been since the days of de Reszke and Caruso. There was Flagstad, and Birgit and Franco; and there was Pav, and now there’s Netrebko and Kaufmann. People come for the singing because that’s what opera is all about.

The evening began with an announcement that James Levine would be replaced on the podium by John Keenan. This may have been a rather last-minute decision since Levine’s special wheelchair platform was in place. Keenan is a very fine Wagner conductor, but in the Italian repertoire Joseph Colaneri would be my choice if Levine is ailing. Much of Act I tonight had an unkempt quality; the singers seemed to want different tempi than Keenan was offering them, and they tended to speed ahead, leaving the orchestra to catch up.

Piotr Beczala – superb in IOLANTA earlier in the season – sounded a bit tired in Act I. His opening aria was not smooth and the climactic top A-sharp was tight and veered above pitch. He began to settle in vocally at Ulrica’s, though the (written) low notes in “Di tu se fedele” were clumsily handled – no one would have cared if he’d sung them up an octave. By the time he reached the great love duet, Beczala was sounding much more like his usual self, and his “Non sai tu che se l’anima mia” was particularly fine. Spurred on by his resplendent soprano, the Polish tenor invested the rest of the duet with vibrant, passionate singing.

As Ulrica, Dolora Zajick was exciting: the voice has its familiar amplitude and earthy chest notes intact and she also sang some beautiful piani, observing Verdi’s markings. It’s not her fault that the production idiotically calls for amplification of her deep call for “Silenzio!” at the end of her aria. Dolora’s chest tones don’t need artificial enhancement.

Heidi Stober was a serviceable Oscar; her highest notes could take on a brassy edge and overall she lacked vocal charm. Memories of Reri Grist, Roberta Peters, Judith Blegen, Lyubov Petrova, and Kathleen Kim kept getting in my ear, perhaps unfairly.

Dmitry Hvorostovsky as Count Anckarström was in splendid voice from note one, and his opening aria “Alla vita che t’arride” was beautifully phrased with a suave legato, the cadenza rising up to a majestically sustained high note. In the scene at the gallows (or rather – as this production places it – “in an abandoned warehouse…”) the baritone was vividly involved, first as a loyal friend urging his king to flee and later as the shamed, betrayed husband.

Sondra Radvanovsky, who in 2013 gave us a truly impressive Norma at The Met, was – like the baritone – on top form. With a voice utterly distinctive and unlike any other, and with the seemingly innate ability to find the emotional core of any role she takes on, Radvanovsky has a quality of vocal glamour that makes her undoubtedly the most exciting soprano before the public today. What makes her all the more captivating is that, if a random note has a passing huskiness or isn’t quite sounding as she wants it to, she’s able to make pinpoint adjustments and forge ahead. This makes her singing interesting and keeps us on high alert, wondering what she’ll do next. Thus she generates a kind of anticipatory excitement that is rare these days.

Launching Amelia’s “Consentimi o signore’ in the Act I trio, Sondra shows off the Verdian line of which she alone today seems true mistress. When we next meet her, she is out on her terrified search for the magical herb. Unfurling the grand recitative “Ecco l’orrido campo…” with instinctive dramatic accents, she draws us into Amelia’s plight. The great aria that follows is a marvel of expressiveness (though I do wish she would eliminate the little simpering whimpers during the orchestral bridge…a pointless touch of verismo); and then terror seizes her and she goes momentarily mad before calming herself with the great prayerful ascent to the high-C. The ensuing cadenza was both highly emotional and superbly voiced.

In the love duet, with Beczala now vocally aflame, Sondra gave some of her most incredibly nuanced, sustained singing at “Ma tu, nobile…”- astounding control – before the two singers sailed on to the impetuous release of the duet’s celebratory finale and ended on a joint high-C.

Amelia’s husband unexpectedly appears to warn the king that his enemies are lurking; after Gustavo has fled (has Sondra ever contemplated taking a high-D at the end of the trio here? I’ve heard it done…), soprano and baritone kept the excitement level at fever pitch during the scene with the conspirators: page after page of Verdian drama marvelously voiced, ending with a rich high B-flat from the soprano as she is hauled off to be punished.

I hate the break in continuity here: ideally we would follow the couple home and the intensity level would suffer no letdown; instead we have another over-long intermission.

But the mood was quickly re-established when the curtain next rose: Hvorostovsky thundering and growling while Radvanovsky pleads for mercy. Now the evening reached a peak of vocal splendour as the soprano sang her wrenchingly poignant plea “Morro, ma prima in grazia…” Displaying a fascinating command of vocal colour and of dynamics that ranged from ravishing piani to gleaming forte, the soprano was in her greatest glory here, with a spectacular cadenza launched from a sublime piano C-flat before plunging into the heartfelt depths and resolving in a ravishingly sustained note of despair.

Hvorostovsky then seized the stage. In one of Verdi’s most thrilling soliloquies, the character moves from fury to heartbreak. After the snarling anger of “Eri tu”, Dima came to the heart of the matter: using his peerless legato and vast palette of dynamic shadings, he made “O dolcezze perdute, o memorie…” so affecting in its tragic lyricism before moving to a state of resignation and finishing on a gorgeously sustained final note. In the scene of the drawing of lots, Hvorostovsky capped his triumph with an exultant “Il mio nome! O giustizia del fato!” – “My name! O the justice of fate: revenge shall be mine!” His revenge will bring only remorse.

We left after this scene, taking with us the fresh memory of these two great singers – Radvanovsky and Hvorostovsky – having shown us why opera remains a vital force in our lives.

Metropolitan Opera House April 28, 2015
UN BALLO IN MASCHERA Giuseppe Verdi Amelia.............................Sondra Radvanovsky Riccardo (Gustavo III).............Piotr Beczala Renato (Count Anckarström).........Dmitri Hvorostovsky Ulrica (Madame Ulrica Arvidsson)...Dolora Zajick Oscar..............................Heidi Stober Samuel (Count Ribbing).............Keith Miller Tom (Count Horn)...................David Crawford Silvano (Cristiano)................Trevor Scheunemann Judge..............................Mark Schowalter Servant............................Scott Scully
Conductor..........................John Keenan

April 28, 2015
ASO: Max von Schillings’ MONA LISA

Friday February 20th, 2015 – An opportunity to hear a forgotten opera, Max von Schillings’ MONA LISA, came about thanks to conductor Leon Botstein and the American Symphony Orchestra. Bringing us operatic rarities is one of Maestro Botstein’s specialties, and tonight MONA LISA proved a wonderful discovery.

The opera was vastly popular in its day; in the fifteen years following its 1915 premiere, it was performed more than 1,200 times, including in St. Petersburg and at New York’s Metropolitan Opera. The composer’s embrace of Nazism has since cast him as an unsavory individual and, upon his death in 1933, he and his music were essentially forgotten.

von Schillings was considered a neo-Wagnerian, but in MONA LISA we experience a link with Italian verismo; both in its Renaissance setting and its musical style, I was most often put in mind of Zandonai’s FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. The influence of Strauss and Zemlinsky may also be felt. von Schillings successfully blends a variety of stylistic elements into music that evokes the Age of da Vinci from a Germanic viewpoint.

The story is a Mona Lisa fantasy and revolves around her jealous husband, Francesco del Giocondo, and her former lover, Giovanni de Salviati who arrives at the del Giocondo palazzo on an errand from the pope: to purchase a rare pearl. Mona Lisa and Giovanni had once been lovers, and the flame is re-kindled.

