Composer: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Conductor: Massimo Zanetti
Director: Claus Guth
Don Giovanni: Christopher Maltman
Leporello: Luca Pisaroni
Donna Anna: Olga Peretyatko
Donna Elvira: Dorothea Röschmann
Zerlina: Narine Yeghiyan
Don Ottavio: Antonio Poli
Masetto: Grigory Shkarupa
Commendatore: Jan Martiník
My stay in Berlin was originally supposed to be five nights, but when I noticed that Don Giovanni would be performed at the Staatsoper im Schiller Theater on Thursday evening, I decided that I just had to be there. Like Tosca, Don Giovanni is one of my favorite war horses, and attending operas that I know well ─ and love dearly ─ abroad is only common sense to me since the surtitles are usually in a foreign language. My comprehension of German being rather feeble these days, in Berlin I needed operas I was familiar with to make the experience not only painless, but enjoyable too.
Another motivation was the presence of Italian bass-baritone Luca Pisaroni as Leporello, a role he wowed everybody in, including me, at the Met a couple of years ago, and Olga Peretyatko, the hot new Russian import I have been curious to check out. The rest of the cast was unknown to me, but just the perspective of hearing the glorious score in such a conducive environment was just too good to pass. And if I had to break the bank and spend a couple more days reveling in everything Berlin had to offer, so be it.
When your first sight of the stage is a Leporello looking like a modern-day drug addict surrounded by beer cans and stumbling around some mysterious woods at night, you suspect right away that you're in for an unusual Don Giovanni, and that's frankly good news. After all, what other operas offers such a perfect mix of comedy and drama particularly ripe for infinite adaptations?
If Leporello's low-life get-up was out of the ordinary even for a veteran of the part like Luca Pisaroni, he was clearly very comfortable with it. Unlike Don Giovanni’s frequently dazed and confused servant, the singer was always right on top everything all evening, whether he was mastering the musical score or the comic timing. Blessed with a remarkably wide-ranging voice and an unmistakable stage presence, he was an extremely fierce competitor to his master when it came to attracting and keeping the audience's attention.
And that was no easy feat as British baritone Christopher Maltman was a downright charismatic ladies' man, although he also betrayed some uncharacteristic restraint and humanity instead of the predictable overload of swagger and self-confidence. His assured singing had an appropriate hint of hauntingness to it, and his refined acting skills permitted him to present much more than a mere pleasure-seeker. Add to that a handsome physique, and you have a Don that is a pleasure to the eyes and to the ears.
The conquest that sets the drama in motion, Donna Anna, was powerfully sung and impersonated by Russian soprano Olga Peretyatko. Far from being the helpless rape victim she is often portrayed as though, she is first encountered happily cavorting with the Don himself, fully enjoying the consensual romp. And truth be told, the woman certainly had the attractive looks and the considerable vocal talent to easily hold any man under her spell.
On the other hand, German soprano Dorothea Röschmann made Donna Elvira a terribly conflicted spinster carrying an ever-present suitcase, always looking ready to finally go away forever, but always coming back with impeccable timing as the recurring thorn on the Don's side. Unlike her former lover though, the audience relished each and every one of her appearances, fully taking in her clear voice and expressive singing.
As definitely young and possibly innocent Zerlina, Armenian soprano Narine Yeghiyan was lovely in her pretty white dress. The virginal look, however, and the sweetness of her voice would soon be contradicted by her ready willingness to get on top of Don Giovanni first, and then Masetto. Kids grow up so fast these days!
As Don Ottavio, Italian tenor Antonio Poli was a deeply devoted suitor to Donna Anna and managed to turn this typically thankless role into a deceptively self-effacing nice guy that managed to steal the show every time he got to sing one of his arias with delicate nuance and strong command.
As Masetto, Russian bass Grigory Shkarupa was an endearing country boy, who got understandably upset at having his bride stolen away from him and let the world know about it.
Beside the superb singing, the production turned out to be a terrific surprise too. Using nothing more than a revolving set consisting of some dark woods, a few contemporary props, such as a bus shelter and a car, modern costumes, when they were on, and a lot of imagination, esteemed, if occasionally controversial, German director Claus Guth created a resolutely modern, cleverly inventive and immensely entertaining Don Giovanni.
From a hapless Don Ottavio desperately looking for a signal for his cell phone in the woods to a slow-motion rave party in Don Giovanni’s imaginary palace, not to mention some seriously sexy encounters between various participants, the production had plenty of chuckle-inducing humorous touches, but with always enough dark undertones to remind us that this was a tragedy too.
The story got some interesting interpretations as well, from Donna Anna’s more than willing participation in the opening hanky panky scene with the Don to his being shot by her father and slowly but surely dying over the next three hours, the bold plot twists were brilliantly handled so that it all somehow made sense, in no small part thanks to sharply drawn characters and truly inspired directions.
The score sounded as magnificent as ever, peppered as it is with carefully calibrated ensemble numbers and luminous arias. The orchestra played with elegance and high-spiritedness, allowing all the subtle details to beautifully come alive while keeping the performance moving at a brisk pace. Even the second act, which can sometimes drag on a bit, passed by in a flash, and in true German fashion, the curtain fell at 11 PM, exactly three and a half hours after the maestro gave the down beat, just as scheduled. One more reason to love Germany and the Germans.
