which I saw at Opera Holland Park last summer).
For modern listeners, Lakmé and Pearl Fishers have another thing in common: they’re both somewhat obscure operas with one extremely popular hit number. For Lakmé, it’s the Bell Song, for Pearl Fishers it’s the tenor-baritone duet in which two reunited buddies--one a baritone head pearl fisher, the other a tenor of vague provenance--displace any more-than-buddy feelings by singing about a beautiful, absent woman (seriously, this duet occupies Don Carlo/Posa territory of subtext).
Bizet obviously knew that he found the big hit with this duet. Its main theme is associated with absent lady Léila, who is the female part of the plot’s love triangle and isn’t absent for much longer (like Mr. Tenor in the beginning of this opera, people in The Pearl Fishers have a way of showing up exactly when they are required). This association means we get to hear it plenty more times, though usually in the orchestra. You get your money’s worth with that duet.
Unfortunately in the rest of the opera you can see why the Met hasn’t performed this one for a century. The Met’s new production showcases a score with many beautiful moments beyond the duet, but the opera itself comes across as clunky and without any emotional weight. Penny Woolcock’s production is better than I expected having read its London reviews (it was first performed at the English National Opera several years ago), but it and a somewhat mismatched cast don’t really make a convincing argument for this piece. There are worse ways to pass an evening, but it's underwhelming. Here, I'm going to try to figure out why I thought this.
Saturday, January 16, 2016
Thursday, January 07, 2016
|Hoffmann in Bregenz. Time marches onward.|
I wasn’t happy with the amount I wrote here this year--I saw a few great performances (and a few not great but interesting ones) that I never wrote up for reasons contractual, logistical, and existential. I’m less inclined to knock off a few paragraphs about parking and barking than I have been in years past. But I don’t want to sound too gloomy, because I think that what I lost in quantity I more or less made up for in quality. Blog-wise, snappy one-liners about the Met bring in the crowds--particularly compared to my specialty, 1,500 words about Regietheater from a part of Austria that few non-EU folks can find on a map*--but for me, this year offered better, more interesting material than the last few. This was in part because I was highly selective and selected things that I was pretty sure I was going to like. It worked out OK, as far as I’m concerned!
Finally, what’s coming up? In the immediate future, Pearl Fishers plus some more Boston Symphony Orchestra with Renée Fleming, then Manon Lescaut and Elektra. I’m not planning on Roberto Devereux, but I do hope to make it to some opera in Boston. In the longer term, I'm thinking of moving this operation to WordPress because Blogger is effectively no longer under development and becoming unwieldy, but I predict this will be time-consuming and I don't know when I will do it. Also, I will be writing a bit about a new class I’m teaching at Smith this spring: a history of opera and women from Traviata to Lulu!
Best of 2015, Opera
Les Contes d’Hoffmann, Bregenz Festival
Elektra, Boston Symphony Orchestra
L’Orfeo, Bayerische Staatsoper
Best of 2015, Singers
Gerald Finley, Guillaume Tell (ROH)
Christine Goerke, Elektra (BSO)
Barbara Hannigan, Written on Skin (Lincoln Center Festival)
Eric Owens, Don Carlo (Opera Philadelphia)
Klaus Florian Vogt, Lohengrin (Bayreuth)
Sonya Yoncheva, Otello (Met)
Best of 2015, Conductors
Antonio Pappano, Guillaume Tell (ROH)
Kirill Petrenko, Der Ring des Nibelungen (Bayreuth)
Andris Nelsons, Elektra (Boston Symphony Orchestra)
Yannick Nézet-Séguin, Mass (Philadelphia Orchestra)
Names to Watch
Tobias Kehrer, Die Entführung aus dem Serail (Glyndebourne)
Daniel Johansson, Les Contes d’Hoffmann (Bregenz)
Guanquan Yu, Turandot (second time in this category! why isn't she famous yet?) (Bregenz)
The Bernstein Mass in Philadelphia. It’s not a mass, it’s not an opera, who knows what the hell it is? I don’t think that most of it is very good. But I became sort of obsessed with it. (As did everyone else in my then department--almost all of us saw it and felt an unusual urge to talk it over with each other. Repeatedly. And we had to pass around the score around, because the library only has one copy.) It’s a pungent historical artifact and still powerful, relevant for many of exactly the same reasons, and kind of shocking.
Aleksandar Denic's sets for Der Ring des Nibelungen in Bayreuth. This cycle left me with less than I had hoped (see below) but the sets were absolutely amazing in their detail, both hilarious and grotesque.
The newspapers, Lulu. I wasn’t quite as big a fan of this production as most people, but I love the way it deployed newsprint as symbol.