The pearl is kept in a small, air-tight chamber. After arranging the purchase, Giovanni covertly persuades Mona Lisa that they should run away together when he comes to collect the pearl. Her husband notices the mysterious smile on his wife’s face – a smile she has never shone on him in their years of marriage – and suspects Giovanni as a rival. To avoid being caught, Giovanni hides in the pearl-chamber, which Francesco then locks. Mona Lisa knows that Giovanni will suffocate, but she keeps her cool and the next morning she tells her husband says she will wear the pearl. When Francesco enters the chamber to fetch the jewel for her, she slams the door shut behind him and locks it.

The opera is set during carnival season which gives rise to some passages of courtly entertainment. And, subtly, the libretto refers to Madama Borgia as being Mona Lisa’s friend. Thus the notion of dispatching an unwanted husband would come naturally to Mona Lisa.

The score abounds with melody and the opera is impressively orchestrated, bringing in harp, celeste, mandolin and organ…even castanets are heard at one point. The ASO‘s concertmaster Erica Kiesewetter seized several opportunities to bring forth beautiful solo violin passages.

The opera was well-cast with singers intent on characterizing their music. In the title-role, soprano Petra Maria Schnitzer, despite a less-than-comfortable upper register, blended lyricism with passionate declamation. As Francesco, the charismatic Michael Anthony McGee, delighted in the vocal art of insinuation, his genial vocal veneer covering a soul of brooding jealousy and duplicity. In a performance of intense power and commitment, tenor Paul McNamara scored a great success as he met the Wagnerian demands of the role of Giovanni; his vocalism made a strong impact in the Hall.

A quintet of courtiers, led by tenor Robert Chafin as Arrigo Oldofredi, provided ongoing commentary in Act I, with bursts of song woven into the tapestry. John Easterlin, Justin Hopkins, Christopher Burchett, and Michael Scarcelle kept their scenes lively with characterful singing and good dramatic interaction. An appealing trio of young women gave a vocal counter-balance to the men’s ensemble: Lucy Fitz Gibbon and Katherine Maysek sang attractively, and Ilana Davidson had a lovely vocal vignette, portraying Venus in a carnival pageant. The Bard Festival Chorale had rather less to do than one might have wished, but they did it well indeed.

THE CAST

Foreigner/Francesco del Giocondo: Michael Anthony McGee, bass-baritone
Woman/Mona Fiordalisa: Petra Maria Schnitzer, soprano
Lay Brother/Giovanni de Salviati: Paul McNamara, tenor
Pietro Tumoni: Justin Hopkins, bass-baritone
Arrigo Oldofredi: Robert Chafin, tenor
Alessio Beneventi: John Easterlin, tenor
Sandro da Luzzano: Christopher Burchett, baritone
Masolino Pedruzzi: Michael Scarcelle, bass-baritone
Mona Ginevra: Ilana Davidson, soprano
Dianora: Lucy Fitz Gibbon, soprano
Piccarda: Katherine Maysek, mezzo-soprano

Bard Festival Chorale (James Bagwell, director)

Conductor: Leon Botstein

February 21, 2015
ASO: Max von Schillings’ MONA LISA

Friday February 20th, 2015 – An opportunity to hear a forgotten opera, Max von Schillings’ MONA LISA, came about thanks to conductor Leon Botstein and the American Symphony Orchestra. Bringing us operatic rarities is one of Maestro Botstein’s specialties, and tonight MONA LISA proved a wonderful discovery.

The opera was vastly popular in its day; in the fifteen years following its 1915 premiere, it was performed more than 1,200 times, including in St. Petersburg and at New York’s Metropolitan Opera. The composer’s embrace of Nazism has since cast him as an unsavory individual and, upon his death in 1933, he and his music were essentially forgotten.

von Schillings was considered a neo-Wagnerian, but in MONA LISA we experience a link with Italian verismo; both in its Renaissance setting and its musical style, I was most often put in mind of Zandonai’s FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. The influence of Strauss and Zemlinsky may also be felt. von Schillings successfully blends a variety of stylistic elements into music that evokes the Age of da Vinci from a Germanic viewpoint.

The story is a Mona Lisa fantasy and revolves around her jealous husband, Francesco del Giocondo, and her former lover, Giovanni de Salviati who arrives at the del Giocondo palazzo on an errand from the pope: to purchase a rare pearl. Mona Lisa and Giovanni had once been lovers, and the flame is re-kindled.

The pearl is kept in a small, air-tight chamber. After arranging the purchase, Giovanni covertly persuades Mona Lisa that they should run away together when he comes to collect the pearl. Her husband notices the mysterious smile on his wife’s face – a smile she has never shone on him in their years of marriage – and suspects Giovanni as a rival. To avoid being caught, Giovanni hides in the pearl-chamber, which Francesco then locks. Mona Lisa knows that Giovanni will suffocate, but she keeps her cool and the next morning she tells her husband says she will wear the pearl. When Francesco enters the chamber to fetch the jewel for her, she slams the door shut behind him and locks it.

The opera is set during carnival season which gives rise to some passages of courtly entertainment. And, subtly, the libretto refers to Madama Borgia as being Mona Lisa’s friend. Thus the notion of dispatching an unwanted husband would come naturally to Mona Lisa.

The score abounds with melody and the opera is impressively orchestrated, bringing in harp, celeste, mandolin and organ…even castanets are heard at one point. The ASO‘s concertmaster Erica Kiesewetter seized several opportunities to bring forth beautiful solo violin passages.

The opera was well-cast with singers intent on characterizing their music. In the title-role, soprano Petra Maria Schnitzer, despite a less-than-comfortable upper register, blended lyricism with passionate declamation. As Francesco, the charismatic Michael Anthony McGee, delighted in the vocal art of insinuation, his genial vocal veneer covering a soul of brooding jealousy and duplicity. In a performance of intense power and commitment, tenor Paul McNamara scored a great success as he met the Wagnerian demands of the role of Giovanni; his vocalism made a strong impact in the Hall.

A quintet of courtiers, led by tenor Robert Chafin as Arrigo Oldofredi, provided ongoing commentary in Act I, with bursts of song woven into the tapestry. John Easterlin, Justin Hopkins, Christopher Burchett, and Michael Scarcelle kept their scenes lively with characterful singing and good dramatic interaction. An appealing trio of young women gave a vocal counter-balance to the men’s ensemble: Lucy Fitz Gibbon and Katherine Maysek sang attractively, and Ilana Davidson had a lovely vocal vignette, portraying Venus in a carnival pageant. The Bard Festival Chorale had rather less to do than one might have wished, but they did it well indeed.

THE CAST

Foreigner/Francesco del Giocondo: Michael Anthony McGee, bass-baritone
Woman/Mona Fiordalisa: Petra Maria Schnitzer, soprano
Lay Brother/Giovanni de Salviati: Paul McNamara, tenor
Pietro Tumoni: Justin Hopkins, bass-baritone
Arrigo Oldofredi: Robert Chafin, tenor
Alessio Beneventi: John Easterlin, tenor
Sandro da Luzzano: Christopher Burchett, baritone
Masolino Pedruzzi: Michael Scarcelle, bass-baritone
Mona Ginevra: Ilana Davidson, soprano
Dianora: Lucy Fitz Gibbon, soprano
Piccarda: Katherine Maysek, mezzo-soprano

Bard Festival Chorale (James Bagwell, director)

Conductor: Leon Botstein

February 20, 2015
Hilary Hahn/Jaap van Zweden @ The NY Phil

Above: violinist Hilary Hahn

Wednesday November 26th, 2014 – After experiencing conductor Jaap van Zweden’s performance of the Shostakovich 8th with The New York Philharmonic last week, I was very glad of the chance to attend a second concert under his baton. In addition, the evening provided my first opportunity to hear Hilary Hahn live.