Friday, September 30, 2016
Wednesday, September 28, 2016
Staatsoper im Schiller Theater - Tosca - 09/18/16
Composer: Giacomo Puccini
Conductor: Domingo Hindoyan
Director: Alvis Hermanis
Angela Georghiu: Tosca
Teodor Ilincai: Cavadarossi
Michael Volle: Scarpia
So what do you do when you've enjoyed two fabulous performances by possibly the two most prestigious orchestras in Europe? Well, you go to the opera, of course! So on Sunday evening, in Berlin, I was more than ready to tackle yet another production of Tosca, the first opera I have ever seen and the first opera I've ever attended in the Staatsoper Unter den Linden with my friend Nyla back in 2008. For those reasons and more, there's no doubt that Puccini's "shabby little shocker" has a special place in my heart.
And this Tosca would be truly special because she would be embodied by no less than Angela Georghiu, who by all accounts has the ideal voice, looks and temperament to take on opera's most hot-blooded diva. Michael Volle, whom I had admired in Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, would fill Scarpia's detestable shoes, and I was curious to check relative newcomer Teodor Ilincai because, well, you never know.
Due to the extensive renovations going on at the Staatsoper, the current season is taking place in the Schiller Theater, de facto moving one of Berlin’s most prominent cultural institutions from Mitte in the East all the way to Charlottenburg in the West. But the fact is, if the temporary home was rather dull-looking, its small size and good acoustics allowed for a wonderfully intimate experience of the performance, and that definitely counts for something.
More by chance than by design, Tosca is probably the opera I've seen the most in my life by now, and I still cannot seem to get enough of the deliciously campy love triangle whose members all meet rather unsavory ends. The story is straightforward, the text vulgar, the emotions primitive, the deaths violent, and the score highly melodic, so really, what's not to love?
Despite the fact that she is one of the most famous and admired opera singers in the world, Romanian soprano Angela Georghiu has not been showing up at the Met much lately, except for a couple of performances of Bondy's Tosca last season, and I really was not up to see that production a third time, even for her. So I was only too happy to see that she was going to be in Berlin in September and made sure to strategically plan my stay there around her dates. So I booked transportation and accommodations, bought my ticket for the performance, and then spend the rest of the time keeping my fingers and toes crossed that she would actually show up and deliver.
Well, she did! And I have to say that in all my opera-going years there have been very few moments more thrilling than having Angela Georghiu pour her heart and soul out in a glorious "Vissi d'Arte" 17 rows straight in front of me. With her dazzling voice, passionate singing, committed acting and deep familiarity with a role, she effortlessly reigned supreme all night long. By turn tender, coquettish, jealous, angry, scheming and desperate, more self-confident mature woman than impressionable young girl, she was the ultimate Tosca.
German baritone Michael Volle was equally memorable as the sinister Scarpia, the man everybody loves to hate, the kind of SOB that has absolutely no qualms about using everything in his extended power to reach his goal. Although he did not even bother trying to give his evil character any underlying gentlemanly or sophisticated traits, he still came up with a scrumptiously complex villain. It is quite a stretch to go from a Wagnerian comedy to a Puccinian drama, but Volle managed to do it smoothly and convincingly. On Sunday night, his singing was superbly dark and his scenes with Angela Georghiu had the type of red-hot intensity that makes opera-goers' hearts beat faster.
Young Romanian tenor Teodor Ilincai was a delightfully impetuous Cavaradossi, routinely expressing himself with a highly flexible, clarion-like voice that brightly resounded in the small theater every time he was making a point. I found him, however, noticeably tentative when it came to Angela Georghiu, and their scenes together did not always have the amount of sizzling chemistry that could have been expected between the famous pair of lovers. But he nevertheless held his own more than adequately. And predictably enough, his “E lucevan le stelle” was a gripping ode to lost love and life that readily brought down the generally reserved house.
The rest of the cast fared very well too, including Jan Martiník as the fearful Sacristan, Dan Karlström as the rebellious Spoletta, Vincenzo Neri as the sadistic Sciarrone, and Dominic Barberi as the jailer who doubled as executioner. The rambunctious children’s choir brought fervor and spontaneity to the church scene.
If the singing was uniformly impressive, the production unfortunately was not. Director Alvis Hermanis obviously tried to inject some modernity into a quintessential classic by having a slide show projected on the upper half of the stage while the lower half was occupied by the traditional church, palace and prison. The main problem was that overall the images projected did not add anything to the action unfolding live below them, but occasionally made it more confusing. Why, for example, was a portrait of the blond Madonna displayed while Scarpia was obsessing aloud about Tosca in the first act?
There were also a few balance problems, which seem to be unavoidable with Tosca, like in the Te Deum scene when Michael Volle's voice, which is not known for being short of strength or stamina, could not be heard over the orchestra and the chorus. This is a minor squabble though, and the orchestra did a laudable job vividly highlighting the score’s rich lyricism under the baton of Domingo Hindoyan.