Things I Forgot to Say
Guillaume Tell, which became famous as shock theater, was a very powerful performance which I was fortunate to see. It wasn’t consistent or even coherent, but it was serious and took the piece very seriously. Also, Gerald Finley has never been better, and he sets a very high standard. I was proud of what I wrote about it for the New York Times, but that wasn’t the place to make a critical statement. So here it is, late.
The Ring in Bayreuth left me conflicted. I didn’t end up writing about all of it here because I did a piece on it for the New York Times (and then I moved from Pennsylvania to Massachusetts the following week!). I liked how earthy and strange and raw it was, and how genuinely funny. It had a weird emotional payoff that happened when you least expected it. But the acting was spotty, the symbols vague, and the whole thing misogynistic. And it didn’t stick with me--I took lots of notes but didn’t find myself thinking about it often compared to most of what I saw on the same trip.
Trovatore at the Met. I went to this and I wrote about half a review which I didn’t post. It was a very emotional performance, but I didn’t feel like I could write about it in the effusive way it seemed to demand. I wasn’t touch with my fan self that weekend.
Exotica. I spent a lot of time this year thinking about and writing about how opera represents its others, from blackface to Turks to Delibes’s fromage-y Lakmé to a Turandot involving the Great Wall, clay soldiers, and every single other cliché. I don’t want to be a scold and I get tired of writing these things sometimes (especially when I saw most of those in the space of two weeks) but I’m not going to give up on this. The power dynamics are real and also very complicated.
Operas About Famous Dead People. Opera Philadelphia did two big new operas! Great move. Unfortunately both featured more dull monumentalizing than story. At least the second, Yardbird, however tepid its drama, featured an original, intriguing score by Daniel Schnyder.
Not Much Met. I had a hit with my pie chart analysis of the Met's programming. But I only saw a handful of productions at the Met in 2015. I missed a few that I would have liked to see, most grievously the Iolanta/Bluebeard double bill, but I wish there had been a few more that would have inspired me to get on the train/bus to go to New York. (Remember: it takes me four hours to get to New York these days! And that's four hous on a Peter Pan bus.) And some of what I did see didn’t make this list. Hopefully next season will be better! I still am really looking forward to Elektra and have some hope for Manon Lescaut.
*In March I'm giving a talk on this production--which, if you didn't follow the link, is the Herheim Hoffmann--at the American Comparative Literature Association's conference at Harvard!
Saturday, November 07, 2015
In the fin-de-siècle, newspapers were the ultimate and ubiquitous marker of bourgeois respectability. They shaped their readers’ daily experience of the world. We see this in Lulu: Lulu’s dance career is made by Schön’s paper, and news frequently arrives via newsprint. The Acrobat insults Schön’s paper as a “Käseblatt” (literally “cheese paper,” meaning poor boulevard press) but I imagine it must be a middlebrow broadsheet, part of Schön’s own facade of propriety. These are the papers that critics like Karl Kraus—whose scowl looms over this production at one point—condemned as pernicious and hypocritical, an instrument of the powerful which concealed more than they reveal.
Barbara Wysocka and Michał Zadara’s Chopin Without Piano, which was performed at Philadelphia’s Fringe Arts last week, begins like an ordinary orchestral concert. A conductor and a soloist bow in front of an orchestra; the soloist sits behind a grand piano, and the orchestra begins to play Chopin’s e minor piano concerto.
But, as its title suggests, Chopin Without Piano takes a turn when the piano would enter. Instead of playing, the “pianist” begins to declaim the piano part, words replacing the piano’s voice. What follows is a wide-ranging reflection on Chopin’s life, legacy, and place in official Polish culture--as well as, of course, consideration of the concertos themselves. The text, by Wysocka (who performs it as the “pianist”) and Zadara (who directed) is assembled from Chopin’s letters, writings about Chopin, writings from Chopin’s day, and more contemporary work.
Saturday, October 17, 2015
|Christine Goerke, Andris Nelsons, Gun-Brit Barkmin|
Elektra is performed in concert relatively frequently, and for good reason. (So is Salome, for the same reasons.) Strauss’s scores showcase a major orchestra and conductor to thrilling and very loud effect. It also has a drama whose decadent horrors—particularly the constant invocations of bodily decay and disease in Hofmannsthal's libretto—can effectively be left to the imagination of the listener, an approach sometimes superior to the inevitable disappointment of ratty costumes and a dim unit set of suspiciously styrofoam rocks.
Productions of Elektra almost end up as screaming, over-the-top camp extravaganzas. And despite its comparatively minimalist visuals, this concert presentation with the Boston Symphony Orchestra was actually no exception! I mean that, however, in the best possible way. Andris Nelsons and Christine Goerke made the kind of epic, high octane, extremely loud, occasionally touching opera that you don’t see nearly often enough. It’s the kind of excess that works because it’s done with utter conviction.