The evening opened with a genuine rarity: Johan Wagenaar’s Cyrano de Bergerac Overture which was inspired by Edmund Rostand’s play of the same name. The play premiered in 1897, the concert overture dates from 1905. The overture commences with a bold statement, then waxes poetical, romantic or swashbuckling by turns. It’s a melody-rich piece; though sometimes compared to the works of Richard Strauss, there’s no hint in the Wagenaar of the absonance that tends to crop up in some of Strauss’s works.

Ms. Hahn then appeared for the Korngold violin concerto. Most widely known as a composer of film scores, Erich Wolfgang Korngold arrived in Hollywood in the 1930s, already an established classical composer. Themes from his movie scores found their way into his concert works; for the violin concerto, Korngold drew upon his music for the films Another Dawn, Juárez, Anthony Adverse, and The Prince and the Pauper. Jascha Heifetz premiered the concerto in 1947.

Ms. Hahn looked fetching in a silvery-steely strapless gown; slender and elegant, she is as lovely to watch as to hear. In the concerto’s opening movement, much of it set in the violin’s high register, Ms. Hahn displayed a truly shimmering quality of timbre. In the second movement, Romance, she caught the quality of sehnsucht that the rapturous themes evoke; and in the quirky, devilish technical demands of the final Allegro assia vivace, she really went to town, dazzling us with her virtuosity.

Ms. Hahn and Maestro van Zweden were greeted with sustained applause after the concerto; coming out for a second solo bow, the comely violinist took up her bow for a Bach encore. Tonight’s Playbill states that Hilary Hahn has not appeared with the NY Phil for a decade; she should immediately be signed for future appearances: she’s a treasurable player and we should have every possible opportunity to experience her artistry.

Following the interval, Jaap van Zweden unfurled the Beethoven 7th for us. This symphony is just about perfect: neither too short nor too long, and especially appealing in its rhythmic variety. The symphony’s first movement opens slowly (marked ‘sostenuto‘…’sustained’) and then turns animated. The famiiar allegretto that follows – one of Beethoven’s most widely-appreciated passages – has a stately sway to it. The lively dance of the ensuing Presto propels us irresistibly to the finale with its exhilarating feeling of joyous abandon. The music sailed on with Maestro van Zweden, the musicians, and Beethoven carrying the audience along on buoyant waves of sound. Richard Wagner called this symphony “the apotheosis of the dance itself…” and the audience responded with vigorous enthusiasm to the almost breathless pace which the conductor imposed in this uninhibited finale.

November 26, 2014
At Home With Wagner VII

As Summer began to transition into Autumn, I found myself with less time for my favorite solitary pastime: listening to recordings of live performances of the operas of Richard Wagner. But I spent a long time with a 1975 Bayreuth GOTTERDAMMERUNG, re-playing certain scenes repeatedly. It’s one of the most exciting performances of that opera I’ve ever heard.

The overall majesty of this GOTTERDAMMERUNG owes a great deal to the masterful conducting of Horst Stein (above). Under his remarkable leadership, the performance drew me in from the opening chord. Not only is the great span of the work honored in all its epic magnificence, but time and again Maestro Stein illuminated what I thought were familiar passages with fresh nuances of colour or dynamic.

As the First Norn, Marga Höffgen’s voice wells up from the mysterious glow of the prelude. Höffgen (pictured above) is authoritative and she sent a shiver up my spine with the line “Die nacht weicht…” (“The night wanes…”) sung with such a prophetically gloomy resonance. Wendy Fine as the Third Norn has a strong sense of urgency in her singing, and Anna Reynolds as the Second Norn is simply superb: in voice, diction and expression she brings a thrilling dimension to this music.

Horst Stein’s spacious reading of the Dawn Music has a triumphant ring, heralding the only truly happy scene in the entire opera. Catarina Ligendza and Jean Cox as Brunnhilde and Siegfried are splendidly matched, she showing a full-bodied sense of lyricism whilst the tenor’s strong, sustained singing will be a boon to the entire performance. Stein builds the rapture of their duet exctingly, a big vocal outpouring worthy of the passions they express…passions soon doomed to betray them.

Above: Jean Cox rehearsing at Bayreuth with Wolfgang Wagner

A wonderful rocking feeling pervades Stein’s reading of the Rhne Journey; we feel like we’re in Siegfried’s boat, along for the joyride. The threesome we meet at the Gibichung Hall are as strong a trio as one could hope for: power and pride of voice from Franz Mazura (Gunther), rich lyricism from Janis Martin (Gutrune), and the start of a masterful performance of Hagen from Karl Ridderbusch.

Ms. Martin (above, with Claudio Abbado) started out singing smallish roles at The Met, eventually having a major career as a Wagnerian soprano. She was my first Sieglinde, Kundry, and Marie in WOZZECK, and she really makes her mark here as Gutrune. She, Mazura, and Ridderbusch share a strong sense of verbal detailing, keeping the dramatic situation in sizzling high-profile; Cox and Mazura are very powerful in the Blood Brotherhood scene; they sail off to the Valkyrie Rock, leaving Ridderbusch to deliver a simply magnificent rendering of Hagen’s Watch, thrillingly abetted by Maestro Stein.

Above: Anna Reynolds

The scene is now set for some truly remarkable singing in the confrontation between Brunnhilde and her sister Waltraute, played by Anna Reynolds. Ms. Reynolds is a great favorite of mine; she was my first RHEINGOLD Fricka (conducted by Herbert von Karajan at a Metropolitan Opera matinee…his only Met broadcast), and a few seasons later I had the good fortune to also experience her WALKURE Fricka. All of the things I love about Reynolds’ singing are in ample evidence in this GOTTERDAMMERUNG: her timbre is truly beautiful, her registers even; she is dynamically alert and verbally keen, a very subtle colourist with a sense of majestic authority, later overcome by despair as Brunnhilde refuses to part woth the Ring. The argument between Reynolds and Ligendza is masterfully developed by Maestro Stein, Ligendza standing her ground with firm-voiced dignity. Reynolds concludes the scene on a splendid top A-natural and rushes away.

As the flames surrounding her abode leap up. Ligendza brings great lyric joy to her anticipated reunion with Siegfried; her despair at his betrayal and her realization of his deceit are finely delineated by Stein and his orchestra; the conflict and Siegfried’s brutal seizing of the Ring are excitingly realized by the singers and conductor.

Above: Gustav Neidlinger, a fabulous Alberich

Maestro Stein commences the second act with a throbbingly sinister prelude which leads to the appearance of Alberich (Gustav Neidlinger), manifesting himself in a dream to his son Hagen. This is one of my favorite scenes in the RING Cycle, and Neidlinger and Ridderbusch give it a tremendous impact, their singing and verbal nuances meshing to great expressive effect. Neidlinger (famed for his portrayal Alberich on the classic Georg Solti commercial RING) so vividly captures the restless insistence of the dwarf, desperate of regain the ring and depending on Hagen to achieve it. Throughout the scene, the two singers receive superb support from Stein.

Janis Martin makes the absolute most of every line Wagner gives to Gutrune, and then Karl Ridderbusch unleashes a tremendous “Hoi ho!”, grandly summoning his vassals to celebrate the arrival of Gunther’s bride. The chorus’s excitement seems genuine as they sing “Gross gluck und Heil!”; of course, the festive throng soon fall into epic puzzlement as the downcast Brunnhilde appears, escorted by Gunther. Mazura’s potent singing and rugged sense of nobility will make his downfall all the more tragic. The chorus, amazed by Brunnhilde’s stupor, whisper “Was ist ehr?” (“What ails her?”); the answer comes soon enough.