I did spend all of the third act wondering how on earth Tosca was going to perform her iconic leap of death from the tower since there was clearly nowhere for her to leap from. Well, turns out that she did not leap at all, but ended up standing in front of the stage facing the audience with her arms raised while her projected alter ego did took the leap on the screen. It looked awkward and incongruous, and concluded the performance on an off note. But never mind. The musical rewards were too high to pick at the misguided visuals.
Conductor: Domingo Hindoyan
Director: Alvis Hermanis
Angela Georghiu: Tosca
Teodor Ilincai: Cavadarossi
Michael Volle: Scarpia
So what do you do when you've enjoyed two fabulous performances by possibly the two most prestigious orchestras in Europe? Well, you go to the opera, of course! So on Sunday evening, in Berlin, I was more than ready to tackle yet another production of Tosca, the first opera I have ever seen and the first opera I've ever attended in the Staatsoper Unter den Linden with my friend Nyla back in 2008. For those reasons and more, there's no doubt that Puccini's "shabby little shocker" has a special place in my heart.
And this Tosca would be truly special because she would be embodied by no less than Angela Georghiu, who by all accounts has the ideal voice, looks and temperament to take on opera's most hot-blooded diva. Michael Volle, whom I had admired in Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, would fill Scarpia's detestable shoes, and I was curious to check relative newcomer Teodor Ilincai because, well, you never know.
Due to the extensive renovations going on at the Staatsoper, the current season is taking place in the Schiller Theater, de facto moving one of Berlin’s most prominent cultural institutions from Mitte in the East all the way to Charlottenburg in the West. But the fact is, if the temporary home was rather dull-looking, its small size and good acoustics allowed for a wonderfully intimate experience of the performance, and that definitely counts for something.
More by chance than by design, Tosca is probably the opera I've seen the most in my life by now, and I still cannot seem to get enough of the deliciously campy love triangle whose members all meet rather unsavory ends. The story is straightforward, the text vulgar, the emotions primitive, the deaths violent, and the score highly melodic, so really, what's not to love?
Despite the fact that she is one of the most famous and admired opera singers in the world, Romanian soprano Angela Georghiu has not been showing up at the Met much lately, except for a couple of performances of Bondy's Tosca last season, and I really was not up to see that production a third time, even for her. So I was only too happy to see that she was going to be in Berlin in September and made sure to strategically plan my stay there around her dates. So I booked transportation and accommodations, bought my ticket for the performance, and then spend the rest of the time keeping my fingers and toes crossed that she would actually show up and deliver.
Well, she did! And I have to say that in all my opera-going years there have been very few moments more thrilling than having Angela Georghiu pour her heart and soul out in a glorious "Vissi d'Arte" 17 rows straight in front of me. With her dazzling voice, passionate singing, committed acting and deep familiarity with a role, she effortlessly reigned supreme all night long. By turn tender, coquettish, jealous, angry, scheming and desperate, more self-confident mature woman than impressionable young girl, she was the ultimate Tosca.
German baritone Michael Volle was equally memorable as the sinister Scarpia, the man everybody loves to hate, the kind of SOB that has absolutely no qualms about using everything in his extended power to reach his goal. Although he did not even bother trying to give his evil character any underlying gentlemanly or sophisticated traits, he still came up with a scrumptiously complex villain. It is quite a stretch to go from a Wagnerian comedy to a Puccinian drama, but Volle managed to do it smoothly and convincingly. On Sunday night, his singing was superbly dark and his scenes with Angela Georghiu had the type of red-hot intensity that makes opera-goers' hearts beat faster.
Young Romanian tenor Teodor Ilincai was a delightfully impetuous Cavaradossi, routinely expressing himself with a highly flexible, clarion-like voice that brightly resounded in the small theater every time he was making a point. I found him, however, noticeably tentative when it came to Angela Georghiu, and their scenes together did not always have the amount of sizzling chemistry that could have been expected between the famous pair of lovers. But he nevertheless held his own more than adequately. And predictably enough, his “E lucevan le stelle” was a gripping ode to lost love and life that readily brought down the generally reserved house.
The rest of the cast fared very well too, including Jan Martiník as the fearful Sacristan, Dan Karlström as the rebellious Spoletta, Vincenzo Neri as the sadistic Sciarrone, and Dominic Barberi as the jailer who doubled as executioner. The rambunctious children’s choir brought fervor and spontaneity to the church scene.
If the singing was uniformly impressive, the production unfortunately was not. Director Alvis Hermanis obviously tried to inject some modernity into a quintessential classic by having a slide show projected on the upper half of the stage while the lower half was occupied by the traditional church, palace and prison. The main problem was that overall the images projected did not add anything to the action unfolding live below them, but occasionally made it more confusing. Why, for example, was a portrait of the blond Madonna displayed while Scarpia was obsessing aloud about Tosca in the first act?
There were also a few balance problems, which seem to be unavoidable with Tosca, like in the Te Deum scene when Michael Volle's voice, which is not known for being short of strength or stamina, could not be heard over the orchestra and the chorus. This is a minor squabble though, and the orchestra did a laudable job vividly highlighting the score’s rich lyricism under the baton of Domingo Hindoyan.