Even though there was no set, this was not an Elektra that left everything to the imagination. None of the singers used scores and it would be more accurate to call it semi-semi-staged. In the first scene, when Elektra glowers at the maids without saying anything, there’s no musical reason for her to appear onstage—and yet there she was, loitering between the first and second violins. Most of the stage directions were present in so much as to make the text intelligible—Chrysothemis raises her hands before Elektra asks her why she is doing so, and, yes, the performance ended with a fine stomping Elektra dance. There was, however, no axe, and the Fifth Maid escaped Maids #1-4 unscathed.
The floorplan was smartly devised: two clear areas on either side of the podium. (This put Nelsons further from the orchestra and he seemed to be relying on his baton rather his usual frequently hands-only style.) The amount of space was limited but allowed for Elektra and Chrystothemis to start their scene on either side of the podium, and then Elektra and Klytemnästra, and eventually Elektra and Orest, and well, for the most part Elektra doesn’t like being near anyone, really, and this was a good way of doing that. It also probably assisted in the performance’s exceptionally flattering balance. The singers were nearly always audible, even without the pit. (It is a far preferable setup to the platforms behind the orchestra that you sometimes get at Carnegie Hall.)
The center of the performance was Christine Goerke’s formidable Elektra. Wearing a tomato-red dress, she made Elektra crazed from the very beginning. Fortunately she has the vocal goods to back this up, singing with a huge, rich middle and lower voice. She doesn’t just sing this score tirelessly but also musically! The ending of the Recognition Scene, the moment of some of the role’s most lyrical writing, was both expressive and sung with a beautiful legato line. Her top notes are not as large as the rest of the voice but nonetheless have a piercing intensity.
It’s a performance that embraces the tradition of demented excess. When you start the opera at 11 you arguably don’t have anywhere to go but Goerke has the resources to sustain and vary that intensity for the whole opera. Her moments of sanity tended to be snarky: her asides to lovelorn Chrysothemis, some of her comments to her mother. At times, however, I wondered what a more internalized portrayal would look like, probably because I watched the Chéreau production on DVD (the one that is soon coming to the Met) before this performance. Without going into detail about that, it made Goerke’s approach seem a little Ryan Murphy, a little gothic. But commenting that Elektra is too much probably means that Elektra is not your thing.
As Chrysothemis, Gun-Brit Barkmin had a vibrant way with the text and the clearest diction in the cast. I could understand all the words and they sounded unusually spontaneous. Her voice is lean, focused, and pretty big, but I would have preferred more warmth and plushness in the sound in this particular role. Her top notes sound squeezed rather than open, and the end of her opening monologue didn’t really quite come off as it should. She is a striking performer (and her 1920s outfit was fabulous) but I don’t think it’s a beautiful voice.
As Klytämnestra, Jane Henschel was powerful, but sometimes her singing seemed more a collection of special effects--growls, whispers, sudden breaks into the upper register--than an organically coherent performance. Her Klytämnestra was a relatively by the books madwoman, effective but not as convincingly original. On the male side, Gerhard Siegel made a vivid cameo as Aegisth, establishing an oily character in no time and then vanishing almost as quickly. (Longtime comprimario all star Mark Schowalter did something similar in the even shorter role of the Young Servant.) In the longer role of Orest, James Rutherford got off to a nice, deep, Wagnerian sort of start but failed to build through the Recognition Scene as Goerke ran off with it. The gaggle of maids was solid and I was impressed by Mary Phillips as #3 (I don't know the score that well but they were helpfully lined up in numerical order) and I happy to see and hear Nadine Secunde as the Overseer.
But the other major star of the performance was, of course, Nelsons and the orchestra. He is a major conductor and this was very exciting, tense conducting, perfectly milked at the climaxes and not afraid of the crunchier moments. He can get real texture in the intimate moments, notably the fluttering winds in Klytämnestra's monologue. The brass sounded terrific, but I do think there’s a missing ingredient from Nelsons and the orchestra’s Straussian recipe: something about the strings. They were there and they were doing their thing, but Nelsons’ Strauss is almost all glower and no glow. That radiance has to peek out occasionally, and it’s usually in the violins. Perhaps this is because I still have the sound of the Wiener Staatsoper faintly in my ears, but I wish he had found more of those moments that gives some light to this violent score.
Nelsons and co. repeat this Elektra tonight in Boston and in New York next week and you absolutely need to see if it you can. The Met’s Elektra this spring is going to be very different. And did anyone else notice this YNS Elektra later this fall? Hmm.
Strauss, Elektra. Boston Symphony Orchestra at Symphony Hall, Boston, 10/15/15. Conducted by Andris Nelsons with Christine Goerkephotos copyright Boston Symphony Orchestra/Liza Voll
Sunday, September 27, 2015
Tuesday, September 15, 2015
As I was putting together my Met preview post, I thought to myself, “so much Donizetti!” So I fired up Excel and made some charts. The above pie chart shows numbers of productions by composers.