Catarina Ligendza shows very slight traces of vocal fatigue in this strenuous act, but scarecly enough to be a demerit to the overall impact of her portrayal. Even when somewhat taxed, she plunges bravely onward. The swearing of the oaths – potently underscored by Stein – finds the soprano a bit stressed here and there, and Mr. Cox fudges the brief high-C. But none of this really detracts from the overall thrill of the performance. As Siegfried and Gutrune leave to prepare for the ceremony, Ligendza is back on fine form in expressing Brunnhilde’s uncomprehending woe and then her unbridled fury. Mazura limns Gunther’s shame with disturbing intensity and when Brunnhilde heaps insults in him, he is filled with self-loathing. Ligendza, Mazura, and Ridderbusch then join in the final trio which bristles with dramatic fire, fanned marvelously by Maestro Stein and the orchestra.

The excellence continues with Act III: Horst Stein’s scene-painting is colourful and detailed, and I love his trio of Rhinemaidens: they blend very well, and you can hear each voice distinctly in the harmonies. Elisabeth Volkmann (Woglinde) sings so prettily, and Inger Paustian (Wellgunde) makes a fine impression as she spies the ring on Siegfried’s finger.

I’m particularly happy to have this souvenir of Sylvia Anderson (above), a singer I heard at New York City Opera in the 1970s as Octavian and as Giovanna Seymour in ANNA BOLENA. As Flosshilde, she gives a lovely mellow depth to the Rhinemaidens’ trios; it’s really nice hearing her voice again.

Unlike some Siegfrieds, Jean Cox has plenty of voice left to spend going into Act III. He really sings: no barking or hoarseness. Calling out to the hunting party from which he has wandered, Cox produces a walloping long high-C, a note most Siegfriends can’t even hit at this point in a long evening; it’s not beautiful, but it’s such a heroic touch.

In the ensuing scene, building up to the murder of Siegfried, Ridderbush is simply superb and Mazura remarkably vivid in lines that some baritones throw away. Siegfried’s narrative has a real lilt to it, and Cox is first-rate: yest abother distinctive passage from this imperturbable performer. The orchestral playing continues to shine, movingly supporting the tenor as he regains his senses after Hagen’s spear-thrust has laid him low. This leads to a grand and glorious rendering of the Funeral March by Stein and his tireless players.

Back at the Gibichung Hall, Janis Martin is again very impressive as she awaits the return of the men. The ensuing scene, with her horror at Siegfried’s demise, Hagen’s crude cruelty, and Gunther’s shame and remorse, is filled with tremendous tension: brilliant work from Martin, Mazura and Ridderbusch, ideally underscored by the valiant Maestro.

And now it’s left to Catarina Ligendza (above) to bring this mighty performance to a close with the Immolation Scene. She summons up impressive reserves for this big sing, and although traces of strain are detectable here and there, the overall sweep of the music and the fine support she gets from Stein send her sailing forward. In the great benedictive phrase “Ruhe…ruhe du Gott!” Ligendza is splendid. She then greets Grane with a fabulous top B-flat and finishes very strongly indeed. Maestro Stein brings his masterful interpretation of this epic work to a close with stunning aural vistas of fire, flood, and redemption.

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A performance of DER FLIEGENDE HOLLANDER from Vienna 1972 piqued my curiosity, mainly because of the presence of Cornell MacNeil in the title-role. MacNeil first sang the Dutchman in a series of performamces at the Met in 1968, conducted by Berislav Klobucar. His Sentas were Leonie Rysanek, Regine Crespin, and Ludmila Dvorakova. At the time my opera-going friends and I hoped that this would mark the first of many forays into the German repertoire for the voiceful baritone: we imagined him as Kurwenal, Telramund, Wolfram, Amfortas, Hans Sachs, the Wotans, Barak, Orestes, and Jochanaan. But aside from performances as the Dutchman in Seattle in 1972 and then in Vienna in the same year, MacNeil never again sang a German role to my knowledge.

MacNeil’s a most impressive Dutchman on this Vienna issue; if his monolog lacks the palpable sense of mystery and poetic longing that the greatest interpreters bring to this music, his power is ample and his sense of vocal commitment unerring. He is well-matched in Act I by the Daland of Manfred Schenk who sings strongly; the two men’s long duet here always strikes me as Wagner at his most Verdian; their singing of it is grand yet human. Adolf Dallapozza is a clear-voiced Steersman and the chorus respond heartily to conductor Otmar Suitner’s rollicking tempo for their casting-off chorus which ends the act.

Suitner sets Act II deftly in motion with the whirring of the spinning wheels; the choral voices seem girlish.

In a marvelous bit of casting, Margarita Lilowa (above) is a full-voiced, warm-toned Mary. She brings vocal appeal to a role that is often assigned to ‘character’ singers or aging Wagneriennes.

Janis Martin (above), an American mezzo-turned-soprano, loomed large in my opera-going career. A Met Auditions winner in 1962 (she sang Dalila’s “Mon coeur s’ouvre a ta voix” at the Winners’ Concert), Martin sang nearly 150 performances at the Metropolitan Opera, commencing in 1962 as Flora Bervoix in TRAVIATA. As a young opera-lover, I heard her many times on the Texaco broadcasts. She eventually moved on to “medium-sized” roles: Siebel, Nicklausse, Lola in CAVALLERIA RUSTICANA. She left The Met in 1965 and built a career abroad, moving into soprano territory. She returned to The Met and from 1974 thru 1977; in thse seasons, she was my first in-house Kundry, Marie in WOZZECK, and Sieglinde. Another hiatus, and then she was back at Lincoln Center from 1988-1992, singing the Witch in HANSEL & GRETEL, the Dyer’s Wife in FRAU OHNE SCHATTEN, Senta, the Foreign Princess in RUSALKA, and two performances of TOSCA. An interesiting footnote from her second Met TOSCA:

“Because of an injury sustained at her previous performance of Tosca on 10/20/93, Janis Martin did not leap from the battlement at the end of the opera but committed suicide by stabbing herself with the knife she had retained after killing Scarpia in Act II."

Janis Martin sang a single WALKURE Brunnhilde at the Met in 1997, her final performance there. Elsewhere during her career she sang Ariadne, Isolde, and Ortrud.

On this Vienna HOLLANDER, Ms. Martin is thoroughly impressive. She is able to produce a clear, soft lyricism in the more refective passages of Senta’s Ballad and then cut loose with authoritative intensity at the climax.

Like Janis Martin, tenor William Cochran first came to notice as a Met Auditions winner in 1968. At the Winners’ Concert he and co-winner Jessye Norman sang the “Wintersturme” and “Du bist der lenz” from Act I of WALKURE. After singing several performances of Vogelgesang in MEISTERSINGER at The Met in 1968, Cochran went off to build his career and reputation, returning in 1984-1985 for two performances of Bacchus in ARIADNE AUF NAXOS (including a broadcast). You can hear him here in the final scene of Act I of WALKURE with Eileen Farrell. On this Vienna HOLLANDER he’s Erik, the most bel canto of the major Wagnerian tenor roles. He sings clearly and has a feel for the Italianate flow of this two arias.