I did spend all of the third act wondering how on earth Tosca was going to perform her iconic leap of death from the tower since there was clearly nowhere for her to leap from. Well, turns out that she did not leap at all, but ended up standing in front of the stage facing the audience with her arms raised while her projected alter ego did took the leap on the screen. It looked awkward and incongruous, and concluded the performance on an off note. But never mind. The musical rewards were too high to pick at the misguided visuals.
Tuesday, September 27, 2016
Berlin Philharmonic - All-Adams - 09/17/16
Conductor: John Adams
Adams: Harmonielehre for Orchestra
Adams: Scheherazade.2, Dramatic Symphony for Violin and Orchestra - Leila Josefowicz
Some weeks are decidedly more memorable than others, and the third one of September 2016 shall remain solidly imprinted in my memory as I got to revel in the ultimate Mahlerian experience courtesy of the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra in Amsterdam on Wednesday night and a flawless US-German collaboration with John Adams conducting the Berlin Philharmonic ─ and his unofficial muse Leila Josefowicz in one piece ─ in two compositions of his in Berlin on Saturday night. So much music, so little time!
So never mind the six-hour train ride and the lack of sleep. Before I knew it, I found myself listening to another prestigious orchestra in another perfectly sized, acoustically blessed and visually attractive concert hall on a deliciously crisp September evening in Northern Europe. I could have hardly expected a more terrific welcome package for my long-overdue return to Berlin.
Taking its name from Arnold Schoenberg's textbook on harmony, Harmonielehre probably sounded as fresh on Saturday night as it did when it was first released 30 years ago. After unapologetically opening full speed ahead, the three electrifying movements quickly developed from a Minimalist base and kept on going unabated, seemingly driven by an unstoppable pulse and creating a work remarkable for its ambition, scope and impact. Performed by one of the premier ensembles in the world, this rhythmically complex, wildly modern ─ and still hopelessly late Romantic ─ extended romp came out sophisticated and fun.
If, all things considered, Harmonielehre has the typical attributes of a bona fide symphony, Scheherazade.2 can also be called, for all purposes, a violin concerto. I had totally enjoyed the performance of it by the New York Philharmonic in the Avery Fisher Hall a couple of seasons ago, and I was therefore very much looking forward to hearing it again on the occasion of its German premiere. Inspired by an exhibition about One Thousand and One Nights that he had seen at the Institut du monde arabe in Paris, John Adams created Scheherazade.2, a musical piece starring a modernized version of the exotic queen that had sounded beautiful and empowering, musically rich and easily accessible, to my spell-bound ears.
Leila Josefowicz, a violinist I would gladly go hear anywhere in the world, has brilliantly inhabited the composition written for her from the very beginning, making it simply impossible for me at least to imagine anyone else impersonating the fearless and uncompromising title character. And sure enough, there she was again, in Berlin this time, oozing feminine charm and unbending strength, her violin expertly spooling out stunning lyrical lines and assertively standing up for her rights.
The orchestra responded to John Adams' deeply informed conducting with impressive commitment, whether providing a gorgeous background for a love scene or powerfully unleashing the self-righteous anger of the "Men with Beards". Throughout the performance, the complex textures came out intensely alive in all their myriads of details, and the few vaguely random moments all eventually became part of a truly compelling whole. It was good to be back in such company.
Adams: Harmonielehre for Orchestra
Adams: Scheherazade.2, Dramatic Symphony for Violin and Orchestra - Leila Josefowicz
Some weeks are decidedly more memorable than others, and the third one of September 2016 shall remain solidly imprinted in my memory as I got to revel in the ultimate Mahlerian experience courtesy of the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra in Amsterdam on Wednesday night and a flawless US-German collaboration with John Adams conducting the Berlin Philharmonic ─ and his unofficial muse Leila Josefowicz in one piece ─ in two compositions of his in Berlin on Saturday night. So much music, so little time!
So never mind the six-hour train ride and the lack of sleep. Before I knew it, I found myself listening to another prestigious orchestra in another perfectly sized, acoustically blessed and visually attractive concert hall on a deliciously crisp September evening in Northern Europe. I could have hardly expected a more terrific welcome package for my long-overdue return to Berlin.
Taking its name from Arnold Schoenberg's textbook on harmony, Harmonielehre probably sounded as fresh on Saturday night as it did when it was first released 30 years ago. After unapologetically opening full speed ahead, the three electrifying movements quickly developed from a Minimalist base and kept on going unabated, seemingly driven by an unstoppable pulse and creating a work remarkable for its ambition, scope and impact. Performed by one of the premier ensembles in the world, this rhythmically complex, wildly modern ─ and still hopelessly late Romantic ─ extended romp came out sophisticated and fun.