There is a lot of Donizetti. He and Puccini are tied for first by number of productions. I like Donizetti just fine and the Three Queens Not-a-Trilogy (Anna Bolena, Maria Stuarda, Roberto Devereux) is a one-off special occasion. But I’m not sure if he merits more than twice the number of productions than Richard Strauss and Wagner put together.
Donizetti operas must sell, though I suspect this is not based on the composer's name recognition. These operas are either star singer vehicles (the Not-a-Trilogy) or frothy comedies (the other two, Don Pasquale and L’elisir d’amore). Also, they’re far cheaper to produce than Strauss and Wagner.
You know what else sells? Puccini. If you count performances rather than productions, you will find that Puccini is occupying the Met for many more performances than Donizetti.
Bohème, Turandot, Tosca, and Butterfly all get runs of over a dozen performances each, while the Donizettis average around seven each. (Verdi also gets some longer series.)
Both Puccini and Donizetti—along with Verdi, who is next in line after these two—represent a mainstream American idea of what opera is. Not the most interesting idea, in my opinion, and one that would benefit from including more music from other time periods and traditions.
Here is a chart showing things by language. I love Italian opera but this is ridiculous.
The Pearl Fishers is the only French opera onstage this season! And neither of the English-sung operas were written in English; they’re an Italian opera and an Austrian operetta given in translation (Barber, for families, and Fledermaus, for Jeremy Sams superfans).
Just to reiterate some absences I’ve already noted: there’s nothing composed after 1935 (all due respect to Friedrich Cerha, the completer of Lulu) and no Slavic repertoire.
If you look at dates of composition, you get this. Only Mozart, Turandot, and Lulu fall outside the “long nineteenth century”:
How can you build a diverse audience with such a skewed repertoire? The Met, probably more than any other major opera house, proclaims itself to represent opera in toto. But, even given their limitations of space and structure, opera is a far wider and more varied art form than what they're giving us.
"Productions by Composer" is corrected because my first version unintentionally excluded Rossini. Data from metopera.org
"Productions by Composer" is corrected because my first version unintentionally excluded Rossini. Data from metopera.org
Posted by Micaela at 9:31 PM
Sunday, September 13, 2015
|"So glad I got this newsprint instead of the Olivier Py Lulu."|
Programming note: As I mentioned earlier, I'm now based in western Massachusetts, where I'm a postdoc at Smith College. (Ask me about my spring semester opera history class!) I'm still only a bus ride away from New York but it's become a somewhat longer bus ride. I'm closer to Boston and should be there periodically as well.
This year has a few exceptionally interesting operas among the new productions while most of the revivals are on the routine side. But perhaps some fortuitous casting will revive a previously moribund production (as happened to multiple operas last season). The season skews nineteenth century, with no Baroque and Lulu (1935, third act completed 1979) the most recent composition (second place: Turandot, premiere 1926). Also, this is a year without any Slavic operas at all—no Janacek, no Tchaikovsky, no Musorgsky, no nothing. When will we get the production of The Excursions of Mr. Broucek that we’re clamoring for?
Tuesday, August 18, 2015
And it’s hard to imagine that Written on Skin could have been developed and premiered by an American opera company. Certainly not, at least, by one of the behemoths. Martin Crimp’s libretto is a simple story which becomes complex in its telling; it doesn’t have a celebrity historical personality as its protagonist, isn’t based on a hit film or book, and makes no clear claim to cultural importance. The subject isn’t, like many American operas, aggressively checking off boxes like genres suggested by Netflix. (Cold Mountain? Hmmm, Literary Fiction Set in the Civil War With Strong Female Characters.)
Written on Skin is instead purposefully elliptical. It’s filled with symbols, fragmented narrative frames, and characters speaking in the third person. Its score is, though at times lyrical, rather thornier than the film music style which has become most popular in American premieres. It has also eclipsed most if not all of those works in its acclaim and popularity.
Thursday, August 13, 2015
Audience members headed to the Bayreuth Festival weren’t happy. The train route from Nuremberg, the principal way to reach this small town in northern Bavaria, was suspended because of construction. They would have to take a bus instead. It would be slow. It would be uncomfortable.Yet much of the renown of the festival, which runs through Aug. 28, has been rooted in its inaccessibility, in its steadfast resistance to speed and comfort.
I wrote about the Bayreuth Festival for this Sunday's New York Times Arts & Leisure section. For the record, I took the bus out of Bayreuth and its seats were more comfortable than those of the Festspielhaus.
I do plan on writing about the rest of the Ring here, but I have been busy with this and other deadlines, as well as moving into a new apartment in a new state (hi, everyone in Northampton, MA!). I am also going to Written on Skin this weekend. More later.