The scene where Erik describes his nightmare to Senta and she becomes increasingly intense in her reactions – since his nightmare signals her dream come true – is finely played by Cochran and Ms. Martin. And suddenly the object of her obsession appears before her. Mr. Schenk sings his jovial, folkish aria very well – he has no idea where all this is leading. And then Ms. Martin and Mr. MacNeil embark on their great duet, a very taxing piece for both in terms of breath-support, a tessitura that lies high, and the need for expressiveness throughout. MacNeil has a couple off-pitch moments and the soprano is just a trifle tense (but still sucessful) on her highest notes. With Mr. Schenk they drive the trio forward, Ms. Marrtin setting the pace with her high-strung pledge of eternal devotion. There’s no break now leading into the final scene of the opera.

The boisterous chorus and booted dance-steps of Daland’s crew and their call to the Dutchman’s crew to join them are met with eerie silence at first; later when the ghostly sailors begin their hellish chant, the opposing forces mingle violently. Mr. Cochran’s sturdy singing of Erik’s plea cannot dissuade Senta and after hearing Mr. MacNeil’s farewell – laced with heartbreak – and his revelation of his true identity, Ms. Martin sails clearly thru Senta’s high-lying pledge of eternal faithfulness. Maestro Suitner curiously omits the redemption theme from the opera’s closing moments.

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Sheer curiosity prompted me to order this disc of excerpts from DIE WALKURE. From the details provided, this peformance seems to have been a broadcast from the Royal Albert Hall of a concert version of the opera, with the orchestra of the Royal Opera House under the baton of Sir Georg Solti. The excerpts are rather oddly chosen: an excellent rendering of Siegmund’s Sword monolog from Act I finds tenor Ernst Kozub at his considerable best. The appetite is whetted for a continuation of the scene, but instead we jump to the final few minutes of Act I, with Claire Watson an urgent Sieglinde and Mr. Kozub ever-impressive.

Then suddenly we are in Act III, with Ms. Watson being first consoled and then inflamed by the sturdy Brunnhilde of Anita Välkki. Especially fine here are the mezzos and altos among the Valkyries as they warn Brunnhilde that her plan to aid Sieglinde’s escape may falter: Maureen Guy, Monica Sinclair, and Elizabeth Bainbridge are simply super.

The main reason to acquire this disc was to hear Forbes Robinson (above), a Covent Garden stalwart and noted Handelian, as Wotan. Back in the 1960s and 70s when I subscribed to the British magazine OPERA, Robinson’s name was everywhere. I was very curious to hear what sort of Wotan he might have been, and the answer – based on this sampling – is: marvelous! His voice is ample, rich, and warm, and he comes storming on in Act III to chastise his beloved daughter. Once the Valkyries have departed, Miss Välkki and Mr. Robinson give a truly moving performance of the opera’s great final scene, abetted with grandeur by Maestro Solti. If the soprano strays from pitch once or twice, her lovely take on Brunnhilde’s mixture of vulnerability and plucky courage is very finely expressed. The basso’s is surely one of the steadiest and most vocally pleasing Wotans I’ve ever heard, making me wish that the second act, with the god’s great monolog, had also been preserved. Robinson’s performance here amounts to a revelation, actually.

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Above: conductor Eugen Jochum

And now that Autumn is slipping into Winter, I set out to select a complete live performance of TRISTAN UND ISOLDE from the several on offer at Opera Depot. I wanted to delve deeper into this opera, which over the years has somehow managed to elude my thorough devotion; my plan was to choose a recording that would hopefully inspire me, and study the score while listening.

After much weighing of pros and cons (it actually took me a couple weeks to make a final choice) I narrowed the list down to three recordings; then the Depot offered one of their 50%-off sales and I made my purchase: the performance is from the Bayreuth Festival 1953, conducted by Eugen Jochum. Within moments of putting the on the first disc, I knew I’d made a perfect choice. It’s a first-class performance in every regard, and the sound quality is very fine indeed.

Maestro Jochum is the great underlying force of this performance. From the opening measures of the prelude, with their pregnant pauses, Jochum steers a monumental course thru this score. The first voice we hear is that of a young sailor, singing from high in the rigging. The tenor is Eugene Tobin, who recently passed away. He does a beautiful job with this plaintive song: a song with a sting in its tail that rouses Isolde from her state of depressed lethargy. And we are off!

Astrid Varnay (above) is for me a very uneven singer. Aside from her recording of ELEKTRA on the Koch label, I don’t have any of her commercial recordings; but I have started to appreciate her more on these Opera Depot releases. I mulled over whether she was the Isolde I wanted to have, and indeed for the first few moments when she starts to sing, I thought that the ‘matronly’ quality I sometimes hear in her singing would be a detriment. But soon she is warmed up and she goes on to give a thrilling performance in every regard. Her lower and mid-range are on exceptional form, and the top notes trumpet out. Her dynamic control is impressive as is her shading of the text.

Ira Malaniuk (above) makes a superb impression as Brangaene, musically and textually detailed and urgently expressive. Her singing throughout Act I is compelling, and she brings a caressive softness to some passages, drawing us in.

Ramon Vinay (above) is both powerfully masculine and poetic as Tristan. As his faithful friend Kurwenal, Gustav Neidlinger barks a bit as he chides Brangaene; later he will reveal his depth of musicality and a gruff tenderness of tragic stature.

We’ve now met the main characters for Act I: Malaniuk returns from her unsuccessful errand to Tristan, and Varnay, at first subtle and then passionate, prepares to unfold her Narrative. Here the soprano is marvelous, the text vividly coloured and the singing rich and secure. Especially gorgeous is her rendering of “Er sah mir in die Augen…” as she describes the troubling glance of the wounded Tantris. Then onwards to a spear-like top B and a blazing, overwhelming curse.

Malaniuk responds with excelling lyricism and a nice, steady top G: the interchanges between her and Varnay tingle with both vocal inspiration and verbal acuity as they discuss the various potions: here Malaniuk’s singing senses the mystery and peril. It’s all thoroughly absorbing.

Varnay is imperious, grandiose as she bids Kurwenal obey his future queen and send Tristan to her at once. She then gives her orders to Brangaene, describing the potions with great intensity; their conversation again bristles with foreboding, and Varnay’s low-A at “Todestrank!” is another marvel. Maestro Jochum now draws forth the ominous build-up to the encounter between Isolde and Tristan.

This scene, which begins with a formal exchange, is perfectly underscored by Jochum’s orchestra: the buildup of tension and passion is spine-tingling, and how cunningly Varnay expresses her reasons for not having killed Tristan. As the drinking of the potion looms – with a loud interjection from the sailors – Varnay’s vocal sorcery and Vinay’s moving sense of nobility are captivating. They drink; their doom is sealed: a flood of tenderness followed by the desperate confusion of the ship’s landing and the lovers torn asunder.

As the acronical second act opens, Malaniuk’s continued perfection and Varnay’s successful lightening of the voice as they discuss Melot keep tension high. Then Brangaene/Malaniuk seeks desperately to dissuade her mistress from extinguishing the torch. Jochum’s thrilling impulsiveness as the lovers finally meet – with Varnay striking some big top-Cs – slowly settles down, and the conductor and his players steep the interlude in a misty perfume. In the love duet, the singers become poets; their urgency waxes and wanes, tenderness and rapture build and then evaporate. Malaniuk’s voice floats her warning over Jochum’s dreamy orchestra. A heroic outpouring from Varnay and Vinay…and then fate intervenes.

Ludwig Weber (above) with his huge, inky voice – full of heartbreak – is very impressive as King Marke, with a flood of painful tenderness as his narrative ends. As Tristan invites Isolde to join him in the realm of darkness, Jochum and Vinay blend is a redolent expressiveness. Then Tristan surrenders himself to Melot’s blade and in a flash, the tragedy is fulfilled.