If, all things considered, Harmonielehre has the typical attributes of a bona fide symphony, Scheherazade.2 can also be called, for all purposes, a violin concerto. I had totally enjoyed the performance of it by the New York Philharmonic in the Avery Fisher Hall a couple of seasons ago, and I was therefore very much looking forward to hearing it again on the occasion of its German premiere. Inspired by an exhibition about One Thousand and One Nights that he had seen at the Institut du monde arabe in Paris, John Adams created Scheherazade.2, a musical piece starring a modernized version of the exotic queen that had sounded beautiful and empowering, musically rich and easily accessible, to my spell-bound ears.
Leila Josefowicz, a violinist I would gladly go hear anywhere in the world, has brilliantly inhabited the composition written for her from the very beginning, making it simply impossible for me at least to imagine anyone else impersonating the fearless and uncompromising title character. And sure enough, there she was again, in Berlin this time, oozing feminine charm and unbending strength, her violin expertly spooling out stunning lyrical lines and assertively standing up for her rights.
The orchestra responded to John Adams' deeply informed conducting with impressive commitment, whether providing a gorgeous background for a love scene or powerfully unleashing the self-righteous anger of the "Men with Beards". Throughout the performance, the complex textures came out intensely alive in all their myriads of details, and the few vaguely random moments all eventually became part of a truly compelling whole. It was good to be back in such company.
Sunday, September 25, 2016
Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra - Mahler - 09/14/16
Conductor: Daniele Gatti
Mahler: Symphony No. 2 in C Minor (Resurrection)
The Netherlands Radio Choir
Annette Dasch: Soprano
Karen Cargill: Mezzo-Soprano
Because one can never get too much of a good thing, on Wednesday, after enjoying a delightful chamber music concert mid-day, I was back at the Concertgebouw a few hours later for the real thing, and found myself in the sold-out large concert hall to hear the full Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra, Daniele Gatti, its new music director, and the Netherlands Radio Choir perform Mahler's stupendous Resurrection symphony, whose Dutch premiere the composer incidentally conducted at the Concertgebouw back in 1904, six years after having conducted the work's world premiere in Berlin and simultaneously kicked off his composing career in earnest. Although I would have been happy to hear them perform pretty much anything, I found it especially exciting that this particular program would be the one making my bucket list shorter.
But that was not all as this first experience ended up being even closer and more personal than I had imagined. As I was eagerly walking toward my seat in the perfectly sized, acoustically blessed and visually attractive concert hall, I quickly realized that for better or worse I would be sitting exactly three rows behind the timpani section and spitting distance from the chorus, which at least had the advantage to ensure that if any unsuspected remnants of jet lag surfaced, I would not be dozing off for long.
Putting myself through one of Mahler's sprawling symphonies often feels to me like an extremely condensed therapy session, or at least what I guess an extremely condensed therapy session would be like. The composer was obviously not afraid of tackling big existential issues and used all the musical instruments at his disposal to look for the ever-elusive answers. In the right company, the journey is typically long, intense and thrilling.
In the Resurrection Symphony, Maher sets the tone right away with a monumental first movement that includes a funeral match and take-no-prisoners surges, and turns out to be no less than a highly dramatic symphonic poem searching for the meaning of life. Since we were in the right company, the search was emotionally charged and distinctly urgent, leaving no stone unturned and no note unplayed.
On the other hand, the second movement is a gentle minuet, whose main goal could very well be to relieve the relentless tension that preceded it. But the charmingly lilting break soon made way for the implacable macabre humor of the third movement. Effortlessly switching from delicate sunshine to dark sarcasm, the orchestra polished off the instrumental part of the symphony with force and authority.
With valuable contributions from the remarkable soloists and the commanding chorus, the fourth movement, written for alto solo and reduced orchestra, was beautifully elegiac and peaceful before the apocalyptic fifth movement powerfully swept everything away in one of the most transcendental climaxes of classical music, the type that hurts so good that you do not want it to end ever.
Close enough to the action not to miss a single beat, I ecstatically reveled in the all-encompassing grandeur of it all, now secure in the knowledge that sometimes dreams do come true.
Mahler: Symphony No. 2 in C Minor (Resurrection)
The Netherlands Radio Choir
Annette Dasch: Soprano
Karen Cargill: Mezzo-Soprano
Because one can never get too much of a good thing, on Wednesday, after enjoying a delightful chamber music concert mid-day, I was back at the Concertgebouw a few hours later for the real thing, and found myself in the sold-out large concert hall to hear the full Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra, Daniele Gatti, its new music director, and the Netherlands Radio Choir perform Mahler's stupendous Resurrection symphony, whose Dutch premiere the composer incidentally conducted at the Concertgebouw back in 1904, six years after having conducted the work's world premiere in Berlin and simultaneously kicked off his composing career in earnest. Although I would have been happy to hear them perform pretty much anything, I found it especially exciting that this particular program would be the one making my bucket list shorter.
But that was not all as this first experience ended up being even closer and more personal than I had imagined. As I was eagerly walking toward my seat in the perfectly sized, acoustically blessed and visually attractive concert hall, I quickly realized that for better or worse I would be sitting exactly three rows behind the timpani section and spitting distance from the chorus, which at least had the advantage to ensure that if any unsuspected remnants of jet lag surfaced, I would not be dozing off for long.