In his doom-ladened rendering of the opening chords of Act III, Jochum again strikes at the soul. The cor anglais solo is gorgeously played. Gerhard Stolze – well-known for his Loge and Herod – shows off his lyrical aspect as the Shepherd. Gustav Neidlinger’s Kurwenal assumes epic vocal proportions here, deeply moving and drenched with humanity. And Neidlinger’s great joy as Tristan awakens is truly touching.

As madness creeps in and overtakes Tristan, Ramon Vinay veers with aching intensity from wild abandoned to fevered calm. Following a stentorian outburst, Tristan collapses; yet again Neidlinger moves us in expressing his fear that his master has died. Vinay intones a gentle “Wie, se selig”. Then the rising ecstacy as Tristan senses the approach of Isolde’s ship. The shepherd pipes up! Incredible optimism and joy: Kurwenal urges Tristan to live. But in vain: with a single rough-tender “Isolde!”, Tristan expires.

The first hints of the Liebestod are heard in the orchestra. As the steersman, a young Theo Adam (later to become an excellent Wotan and Hans Sachs), warns of the approach of another ship. Jochum now marvelously underscores Kurwenal/Neidlnger’s magnificent death. Ludwig Weber and Ira Malaniuk have their final expressions, all awash with futile despair. And then Jochum and Varnay unite for an overwhelming Liebestod.

These recordings are available from Opera Depot.

November 25, 2014
Mozart & Shostakovich @ The NY Phil

Above: conductor Jaap van Zweden

Saturday evening November 22nd, 2014 – Venturing out after my off-again-on-again cold caused me to miss some events earlier in the week, I found tonight’s finely-contrasted programme at the New York Philharmonic both soothing (the elegant, melodious Mozart) and grandly stimulating (the epic Shostakovich). It was all played to perfection, under the baton of Jaap van Zweden.

Mozart wrote his Sinfonia Concertante for violin and viola sometime in 1779; the work is cast in three movements in the traditional fast/slow/fast concerto style, the soloists backed by a neat ensemble of two oboes, two horns, and strings. Although one of the composer’s most popular works, this was my first chance to exprience it live.

Above: Sheryl Staples, Cynthia Phelps

To play this Mozart masterwork, NY Philharmonic principals Sheryl Staples (violin) and Cynthia Phelps (viola) stepped forward, much to the delight of the orchestra’s many fans. The two women struck up a lovely rapport, trading themes with silken assurance and harmonizing gracefully. Maestro van Zweden propelled the ensemble forces with stately finesse; he did not seem pleased that applause rose up after the first movement (which also happened, more annoyingly, during the Shostakovich). In the quiet radiance of the second movement, the Andante, Ms. Staples intones the opening melody which Ms. Phelps then takes up with an alto resonance. Throughout the work, the two women and the Maestro showed spot-on dynamic control and a mutual sense of phrasing that gave this listener great pleasure.

The stage setting was then re-configured to accommodate the large forces called upon by Dmitry Shostakovich for his 8th symphony, written in 1943. The composer was ever falling in and out of favor with Communist authorities; his 8th was basically proscribed as having no artistic value. This ban lasted nearly a decade, after which the symphony began to find its way. Along with Shostakovich’s other symphonies, the 8th now stands at the center of the symphonic repertoire.

Tonight’s large audience at Avery Fisher Hall were clearly enthralled to experience to piece which, in the course of its sprawling hour-long duration, veers from the bleak to the savagely intense to a darkly luminous introspection.

The half-hour opening movement is a masterful tone poem in itself; embarking on a slow build-up, it leads to fiendish outcries by the horns, massive percussive waves which evaporate only to recoil and strike again, and a marvelous, plaintive cor anglais solo. The second movement, an ironic dance with a piping flute, is followed by a second scherzo-like movement, a militaristc polka with a massive unison theme. The Largo transports us to a shadowed realm; the solo horn emerges, then flute, then clarinet; the winds take on a flutter-vibe, the clarinet returns. In the concluding movement, bassoon, flute, and cellos sing forth in succession; big, brassy waves of calamity strike, then the deep brass voices hum as the bass clarinet brings further riches. Solo violin, cello, and bassoon take turns, returning to a satiny violin passage. The massive forces are now quietened to a shimmer as the cello and double bass gently persuade us that rest, if not peace, may finally come.

Maestro van Zweden wrought this wondrous music into a sonic mural in which the horrors of war and deprivation, the Devil dancing with Fate, and the human spirit’s will to survive are painted in rich colours. The many solo voices to which Shostakovich gave such expressive opportunities displayed yet again the unfailing grace and musical stature of the Philharmonic artists.

Jaap van Zweden continues his work with the Philharmonic in the week ahead with a programme that features the Beethoven 7th along with Hilary Hahn playing the Korngold violin concerto. Details here. As we left the Hall tonight with the audience was heaping cheers on the conductor, I of course was thinking how much I’d like to hear him conduct some Wagner.

November 22, 2014
Rudolf Schock

Rudolf Schock sings “In fernem land” from Wagner’s LOHENGRIN, conducted by Horst Stein.

October 27, 2014
Bartok & Bruckner @ The NY Philharmonic

Above: Yefim Bronfman

Friday October 24th, 2014 – After experiencing Yefim Bronfman’s magnificent renderings of all the Beethoven piano concertos (and the triple concerto!) in a series of New York Philharmonic concerts last season, my friend Dmitry and I were keen to hear the pianist live again. Tonight, Mr. Bronfman’s playing of the Bartok 3rd marked the first of two concerts we’ll be attending this season which feature the pianist, the second being his performance of the Brahms 2nd concerto with the Chicago Symphony under Riccardo Muti at Carnegie Hall on January 31st, 2015.

Bela Bartok, who had fled Europe for America in 1940 to escape the rise of National Socialism, composed his third piano concerto as a birthday gift for his pianist-wife Ditta Pasztory-Bartok, working on it during the summer of 1945 at Saranac Lake, New York. Already in the final stages of lukemia, the composer returned to New York City where he died on September 26th, 1945, leaving the concerto unfinished. The task of orchestrating the final 17-measures, drawing from Bartók’s notes, eventually fell to the composer’s friend Tibor Serly.

Tonight’s performance found Mr. Bronfman at his finest, his fleetness of technique to the fore as his hands rippled up and down the keyboard, summoning forth one Bartokian marvel after another. He and Maestro Alan Gilbert formed a very simpatico union over this music, and the orchestra were at their best also: their many colourful eddies of sound swirling around the solo piano line. Mr. Bronfman’s dynamic range, his delightful dexterity, and his wonderfully genial personality combined to make this a truly enjoyable half-hour of music-making. The pianist, basking in enthusiastic applause at the end, bowed graciously to his fellow musicians, celebrating their mutual admiration.

Following the intermission, a genuinely thrilling experience for me: hearing the Bruckner 8th live for the first time. Everyone who follows my blog knows that, after decades of devoting myself to opera and dance, I’m now exploring the symphonic and chamber repertories; works that are thrice-familiar to most classical music lovers are new discoveries for me. Of course, having worked at Tower Records for almost a decade before they closed up shop, I did hear a lot of symphonic music day in and day out, some of it subconsciously absorbed; but there was no opportunity to stop and savor anything. So despite the familiarity of many thematic passages in the Bruckner tonight, it was all fresh and fantastic to me.