Putting myself through one of Mahler's sprawling symphonies often feels to me like an extremely condensed therapy session, or at least what I guess an extremely condensed therapy session would be like. The composer was obviously not afraid of tackling big existential issues and used all the musical instruments at his disposal to look for the ever-elusive answers. In the right company, the journey is typically long, intense and thrilling.
In the Resurrection Symphony, Maher sets the tone right away with a monumental first movement that includes a funeral match and take-no-prisoners surges, and turns out to be no less than a highly dramatic symphonic poem searching for the meaning of life. Since we were in the right company, the search was emotionally charged and distinctly urgent, leaving no stone unturned and no note unplayed.
On the other hand, the second movement is a gentle minuet, whose main goal could very well be to relieve the relentless tension that preceded it. But the charmingly lilting break soon made way for the implacable macabre humor of the third movement. Effortlessly switching from delicate sunshine to dark sarcasm, the orchestra polished off the instrumental part of the symphony with force and authority.
With valuable contributions from the remarkable soloists and the commanding chorus, the fourth movement, written for alto solo and reduced orchestra, was beautifully elegiac and peaceful before the apocalyptic fifth movement powerfully swept everything away in one of the most transcendental climaxes of classical music, the type that hurts so good that you do not want it to end ever.
Close enough to the action not to miss a single beat, I ecstatically reveled in the all-encompassing grandeur of it all, now secure in the knowledge that sometimes dreams do come true.
Royal Concertgebouw - Chausson - 09/14/16
Chausson: Piano Trio in G Minor, Op.3
Caspar Vos: Piano
Diamanda La Berge: Violin
Marcus van den Munckhof: Cello
As I was suffering through a dreadfully hot and muggy summer in New York a couple of months ago, I figured that the universe was telling me that the time had come to plan a trip to Northern Europe that would not only allow me to cool off, but also to remove one significant item from my bucket list: Although I had attended performances of the prestigious Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra in Washington and New York in the past, I had always wanted to experience a concert of theirs on their home turf too, and explore Amsterdam by the same token.
After careful consideration of many factors, I decided – maybe a little extravagantly – to go to Amsterdam and Berlin for ten days in September, which presented the double advantage of good weather and no scheduling conflict with my cultural calendar in New York. Even better, I made sure that my stay in Amsterdam coincided with the Concertgebouw's season opening performances of Mahler's Symphony No. 2 AND one of their free Wednesday lunchtime concerts with Chausson's Piano Trio in G Minor. Because why settle for just one treat when you can get two?
The orchestra's reputation being of the most sterling, the beautiful small concert hall of the Concertgebouw quickly filled up with locals and tourists alike, whether they showed up out of curiosity, for the love of classical music or more prosaically seeking shelter from the unseasonal mid-day heat outside (So much for cooling off!).
Written when Ernest Chausson was a 26-year-old Paris Conservatory student who had just finished studying with Jules Massenet and was moving on to César Franck, the Piano Trio in G Minor never fails to impress by its scope and maturity. On Wednesday, played by such distinguished musicians in such a conducive space, it could only convert newcomers and enthrall aficionados, and I bet it easily managed to do both.
The extensive Allegro, which intensely unfolded with complex harmonies, subtle dark hues and an infectious élan, was spell-bounding from the very first notes. By contrast, the Intermezzo was a highly spirited romp and the Andante a delicately bucolic ballad. Probably in order to avoid the vigorous clapping that had spontaneously occurred between the previous movements, the musicians jumped right into the Finale, which started joyful and carefree before a melancholic mood fell upon it and remained there all the way to the conclusion.
Technically flawless and emotionally absorbing, the performance did complete justice to this impressive work that is unquestionably not heard as often as it deserves. And for me, that was also the perfect mouth-watering appetizer that made me look forward to the main course scheduled for that evening even more.
Caspar Vos: Piano
Diamanda La Berge: Violin
Marcus van den Munckhof: Cello
As I was suffering through a dreadfully hot and muggy summer in New York a couple of months ago, I figured that the universe was telling me that the time had come to plan a trip to Northern Europe that would not only allow me to cool off, but also to remove one significant item from my bucket list: Although I had attended performances of the prestigious Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra in Washington and New York in the past, I had always wanted to experience a concert of theirs on their home turf too, and explore Amsterdam by the same token.
After careful consideration of many factors, I decided – maybe a little extravagantly – to go to Amsterdam and Berlin for ten days in September, which presented the double advantage of good weather and no scheduling conflict with my cultural calendar in New York. Even better, I made sure that my stay in Amsterdam coincided with the Concertgebouw's season opening performances of Mahler's Symphony No. 2 AND one of their free Wednesday lunchtime concerts with Chausson's Piano Trio in G Minor. Because why settle for just one treat when you can get two?
The orchestra's reputation being of the most sterling, the beautiful small concert hall of the Concertgebouw quickly filled up with locals and tourists alike, whether they showed up out of curiosity, for the love of classical music or more prosaically seeking shelter from the unseasonal mid-day heat outside (So much for cooling off!).