At a time when performances of Wagner’s music here in New York seem increasingly rare (The Met has only MEISTERSINGER to offer us this season, following on their ‘No Wagner’ season of 2013-2014) tonight’s Bruckner, with its Wagnerian sonorities, was a welcome treat.

Bruckner’s 8th opens murmuringly, but soon the composer begins to expand into marvelous arches of sound. The huge orchestra, resonating in the dense textures of intermingling voices of strings and winds, maintained clarity under Alan Gilbert’s steady baton. The 8th’s opening movement has been described as “simply shattering, destroying every attempt at criticism.” And Bruckner himself referred to the passage where the brass ring out the main theme repeatedly as “the announcement of Death…” This is followed by a surprising silence and the gentle, faltering heartbeat of the timpani.

In the scherzo, a big familiar theme dances forth; and then its in the adagio where I finally lost my heart to this symphony. This incredibe movement, marked in the score as “Solemn and slow, but not dragging”, opens up great vistas of panoramic sonic-painting. The harps are evocative indeed, and the massive waves of sound wash over us, suddenly to evaporate in a delicate waltz-like theme. The horns then blaze forth majestically; the overall sensation is life-encompassing.

Throughout this cinematic symphony, the ear and the soul are equally gratified. In the culminating fourth movement Bruckner’s architecture evokes a great cathedral wherein the listener is alternately overwhelmed by epic grandeur or sinks into a state of reverent contemplation.

In the end, this performance of this massive symphony – surely Wagnerian in its looming grandeur but also at times making me think of Tchaikovsky – gave so much pure satisfaction. I found myself wishing that Bruckner had written operas: what a thrill it would be to hear huge, dramatic voices soaring over his glorious orchestral soundscapes.

October 24, 2014
At Home With Wagner VI

Wagnerian afternoons in the Summer: from the Bayreuth Festival 1961 comes the prologue and first act of GOTTERDAMMERUNG featuring Birgit Nilsson at her most marvelous. Conducted by Rudolf Kempe, the performance generates tremendous excitement, most notably in the thrilling build-up to the Dawn Duet. Nilsson unleashes her patented lightning-bolt top notes, and hearing her on this form reminds me of my first encounters with her live at The Met where in 1966 she sang a series of Turandots that were simply electrifying.

The performance is very fine all around, opening with a thoroughly absorbing Norn Scene which begins with the richly expressive singing of contralto Elisabeth Schärtel (above) followed soon after by the equally impressive Grace Hoffman. It’s rather surprising to find Regine Crespin singing the Third Norn. She had made a huge success at Bayreuth in 1958 as Kundry, and had repeated that role at the next two festivals. In 1961 she was invited back to the Green Hill for Sieglinde, and thus she was able to take on the Norn as part of her summer engagement. She sings beautifully, with her distinctive timbre, though there is a trace of tension in her highest notes.

Above: Birgit Nilsson; we used to refer to her as “The Great White Goddess” or simply “The Big B”. The thrilling accuracy and power of her singing here, as well as her ability to create a character thru vocal means, is breath-taking.

Hans Hopf is a fine match for Nilsson in the Dawn Duet; he is less persuasive later on when his singing seems a bit casual. Wilma Schmidt (Gutrune) and the always-excellent Thomas Stewart (Gunther) make vocally strong Gibichungs, and the great Wagnerian basso Gottlob Frick is a dark-toned Hagen with vivid sense of duplicity and menace. Rudolf Kempe again shows why he must be rated very high among the all-time great Wagner conductors: his sense of grandeur and ideal pacing set him in the highest echelon.

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Gerhard Stolze (above) is the Loge in a RHEINGOLD from the Bayreuth Festival 1964; I have a special love for Mr. Stolze in this role as he was my first Loge – at The Met on February 22, 1968, a broadcast performance conducted by Herbert von Karajan and my first experience of a RING opera live. Here at Bayreuth, as later at The Met, Stolze brings a wonderfully debauched, almost greasy vocal quality to the vain, spoiled demi-god. The voice is large and effortlessly penetrating, but he can also be tremendously subtle: after screaming “Durch raub!’ (‘By theft!”) when Wotan asks Loge how the Rhinegold might be acquired, Stoltze goes all lyrical as he says: “What a thief stole may be stolen from the thief…” this is but one of Stotze’s countless brilliant passages in the course of his portrayal. At Nibelheim and later, as Loge taunts the captured Alberich, Stolze is simply superb.

Two other singers who appeared in my Met/Karajan RHEINGOLD are also heard in this Bayreuth performance: Theo Adam has a big, burly voice and sings imposingly if not always with a lot of tonal allure. His Wotan builds steadily throughout the opera to an imposing rendering of Wotan’s greeting to Valhalla and the entire final scene. Zoltán Kelemen is a splendid Alberich; his handsome baritone sound sometimes shines thru in what is essentially a dramatic character role. Power and calculation mark his traversal of the first scene; later, in Nibelheim, Kelemen is wonderfully subtle. Having been tricked by Loge and kidnapped, he’s truly fabulous as he summons his slaves to bring the treasure up as ransom for his freedom. Later, having lost everything, his crushing sense of vulnerability gives way to a violent hurling of the curse at Wotan.

Above: Zoltán Kelemen as Alberich

Grace Hoffman is a capital Fricka, bringing verbal urgency and vocal attractiveness to her every line, most expressive as she draws Wotan back to her after Erda’s intervention. Jutta Meyfarth, a very interesting Sieglinde on the 1963 Bayreuth WALKURE conducted by Rudolf Kempe, is too stentorian and overpowering as Freia, a role which – for all its desperation – needs lyricism to really convince. Hans Hopf, ever a stalwart heldentenor, probably should not have tried Froh at this point in his career: he sounds too mature. Marcel Cordes is a muscular-sounding Donner; there is an enormous thunderclap to punctuate Donner’s “Heda! Hedo!”

The estimable contralto Marga Höffgen brings a real sense of mystery to Erda’s warning. Gottlob Frick is a vocally impressive Fasolt, his scene of despair at giving up Freia is genuinely awesome. Peter Roth-Ehrang (Fafner) and Erich Klaus (Mime) are names quite unknown to me; the basso is a bit blustery but has the right feeling of loutishness. Herr Klaus is a first-class Mime, with his doleful singing in the Nibelheim scene giving way to a fine mix of dreamy dementia and raw power as he tells Loga and Wotan of his dwarvish despair. Barbara Holt as Woglinde plucks some high notes out of the air; Elisabeth Schwarzenberg and the excellent Sieglinde Wagner as her sister Rhinemaidens.

Berislav Klobucar (above), who conducted 21 Wagner performances at The Met in 1968 (including taking over WALKURE from Herbert von Karajan when the latter withdrew from his half-finished RING Cycle for The Met) opens this RHEINGOLD with a turbulent prelude. Klobucar has an excellent feel for the span of the opera, for the intimacy of the conversational scenes, and for the sheer splendour of the opera’s finale.

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Above: a Günther Schneider-Siemssen design for the Herbert von Karajan Salzburg Festival production of the RING Cycle, 1967.

Thinking of my Karajan/RHEINGOLD introduction to the RING at The Met in 1968 caused me to next take up the conductor-director’s complete WALKURE and GOTTERDAMMERUNG from the 1967 Salzburg Festival where his production of the Cycle originated. Of course, he only ended up conducting RHEINGOLD and WALKURE at The Met though the two remaining operas were staged there in his absence, with the productions credited to him. The settings remained in use at The Met thru 1981, and then the Otto Schenk production commenced in 1986.