Written when Ernest Chausson was a 26-year-old Paris Conservatory student who had just finished studying with Jules Massenet and was moving on to César Franck, the Piano Trio in G Minor never fails to impress by its scope and maturity. On Wednesday, played by such distinguished musicians in such a conducive space, it could only convert newcomers and enthrall aficionados, and I bet it easily managed to do both.
The extensive Allegro, which intensely unfolded with complex harmonies, subtle dark hues and an infectious élan, was spell-bounding from the very first notes. By contrast, the Intermezzo was a highly spirited romp and the Andante a delicately bucolic ballad. Probably in order to avoid the vigorous clapping that had spontaneously occurred between the previous movements, the musicians jumped right into the Finale, which started joyful and carefree before a melancholic mood fell upon it and remained there all the way to the conclusion.
Technically flawless and emotionally absorbing, the performance did complete justice to this impressive work that is unquestionably not heard as often as it deserves. And for me, that was also the perfect mouth-watering appetizer that made me look forward to the main course scheduled for that evening even more.
Saturday, September 10, 2016
New York City Opera - Aleko & Pagliacci - 09/08/16
Conductor: James Meena
Aleko Composer: Sergei Rachmaninoff
Stefan Szkafarowsky: Aleko
Inna Dukach: Zemfira
Jason Karn: Young gypsy
Kevin Thompson: Old gypsy
Pagliacci
Composer: Ruggero Leoncavallo
Francesco Anile: Canio
Jessica Rose Cambio: Nedda
Michael Corvino: Tonio
Gustavo Feulien: Silvio
Jason Karn: Beppe
After generally satisfying productions of Tosca and Florencia en el Amazonas last season, The New York City Opera was officially opening its boldly wide-ranging new season on Thursday night in the Time Warner Center's wonderful - if frigidly cold - Rose Theater. And the sight of the vast majority of the seats being filled by an excited crowd only reinforced my hunch that I was not the only one rejoicing at their return.
It is true that the double bill of Rachmaninoff's Aleko and Leoncavallo's Pagliacci was compelling for many reasons. Aleko's lush Russian Romanticism and Pagliacci's hot-blooded Italian verismo may sound drastically different in theory, but both operas were in fact premiered a few days from each other in April 1892, and both tell the story of a love triangle made of an older, ferociously jealous husband, a rebellious wife, and the de rigueur hot young lover, all evolving in an exotically bohemian environment. Needless to say, neither has a happy ending.
Composed in only three weeks when Rachmaninoff was a 19-year-old student at the Moscow Conservatory, Aleko surprises by its unexpectedly assured, if still resolutely conventional, nature. Although it earned the composer the highest grade, it has perplexingly remained a rarity in opera houses, and therefore any opportunity to experience it should be whole-heartedly welcome.
Fortunately for us, the NYCO has successfully dug it out and on Thursday presented a downright engaging production of it. The stage, which was occupied by a freight car in the background and some vague buildings on each side, had the advantage of discretion and versatility.
The singers came through efficiently, with dependable bass Stefan Szkafarowsky forcefully tearing through his scenes as the aging and raging Aleko who cannot for the life of him stand betrayal, let alone taunts about it.
Velvety-voiced soprano Inna Dukach brought the right combination of darkness and fire to Zemfira, the free-spirited gypsy who is not afraid of displaying her thoughts and feelings, and who will pay dearly for her cheekiness.
Ardent tenor Jason Karn was the quintessential dashing young lover, and dark-voiced bass Kevin Thompson was the perfect ominous story teller. The ubiquitous chorus was decidedly in top shape when bringing the gypsy people to life.
The opera also happens to feature a long and elaborate dance sequence, which was energetically handled by members of the Moiseyev Dance Company.
While clearly not a masterpiece, Aleko turned out to be a curiosity totally worth-checking out. Already then Rachmaninoff had a solid grasp on the luxurious lyricism he would soon become famous for, and the beautifully melodic score received a fully engaged treatment from the orchestra under the baton of James Meena.
Pagliacci for sure does not need any introduction and on Thursday night the NYCO production proved as popular as could have been expected. Not the final school project of a promising young student, Pagliacci was written by a composer in his thirties who was becoming increasingly anxious about breaking through the Italian opera scene. And boy did he accomplish just that with this one.
Using the same decor has for Aleko, but smartly turning the train car into a make-ship stage for the commedia dell'arte play within the opera, Pagliacci briskly unfolded with plenty of intense drama, high-flying coloratura and one creepy clown.
In the all-important role of Canio, the betrayed husband turned murderer, assertive tenor Francesco Anile impersonated the larger than life Pagliaccio with confidence and gusto. His "Vesti la giubbia" was the heart-breaking cry we were all hoping for and indisputably got in spades.
Versatile soprano Jessica Rose Cambio did not spare her ultra-flexible voice any acrobatics, but could also be tenderly emotional as well as fiercely self-protective as Nedda, the straying wife with the whip.
Veteran baritone Michael Corvino was convincingly conniving as hunch-backed Tonio, a lesser Iago who nevertheless had his revenge gruesomely played out in front of him after sexually harassing – and being harshly rejected by – Nedda.
Hunky baritone Gustavo Feulien made a short but memorable appearance as Silvio, Nedda's lover boy from the village. And the chorus continued to amaze us with its powerful and subtle singing.
All the non-stop action was reliably supported by the vibrant and supple performance of the orchestra, which vividly underscored all the passionate turmoil going on.
With a two-level plot, well-developed characters and a highly colorful score, there is no doubt that Pagliacci is overall a superior work, but then again, it is not really fair to compare the final school project on a promising young student to the work of a seasoned composer who had been working at his craft for a while. In any case, the clever combination of the two proved to be a winner for the audience, and for the New York City Opera.
Aleko Composer: Sergei Rachmaninoff
Stefan Szkafarowsky: Aleko
Inna Dukach: Zemfira
Jason Karn: Young gypsy
Kevin Thompson: Old gypsy
Pagliacci
Composer: Ruggero Leoncavallo
Francesco Anile: Canio
Jessica Rose Cambio: Nedda
Michael Corvino: Tonio
Gustavo Feulien: Silvio
Jason Karn: Beppe
After generally satisfying productions of Tosca and Florencia en el Amazonas last season, The New York City Opera was officially opening its boldly wide-ranging new season on Thursday night in the Time Warner Center's wonderful - if frigidly cold - Rose Theater. And the sight of the vast majority of the seats being filled by an excited crowd only reinforced my hunch that I was not the only one rejoicing at their return.
It is true that the double bill of Rachmaninoff's Aleko and Leoncavallo's Pagliacci was compelling for many reasons. Aleko's lush Russian Romanticism and Pagliacci's hot-blooded Italian verismo may sound drastically different in theory, but both operas were in fact premiered a few days from each other in April 1892, and both tell the story of a love triangle made of an older, ferociously jealous husband, a rebellious wife, and the de rigueur hot young lover, all evolving in an exotically bohemian environment. Needless to say, neither has a happy ending.
Composed in only three weeks when Rachmaninoff was a 19-year-old student at the Moscow Conservatory, Aleko surprises by its unexpectedly assured, if still resolutely conventional, nature. Although it earned the composer the highest grade, it has perplexingly remained a rarity in opera houses, and therefore any opportunity to experience it should be whole-heartedly welcome.
Fortunately for us, the NYCO has successfully dug it out and on Thursday presented a downright engaging production of it. The stage, which was occupied by a freight car in the background and some vague buildings on each side, had the advantage of discretion and versatility.
The singers came through efficiently, with dependable bass Stefan Szkafarowsky forcefully tearing through his scenes as the aging and raging Aleko who cannot for the life of him stand betrayal, let alone taunts about it.
Velvety-voiced soprano Inna Dukach brought the right combination of darkness and fire to Zemfira, the free-spirited gypsy who is not afraid of displaying her thoughts and feelings, and who will pay dearly for her cheekiness.
Ardent tenor Jason Karn was the quintessential dashing young lover, and dark-voiced bass Kevin Thompson was the perfect ominous story teller. The ubiquitous chorus was decidedly in top shape when bringing the gypsy people to life.
The opera also happens to feature a long and elaborate dance sequence, which was energetically handled by members of the Moiseyev Dance Company.
While clearly not a masterpiece, Aleko turned out to be a curiosity totally worth-checking out. Already then Rachmaninoff had a solid grasp on the luxurious lyricism he would soon become famous for, and the beautifully melodic score received a fully engaged treatment from the orchestra under the baton of James Meena.
Pagliacci for sure does not need any introduction and on Thursday night the NYCO production proved as popular as could have been expected. Not the final school project of a promising young student, Pagliacci was written by a composer in his thirties who was becoming increasingly anxious about breaking through the Italian opera scene. And boy did he accomplish just that with this one.
Using the same decor has for Aleko, but smartly turning the train car into a make-ship stage for the commedia dell'arte play within the opera, Pagliacci briskly unfolded with plenty of intense drama, high-flying coloratura and one creepy clown.
In the all-important role of Canio, the betrayed husband turned murderer, assertive tenor Francesco Anile impersonated the larger than life Pagliaccio with confidence and gusto. His "Vesti la giubbia" was the heart-breaking cry we were all hoping for and indisputably got in spades.
Versatile soprano Jessica Rose Cambio did not spare her ultra-flexible voice any acrobatics, but could also be tenderly emotional as well as fiercely self-protective as Nedda, the straying wife with the whip.
Veteran baritone Michael Corvino was convincingly conniving as hunch-backed Tonio, a lesser Iago who nevertheless had his revenge gruesomely played out in front of him after sexually harassing – and being harshly rejected by – Nedda.
Hunky baritone Gustavo Feulien made a short but memorable appearance as Silvio, Nedda's lover boy from the village. And the chorus continued to amaze us with its powerful and subtle singing.
All the non-stop action was reliably supported by the vibrant and supple performance of the orchestra, which vividly underscored all the passionate turmoil going on.
With a two-level plot, well-developed characters and a highly colorful score, there is no doubt that Pagliacci is overall a superior work, but then again, it is not really fair to compare the final school project on a promising young student to the work of a seasoned composer who had been working at his craft for a while. In any case, the clever combination of the two proved to be a winner for the audience, and for the New York City Opera.
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