I must admit to never having listened to Karajan’s commercial RING Cycle (maybe a few random scenes but never any of the complete operas); it’s simply one of those inexplicable sins of omission which all opera lovers must eventually confess to. Maybe someday I will get around to it, though I’m so taken up with all these live RING recordings that Opera Depot keep tempting us with.

At any rate, I must say I don’t much care for Karajan’s first act of WALKURE, at least not as it was performed at Salzburg in 1967. It feels to me terribly slow and overly polite. Gundula Janowitz and Jon Vickers seem much of the time to be vocally walking on eggshells: they whisper and croon gently to one another and the lifeblood seems to drain out of the music. Martti Talvela is his usual excellent self as Hunding; once he has gone to bed, Vickers commences a properly reflective sword monologue (the first orchestral interjection of the Sword motif ends on a cracked note). The tenor is stunning in his prolonged cries of “Wälse! Wälse!”, and then comes Janowitz’s ” Der Männer Sippe” which is verbally alert but there’s a slight tension in her upper notes and a feeling of being a bit over-parted. They sing very successfully thru the familiar “Winterstürme” and “Du bust der Lenz” all filled with attractive vocalism but Karajan maintains a rather stately pacing thru to end end of the act: there’s no impetus, no sense of being overwhelmed by sexual desire. Actually I found it all somewhat boring, and my mind tended to wander.

A complete volte face for Act II, one of the finest renderings of this long and powerful act that I have ever encountered. Karajan launches the prelude, weaving together the various motifs, and Thomas Stewart unfurls Wotan’s opening lines commandingly. Regine Crespin’s sings a spirited “Ho-Jo-To-Ho!” and then Fricka arrives on the scene…

…in the marvelous person of Christa Ludwig (Louis Melançon photo, above). When people ask me, “Who was the greatest singer you ever heard?” I invariably reply “Christa Ludwig” even though on a given day the memory of some other voice might seem to rival her. But in everything I have heard from her, both live and on recordings, Ludwig seems to have the ideal combination of a highly personal timbre, natural and effortless technical command, a remarkably even range, phenomenal abilities as a word-colorist, and overwhelming warmth and beauty of sound. Her Fricka here is magnificent in every way, and so supremely Christa.

The scene between Fricka and Wotan is so impressive, yet incredibly Thomas Stewart (above, with Karajan) goes on to surpass himself with one of the most thrilling and spine-tingling renderings of Wotan’s monolog that I have ever experienced. Stewart vocally displays every nuance of the god’s emotional state as he confides in his daughter, first in his long ‘historical’ narrative which grumbles and whispers its way into our consciousness. Crespin is an ideal listener, her beauteously sung queries lead her father to divulge more and more. Soon Stewart is pouring out both his vanity and despair; the temperature is at the boiling point when he reaches “Das ende! Das ende!”, overcome by tears of anguish. Instructing Brunnhilde to honor Fricka’s cause and defend Hunding in the impending fight, Stewart crushes Crespin’s protests with a furiously yelled “Siegmund falle!” (“Siegmund must die! That is the Valkyrie’s task!”) and he storms away. I had to stop at this point; Stewart’s performance had both moved and shaken me and I wanted to pause and reflect.

As beautifully as Crespin and Vickers sing the ‘Todesverkundigung’ (Annunciation of Death), the scene does not quite generate the mysterious atmosphere that I want to experience here. Thomas Stewart’s snarling “Geh!” as he send Hunding to his fate is a fabulous exclamation mark to end the act.

Act III opens and there is some very erractic singing from the Valkyries in terms of pitch and verbal clarity. Crespin’s top betrays a sense of effort in her scene with Sieglinde, and Janowitz’s voice doesn’t really bloom in Sieglinde’s ecstatic cry ” O hehrstes Wunder!” Thomas Stewart hurls bold vocal thunderbolts about as he lets his anger pour out on Brunnhilde and her sisters.

And then at last the stage is cleared for the great father-daughter final scene. Crespin is at her very best here, singing mid-range for the most part and with some really exquisite, expressive piano passages. Only near the end, when the music takes her higher, does the tendency to flatness on the upper notes seem to intrude. Stewart is impressive throughout. Karajan takes the scene a bit on the slow side, but it works quite well.

It should be noted that the voice of the prompter sometimes is heard on this recording, especially in Act I.

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Above: Karl Ridderbusch, who sang Hagen in the 1967 Salzburg Festival RING Cycle.

Herbert von Karajan’s GOTERDAMMERUNG, from the Salzburg Festival 1970, starts off with a very fine Norn Scene. Lili Chookasian – after a few warm-up measures – and Caterina Ligendza are authetically Wagnerian as the first and third sisters, with the resplendent Christa Ludwig luxuriously cast as the 2nd Norn. Her superb vocalism is marked by a great lieder-singer’s colourings of the text.

Helga Dernesch and Jess Thomas give a sturdily-sung rendition of the Dawn duet. Though Dernesch’s highest notes seem somewhat tense, she does sustain a solid high-C at the duet’s conclusion. Karl Ridderbusch is a potent Hagen, able to bring out a softer grain to the tone when he wants to. His sound is somewhat baritonal, but he still hits the lowest notes with authority. Thomas Stewart is an outstanding Gunther, a role that often loses face as the opera progresses. Gundula Janowitz is not my idea of a good Gutune: she sound mature and a bit tired.

Christa Ludwig’s Waltraute is a performance of the highest calibre; her superb musicality wedded to her acute attentiveness to the words make this scene the highlight of the performance. Dernesch is good here also, but both she and Jess Thomas seem to flag a bit in vocal energy in the rape scene.

Act II opens with another of my favorite RING scenes: Alberich (Zoltán Kelemen) appears to his son Hagen (Karl Ridderbusch). Kelemen, so musical in the 1964 Klobucar RHEINGOLD reviewed above, here resorts to sprechstimme and all manner of vocal ‘effects’: I wonder if this is what Karajan wanted, or is this simply what the baritone came up with. Ridderbush sings much of Hagen’s music here in an appropriately dreamy half-voice. A bit later he turns on the power with his “Hoi ho!”, summoning the vassals; the men’s chorus lung it lustily in response. Despite the continued feeling of effort behind Helga Dernesch’s high notes, she hits them and holds them fair and square. Jess Thomas sounds a bit tired as Siegfried; though he manages everything without any slip-ups, the voice just seems rather weary. Gundula Janowitz’s Gutrune is much better in Act II than earlier in Act I, and Thomas Stewart’s Gunther transforms what is sometimes viewed as a ‘secondary’ role into a major vocal force in this performance.

I had high hopes for the opening scene of Act III: the Rhinemaidens – Liselotte Rebmann, Edda Moser, and Anna Reynolds are all fine singers. Yet they don’t quite achieve a pleasing blend. Jess Thomas sounds brassy and one keeps thinking he might have a vocal collapse, but he stays the course. It is left to Dernesch to be the performance’s saving grace and she nearly accomplishes it: the sense of vocal strain is successfully masked for the most part and she hits and sustains the high notes successfully though it’s clear she is happier singing lower down; she did in fact become a highly successful dramatic mezzo in time. Dernesch gives the Immolation Scene a tragic dimension, and then Karajan sweeps thru the long orchestral postlude with a sense of epic grandeur.

Overall, Karajan’s GOTTERDAMMERUNG is impressive to hear. Were Helga Dernesch and Jess Thomas thoroughly at ease vocally the overall performance would have been quite spectacular. As it is, it’s Christa Ludwig, Thomas Stewart, and Karl Ridderbusch who make this a memorable Twilight of the Gods.

August 28, 2014